Stolen Souls

28

LENNON KNOCKED ON the door and waited. A Do Not Disturb card hung from the handle. A maid smiled as she pushed a trolley laden with sheets and towels past.

He knocked again.

A smartly dressed man of early middle age emerged from the elevator along the corridor. A briefcase in one hand, he studied the signs indicating the layout of the floor, evidently searching for a room number, before approaching the door at which Lennon waited. The suited man rapped the door twice with his knuckles. It opened instantly and he stepped inside.

“Excuse me,” Lennon said.

The door closed in his face. He didn’t see who had opened it, only caught a glimpse of the suite beyond, including leather armchairs and a huge flat-screen television.

He hammered the door with his fist.

The suited man opened it. “Can I help you?”

Lennon peered over his shoulder. “I’m Detective Inspector Jack Lennon, PSNI. I need to speak with Mr. Strazdas.”

The man blocked the doorway with his body. “Identification.”

Lennon smelled a lawyer. He produced his wallet and showed his ID.

“I’m David Rainey,” the man said. “I represent Mr. Strazdas. Maybe I can help you?”

“It’s a personal matter.” Lennon leaned forward, trying to see more of the room.

Rainey straightened his back, using what height he had to obscure Lennon’s view. “I have Mr Strazdas’s complete confidence.”

“Even so, I’d like to speak to Mr. Strazdas in person. I’m afraid I have some bad news for him.”

“Very well.” Rainey stood back. “Please come in.”

Lennon stepped into the suite’s living area, all high ceilings and opulent upholstery. Arturas Strazdas sat at the center of a couch, his legs crossed, his arms draped across the back. He watched Lennon with cold blue eyes set in a pale face beneath his thick eyebrows. Perspiration formed a sheen on his forehead. Dark circles weighted his eyes. Raw red skin edged his nostrils.

“Nice suite,” Lennon said. “I don’t think I’ve ever set foot in a place like this. In my line of work, it tends to be the dumps you get called to.”

“No one called you here,”

Strazdas said, his accent thick. “No,” Lennon said. “Can I sit down?”

Strazdas did not reply. Lennon looked to Rainey, who extended a hand toward an armchair on the other side of the coffee table from his client.

As Lennon sat down, he said, “I have some very bad news for you, Mr. Strazdas.”

“Go on,” Strazdas said.

“Your brother is Tomas Strazdas, correct?” Lennon watched his eyes.

“Correct,” Strazdas said.

“I regret to inform you that Tomas was found dead last night at Dufferin Road, in the Harbour Estate. He was identifiable by a Lithuanian driver’s licence in his wallet.”

Strazdas didn’t flinch, didn’t draw breath, didn’t react in any way.

“Pending confirmation by a postmortem to be carried out by the State Pathologist’s Department, we believe Tomas was murdered. Most likely he was killed elsewhere, we suspect at an apartment on the outskirts of Bangor, then his body was moved to where it was found. We believe his killer, or killers, intended to dump his body in the water, but they were disturbed by an officer of the Harbour Police, whom they assaulted before making their escape.”

Strazdas stared ahead. His tongue slipped from between his lips, moistened them, then retreated.

Rainey cleared his throat. “That is indeed very sad news, Inspector. Mr. Strazdas thanks you for bringing it to him. Now, if you don’t mind, he would like some time to take it in.”

He took a business card from his pocket and brought it to Lennon. “If you would like to speak to Mr. Strazdas further, please call this number and I’ll ensure that he cooperates fully with your investigation.”

Lennon took the card and dropped it on the coffee table. “Thank you. I have a few questions now, if it’s all the same to you.”

Rainey leaned in close and spoke in a hushed tone. “Mr. Strazdas needs some peace to absorb this terrible news. Now, I really must ask you to—”

“Mr. Rainey, I’m sure you understand that in a murder investigation like this, time is of the essence. The sooner Mr. Strazdas answers my questions, the sooner we can find who killed his brother. You wouldn’t want you or your client to appear to have been obstructive to the investigation, would you?”

Rainey straightened and looked to Strazdas.

Strazdas gave a nod so small, Lennon wasn’t sure he’d seen it at all.

“All right,” Rainey said. “Make it quick. And when I say it’s over, it’s over. Agreed?”

“Okay,” Lennon said.

Rainey retreated to the corner.

Lennon took his notepad and pen from his pocket. “Mr. Strazdas, what was your brother doing in Northern Ireland at the time of his death?”

“Tomas was a citizen of the European Union,” Strazdas said. “He was entitled to travel and reside anywhere within the EU without hindrance. As am I.”

“Of course,” Lennon said. “But that wasn’t my question. What was Tomas doing here? Work? Pleasure?”

“I have an interest in investing in this city.” Strazdas waved a hand at the window as if the buildings beyond were his for the taking. “That’s why I flew in last night. Tomas had been here for some time, looking at various properties on my behalf, some for potential development, and one as a possible site for an office for my main business.”

“Your main business,” Lennon said. “I understand that’s running a labor agency. Supplying migrant workers to local businesses.”

“That’s correct.”

“So, Tomas will have been in touch with commercial estate agents and so on? Who might have he been talking to?”

“I can confirm that,” Rainey said from the corner. “I visited several properties around the city with him. I can give you a list of agents, if needed.”

Lennon ignored him. “Did Tomas know two brothers called Sam and Mark Mawhinney?”

Strazdas shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“What was Tomas’s involvement with Loyalist paramilitary groups in Belfast?”

Rainey said, “None that we are aware of. Inspector, if this line of questioning continues, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“Tomas has been arrested several times for public order offenses,” Lennon said. “He was a fighter.”

“Tomas was quick-tempered.” Strazdas showed no anger at the smearing of his brother’s character. “He took after our father that way. Sometimes it got him into trouble.”

“Perhaps he picked a fight with the wrong person last night.”

“Perhaps.”

“Did Tomas work for you supplying trafficked women to the local sex trade?”

Silence for long seconds.

Rainey walked across the room, extended a hand toward the door, and smiled. “Thank you, Inspector, that will be all.”

Lennon took the lawyer’s card from the coffee table and stood. “I’ll be in touch.”

“I have no doubt of that.” Rainey stood back to allow Lennon to pass, then showed him out to the corridor.

“Inspector,” he called as Lennon was about to walk to the lift.

Lennon turned.

“I won’t tolerate any harassment of my client.” Rainey gave his best, sternest glare.

Lennon walked back to him, came right up close. “And I won’t tolerate a fucking gang war on Christmas Eve. I count four dead in less than twenty-four hours. As far as I can tell, it’s been nothing but scumbags going after each other, but a young police officer is in hospital over this. Whatever’s going on, it better stop. One more body turns up, and your client is the first on my list for questioning. Understood?”

“If you wish to interview my client again, you’ll need to do so under caution,” Rainey said, folding his arms across his shallow chest.

Lennon said, “That can be arranged.”