Impeding Justice (4 page)

‘
Good job, Storey. I’ll put
a pint behind the bar for you later. That is if our send off to
Pete is still on. Any decision on that, gov, in light of us being
in the thick of it all?’

‘
Yes, I think we should go
ahead as planned. I’ve told the Chief about it, he didn’t object
and said he’d join us for a while.’

‘
Great, so what do you think
of this little lot…?’

‘
It sounds too bloody good
to be true to me. What the hell is he playing at? He never makes
mistakes like this.’

‘
Well, let’s hope he has.
Surely not even he can be on top of his game all the
time.’

‘
I’ll drink to that one.
Right, let’s go and see what Mr Abromovski has to say for himself.
Contact me the moment you have more info, Storey.’

* * *

The lift reached the penthouse-office at
break-neck speed.

‘
Shit, good job I didn’t
have that full English. That’s churned my stomach.’

‘
Wimp,’ Lorne mocked him,
but knew an unsettling of her own insides.

The plush foyer opened up entrances to
several doors. They chose the one marked, *Mr Abromovski’s Personal
Assistant.*

Flashing their ID’s to the stereotypical
behind the desk, Lorne asked, ‘Is he in?’

‘
Yes, but…’

Lorne nodded to John. Together they barged
through the double ornate doors behind the PA’s desk.

‘
Hey, you can’t… I’m sorry,
Mr Abromovski they just…’

The brightness of the office startled Lorne.
Everything in it glittered giving the impression, at first glance,
of a room made of mirrors.

‘
Mr Abromovski, I’m
Detective Inspector Simpkins and this is my…my partner, Detective
Sergeant Fox. We need to ask you a few questions.’

The man sitting behind the thick glass desk
looked to be in his late fifties. She focused on him for a moment.
Apart from not trusting him, the view through the wall-sized window
behind him, though magnificent, and far reaching over the Capital,
did nothing to stave off her queasy feeling. This vast expanse of
light reflecting in the desk had formed her first opinion of the
office, but when she glanced away she saw the other three walls
held floor to ceiling books stacked library fashion. All leather
bound and of the legal and encyclopaedia type, they relieved the
dazzling effect and helped to ground her and settle her
stomach.

Abromovski stood up. Lorne waited. The tactic
he employed of not reacting, but in an unhurried way, shrugging
himself into his expensive jacket did not intimidate her.

When he spoke his voice held a thick accent,
‘Police? What can I do for you? And, why have you barged in here in
this way? Am I under arrest? If so, it can only be because you
British hold me responsible for the high price of petrol!’

Lorne ignored his dry as the Sahara Desert
humour, ‘Where were you on Tuesday afternoon, sir?’

His audible gulp spoke volumes. He turned
towards the window.

‘
I believe I was here all
day. Of course, I would have to verify this with my diary,’ he
spoke to his reflection, his composure regained.

Lorne walked over and stood beside him.

Forcing herself to look out, shock
reverberated through her. He had a bird’s eye view of the Houses of
Parliament! Any thoughts of him possibly being an innocent
bystander dissolved. She looked away stalling the vomit that
threatened to undo her.

‘
We would like to see your
diary, sir. Did you have any meetings that day?’

When she looked back towards him she found
his eyes scrutinising her body. He didn’t attempt to stop doing so
under the scowl she gave him. A cold trickle of unease ran up her
spine. She didn’t let it deter her from staring back at him. If he
thought to demean her in this way, he had another thought coming.
The Met’s hierarchy had tried and failed and they were bloody gold
medallists in the art.

He shifted his gaze, a small triumph for her,
but enough for her to know he’d taken on board her strength of
character. He made a play of shuffling some papers as he answered
her question, ‘Yes, I am a busy man. My life is a series of
meetings.’

‘
We’ll need a list and will
be questioning them all.’

Looking up at her again, he raised a
quizzical eyebrow imitating Roger Moore in his charming Bond
days.

Why did the hair on her neck crawl? She could
handle him! Another question, get back on safe ground, ‘What type
of car do you drive, sir?’

‘
Take your pick, Inspector.
I am a very wealthy man.’

‘
On Tuesday, what car did
you bring to work?’

‘
Let me think. Ah, that’s
right my chauffeur brought me in my black Limo. The white one was
in the workshop for a service. I prefer the white model though, so
much more stylish than plain black. So much more, sexier, wouldn’t
you agree?’

‘
I’m not really interested
in cars, Mr Abromovski. I tend to see them as a reflection of a
man’s ego.’

He laughed, ‘Inspector, I am a very busy man,
tell me what this is all about.’

‘
Do you own a black four by
four, license plate UNI 123?’

‘
Yes, I do…’

‘
Did you lend that vehicle
to anybody or notice it missing at all on Tuesday of this
week?’

Lorne took a couple of steps towards the
retreating Russian. Her purpose, to invade his personal space and
to unnerve him, an old trick her father had taught her at the start
of her career. One of many he’d written in a notebook for her. He
had mastered the art of dealing with unsavoury characters with
something to hide. It worked. Abromovski stepped backwards and
bumped into his chair.

‘
No... No… As far as I know
the car remained at my home.’

The moment of silence she’d allowed cracked
with the sound of her mobile’s high pitched buzz.

Not taking her eyes off Abromovski she
flipped the lid.

‘
Storey, ma-am. I’ve dug up
some stuff on Abromovski. I think you should give him a wide berth
at the moment and get back to base as soon as you can.’

‘
Elaborate for
me.’

‘
He is already under
surveillance and we could be stepping on some very important
toes.’

‘
Right, we're on our
way.’

Abromovski’s relief materialised in a
smirk.

‘
We’ll have to leave it
there, sir, something has come up.’

Fuck, it sounded bloody feeble. She couldn’t
leave it there. ‘We’ll be back. I am not convinced by your obvious
attempts to put me off course...’

She caught John’s eye. His gaze held a
warning. He must have guessed the phone call had warned her
off.

Back in the foyer Lorne could feel
Abromovski’s steel-cut eyes boring into her back.

‘
Guys like that make my skin
crawl…’

John didn’t comment.

Chapter Six.

The Unicorn traced a finger along the thigh
of the scantily clad girl. A whore, a high-class one, but still a
whore, she’d serve his purpose for now. He had better things lined
up for the very near future…

His phone juddered the tune he’d assigned to
the Russian. The interruption to the pleasure he’d anticipated
rendered his patience tauter than a hangman’s noose. As he flipped
the lid he told the girl to take a hike.

‘
Sergei?’

The Russian’s part as a useful link in his
plans would soon end.

‘
The police have just left
here. They know my car was used by you on Tuesday…’

‘
Calm down, Sergei. What
exactly did they say?’

Sergei Abromovski told him in full, the
conversation he’d had with the two detectives and how the phone
call Lorne had received caused her to abruptly end their
meeting.

‘
So… Just exactly what are
you worried about?’

‘
What’s going on? Are you
listening to me? You were careless. You’ve implicated me in your
little game. I demand to know what you intend doing about
it.’

‘
Trust me. My plan is about
to get interesting.’

‘
What the hell do you mean
by that? Did you incriminate me intentionally?’

The Unicorn bit the end off a Havana cigar,
lit it with the solid gold lighter laying beside him on the
antique, mirror-topped bedside-table. Another few hours and it’ll
all be worth it. Tomorrow will be the start for him. He thought
about the yacht he would acquire and sail down to Monaco, where he
would surround himself with beautiful rich people. For the Russian
it would be his last day…

‘
Sergei, would I do
something like that to you, my great friend. It was a genuine
accident, I assure you.’ The lie sounded convincing enough and
after a moment the Russian accepted it and rang off.

The Unicorn lay back on his bed a smile curled his
lip.
His father would be proud
of him.

Thinking of his father triggered the pleasing
memory of what had happened on his sixteenth birthday. On that day
he’d savoured the sweet taste of revenge for all the lessons of
‘use and abuse’, which had ground into the very soul of him after
years of watching his father’s fists as large as melons, brutalise
his mother into submission. Then, when she cowered at his feet, a
bloodied heap of nothing, he’d beat him, his only son, as a way of
a taster of what he’d get if he stepped out of line.

But, his day of retribution had come. A mercy killing some
might say… His father
had
begged for
mercy.

Begged in hollers, loud, hoarse and deeper
than screams, drowning out the crack each of his chubby fingers had
made as they broke in two.

Inhaling smoke deep into his lungs The
Unicorn blew rings into the air and watched them disintegrate. His
mind gave him pictures of his father’s entrails as they’d spewed
out, like overgrown worms. Tears of blood had seeped from his
father’s eyes. Red drops trickling down his ugly face.

He’d drawn and quartered the bastard.

Describing the incident in graphic detail
with the intention of keeping greedy business associates in line
had had the desired effect. Very few had double-crossed him.

He thought
about the Russian. Replaced his father’s image with Sergio
Abromovski’s and allowed his imagination to act out the torture
once more. Doing so he experienced a pleasure far deeper than any
the whore would have given him.

Chapter Seven
.

‘
Whose toes will we be
stepping on?’ Lorne asked as soon as they returned to the squad
room.

‘
MI6, ma’am.’ Storey
informed her.

John let out a high-pitched whistle, ‘Them
are pretty big toes, gov.’

‘
How did you find out,
Storey?’

‘
I was doing the background
checks on our friend Sergei and his company, ma-am, when my
computer crashed. Next thing I knew my phone rang and this guy
announced he was from MI6 and told me to back off. When I asked
why, he told me to ask my superior to ring him ASAP. His name’s
Tony Warner, ma’am. That’s his extension number right
there.’

Lorne took the post-it and noted the number
Storey pointed to among several scrawled on it.

‘
Sounds ominous, I’ll give
him a ring. I wonder what our Russian friend has been up
to.’

* * *

‘
Is that, Tony
Warner?’

‘
It is. Who wants to
know?’

‘
Detective Inspector, Lorne
Simpkins.’

‘
Who?’

‘
Cut the crap, Mr. Warner,
you know damn well who I am and why I am ringing. Do you have a
problem?’ She suspected he had more than just the one.

‘
We should meet.’

‘
I haven’t got time. I’m on
a tight deadline.’

‘
I’m well aware of your
deadline, Inspector. You’re barking up the wrong tree with Sergei
Abromovski, he has nothing to do with this.’

‘
Oh. What makes you so sure
about that?’

‘
I’ve said enough over the
phone. Meet me in fifteen minutes in the White Swan car
park.’

‘
Right. I’m driving a
Vauxhall Vectra…’

‘
I know what you drive and
I’ll have no trouble recognising you so no need for the white rose
in your collar. Oh and, come alone.’

Just who the hell does this guy think he is?
All this cloak and dagger bollocks!

‘
John, I’m going out. It
looks like our hands are tied on this investigation until I’ve
heard what this guy has to say.’

‘
I’ll just get my
jacket…’

‘
No. You’re not
needed…’

‘
You’re meeting this guy
alone, where?’

‘
The White Swan car park and
I’m sure I don’t need an escort or a bullet proof. He’s MI6 - a
supposed good guy.’

Lorne arrived first. Not long after another
Vauxhall Vectra, not dissimilar to her own, pulled into the space
alongside. Out the corner of her eye, she observed, the
thirty-something, fit looking man staring straight ahead of him.
Warner, no doubt and sitting there with an arrogance that demanded
she join him. Sod that! You want to speak to me buddy; my car is
just as warm.