by Wes Markin
‘Hmm.’ Borya chewed.
‘I just deliver the message.’
‘You said,’ Borya nodded, stood, picked up the file and walked away.
10
THE INCIDENT ROOM was its usual swollen self.
It was inevitable that the person Yorke’s eyes settled on first was Luke Parkinson; it was equally inevitable that he had a smirk plastered across his face.
So, he’s aware that this is my swansong and that he’ll be stepping up to the fore later in the day.
Yorke was tempted to smirk back but resisted the urge. This man was deserving of a big surprise. The bigger the better.
At the back of the room, Joan Madden entertained their special guest from SEROCU. Yorke, himself, couldn’t recall a single time she’d been entertaining. Yet, here was Robinson smiling away. Yorke was in awe of Madden’s ability to turn it on with other VIPs. There was no end to his boss’s talents.
Yorke’s hand settled on Jeremy Dawson’s shoulder. An operative for the Home Office Major Enquiry System that had been with them through thick and thin. Yorke leaned over. ‘Congratulations on getting married.’
‘Thanks, sir, it was great.’
‘I saw the photographs that were pinged out last week. That cake in the shape of a laptop was a nice touch.’
Dawson patted his laptop. ‘Based on this very one. It’s how we met.’
Jeremy had married another HOLMES 2 operative he’d met on the Christian Severance case.
‘I know, Jeremy, I was there.’ Yorke smiled.
As Yorke backed away towards the whiteboard on which Operation Tagline was scrawled in black, jagged letters, Yorke swung his eyes around the room for friendly faces, as he always did before a briefing. Following an initial pang of sorrow at the absences of Topham and Gardner, he offered a smile to Jake, and then to both Willows, and Pemberton. The two detectives who’d really stepped up to the plate in recent months and offered him solid sanctuary for his trust. Yorke had observed that they hadn’t been getting on too well of late but was pleased to see that they were deep in conversation and looked to be getting over whatever had been bothering them. Pemberton’s dry humour was often a good antidote to Willows’ extreme acerbic tendencies, so having them on the same page could only be beneficial.
Yorke started the briefing, introduced Robinson, and then weaved from image to image on the whiteboard recapping the previous day’s events. As he did this, he thought of Borya Turgenev, and his nickname, the Dancer, and a strange thought settled in his mind. We all dance, don’t we? Every day. We dance.
To raised eyebrows, he filled his team in on Patricia’s father’s connection to Operation Tagline, laying the foundations for Parkinson’s later step up. Even with this groundwork, Parkinson’s elevation would still come as a surprise to everyone in the room, even those who actually liked the idiot. There were far more colleagues worthy of promotion. But this was Madden’s masterplan, and who was he to question it?
‘The accountant, George Johnson, is where both myself and DS Willows will be heading next. He handles Firth and Wheelhouse’s money. And we all know, from experience, that where money is involved, the answers aren’t too far away.’
He watched Parkinson grin. On every other day, a comment would be forthcoming. Something along the lines of: Does it not worry you that your wife’s father is connected to this murder?
That’s why Madden will have warned him of doing this before the briefing. If he so much as breathed a controversial word in this meet, he could kiss goodbye to the biggest step up of his career. She’d bought his silence.
Yorke gave Willows the opportunity to feedback on her interview with author, Matthew Peacock, before briefly discussing the media circus that was growing around their new headline-spinner, The Reaper.
‘Are we going to tell them that The Reaper is actually Herbert Wheelhouse’s nickname?’ Jake asked.
‘We could do,’ Yorke said, ‘But I doubt that it’d make a difference. A killer called The Reaper is excellent clickbait for their news outlets, I hardly think they’ll be in a rush to change it.’
It was now time to introduce SEROCU’s involvement. ‘We’re no longer just relying on Herbert Wheelhouse’s say-so that organised crime is behind the murder of his niece, Janice. SEROCU today have bought us more conclusive evidence. I’m going to let Assistant Chief Constable Robinson introduce this evidence to you. He will also introduce a new suspect.’
There were mutterings around the room as Robinson approached the front. It took him about ten minutes to cover everything he’d discussed with Yorke before in his office including the shadowy umbrella organisation Article SE, and their most trusted hitman, Borya Turgenev. He opted not to unleash those photographs of Borya’s crimes but didn’t omit any necessary details from his brief. After he’d finished, Yorke handed out copies of the mugshot of Borya.
‘The fucking Dancer,’ Yorke overheard Parkinson whispering to one of his cronies, ‘he sounds like a fag.’
Robinson continued by giving everyone information on Borya’s background. ‘He had a privileged upbringing. By privileged, I refer only to wealth. His late father was part of a Russian syndicate and had links with running prostitutes from the Ukraine over to Russia. So, nothing privileged about being raised in a morally bankrupt family. We’ve pushed for more information regarding his family – the Turgenevs, and their history but most of the information is classified by the Russians. His sheltered upbringing led him to great opportunities. Dancing being one of them. By his mid-twenties, he was quite a well-known ballet dancer. He had a leading role in the famous ballet, The Nutcracker, which was a consistent sell-out in Moscow. He was quite the big name – could’ve gone somewhere with his life. Instead, he opted for a fight with another dancer and ended up spending the latter half of his twenties in jail – that is where that mugshot just handed out comes from. According to our sources in Russia, when he was released from jail, over ten years ago, he disappeared. The next available information we have is a record of him landing in Heathrow on a visa. It was five years ago, so the visa has since expired.’
Willows’ hand was in the air. Robinson nodded at her. ‘How did a man with a criminal record, and known ties to organised crime, get a visa?’
‘A question we’ve asked our embassy in Russia more than once. The person who granted the visa is long gone. And I mean long gone. A year after granting this visa, he disappeared. It’s a lead we have pursued, relentlessly, to no avail.’
‘So, Borya could have changed his identity?’ Jake said.
‘A certainty,’ Robinson said. ‘There’s more too. But first, can I add that anything that we mention in this room is strictly confidential? This operation will remain with Wiltshire HQ as long as we have unfettered access to the investigation, and you remain receptive to our instruction and support. With the manpower, and knowledge of the area you have available, we can really help each other. But you must be warned. If information relayed in this room starts to find its way into the press, or the political aspect of this investigation begins to heat up, which it may very well do so, we’ll have to take complete control of the case. I like to be transparent. We want to work with you, and we do not want to condescend, but as you can see, we are dealing with a very sensitive situation.’
There was collective nodding from the dozen occupants of the room, and murmurings of agreement.
‘We believe that Borya is being supported by Russia. We’re not basing this assumption on the lack of support in obtaining a profile of him because that reluctance to help is common enough with Russia. We’re basing our belief on the fact that Borya has assassinated four former GRU officers.’
‘Ex-Russian spies?’ Willows said without putting her hand up.
Robinson nodded. ‘The sanctuary and protection we offered them in the United Kingdom didn’t pan out for them.’
Yorke had heard the story back in his office, but he found himself thinking the same thing he had before. It seems no amount of
sanctuary and protection can hold off Borya.
Jake put up his hand. Robinson nodded in his direction. ‘So, he doesn’t just work as a leading hitman for this Article SE, but he also works for the Russian Government silencing double-crossing spies?’
Robinson raised his eyebrows.
Yorke interjected at this point. ‘As farfetched as some of this may sound to us, you must all remember that Assistant Chief Constable Robinson lives these scenarios daily. The evidence he has presented for us today is compelling.’
Robinson nodded. ‘And you can all now understand the need for everything to remain strictly confidential.’
All eyes swung to Yorke. He could see the same question in every face. What now then?
Knowing that this would be the last time he’d be issuing orders in a while, Yorke delivered his plan of action with extra vigour. He again danced around the whiteboard, pointing out salient information, including the fact that Borya Turgenev executed Janice Edwards in a more humane manner than his other victims – if there could be any humanity in murder. Rather than point out the jobs attached to the whiteboard, he went through every officer, individually, personalising their task.
‘At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter who he is or where he comes from. Borya Turgenev executed an innocent woman in cold blood. He must face justice. And to do that, we must do what we do best. We must catch him.’
Everyone left the incident room apart from Yorke and Robinson.
‘Seemed to go well,’ Yorke said.
‘As well as anything can go when dealing with the great British cynicism.’
‘Yes, I apologise, there can be a lot of that in this room.’
‘There can be a lot of it in any room, including the room I come from.’ He smiled. ‘You quickly grow a thick skin in my job. Funny thing is, when you read about spies and whatnot in a daily rag everyone laps it up as fact, but when you present it with cold hard evidence everyone raises an eyebrow.’
Yorke wanted to make himself scarce before it became public knowledge that he was being asked to step down as SIO of Operation Tagline. ‘I’m meeting one of my officers in the carpark, we’re going to check out Wheelhouse and Firth’s accountant, George Johnson. You are welcome to tag along if you want?’
‘I’m due back at HQ for a meeting regarding a potential Article SE informant. Before you get your hopes up, I’ve had many of these meetings before and they rarely come to much, but I must be vigilant. One day something will come off. Besides, I’ve had a gutful of George Johnson. He does the accounts for many of these bastards. Before I leave though Mike, I want to talk to you about something else ...’
‘Sure, sir.’
‘There’s more to Borya Turgenev than what I’ve already told you. Not knowing my audience, I didn’t want to go in too strong. I wanted to leave this final piece for yourself so you can decide how best to utilise the information.’
Yorke nodded. ‘My team … they’ve been through a lot in the past. I don’t think they’d be easily rattled.’
‘Still. I thought it would be prudent to mention it to you first and we didn’t get time to discuss it in our meeting before.’
‘Okay, sir, I’m all ears.’
‘Borya Turgenev’s the worst I’ve come across, and not just because his thirty-nine hits or his sadistic behaviours towards his victims. I told you before that the Turgenevs were a prominent crime family. Were. Before Borya left Russia, he wiped them out. Every last one of them. He shot his parents and mutilated them - cut out their eyes I believe. He shot his three brothers, their wives, his three-year old nephew and his eight-year-old niece. He also paid a visit to his two uncles. Both of whom were also prominent in the syndicate. They’d have welcomed Borya with open arms, and it will have been the last thing they ever did. Reports suggest more facial mutilation. It seems Borya was experimenting, refining his tastes, and developing. Because he’d been reasonably famous in the past for his ballet dancing, the Russian media nicknamed him The Dancer.’ Robinson sighed. ‘The Reaper in the UK, and The Dancer in Russia. Which do you prefer?’
‘Both fill me with dread,’ Yorke said. ‘How the hell did this monster get out of his country and into ours?’
‘Good question. The Russians claim that he’d left before the bodies were discovered. Eight bodies? Nonsense. We suspect they let him leave. If I was a gambling man, I would wager that he was tasked with removing his own family, and then allowed to relocate to the UK to pick off ex-GRU agents. Article SE clearly has ties to the Russians. They have offered Borya a good home and have gained a loyal soldier in return.’
‘And the conspiracy grows.’
‘Yes. Welcome to my world. Listen Mike, you need to stay in constant contact with me. If, for any reason, you cannot get in touch, you should contact my office. I have faith in your investigative abilities, and your team, and that is why we are allowing this to continue. Killing Janice Edwards will be his undoing. I think you can get closer to Borya than anyone has done before, but he is dangerous, incredibly dangerous so keep your updates coming. I should be back here early evening anyway.’
Yorke shook Robinson’s hand, went to the toilet, stopped for a glass of water at the cooler, descended in the elevator and joined Willows in the carpark to go and hunt a Russian hitman.
There was a bench in the target’s back garden. Borya decided to sit a while. The property was detached and the fences high, so he did not worry about being seen.
The target lived alone and would be out for the rest of the day, if not most of the evening. His job for the Wiltshire police demanded such commitment. But, if the officer did make it home early, for whatever reason, Borya would not be at a disadvantage.
He stroked the outline of his pistol through his leather jacket. He was never at a disadvantage.
He felt droplets of rain and looked up at the dark skies. Could this be the bout of turbulent weather many were wishing for? An end to the ash cloud? No one was wishing harder for this than those losing money from the grounded aviation industry. Not that turbulent weather was a guarantee of clear skies. The volcano in Iceland was still erupting, and there had been cases in the past where volcanos had spent over twelve months in flow. If it continued, north-westerly winds would continue to bring the darkness this way.
Borya let his head loll backwards and allowed the sky to spit in his face.
He didn’t want the fury ever to end. It was a symbol of strength and power.
The fiery beast’s volcanic fissures lay under a thick slab of glacial ice. Lava, at over 1000 degrees C, was riddled with pressurised gases. It formed an explosive interaction with the ice. The ash and smoke shot 30,000ft in the air.
It would not be pacified. It would not be controlled.
It would not be beaten.
Borya took a deep breath and felt the moment.
Everything was quiet. Still.
Peace.
Borya stood up. It was time to enter the house.
He always liked to get to know his victim before he silenced them forever.
11
GEORGE JOHNSON’S PREMISES weren’t what you’d expect from an accountant on the payroll of the wealthy and the corrupt. Yorke guessed that his ability to keep a profile so low that it was practically non-existent was what made him so employable.
His office was above an off-licence. It had a clearance sale notice in the window.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen a clearance sale on alcohol before,’ Willows said.
‘Me neither,’ Yorke said, turning the car engine off.
Willows pointed at the looming housing estate. ‘You’d expect it to shift pretty quickly around here.’
‘To be honest, it’d probably shift quicker if it was beside HQ.’ Yorke killed the engine.
‘Yep, there’s a lot of stress in that place.’
Yorke nodded. ‘And I’d be first in line … well, at least you and Lorraine seem to have buried the hatchet.’
Willows flushed.
‘We kissed.’
It was Yorke’s turn to flush. ‘Ah … okay, sorry, I’m getting involved in something that I really—’
‘Just kissed. Meant nothing. To her, anyway. Over now.’
Yorke nodded. ‘Always difficult when you work together. I can give you real-life examples of that—’
‘She has a partner. I should’ve known better. We’d just had a few drinks and it was one of those impulse things. You know?’
Yorke nodded again. ‘Yes, impulse things. Know all about them.’
‘Shall we go in then?’
Yorke opened the car door. Before getting out, he looked back. ‘You okay?’
‘Good. Over now, remember?’
‘If you ever want to talk about it …’
‘We just did.’
‘Yes, right.’ Yorke stepped out of the car. He felt the first drops of rain. He held out the palm of his hand. ‘Do you reckon it’ll clear the cloud?’
Willows shrugged.
Before they’d had chance to knock, George Johnson opened the door beside the failing off-licence. They’d rung ahead, and he’d been waiting at the bottom of his stairs, obviously keen to lead them up. Common practise amongst dodgy accountants and lawyers. He wouldn’t want to give law enforcement a second’s freedom in his premises. From the moment they crossed his threshold, everything would be on his terms. Unless Yorke got a warrant. But Johnson would be keen to avoid that. Yorke prepared himself for a schmooze fest.
Johnson was unshaven, needed a haircut and his suit had seen better days. Yorke wanted to remark that trying so hard to keep this low a profile may actually arouse suspicion, but he left it alone.
Johnson led them up a set of badly carpeted stairs and took them into his dishevelled office. There were mountains of paperwork everywhere.
After they sat down, Willows couldn’t help herself. ‘How do you woo potential clients here?’
