Diary of a War Crime

by Simon McCleave

  He heard a door opening up on the third floor. Mujic had come out to sign for his delivery.

  The timed light downstairs clicked off and plunged the ground floor into darkness. Petrovic could feel his pulse quicken. He needed to get Mujic back into his flat with as little noise as possible.

  Reaching the top of the stairs, he could see the landing was in virtual darkness. The third-floor light wasn’t on. It was the perfect cover for his attack.

  Mujic was standing about twenty yards away. The open door to his flat cast a rectangular shard of light across the dark red hallway carpet.

  Petrovic made no signal that he had seen Mujic. He kept his face low with no eye contact. He turned right, pretending that he was going to another flat.

  ‘Excuse me?’ Mujic said.

  ‘Yes?’ Petrovic mumbled.

  ‘Did you see a delivery man down there? I just let him in,’ Mujic said in a confused voice.

  ‘No. There’s no one down there,’ Petrovic said. He spun sharply and darted across the landing, pushing Mujic in the face and chest.

  Mujic yelled as he stumbled back inside the flat. He tried to slam the door, but he wasn’t quick enough. Petrovic jammed his foot into the door to prevent him from closing it.

  For a moment, they just looked at each other.

  Petrovic glared into Mujic’s terrified eyes.

  Yes, fear me you little Turk scum.

  Smashing his shoulder against the door, Petrovic crashed the door open and sent Mujic flying to the floor.

  Hurrying inside, Petrovic closed the flat door. He knew that his entrance hadn’t been as quiet as he hoped.

  ‘Don’t kill me! Please don’t kill me!’ Mujic screamed as he looked up from the floor.

  Shut up, you little piece of Muslim shit!

  Petrovic put his finger to his lips. ‘Settle down, my friend. I have not come to kill you today.’

  ‘What do you want?’ Mujic shouted.

  If he keeps shouting, the neighbours will knock on the door.

  ‘I have spoken to your friend, Mersad,’ Petrovic said in a gentle voice.

  ‘Mersad? You’ve spoken to Mersad?’ Mujic asked, his voice trembling.

  ‘Yes. Don’t worry. Your friend is fine. Come on and get up,’ Petrovic said as he pulled Mujic from the floor. ‘We’re going to sit down, have a nice cup of tea, and I’m going to tell you what I agreed with Mersad.’

  ‘I don’t trust you,’ Mujic stammered as he backed away.

  ‘If I was going to kill you, you would be dead by now,’ Petrovic said calmly.

  Mujic looked at him. ‘I have nothing to say to you.’

  ‘Please. We are both a long way from home. Let us sit down and I will explain everything.’ Petrovic gestured towards what seemed to be a living room.

  ‘You have two minutes to say what you need to say. Then I want you out of my flat or I will call the police,’ Mujic said.

  ‘Of course. No problem,’ Petrovic replied as he followed Mujic through the doorway and into the darkened room.

  CHAPTER 5

  Ruth and Lucy had grabbed a coffee after the briefing. As they wandered down the corridor to the CID office in Peckham nick, Ruth found herself lost in her thoughts. Dan’s lie about where he had been the previous evening was preying on her mind. He had been asleep on the sofa by the time she and Ella had got ready to leave this morning. She would ask him later, but no doubt there would be a feasible excuse.

  ‘Trouble on the ranch?’ Lucy asked as they got to the door into CID.

  ‘Dan couldn’t lie straight in bed,’ Ruth said, realising that Lucy had noticed her preoccupation.

  ‘Fucking men! Can’t live with them - pass me an enormous glass of wine,’ Lucy said sardonically. ‘I wish I was gay. It would be a lot easier.’

  Ruth didn’t like to admit that in recent years she’d had increasing doubts and confusion about her own sexuality. She found herself attracted to women more and more. And yet her pulse could race at the sight of a fantastic-looking man. Did that make her bi-sexual? She didn’t even know if that was a thing. Her friend told her that George Michael was bi-sexual. Ruth knew that was bollocks. Hadn’t she seen George in the video for Faith? He couldn’t be more heterosexual if he tried.

  As Ruth and Lucy reached their desks, they could see that they were covered in McDonald’s wrappers, bags, and empty burger boxes. It was the male CID officers’ idea of a joke.

  Big fucking joke! Ha, ha Ruth thought scornfully.

  ‘Very funny lads,’ Lucy said looking around at the male detectives in CID who were sniggering at their little joke about Ruth and Lucy’s collar from the day before.

  ‘You lot are hilarious,’ Ruth said dryly.

  ‘Sarge, didn’t one of the witness statements from yesterday say they were convinced that there were two clowns at North Peckham Estate?’ DC Syed Hassan asked DS Tim Gaughran.

  ‘Yeah, and also some bloke dressed up as Ronald McDonald,’ DS Gaughran replied, trying not to laugh.

  Idiots, thought Ruth. She had no time for DS Tim Gaughran. He came from a family of coppers, which made him a know-it-all. Even though he was in his 20s, his attitude to women belonged to the 70s.

  There was more raucous laughter.

  ‘Comedy gold, boys. How long have you been working on that?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘About twenty minutes,’ Hassan admitted.

  Ruth looked at Lucy and rolled her eyes. The Metropolitan Police still had a long way to go before female officers were respected in the same way as their male counterparts.

  At that moment, DCI Harry Brooks walked in. Brooks was in his mid-40s and an old school, no nonsense copper who claimed he longed for the good old days of the 70s and 80s before all this politically correct bollocks came in. However, Ruth knew that Brooks played up to that image too. Underneath all the bluff and bluster, he could be a bit of a softie. It just suited him to remind the young male CID officers that he took no shit from anyone.

  ‘What have we got, guv?’ Ruth asked as Brooks approached with a file.

  Brooks spotted the McDonald’s wrappers on their desks. ‘Fucking infants, that’s what you lot are, you know that?’ he said, rolling his eyes at Ruth and Lucy.

  ‘Three of them still live with their mums, so it’s not a surprise when they act like toddlers, guv,’ Lucy said.

  Brooks gestured to the file. ‘Might have a suspicious death that needs looking at.’

  ‘What happened?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘Seventy-two-year old male. Hamzar Mujic. Found dead in his flat in Comeragh Gardens. The landlady found him. She goes in most mornings for a coffee and chat, and found him sitting dead in his armchair,’ Brooks explained.

  ‘Doesn’t sound very suspicious, guv?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘Neighbour says they heard shouting and maybe some kind of fight coming from the flat last night. I need you to go and have a quick look before they cart the body away.’

  ‘Yes, guv,’ Ruth said as she collected her things together and put on her jacket.

  ‘Wanna drive?’ Lucy asked, tossing Ruth the keys.

  Do I have a choice?

  As they headed for the doors, Gaughran looked over and made kissing noises.

  ‘You two lovebirds going out then? Make sure you wash your truncheons when you get back, eh?’ he joked, as Hassan sniggered at his desk.

  He’s such an unpleasant dickhead.

  ‘Tim, you do know that sitting in your bedroom at home next to Mummy, on your stained Postman Pat duvet, while you toss off your little dick to Ally McBeal on the telly, doesn’t constitute an active sex life,’ Ruth said with a smile.

  For once, Gaughran looked lost for words as Hassan burst out laughing.

  Lucy grinned at Ruth and gave her a hi-five as they marched out of the CID office and slammed the doors behind them.

  TWENTY MINUTES LATER, they had found the house in Comeragh Gardens and gone up the stairs to the third floor. A young, uniformed PC stood by the open door to the flat.


  Ruth flashed her warrant card. ‘DC Hunter and DC Henry. What have we got, constable?’

  The PC showed them into the flat. ‘The landlady came in just after nine and found the deceased in here, ma’am.’

  They walked through the small hallway into the living room and saw an old man sitting in an armchair. He was virtually bald and wore thin-rimmed spectacles. As a uniformed officer, Ruth had seen her fair share of mainly elderly people who had died of natural causes in armchairs, sofas, or beds. It was a familiar scene.

  ‘And you’ve got a name?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘Hamzar Mujic. I found a wallet with a driving licence, ma’am,’ the constable explained.

  Ruth thought the name sounded Middle Eastern, but the deceased man didn’t look like he came from that part of the world. She went over to the body and looked carefully at the man’s face. There was a mark or a bruise on his cheekbone.

  ‘Looks like he’s been hit by someone or something,’ Ruth said. However, there was nothing else about the way he was sitting, or anything else in that room, that pointed to foul play.

  Ruth pulled out her forensic gloves and snapped them on.

  ‘You’ve taken a statement from the neighbour?’ Lucy asked.

  The constable looked down at his notepad. ‘Yes, ma’am. Ade Kenyatta. He’s gone to work now. But he said that he heard shouting from the landing and then inside the flat. Then he heard a bang as if someone was fighting. And then it stopped.’

  ‘Did he see anything?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘No, ma’am. I got the feeling he was scared and didn’t want to get involved.’

  Ruth saw that Lucy had walked over to a small desk and bookshelf on the other side of the room. ‘I think he’s Bosnian.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘A few articles from the newspapers. A couple of books. And a Koran which would probably make him a Muslim,’ Lucy said as she looked through the man’s things.

  ‘That would fit with his name,’ Ruth said, thinking out loud.

  ‘Maybe he came here to get away from the war? After Sarajevo and Srebrenica, it’s not surprising is it?’ Lucy asked as she continued to thumb through papers on the desk.

  Ruth’s knowledge of the complexities of the Bosnian War was a little vague.

  ‘You seem to know a lot about it,’ Ruth remarked.

  ‘My dad was in the army. He went out there,’ Lucy said as she looked through what looked like a leather-bound journal.

  ‘I didn’t know your dad had been in the army. You travel around a lot as a kid then?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘Oh yeah. Proper army brat. West Germany, Ireland, Middle East. You name it.’

  ‘Sounds like fun.’

  ‘It wasn’t. All I wanted was to stay in one place, go to the same school, keep the same friends. It’s exhausting having to start again every few years,’ Lucy said as she turned the pages of the journal.

  Ruth nodded as she wandered out of the living room, and back down the hallway to the front door where the uniformed officer was standing. For a moment, she stood outside on the landing looking in. She then pulled the door towards her so that it was virtually closed.

  There was something on the front of it which caught her eye. A thin crack in the wood about four feet from the ground. Going closer, she examined it. The wood had split as if something or someone had crashed against it. She pushed the door open a few inches, crouched down, and saw tiny fragments of wood and paint on the carpet in the hallway of the flat.

  That’s happened very recently. Maybe someone hit the door with their shoulder? she thought.

  Ruth then opened the door further and stepped inside so she could examine the back of it. She registered the height of the lock, and then looked down to the bottom of the door where she saw black scuff marks on the white paint.

  Wandering back into the flat, she saw that Lucy was still in the living room.

  ‘How tall do you think our victim is?’ Ruth asked.

  Lucy gave her a quizzical look and shrugged. ‘No idea. Why?’

  ‘Six foot, five five, or five foot?’ Ruth asked.

  Lucy looked at the man sitting in the chair. ‘He’s small. If I had to guess, about my height. Five five or something.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s what I thought. Can I borrow you for a second?’ Ruth asked, gesturing towards the front door.

  ‘You’re being very cryptic,’ Lucy said, raising an eyebrow.

  Ruth reached the door and said, ‘Just stand here for a second will you?’

  ‘Do you want to tell me what you’re up to Miss bloody Marple?’ Lucy asked with a wry smile.

  Ruth pulled the door slowly towards Lucy and said, ‘If someone tried to force this open, the lock here would hit you in the face, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. Go on.’

  Ruth moved to the outside of the door and showed Lucy the thin crack. ‘This crack in the wood is about shoulder height. As if someone has hit it with their shoulder to force it open. There are fragments of wood and paint still on the carpet right inside, so it happened very recently. Also on the inside, there are black scuff marks at the bottom of the door, as if someone has put their foot against it to stop it opening. If the door does eventually fly open, this metal lock might hit them in the face.’

  ‘And our victim in there has a fresh bruise on his face,’ Lucy said, catching the direction of Ruth’s theory.

  ‘If someone forced their way in here last night, that would also explain the shouting and noise of a fight.’

  ‘Except our victim is sitting upright in an armchair with no outward signs of any kind of violence,’ Lucy said.

  Ruth looked at Lucy. ‘I’m going to suggest that the coroner orders a PM though. Just to cover all bases.’

  Lucy nodded in agreement.

  CHAPTER 6

  Ruth arrived at Tiny Tots Nursery. She had nearly finished her takeaway latte. Glancing at her watch, she saw that she was ten minutes early and had time for a ciggie before collecting Ella. As she lit her cigarette, she noticed one of the other mums had arrived. Ruth had seen her before. She looked like she might be Japanese. She had a beautiful, structured face, feline eyes, and always dressed immaculately in designer clothes. She was one of those mums who made Ruth feel a bit dowdy and sub-standard.

  I wish I looked that pristine after a day’s work.

  As they smiled at each other, the mum stopped and looked at Ruth for a moment. She then approached.

  ‘Hi, I know this is gonna be really cheeky, but can I bum a cigarette off you? I just smelled yours and mine are at home,’ the mum said. She had an American accent.

  ‘Of course,’ Ruth said, fishing the packet from her coat.

  The mum went into her bag. ‘I’ve got some money in here somewhere.’

  Ruth offered her the packet with a smile. ‘Don’t be daft. Just take one.’

  ‘Thanks. I’m Shiori,’ the mum smiled back.

  Bloody hell! She really is very attractive, Ruth thought to herself. I could look at her all day.

  ‘Ruth. Here you go,’ Ruth said as she flicked her lighter and lit the cigarette.

  Shiori took a deep drag as though her life depended on it and blew the smoke out. ‘Fuck me, that’s better.’

  I like her.

  Ruth laughed. ‘Not many of us left these days.’

  ‘Everyone I know has quit. And there’s nothing worse than a reformed smoker. I’m turning into a social pariah,’ Shiori said, shaking her head.

  ‘My husband smokes so at least he’s not judging me,’ Ruth admitted.

  Shiori raised an eyebrow ironically. ‘Now, that would be nice.’

  Is she referring to having a husband that smokes, or being judged?

  ‘Your husband doesn’t smoke then?’ Ruth asked.

  Shiori said nothing. Ruth could see that she had hit some kind of nerve.

  Oh bollocks. Too many questions, Ruth.

  ‘God, sorry. None of my business,’ Ruth said, feeling very awkward.
r />   ‘No, it’s fine. Just got through a messy divorce so ...’ Shiori said.

  This is awkward.

  ‘Sorry.’ Ruth searched for something to say to change the direction of the conversation.

  ‘It’s fine. My husband fucked his secretary. Total cliché. He’s back in the States while we try and sort out what we’re going to do. Bit of a mess,’ Shiori explained and pointed to the cigarette. ‘Which is why I keep running out of these.’

  ‘I don’t blame you. That sounds horrible,’ Ruth said with a sympathetic smile.

  Shiori pointed to the pram and pink blanket that Ruth had with her. ‘You have a daughter?’

  ‘Yeah. Ella. She’s been coming here for about a year.’

  Shiori looked at her and smiled. ‘Not the Ella? That’s all I hear at home. Ella and I did this or that.’

  ‘Koyuki? Oh right. You’re Koyuki’s mum?’ Ruth said, putting two and two together.

  ‘Miss Thomas says that our daughters are inseparable,’ Shiori laughed.

  ‘We must have a play date,’ Ruth said, aware that she found Shiori very attractive.

  Shiori looked at her. ‘I would really like that, Ruth. Great idea.’ She said it genuinely. Ruth wondered if she didn’t have many friends in London.

  ‘I’ll write down my number for you,’ Ruth said, feeling guilty that she was so excited at the prospect of this new friendship.

  LAYING BACK ON THE untidy pillows, Lucy gazed up at the hotel room ceiling. She wiped the sweat from her top lip – it tasted a bit salty. The cornice was cracked and there were stains on the paint over by the window. What did she expect from a cheap South London hotel room that she and her bit of stuff were only going to use for an hour or two?

  She wasn’t complaining. The sex had been great. Frantic, passionate, and sometimes overwhelming, as sex should be in the first months of a clandestine affair. And he was a very attentive lover, unlike most of the blokes she had been with.

  For a moment, she got a glimpse in her mind of her first boyfriend, Matty Davies. She had lost her virginity in the back of his Austin Healey parked up on the Epsom Downs. Matty was a posh and went to a local fee-paying school. Lucy came from the far less affluent town of Sutton, only a couple of miles away. Her dad was a plumber and her mum a primary school teacher. They told her that made them a bit working class and a bit middle class. The fumbling sex with Matty had lasted about thirty seconds and was so underwhelming that she doubted that it even counted as losing her virginity. The last she heard, Matty Davies was a successful hedge funder earning an annual seven-figure salary.