Diary of a War Crime

by Simon McCleave

  Striped red and blue awnings covered the fruit and vegetable stalls that were pitched next to stands selling colourful jewellery, CDs, and cheap clothing. The air was filled with the sound of Oasis’ song Wonderwall and smelled of fish from a large fishmonger. Ruth was glad that she was smoking to mask the smell in her nostrils.

  ‘How is Army Boy?’ Ruth asked of Lucy’s latest boyfriend. They never had names. Just a word to describe them and then the word ‘Boy’. In recent months there had been Goatee Boy, Estate Agent Boy, and Posh Boy.

  ‘I dumped him,’ Lucy said. Ruth found her clinical, unemotional attitude to relationships refreshing.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Ruth exclaimed as they manoeuvred through the bustling market.

  ‘He was so thick. He thought Ikea was the capital of Sweden. When I suggested we go to Ikea, he said, Great, I love City breaks,’ Lucy said shaking her head.

  Ruth laughed. She wondered if she was jealous of Lucy’s carefree love life. ‘Oh dear. You really do pick them.’

  ‘I said “It’s me, not you,” which everyone knows actually means “You will never see me naked again,”’ Lucy said with her usual caustic wit.

  ‘So, who is it now? It’s hard to keep up,’ Ruth asked.

  ‘I like to call him Man Boy as he’s a bit older.’

  ‘Oh right. You can’t beat a bit of experience,’ Ruth said, wondering if she would ever get to meet one of Lucy’s men?

  Ruth gestured to an aromatherapy stall. A dark-haired woman in her thirties, with a nose ring, was drinking coffee and staring into space. Next to her was a girl in her late teens. Sanja had just lost her father and Ruth was surprised that she was running the stall today.

  ‘Sanja Mujic?’ Ruth said with a kind smile as she showed her warrant card.

  Sanja nodded. ‘Yes. Is this about my father?’

  Ruth nodded. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss. We wondered if we could just ask you a couple of questions?’

  Sanja looked at the teenage girl and asked her to cover her stall while she went to speak with the officers.

  ‘We can go in here?’ Sanja suggested, pointing to a cheap-looking café with bright red tables.

  They sat at a formica table by the window and Lucy ordered them teas.

  ‘I’m afraid we have some bad news about your father’s death, Sanja,’ Ruth said gently.

  Sanja immediately looked concerned. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘We don’t believe that your father died from natural causes,’ Lucy continued.

  ‘Sorry, I ...’ Sanja mumbled and then stopped with a lost look on her face.

  ‘I’m really sorry, but we think that your father was killed,’ Ruth said gently.

  ‘Oh God, no.’ Sanja immediately started to tremble. ‘I don’t understand.’

  A waitress arrived with a silver pot of tea, and mugs.

  ‘Is there anyone you can think of who would want to harm your father?’ Lucy asked.

  Sanja shook her head and wiped the tears from her eyes. ‘No, no. He was just a gentle, old man. Who would want to kill him?’

  ‘At the moment, we know that it wasn’t a robbery. Whoever killed your father had planned to do it,’ Lucy said.

  Sanja took a deep breath as she sniffed. Ruth could see how hard it was for her to process what she had just been told. ‘My father wouldn’t harm a fly. It makes no sense to me.’

  ‘We believe that your father had some papers or documents that he was working on. They might have been stolen by the person who killed him. Do you know anything about that?’ Lucy asked.

  Sanja shook her head, but Ruth could see from her expression that something had clearly occurred to her.

  ‘We also found a diary hidden behind a corkboard. We’re having it translated,’ Ruth explained.

  ‘We found some names written in it. Mersad Avdic? Does that mean anything to you?’ Lucy asked.

  Sanja nodded. ‘Yes. He is my father’s best friend.’

  ‘And he lives here in London?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘Yes. Somewhere in Earl’s Court. I can dig out an address if that helps?’

  ‘Thank you. That would be useful,’ Ruth said.

  She could see that Sanja had thought of something but for some reason hadn’t said it.

  She just needs a gentle push.

  ‘Anything you can think of, Sanja. However small you might think it is, it could help us catch whoever did this to your father,’ Ruth said, hoping she would feel brave enough to trust them.

  ‘Simo Petrovic,’ Sanja said with a puzzled look on her face.

  Ruth shot Lucy a meaningful look – it was the other name that had been written in Mujic’s diary the day before he died.

  ‘Simo Petrovic?’ Lucy asked.

  Sanja’s whole body tensed. ‘You don’t know who Simo Petrovic was?’

  Lucy shook her head. ‘Sorry, I don’t.’

  ‘The Butcher of Mount Strigavo?’ Sanja said, as if this should ring a bell.

  Ruth had a vague recollection of the place name but nothing she could expand upon.

  Lucy nodded. ‘I know there were atrocities at Mount Strigavo a few years ago.’

  ‘Atrocities? Such a meaningless word. Our family lived in a small town at the foot of Mount Strigavo. Because we were Bosniaks and Muslims, we were told to hand over our town leaders. When we refused, the Serbs shelled and attacked our village. Then they burnt it down. My mother was raped and murdered.’ Sanja wept and her hands shook with the memory of it.

  After a few seconds of silence, Ruth reached over and put her hand reassuringly on Sanja’s arm. ‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’

  Sanja nodded. ‘It was Simo Petrovic who led the attacks on the Muslim villages. He ordered his men to shoot us as we ran away. Women and children. Then we were rounded up and sent to the concentration camps. My father and I were sent to different camps but somehow we survived. I saw Simo Petrovic beating men and abusing young women. He made some of them dig their own graves and thought it was funny.’

  Ruth had no idea that what had happened in Bosnia had been so brutal.

  ‘Your father had written the name Simo Petrovic in his diary for the entry on the day before he was killed,’ Lucy explained.

  Sanja nodded as if this wasn’t a surprise. ‘My father had recently become obsessed with him.’

  ‘What happened to Simo Petrovic at the end of the war?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘He committed suicide. He shot himself in the head rather than be captured and put on trial. I’ve seen the photographs of the coffin and the place where he was buried, which made what my father told me so strange,’ Sanja said. ‘I thought he was losing his mind.’

  ‘What did your father tell you, Sanja?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘My father said that he had seen Simo Petrovic at Waterloo station three weeks ago. He swore that it was him. He followed him onto the Northern Line but then lost him.’

  CHAPTER 9

  As Ruth came through the front door with Ella, she saw several leaflets from the various British political parties scattered on the hall floor. The general election was only a matter of days away and electioneering in Britain had reached fever pitch.

  Ruth had always voted for the Labour party. She came from a working-class family where voting for Labour was obligatory. The Labour party had re-branded itself as New Labour and Ruth knew this was an attempt to change the party’s image as being the party solely of the working classes, unions, and left-wing politics. If Labour were going to win, she knew that the Prime Minister in waiting, Tony Blair, had to appeal to the middle classes too. According to the papers and opinion polls, Blair was starting to make gains in what was now called Middle England – the mainstream middle classes of the Home Counties and suburbia.

  Even though she wasn’t highly politicised, Ruth knew that the current Conservative government had cut funding to both the police force and the prison service. She could see that this was making her job more difficult and even dangerous. Less manpower meant more crime.
It was a simple equation.

  As she closed the front door, Ruth could smell cigarette smoke and hear the deep vibrations of house music coming from the kitchen and dining area at the back of the flat.

  I’m going to fucking kill him this time! she thought as she felt herself tense.

  Plonking Ella down in front of the television, Ruth stormed through the house and flung open the door to the dining area. Dan was smoking with his headphones on as he mixed two house records together on his decks.

  ‘You said you were going to be working all day!’ Ruth thundered.

  Dan turned the volume down, ‘Yeah, they cancelled me last minute. Might be something next week. Sorry, babe.’

  ‘Will you stop calling me babe!’ Ruth growled, realising that she now wished Dan physical harm.

  Dan continued nodding to the music. ‘Woah. Calm down. What’s the problem?’

  Oh my God! I hate his guts!

  ‘We pay a fortune in childcare for Ella to go to that nursery. And you’re here all day doing bugger all. We can’t afford it,’ Ruth yelled, aware that she sounded like a mother reprimanding a child.

  ‘I was rehearsing. I’ve got another gig tonight,’ Dan said, still nodding and seemingly paying no attention to her.

  Ruth marched over to where he was standing and kicked the table. The stylus on the record jumped, skidded noisily to a halt, and the music stopped.

  Dan looked a little shocked. ‘Careful! What are you doing?’

  ‘Are you kidding me! Rehearsing for a gig? Jesus, Dan! You’re playing a few records to a handful of drugged-up morons in a bar in Stockwell! It’s not like you’re Oasis going on a world tour. Grow up!’ Ruth bellowed.

  Dan put his hands up defensively. ‘Hey, I think you need to calm down a bit.’

  ‘I’m not going to calm down! Your little hobby is bankrupting us.’

  ‘I’m working tonight. Two hundred quid for an evening’s work. It’s more than you earn.’

  Ruth glared at him. ‘I earn money every day, you dickhead. And that’s if you’re going there at all.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Dan asked with a frown.

  ‘You know exactly what I’m talking about, you feckless prick!’ Ruth shouted. She was aware that she was out of control now.

  ‘I don’t need all this, Ruth,’ Dan said as he walked past her and headed for the door.

  ‘That’s it. Run away, Dan!’

  ‘I’ll be back for my records later,’ he mumbled, and with that he was gone.

  Ruth took a few deep breaths, but she knew it was all too much. She closed her eyes and felt the tears come.

  Jesus Christ! I can’t live like this!

  Wiping the tears from her face, Ruth went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of white wine. She was shaking.

  That’s it. It’s over.

  Her phone buzzed with a text message – Hi Ruth, it’s Shiori, Koyuki’s mum. Wondered if you fancied getting together for a coffee sometime this week?

  Ruth looked at the text for a moment and then began to type.

  Hi Shiori. Do you fancy sharing a bottle of white wine and ciggies at my house now? Koyuki and Ella can play. I’ll text you my address if you’re up for it.

  There were a few seconds. Nothing. Ruth wondered if she had been too over-familiar. Shiori probably thought she was an idiot. Now I feel stupid.

  Then Ruth saw the following message arrive – Brilliant idea! You must have read my mind. I’ll bring more wine as one bottle is never enough! I know Koyuki will be so excited to see Ella. Text me your address. Shiori x

  IT WAS GETTING DARK and Lucy had been sitting in her car for nearly fifteen minutes. She turned the heater off and looked up at the glowing floodlights that lit up the astro-turf pitches. The Charlatans’ North Country Boy was playing on the radio. She preferred the heavier guitar music of some of the current bands to a lot of the dance stuff that was in the charts. Even though the car windows were closed, she could still hear the various shouts of the five-a-side games that stretched across the four pitches. Reaching into the glove compartment, she took out a small bottle of Calvin Klein Obsession and sprayed it behind each ear. It tingled for a second. She loved its smell – it was exotic and sexy.

  She knew that Harry was playing his weekly game with other coppers from various South London nicks. No one from Peckham CID played so she knew she wouldn’t be spotted by a colleague. However, she didn’t know what she was actually doing there. The thought of going home to an empty flat, microwaving some food, and watching the telly was too depressing. The thought of a quick tryst with Harry was giving her a buzz. Glancing at her watch, she saw it was 8pm. Harry would be coming out to his car any minute now.

  It had been several years since she’d had any form of long-term relationship. For a moment, she wondered what her ex-fiancé Steve was doing with his life. They were together for just over four years. They bought a flat in Catford together and planned to get married. And then one day, about two years ago, Steve dropped the bombshell that he was in love with someone else. A woman he had met at work. And that was that. He was sorry but there was nothing he could do – so he moved out. It took her a long time to get over it. In fact, she wondered if she had yet.

  The noise of male voices broke her train of thought as she glanced up at groups of men carrying gym bags making their way from the pitches. She spotted Harry laughing and clapping a team mate on the back. Smiling to herself, she thought how attractive he was in that moment. His broad chest, silvering hair, and twinkling eyes. But did she want to take what they had further? She was self-aware enough to know that she feared making herself vulnerable again. Harry was older and married. She might have joked that Harry was some kind of father substitute, but she had suspicions that’s exactly what he was. And he was her boss. It was far from ideal.

  Getting out of the car, Lucy looked over as Harry stopped at his car which was parked opposite her.

  ‘Did you win?’ Lucy called over.

  ‘Bloody hell. What are you doing here?’ Harry said with a smile as he wandered over.

  ‘I’m prowling for men,’ Lucy said.

  ‘Any luck yet?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m waiting for the right punter.’

  Harry gestured to a dozen or so middle-aged men. ‘You’ve come to the right place.’

  Lucy laughed and looked at him.

  ‘You’re very sweaty,’ she said.

  ‘I’m very unfit.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that,’ she responded with a knowing grin.

  ‘So, what are you doing here, Luce?’ he asked in a slightly more serious tone.

  Lucy shrugged. ‘I was at a loose end and found myself thinking about you.’

  ‘Are you just using me for sex?’ he asked teasingly.

  ‘Only if you have a shower first,’ she replied, pulling a face.

  Harry shrugged. ‘No can do. Karen wants to talk to me about something and I promised that I’d be home at a decent time.’

  ‘That sounds ominous?’

  ‘I doubt it. She probably wants to talk to me about getting that new kitchen again.’

  Not even time for a quickie then?

  Lucy frowned. ‘Oh right. Do you need to go right now then?’

  Harry nodded. ‘I’m running late already.’

  ‘Oh, right. No problem.’

  Lucy was aware that she was feeling deflated, even though she knew there had been no guarantee that Harry would be free.

  ‘You look disappointed?’ Harry said as he pulled out his car keys.

  ‘I am. But I’ll get over it,’ Lucy said casually.

  He looked at her quizzically. ‘You do know what mixed signals are, don’t you?’

  Lucy nodded. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I’ll see you in the morning then, eh?’ he said as he wandered back to the car.

  ‘See you tomorrow.’ Lucy tried to pretend that she wasn’t deflated by her wasted journey.

  CHAPTER 10

  As Ruth
walked into CID, she swigged her strong coffee with two sugars. Her head was a bit fuzzy from the two bottles of wine she had shared the previous evening with Shiori. It was now official. She had a girl crush on her new American friend.

  ‘Listen up everyone,’ Brooks boomed as he came out of his office. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and his tie loosened.

  Bloody hell. He looks like he’s been here since dawn, Ruth thought to herself.

  Half a dozen or so CID detectives stopped talking and turned to face the front of the room. Ruth went to her desk, sat down and finished her coffee. She spotted Lucy skulking in and perching on a table. The room was already too warm and smelled of the male detectives’ cheap deodorant and bacon butties.

  Brooks went over to the scene board that had now been established for Hamzar Mujic’s murder. There was a slightly blurred photograph of Mujic at the board’s centre. Around that, the usual collection of photos, maps, and time and date of death.

  Brooks tapped the board with his folder. ‘Where are we with this murder? Lucy? Where are you?’

  Lucy stood up so Brooks could see her. ‘Hiding at the back, guv.’

  ‘We’re ruling out robbery as a motive, is that right?’ Brooks asked.

  Lucy nodded. ‘Victim had his wallet. No valuables were taken so it’s not robbery. We think someone forced their way into his flat and then injected him with fentanyl.’

  ‘Very elaborate,’ Gaughran said raising an ironic eyebrow.

  ‘That’s what came up in the toxicology report,’ Lucy said defensively.

  Brooks frowned. ‘I’ve never come across fentanyl before.’

  ‘Apparently it’s characteristic of recent political assassinations in the Soviet Union, guv,’ Ruth said.

  Gaughran snorted with laughter. ‘What? You two have been watching too many James Bond films, haven’t you?’

  Lucy growled under her breath. ‘Piss off, Tim.’

  It does sound a bit far-fetched for Peckham now we’ve said it out loud, Ruth thought.

  ‘Not really. In fact, I’ve heard of something stranger,’ Brooks said.