Vendetta (14 page)

DC Martin blushed at her remark and Rio reminded herself she was meant to be his personal supervisor. ‘OK, let’s do a sandwich approach – bad news, good news, bad news.’

She threw her jacket on the back of her chair at her desk and sat down.

Eagerly Martin got up and went over to her. He knew better than to perch on the edge, casualness just wasn’t the DI’s style, so he pulled up a chair instead. ‘There’s no match to the hotel victim’s DNA in our system or dental records, which suggests she got into the country illegally and kept herself off the radar. So I’ve put in a call to Europol and Interpol to do a search.’

‘Good news?’

‘We’ve got a record of the DNA of the blood found on the bed in the hotel.’

Rio pulled herself straight. ‘Good work, Martin. So what’s the bad news?’

‘When I tried to match the DNA to a face, the computer didn’t want to cough up the info.’

‘What do you mean it didn’t want to play ball?’

He shrugged. ‘Kept coming up as blocked with a code. I chatted to one of the lab guys who said it could be happening for lots of reasons, including the original information being put into the new system incorrectly.’

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Rio hated, totally hated, having to rely on machines. What she wouldn’t admit to herself was that she didn’t like not being in absolute control.

‘We need that match . . .’ she ground out.

‘Yeah, I know boss, I’ll keep on at the lab guys.’

‘What about the image on the security camera from the hotel? Have we got a clearer image . . . ?’

Her words faded when she saw Martin look down, avoiding her gaze.

‘Am I going to have to squeeze your balls to get the info out of you?’

That made the young man blush darker than before. She knew she could be blunt and vulgar, but that’s just how she was. If Martin didn’t like it, he could fast-track off out of her squad.

So Martin told her straight. ‘The weather Up North has been shite, which means our expert has been delayed—’

‘Get someone who works this side of the Watford Gap, for crying out loud.’

‘Cutbacks. Apparently that department was slashed in the latest financial cull.’ Rio threw out a noise of utter disgust. ‘There isn’t anyone else. He says he’ll be here in a few hours. And there aren’t any Russian translators working today, so we can’t decipher the words on the tattoo.’

‘Good job they’re not invading then . . .’ Rio blasted.

‘They’re on a three-day week—’

‘Don’t tell me,’ Rio jumped in, her sarcasm hitting the ten button. ‘Cutbacks.’

She almost turned the air blue. What the hell was The Met coming to when it was at the beck and call of bureaucrats who just didn’t get the basics of police work? Might as well distribute leaflets in prisons saying there was going to be a crime festival in town every day and dick was going to be done about it.

‘I could ask a friend of mine who works at the Russian embassy to translate the writing,’ Martin tentatively threw out.

Rio shook her head. ‘No can do. We’re only permitted to use official personnel – using anyone else could contaminate our investigation. When we bring someone to trial for this murder, we don’t need to give the prosecution any grounds to trip up our case.’

Rio slipped her thoughts back to the investigation. In all her years in the Force, she’d only known a few occasions where a DNA sample in the system hadn’t come through with a name. Mind you, those IT idiots had changed the network last year, which had thrown a few spanners into the works, but that should all have settled down. She needed to get that DNA match.

Rio left Martin and moved out of The Fort towards the older building on the left side that housed the forensic team. This was one of the only police complexes that had an on-site forensic team. It was more an experiment, really, to see if, in the words of official policy, it would assist more ‘joined-up thinking’. Joined-up thinking, my sweet black arse, Rio thought as she took the stairs to the third floor.

She saw Charlie as soon as she entered the front office of the lab.

‘DI Wray,’ the forensic specialist said as soon as she saw her. ‘I’m glad you’ve come over. I’ve got two pieces of information that I think will help the investigation.’ The other woman took Rio to her workspace and opened a file.

‘I found something interesting from the scene. Blood on the wardrobe in the main room. It wasn’t much, just a fine spray. From the direction of the blood, someone was hit by something violent as he or she stood near the doorway.’

‘Like a blunt instrument?’

‘No, from the blood pattern, I think the person was shot.’

‘Could the blood have belonged to the victim in the bath?’

‘No. The blood matches the person who was lying on the bed. Maybe the victim shot him . . .’

‘No.’ Rio’s spine stiffened. ‘That doesn’t make any sense. If the victim shot him, surely she would have managed to get away . . .’ Her shoulders went back as another idea hit her. ‘What if there was a third person there? Someone who shoots our dead woman, then shoots someone else as they come into the room. Leaves them on the bed to die. Except they don’t die, they escape.’

Two victims, one murderer?

One victim, one murderer?

One victim, two murderers?

Rio’s mind buzzed with possible scenarios.

‘And the other piece of information,’ Charlie shot over Rio’s thoughts. ‘You were right: the towel from the doctor’s clinic matches the torn towel in the hotel room.’

At last, confirmation that the two murder scenes were connected. Now all she had to do was figure out what that connection was. How the fuck was Doctor Mohammed Masri linked with the faceless woman in the bath? Had he treated the person who left the pool of blood on the bed? The murderer? She wasn’t going to get any more answers until she found out whose medical record was missing from the doctor’s.

Charlie carried on, ‘And the blood on the towel at the doctor’s matches the blood found on the bed in the hotel room.’

Two murders. Two different crime scenes. One killer connected to both crimes? And the only way of finding out was getting a DNA match on the blood. A match the computer system wasn’t giving up. Dead end. Or was it?

‘Detective Martin says that we can’t get access to that information because of some code. Can you show me the information you found out about the blood?’

Charlie took a sip from her drink and grimaced at the heat it pushed into her mouth. ‘I haven’t been working on that aspect of the case, but sure it shouldn’t be a problem.’ She leaned over her desk and tapped away at her keyboard. The information for the DNA came up.

Match.

‘This new system is bloody frustrating,’ the forensic expert muttered under her breath as she pressed enter but nothing changed on the screen.

She looked up at Rio. ‘You might have to find out who the match is by manually going through the files, which will probably take you ages . . .’

Her words dribbled away when she realised that Rio wasn’t listening to her. Instead the younger woman’s dark gaze was fixed firmly to the screen.

‘What are you looking at?’ she asked.

For a few seconds Rio didn’t respond. Then she pushed herself straight. ‘Nothing. Thanks Charlie.’

Rio strode away. Couldn’t believe what she’d seen on the computer screen. A code in the top right-hand corner.

1402C.

The coding system she knew was used for undercover cops. But this one was different because it ended with the letter C.

thirty-one

Sergei led Mac towards the villa’s garage like a condemned man. Most of the gang waited inside. The garage was a good size, free of clutter except for a monster 4x4 and bathtub that looked like it had seen some pretty damn good days inside a Victorian whorehouse. Reuben sat on the edge of the tub, one of his hands massaging the ornate tap mixer.

Reuben. Bath.

Mac wasn’t prepared for this image because all he saw was Reuben in the bath standing over Elena.

‘Ain’t you hearing me, amigo?’

Sergei’s irritated voice shook Mac up. His eyes darted around. Everyone was looking at him. Sergei’s thug gently pushed Mac against a wall and then turned to face the front. Mac felt the knife pressing against his chest. All eyes were on him. Is this where he was going to take his final breath? Well, fuck, if it was, he wasn’t going down without slicing up some criminal meat. His hand inched inside his jacket. Felt the top end of the handle. Then every eye snapped away from him and settled on their leader. Mac stayed like that for a few seconds, hand on the knife, back pressed against the wall until he was sure he wasn’t the centre of attention any more. Sergei strode over to the bath and whispered something to his brother.

Finally Reuben got to his feet. His voice was low, but clear, with that edge of drama he always added at meetings to remind everyone he was Top Dog. ‘We are looking at a war. Others are trying to take over our business. Men have already been killed; many more are going to die.’ His gaze touched each man. ‘And traitors have already been uncovered . . .’

Did he mean Elena? Him? Instinctively Mac’s hand moved up, but stopped. A blade wasn’t going to save him against a force of men this strong.

Reuben continued as if Mac was just another man in the room. ‘And things are about to get very bad indeed. Of course I have already taken measures to ensure that the future of our company will be secure. It starts tonight with a delivery coming in at eleven.’

Mac heard the last words Elena had spoken to him:

‘It’s happening tomorrow night.’

‘What’s happening tomorrow tonight?’

‘At eleven . . . He’s going to kill me.’

Was this what she’d been so fearful of? A delivery coming into this country? But Mac had no time to think as he carefully tuned back in to Reuben’s words.

‘The delivery will solve all our problems. I’ll be giving everyone information on their roles later on . . .’

‘What’s the delivery?’ Sergei’s enforcer, Vladimir, asked.

Reuben sucked the man into his deadly gaze. ‘Why? Are you one of those traitors I talked about?’ Reuben stormed over to him and got deep into his face. ‘One of those giving information to our rivals?’

The man rapidly shook his head. ‘No way, Mr Volk . . .’

‘Because if you are,’ Reuben spat into his face, ‘I’m going to make you watch while I fuck your woman in the arse and then kill her. Then I’ll do the same to your pretty teen daughter. After that you won’t even have your teeth remaining so that someone can identify your stinking remains.’

Sergei placed his hand on his brother’s arm. ‘Hey, you know Vlad didn’t mean to diss you, bro. You know he’s my boy, my NBK.’ Mac knew that NBK meant Natural-Born Killer, an affectionate term Sergei often used to describe his enforcer, Vladimir, no doubt another phrase the young Russian had taken from his beloved rap music.

Reuben shook off his brother and faced the group again. The blood was strong in his face. Those tunnel eyes of his looking like they would take anyone who crossed him on a one-way trip to the pit of hell.

The muscle in his cheek moved with the wiggle of a worm under his skin as he fought for control. ‘This delivery is going to be run on a strictly need-to-know basis.’ A chilling menace crept into his tone. ‘If any one of you fails, in any way, either by accident or for any other reason, your bloody body will be fished out of the Thames. Reluctant as I am to get involved in that sort of menial work, I will do it myself. With pleasure . . .’

Whatever was coming in tonight was important enough for Reuben to make sure its knowledge stayed in-house. Had to be arms coming in, Mac decided. But it couldn’t be regular, run-of-the-mill hardware, or why would Elena think it would lead to her death?

‘We have another problem,’ Reuben carried on, his voice steadier now. ‘The person responsible for our communications with abroad seems to have disappeared. Elena was meant to call me last night.’ He looked around the gathering, searching everyone’s face before finally his gaze came to rest on Mac. ‘Has anyone seen Elena in the past twenty-four hours?’

Reuben caught Mac’s eye for a brief moment before turning back to the rest of the crew. Mac’s mind started reeling. Why would Reuben ask about Elena if he’d snuffed out her life?

‘I saw her last night at an event at the embassy,’ the gang leader continued. ‘She was OK at first but looked upset by the end. She wouldn’t tell me what the problem was, but I told her to ring me once she got home.’

This wasn’t the first time that Reuben had mentioned shaking hands with the Russian embassy. He obviously had a contact there, which probably explained why the Russians wouldn’t give out any information about him to the British authorities. Sometimes the line between politics and crime was almost invisible.
What had Elena been doing at the embassy?
Mind you, as Reuben’s communications lady, she often went spinning around town with him.

Abruptly Sergei stepped forward. ‘My girlfriend—’

But he was stopped short by Reuben yanking him backwards by his collar. ‘What’s the matter with you . . . ?’

Sergei lashed out at his brother’s hand but, even as he did so, he recoiled in horror at what he’d done. No one, absolutely no one, put their hand on the boss and lived to tell the tale. Every man kept silent, waiting to see if Reuben was going to fuck his little brother up. But Reuben didn’t speak, didn’t move. Then he rubbed the back of his hand down the front of his trousers like he was removing dirt. His action gave his brother time to step back and hang his head like a whipped dog.