Snow Storm

26

Jones put in a call to the Met. There was something inherently hard core sounding in the act, so much so that she had to resist telling anyone who would listen that was what she was about to do. It just sounded cool; like she was dealing with the big hitters, rather than simply making a call to London.

Williams hadn’t been reported missing but his last known address had been in London. His record was surprisingly blank for a man supposedly involved in the drug game. Campbell’s theory was starting to look almost as thin as his hair, though she still found it curious that it all fitted together so well; the timing and the execution method as well as the seemingly tit for tat nature of Karpov’s demise following so soon. At least the fact that he was last known at his parents address in Dulwich meant that she wouldn’t have to break the bad news. That wasn’t conducive to a restful night’s sleep in her albeit limited experience.

She got a call back from a DS Carter, who said he’d dispatched someone to tell the parents, who didn’t seem to think he’d been missing. As far as they’d been aware he was a civil servant and just worked a lot.

Social media wasn’t being overly helpful either. He didn’t leave much of a footprint. No Linkedin profile, Facebook account, Twitter, Myspace or even Bebo, not that seemed to be for her Leon Williams anyway. There was an accountant, a key account manager (salesman), CEO (wannabe entrepreneur) and a film director (who for some reason appeared to be temporarily working as a data entry clerk these past five years.) Myspace revealed a musician, but one that was a bit too pasty faced and a bit too folky to be her Leon Williams.

She could find no details on yell.com either. It seemed she was dealing with a ghost.

“It all seems a bit spookish,” DS Carter said, having recounted the same information from their end.

“Surely you mean spooky.” Jones said.

“Do I?” he asked.

Burke had almost given up. He was reaching the end of his rope on this one. The chances of Andreyevich falling on his knees and confessing to everything for the sake of any kind of deal ranged between slim and fuck all. Edwards had his eye on the bigger picture and that was only fair he supposed. If the guy wanted to head to a bigger hunting ground then he deserved a shot at it, if only for having the nerve to keep going in the face of what if he was honest looked like a case that was dead in the water.

There was no way Andreyevich was giving anything up, on principle as much as anything. He could not be seen to be cooperating with authority, by his own conscience as much as anyone else. Whether through brainwashing or otherwise it was likely he’d fully embraced those principles in full. There was nothing half-arsed about him. He knew that now for sure. He’d needed something to convince him of the Lithuanian’s commitment to his chosen order, to silence the doubting voices in his own head and had gone to speak to him in the cells, have a heart to heart so to speak. The older man was not, it seemed up for playing ball.

He had begun to wonder if Andreyevich in fact spoke any English other than the phase “no comment” but confirmed the opposite to be true when John McKay suggested as much in his own broad tones. The snarl from Andreyevich, the look of utter distaste and their ignorance of not only his own culture but his level of knowledge of others was barely suppressed.

He’d brought the guy a coffee, even gone to Starbucks to get it as a peace offering. Maybe they could discuss things in a civilised way, like two grown men while Edwards was at this point ensconced in Burke’s office, where he continued to camp out with his two underlings and their various laptops. The place was starting to look like an anti tardis; full of gadgets sixties sci-fi writers could scarcely have imagined.

He thought maybe he could extract something from Andreyevich, even if it was only something more than Edwards had. Had to be better than the square root of fuck all.

As it turned out, Mr Andreyevich was still not receptive to conversation. His eyebrows did most if not all of the talking, both being raised as if to say nice try pal when Burke handed over the bucket of overpriced sugar syrup and milk, having guessed he was not a double decaf soya latte man. Looking at him, he was more a double chin mocha. He made several attempts at conversation all the while looking at The Times on his phone in a “we’re here for as long as it takes” type of gesture he was fairly certain only worked in films.

“They say it’s to snow again.” That’s it get him talking about the weather. It’s not as if people who do talk to you can even be bothered with that Burke thought. “Of course, you’d be used to that I guess. I take it you get plenty of the white stuff out there in Vilnius? Probably deal with it more effectively than we do here too. The media do pretty well out of it though. They do pretty well out of all the different types of white stuff it would seem. My colleague, Detective Inspector Edwards, the one with the latest haircut and the taste for skiwear, you remember him, he’s the one who likes to talk a lot.”

Another movement of the eyebrows.

“Well he’s of the opinion, Victor, can I call you Victor? What the hell, I can call you Victor. We’re in a jail cell together. I suspect you’re next cell mate may be even more friendly than that. See what happens when you don’t answer? I just keep talking, anyway I’m sure you’re no stranger to being jail gay.”

Andreyevich looked at him pitifully.

“As of course your friend Oleg was. His tattoos gave that much away and I’d be willing to guess his boyfriend will give a whole lot more away when he comes in Victor.”

Victor stood up quickly, too quickly, given the fact he was holding a cup of hot coffee Burke had made extra hot by microwaving until it bubbled. The syrupy liquid doused his sleeve sticking it to his arm and he let out a yelp like a wounded animal. He tore of his shirt to reveal his own life story in pretty prison pictures and Burke paid attention, looking for specifics and finding what he needed.

Douglas looked tense on arrival in the interview with brief in tow, tense in the way that suggested he’d spent time on his own getting wound up about this. His eyes implied he may also have tried to do counter the effects with whatever chemicals his occupation granted him access to. The bags underneath were grey in contrast with the eyeballs themselves which had pinkened since their last meeting. His skin was an off white, a shade Rachel would doubtless be able to name at a glance. She’d spent time considering the colours most conducive to the calmness and safe emotional and mental development of their soon to be sprogg. But Burke doubted this was one she’d ever choose to paint a nursery, certainly not with the infusion of veins as sported here. In the end she’d settled for buttermilk, a shade of off white he suspected Douglas’s eyes might soon turn if he insisted on self-medicating for any length of time.

Burke presented the pair with coffees extracted from a nasty vending machine this time, rather than the Starbucks diabetes in a cup he’d used to undress Andreyevich. Douglas looked grateful in a despondent sort of way and Burke caught a whiff of what he knew through hard won experience was vodka. Of course, the choice of the drinker who didn’t want anyone to know he’d been drinking.

He set up the tape and sat back Campbell accompanied him on this occasion. He’d have preferred Jones if he was honest, more sympathetic perhaps. A woman’s more attuned soft skills might be the order of the day when dealing with such delicate matters. She’d gone AWOL for some reason. He’d catch up with her later but for now he was stuck with the second choice of minion who was doubtless busy sneering at the man on the other side of the table. Not that it mattered. They were here to get information, regardless of hurting anyone’s feelings.

“So?” He asked. The ultimate open question.

Douglas looked at his brief for some kind of reassurance and got a look in return that seemed to say get on with it. The lawyer knew he could phone this one in. It wasn’t as if they were really going to do Douglas for drug taking and the use of prostitutes, not in a city where the former happened everyday much as it did everywhere else and the latter was unofficially condoned by the city council in the form of saunas or massage parlours.

“Well,” Douglas began fitfully, “I, well that is, we,” he looked at the brief again who urged him on. “I take it we can come to some kind of deal?”

The brief gave him another prod with his eyes, causing Douglas to look more stressed, obviously feeling that he was taking the heat from two sides now.

Burke looked at him without saying anything. Really he should give Dr Carr some kind of commission for upping his interrogation game with minimal effort, not that it earned him much in the way of results, or actual money.

“What my client wants to know is,” the lawyer began, hesitating slightly, “you’re not likely to charge him with anything are you? He is of course fully prepared to cooperate with this investigation but he is also very concerned about his reputation as a professional. I have advised him he is under no obligation to say anything.”

“Of course. And I am not concerned with the fact that he clearly likes to indulge in cocaine and rent boys.”

Douglas’s head fell at this.

“However, I am rather concerned with the fact he is clearly not being forthcoming. He is hindering a police investigation. Also, I must ask myself questions in relation to just how deeply your client was involved with Mr Karpov, concerning his business activities, particularly with respect to his involvement in serious organised crime. How involved are you with the Russian Mafia Dr Douglas?”

Douglas’s eyes widened briefly and he looked as though he might throw up on the table. His face disappeared behind his hands as he tried to rub away the stress from his brow. He at least had access to Botox, Burke thought.

The lawyer looked at Douglas pitifully, like he wanted to wash his hands of the whole affair. Clearly this wasn’t his bag at all. Give him a drink driver or a sleazy divorce case and he would be as happy as a pig in someone else’s mud but this was not looking good for his client all of a sudden. Not that Burke believed for one minute that Douglas was guilty of anything other than being a twat with a spine that didn’t seem to be doing its job properly. He put Burke in mind of a kid at school who’d been caught keying someone’s car or something equally juvenile and denied it when it came to court, which would have been fine if he hadn’t actually been standing next to an officer of the law when he’d done it. Too spineless to stand up and admit to something even when he’d been caught fair and square, far too keen on pleading mitigating circumstances. While Douglas hadn’t been caught doing anything wrong and had admitted to other things, he knew things that could be valuable and yet was unwilling to help unless he was saving his own skin.

For a minute Burke thought he may have overplayed it. Maybe his threats or implied ones had actually caused the surgeon to clam up and sent him further towards the catatonic state he seemed destined for.

“I don’t know anything about that Inspector,” he eventually said. “We never discussed work. I told you that. It wasn’t like I actually could talk about what I did. Doctor patient privilege you know. I’m not allowed to discuss anything, legally.

Burke had the urge to tell him he wasn’t allowed to do quite a lot of the things they did together legally, but managed to suppress it.

“I mean there are some names, you know, none I can mention, but local celebrities certainly, who require a certain amount of discretion. I mean, take the example of a former TV presenter, now a respected local businessman who’s had certain procedures done to lessen the subcutaneous fat from his middle and pump up the girth elsewhere shall we say. If that got out I’d be in trouble.”

“Indeed,” Burke replied, thinking it kind of just had but that it would be unlikely to injure James Lindsay’s career after the sex scandal of the previous year had killed it stone dead.

The lawyer sank a little lower in his cheap plastic chair.

“Of course, you could be in bother client wise if and when this comes to court. Although admittedly it’s unlikely to bother the client you seem to be talking about,” Burke added.

Douglas laughed the hollow laugh of a man who knew he had been beaten. “What do you want to know Inspector? You’re going to have to give me a starting point because frankly I can’t think straight anymore.”

“Were you there on the night Oleg Karpov died?”

“I was.”

“Did you kill Oleg Karpov?”

Douglas snorted through his tears. “What do you think?”

“I think I’d like you to answer the question for the benefit of the tape. I’m old fashioned like that.”

“No Inspector, I didn’t kill Oleg Karpov. I am not a killer. I may have lost the odd patient back in the days before I specialised but I did my damndest to get them back. I’ve taken the Hippocratic Oath and I didn’t have my fingers crossed. It would go against the grain somewhat.”

“It’s not like you would be too squeamish for it though.”

Douglas shook his head. “I suppose not, but I’ve always considered myself a sculptor rather than a butcher. I certainly couldn’t have killed Oleg.”

“As you say, you were close.”

“About as close as two human beings can be but I suppose that says more about me than anything.”

“How so?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been terribly close to anyone.”

“Really?”

“I blame my parents more than anything, but of course don’t we all. I’m sure my kids will have plenty to say about me given time. It’s very fashionable these days. You’re not allowed to accept blame yourself. I can see why it sells.”

“So were you alone?”

“Not initially. There were other guests. And yes, paid ones before you ask.”

“Could any of these paid guests have harboured any grudges against Mr Karpov?”

“Doubtful. He was always more than generous as far as I could tell. In any case Inspector, it wasn’t any of them.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“They were quite the wrong shape. The kind of people who frequented Oleg’s place were of a slight build. Not much to them.”

“You saw the killers?” Burke demanded, as his blood pressure surged.

“I did,” Douglas replied coldly like he was recounting something much more mundane.

“What did they look like?” Burke asked, wanting to dive across the table and grab Douglas by the throat but reining himself in, trying not to think about the man hours wasted on this because some chinless wonder didn’t have the guts to come forward.

Douglas smiled as he took a deep breath and emitted a long drawn out sigh. “I didn’t see their faces Inspector. They were dressed like terrorists or something.”

“In what way precisely? What do terrorists dress like exactly?”

“They were head to toe in black and wearing balaclavas. You know, the ones with the holes for eyes. Where do they get those from anyway? Some kind of terrorist shop? Anyway that’s all I could see on the screen.”

“On the screen?”

“He had a hefty security system, but surely you know that. The front door and the hallway were both on the big screen at the touch of a button.”

“Which big screen?”

“The massive one, the one you can’t miss. That basement’s wired for everything.”

“What basement?” Burke had a sudden sinking feeling.

Douglas laughed now, “The one I was cowering in Inspector, the one Oleg liked to have his parties in.” He laughed again. “And the one you so clearly haven’t found.”

Burke didn’t know what to say to this so he focussed on the questions at hand. “What did you see while you were cowering in the basement?” He asked as calmly as possible.

“Oleg went to the hallway. He was the worse for wear you might say, so he didn’t really think about who might be there.” Douglas’s eyes seemed to glaze over as he thought about this from what was now presumably a safe distance in his mind’s eye. “I heard the rumbling from upstairs so I checked on the big screen and there it was all happening in front of me. I couldn’t believe my eyes at first. There were three of them, all in black, guys obviously, presumably. They were all large, one particularly rotund, probably older, and all had guns, AK47’s I think.”

Burke tried to keep him focussed. “Was there any kind of conversation?”

“Not that I saw, if anything they were ruthlessly to the point.”

“How do you mean?”

“Once he was in the hallway they just shot him. I say they, it was the middle one, the fat one who shot him. The others were just there for, well I don’t know what but they just trashed the place after that.”

“You think they were AK47’s you say?” Burke asked, allowing a break from Douglas’s grim narrative.

“I could pretty much guarantee that,” Douglas replied.

“You know a lot about guns?”

“Not especially, but I know an AK47 when I see one.”

“How?”

Douglas sniffed. “Oleg had one proudly attached to the wall in a display case in the basement, which you would know if you’d discovered it.”

“Or if you’d come forward earlier,” Burke added, probably anything but helpfully, but sometimes you had to say what you were thinking.

“Of course,” said Douglas. “If you didn’t discover the basement, and Oleg’s other life which is all down there you wouldn’t have known anything about me and I wouldn’t ever have needed to come forward.”

Burke couldn’t resist a wide smile at this. “No you wouldn’t. Good of you to go out of your way to do that though.”

“Just get the bastards will you?”

“Bastard getting does tend to be what I do,” he confirmed, before adding “in the meantime sir don’t go anywhere too far.”