Dead if You Don’t

71

Sunday 13 August

11.00–12.00

Miri Nela kicked the ball hard. The goalie made a desperate dive as it shot between him and the folded sweater which served as the left goalpost and bounced off the grassy mound behind him.

Watching from a bench at the side of the disused bowling green in Hove’s St Ann’s Well Gardens was PC Nikki Denero, wearing jeans, trainers and a yellow T-shirt printed with the slogan ALBANIANS ROCK! Her partner, Ellie Yarrow, was similarly attired and their lurcher, Horris, sat between them. Spread around them on other benches and on the grass, drinking, eating sandwiches, chatting and laughing while the seven-a-side game progressed, were about thirty Albanians, sitting in small groups, two with babies in buggies.

Nikki felt a deep sense of pride. This picnic had been her initiative, a further step forward in building bridges between Brighton’s Albanian community and Sussex Police. Immediately to her left, Lana, rocking her baby, cheered. She was married to Miri, who was developing his business here, Balcony Tea, specializing in a range of Mediterranean-inspired teas. Good, decent people, totally integrated into the city and much liked by both the Albanian and local community. As was everyone else who had come along, enjoying a rare sunny day in what had, otherwise, been a bit of a rubbish summer.

On a bench to Nikki’s left sat Valmira Bislimi, watching her husband playing whilst trying to keep their two-year-old daughter occupied on the grass in front of her. The whistle blew for half-time and Valmira’s husband, Rinor, tall and perspiring heavily, came over, kissed his wife, then knelt beside his daughter.

‘Well played, Rinor!’ Nikki Denero said. ‘Two goals! Amazing!’

He turned towards her, panting, his face alight with joy. ‘Thank you!’

To her surprise and delight, Nikki suddenly spotted the suited figure of Detective Superintendent Roy Grace striding towards her, clutching two bottles of rosé wine in his hand. She had invited him, but never expected him to actually join them.

‘Donation for the picnic!’ he said.

She thanked him, and introduced him to Rinor.

The two men shook hands. ‘Very well played,’ Grace said. ‘A great setup for that goal!’

‘Thank you.’

Rinor Bislimi was the reason he had come. Intelligence on the man had associated him with some of the Albanian criminal fraternity, although Grace knew that in recent years he had left that behind and concentrated on building a string of dry-cleaners. ‘Would it be possible to have a quick word?’ Grace asked him.

The Albanian shrugged, then said, ‘Sure, how can I help you?’

‘Does the name Fatjon Sava mean anything?’ Grace asked.

All the energy seemed to drain from the Albanian, suddenly. ‘Fatjon Sava? Why are you asking me this?’

‘You know the name?’

He was silent, reflecting. ‘Fatjon Sava?’ he said again. ‘Yes — but—’

‘But what, Rinor?’ Denero interjected.

Grace watched the exchange, curious about where this was going.

‘I can’t talk about this man, please,’ he said to Grace. ‘Please do not ask me.’

‘Why not?’ Denero persisted.

Rinor looked frightened. His eyes darted to his wife, to Roy Grace and finally back to PC Denero. ‘Because I have young family. OK. I go now?’

‘Yes, you can go!’ Roy Grace said.

As he watched the young man run across the pitch towards his team-mates, he turned to his colleague. ‘What’s that all about, Nikki?’

The PC stood up, indicating for Grace to follow. They walked some distance away from the group, stopping in front of the bowling green café. ‘Fear,’ she said and shrugged. ‘The problem we always have. Fear of the police and fear of retribution.’

‘What do you know about this man, Fatjon Sava, Nikki?’

‘Sava used to be one of Jorgji Dervishi’s lieutenants. I understand they had a big falling-out around two years ago and Sava set up a gang of his own. They’ve been involved in a turf war subsequently. He’s linked with another Albanian on my radar, Kushtim Kona. Both are known to have a particularly nasty MO — they have gang members back in Albania who torture and kill the families of anyone here in Brighton who crosses them. That’s probably why Rinor doesn’t want to talk to you, sir.’

‘A good enough reason.’

‘What’s your interest in Sava, sir?’

‘He’s linked to a mobile phone used in the kidnap. We need to find him very urgently. Can you help locate him or this Kushtim Kona?’

‘Leave it with me, sir.’

‘Time is critical.’

‘I understand, sir, I’ll do everything I can.’