Lucy stopped reading. She wiped a tear from her eye and blew out her cheeks.
‘Jesus, that’s horrific! You okay?’ Ruth asked.
‘Yeah, sorry. Reading his diary has affected me badly. That’s not like me is it?’ she said, sitting back on the sofa and reaching for her bottle of beer.
‘Not really,’ Ruth said hesitantly.
‘Oh thanks,’ Lucy said with a little laugh as she dried her eyes and nose.
‘I can’t talk. I get way too involved in cases that I’m working on,’ Ruth admitted. ‘But I don’t blame you. It’s horrible.’
Lucy’s phone buzzed. She took it from the table and read the text.
‘Text from one of your lover boys?’ Ruth asked, aware that she was a little jealous.
‘Yeah,’ Lucy said as she read it. ‘Man Boy.’
Ruth was secretly relieved she could put her feet up and watch the telly. ‘I thought we were working?’
‘Yeah, but I need a bit of me time now. And he’s a little older so he knows what he’s doing, if you get my drift.’
Ruth was now feeling very jealous. ‘Dirty bitch! Any future in that?’
‘Not really,’ Lucy pulled a face. ‘He’s ... married.’
Ruth felt herself getting angry. ‘Lucy! For God’s sake. Have they got kids?’
‘No. The wife is a controlling bitch who makes his life hell,’ Lucy explained defensively.
‘That’s what he says. You told me that you would never do that. You would never be the other woman.’
Lucy raised an eyebrow. ‘Careful Ruth. I’m not sure you’re one to judge anyone given the domestic situation here.’
Ow! Bit below the belt.
There was an awkward silence.
Lucy got up and went and got her coat. ‘Do you want me to leave this here?’ she asked gesturing to the diary.
Ruth nodded. ‘You’re going right now, are you?’
‘Sorry. My head’s all over the place, and I’m not in the mood for a lecture. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Ruth watched as Lucy walked to the door and left.
LUCY WENT INTO HER flat, turned on all the lights, and walked into the kitchen. She was in such a rage. The text from Brooks had asked if it was okay to drop round. After the dressing down he had given her and Ruth that afternoon, she couldn’t believe he had the balls to ask. However, she was determined to have it out with him before she went to work the following day. Reaching inside the freezer, she pulled out a bottle of vodka and poured herself an inch. She swigged it back in one go.
Right, that’s better.
Hanging up her coat, she looked at her watch. Brooks was late. Fucking cheek. She wandered around the flat, eventually sitting down on her sofa. She clicked on the television and saw the BBC News was on. It was something to do with the general election. She had voted Conservative all her life. So had her father. She wasn’t about to change that, and there was something distinctly creepy about Tony Blair. He looked like he worked in an advertising or marketing company. He certainly didn’t look like a politician.
The doorbell rang. Lucy took a breath, got up from the sofa and went the door. She could feel her whole body tense as she opened the door.
‘You’ve got a fucking cheek, you know that?’ she snapped.
‘Hi Harry. How are you? Thanks for popping over,’ Brooks said sarcastically.
‘You can’t talk to me like that at work and then expect to just pop over for a quick shag,’ Lucy growled at him.
‘I thought you said we couldn’t talk about work while we were together?’ he said.
‘Don’t be a fucking smart arse, Harry.’
‘Any danger of me coming inside? Or do you want to do this on the doorstep for all the neighbours to hear?’
‘I don’t give a shit if they can hear!’
‘Lucy,’ he said raising his eyebrows.
‘Don’t bloody Lucy me!’ she said opening the door wider with a scowl and ushering him inside.
‘Thank you,’ Brooks said as he came in and then stood uncertainly in the hallway.
Lucy looked directly at him. ‘I read his diary.’
‘Whose diary?’ he asked with a shrug.
‘Hamzar Mujic’s. It’s heartbreaking ... If Simo Petrovic is alive and well and living in London, we can’t look the other way.’ Lucy was beginning to feel overwhelmed again by what she had read. ‘And if you had read what that man did to people, you would feel the same. It’s sickening.’
Brooks took a moment and nodded. ‘Okay. But I haven’t read it. And if the Home Office is telling us that he’s dead and for us to accept that, what am I meant to do?’
You spineless wanker!
‘Grow a pair of balls, Harry. If you found out that Adolf Eichmann was hiding out in London, you wouldn’t be prepared to look the other way, would you?’ Lucy asked.
‘I think they hanged him in the 60s, didn’t they?’
‘This isn’t a bloody joke! I think you should leave, Harry,’ Lucy said coldly.
‘You don’t know that Simo Petrovic is alive. You’ve got the defective memory of an old man who was traumatised from his time in Bosnia, and a photograph. It’s not enough for a line of enquiry, is it?’ he said in an angry tone.
‘I know Simo Petrovic is alive. And he’s here in London. And I want you to leave now,’ Lucy snapped.
He held up his hands and turned towards the door. ‘Hey, don’t worry, I’m going. I came here for a break from work. Not to listen to your little fantasies.’
‘Fuck off, Harry. Seriously, fuck off,’ Lucy said as he went out of the door and slammed it behind him.
Wandering back to the kitchen, Lucy grabbed the bottle of vodka, poured herself half a tumbler and drank it.
She took a deep breath, but it was too late. She began to sob.
IT WAS CLOSE TO MIDNIGHT and Ruth had just finished a whole bottle of wine to herself. She was more than aware that she had been drinking too much in recent weeks. However, she found that when she drank, she cared far less that she had married someone who had little interest in spending time with her or their daughter. It was a tough thing to come to terms with. And it was also hard to hear from someone like Lucy, whose opinion she really respected.
Reaching over to Mujic’s diary, she sat for a moment flicking through the pages. For a moment, she sat and read it.
September 1995
I don’t know how I ever made it back to my hometown alive. But I did. What had happened to my poor Esme would never leave me. However, I wanted to see if there was anything left of the town where I’d lived my whole life. The street where I was born had vanished under mounds of rubble from the mortar shells. The office where I worked had been burnt to the ground. There was nothing left of my life except for Amina. It was then that I knew that me and my daughter needed to go somewhere new and start a new life a long, long way away. There were just too many ghosts on the slopes of Mount Strigova for us to stay there.
If there was anything good to take from these few years of misery and hell, it was that life is precious and short. We must make the most of our time on this planet because we won’t be returning. We must seek and give love where we find it. If something or someone makes us unhappy, then we must seek to change that. As we grow older, regret is something that is hard to live with.
Swigging the last of her wine, Ruth thumbed through the diary to the more recent entries.
Remembering Amina’s comment that her father had seen Simo Petrovic at Waterloo station three weeks earlier, Ruth flicked through the pages looking for the word Waterloo.
A day that I want to forget. I was waiting for a train at Waterloo East station and looking up at the huge list of trains and times. I caught sight of a man walking along and heading for the stairs to the underground. I knew that I recognised him, but for several seconds I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It was Simo Petrovic. There could be no mistake. I would not forget that man for as long as I drew breath on this earth. He still h
ad a beard and dark hair. He was wearing a huge black overcoat. I thought I was going to be sick to my stomach. I felt myself shake, but I knew what I must do. I had to follow him. The rumour I had heard that he had faked his own death was true after all. I stood behind him as we went down the escalator but then he disappeared into the crowds of commuters.
Wait until I tell this to Mersad. He will not believe me.
Something about what Mujic had written struck a chord with Ruth. She sat and thought about the situation she was in. Somehow, she had married someone who had the emotional maturity of a toddler. Dan seemed to lurch between needy and insecure, to pompous and aloof. And if she was honest, she knew he was cheating on her. It was so hard to admit. A part of her had hoped she would find evidence to contradict that thought. Something that would indicate that she was paranoid and jumping to conclusions. But it had never happened. And that left her with only one conclusion.
Rather than making her feel drowsy, the wine had given Ruth a little boost of energy. It had also disinhibited her. Picking up her phone, she scrawled through the contacts until she found Shiori’s number. From their conversation, Ruth knew that Shiori was going to hear any day now about her divorce. It was a good excuse to get in touch. Ruth couldn’t stop thinking about Shiori, and now she was a little drunk, she just wanted to act on it. Fuck the consequences. Ruth knew that she deserved better than this.
Hi Shiori. It’s Ruth. Just wanted to see if there was any news from your lawyers. I know that you’re worried about it and I was thinking about you. Pick up the phone if you fancy a chat. Any time. Hope we can have another play date soon. Ruth x
Ruth pressed send and sat back. She didn’t care if Shiori didn’t get back to her straight away. It had just felt good to send the message.
A few seconds later, Ruth’s phone buzzed with a return message.
Hi Ruth. How lovely to hear from you, and it’s so sweet that you’ve been thinking about me. I’ve been thinking about you too! Yes, let’s get together soon. I’m very lucky to have a new friend like you xxx
CHAPTER 12
Ruth and Lucy had been across London to Kensington police station. They had picked up a folder containing photocopies of Avdic’s possessions and paperwork which had now been boxed up. CID were keeping an open mind on Mersad Avdic’s death until the results of the PM came back.
As Lucy pulled away and joined the heavy traffic, Ruth began to flick through the folder that Kensington CID had given them. There were old family photographs of what appeared to be Avdic’s wedding. Several bank statements and utility bills. A few letters that were in Serbo-Croat.
‘Are we okay?’ Ruth asked after a few minutes’ silence.
‘Yes. What do you mean?’ Lucy asked.
‘You didn’t seem very happy when you left last night. And I’m sorry if I was a bit judgemental.’
‘Oh God, that. I’d forgotten about it by the time I got home. This case is just driving me a bit mad. I don’t understand why no one thinks these deaths are connected,’ Lucy said in a frustrated voice.
‘They don’t think they’re not linked. But until they get the PM results back, there’s no evidence that Avdic was murdered, is there?’
‘Bloody hell, Ruth. Two Bosnian Muslim friends, both probably victims of torture by a Serbian war criminal, think they’ve found out he is still alive and living in London. They decide to try and track him down. One of them is assassinated and all his papers are stolen. But, big coincidence, his friend happens to die the day before in his flat from natural causes?’ Lucy said, going into a rant.
‘I’ve done this job long enough not to believe in coincidences. But we also have to do things by the book, don’t we?’ Ruth said. It wasn’t a question that needed an answer.
‘Do we? I know it’s a cliché, but it’s not like the old days where you could run with a hunch or your instinct and no one would bollock you,’ Lucy grumbled.
‘The good old days? Ten years ago, they would never have had two female detectives working as a team. You’d have been hard pressed to find two female detectives in any CID in any London nick,’ Ruth said, getting a little bit wound up.
‘Yeah, all right, sister,’ Lucy said teasing her.
‘Make us a cup of tea will ya darling?’ Ruth said in a voice mocking the kind of comments she got when she first joined the force.
‘Bloody hell, you think that’s bad. My first DCI said to me, Oi Doris, give us a blow job and you can come out on the next call we get. And this was in front of the whole of Croydon CID.’
‘Bastards, the lot of them.’ Ruth laughed and then looked up and saw that they were heading west rather than south back to Peckham. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Scenic route?’ Lucy replied with a mock look of innocence.
‘Isn’t Hammersmith about a mile down this way?’ Ruth asked as they stopped at some traffic lights.
Lucy shrugged innocently. ‘I don’t know. Is it?’
‘Bloody hell, Lucy! I know where we’re going.’
The address on the back of the photo of Simo Petrovic is in Hammersmith.
‘I just want to have a look, that’s all.’
‘Yeah, and I want to keep my job,’ Ruth snapped.
This is bloody irresponsible!
‘You’ve read what that man did. He’s a monster. And I think people like Mersad Avdic and Hamzar Mujic deserve justice, don’t you?’
‘Of course, I do. But we don’t even know if Simo Petrovic is alive.’
‘Don’t be naïve, Ruth. Who else wanted those two men dead? They had found out Petrovic was alive and well and living in London. And he needed to shut them up.’
‘Brooks will go mental if he finds out,’ Ruth said.
‘Fuck Brooks. You know, as well as I do, that someone in Whitehall wants this to be sat on until after the election.’
Ruth knew that Lucy was probably right, but she needed her job. At this rate, she fully expected to be a single mum in the next year so she couldn’t afford to get sacked.
‘Okay. But whatever we do, we need to tread carefully. Please.’
‘Trust me. This is the right thing to do,’ Lucy said in a stern tone.
Ruth knew there was no point arguing any more.
A few minutes later, they reached the Hammersmith one-way system and stopped in the heavy traffic outside Hammersmith Odeon.
‘Wham! Club Fantastic Tour, 1983,’ Ruth said, looking over at the building and trying to change the atmosphere in the car.
‘Wham!? Never had you down as a teenybopper. I went to Thin Lizzy, 1983. And they were a proper band,’ Lucy said. ‘Chinatown was a great album.’
‘Yeah, all right. How about Wet Wet Wet, 1987? Is that better?’ Ruth asked with a smile.
‘No, that’s much, much worse,’ Lucy chortled.
‘Kajagoogoo?’
‘I think you need to shut up now.’
They turned into a residential road and parked opposite a tall Victorian semi-detached house. 32 Summer Gardens – this was the address that had been written on the back of the photograph.
Getting out of the car, Ruth looked around nervously. She just wasn’t comfortable doing this after their conversation with Brooks and the men from the Home Office. However, she also felt that what Lucy had said was right. The two murdered men deserved justice, and for their deaths to be fully investigated.
‘What are we doing to do? Knock on the door and say “Hi there. Just wondering if a man named Simo Petrovic lives here?”’ Ruth asked mockingly.
Lucy raised an eyebrow. ‘You can stay in the car if you want.’
‘I’m not leaving you on your own. God knows what trouble you’ll get into,’ Ruth quipped.
‘Charming.’
They crossed the road and went through a small broken iron gate, and up an old gravelled path which led to the front door.
Lucy cupped her hands and tried to look inside through the green frosted glass of the door.
‘Can’t see anything,�
�� she said, standing on tiptoes.
Ruth shuffled across to the large ground-floor bay window. She looked in through a gap in the shabby curtains. The room inside was completely bare – half-painted walls, floorboards, and no furniture.
‘Doesn’t look like anyone lives here,’ she said.
Lucy came over. She had some flyers and envelopes in her hand. ‘Post got stuck in the letterbox.’
‘Isn’t that stealing?’ Ruth asked raising an eyebrow.
Lucy gave a little grin and shrugged. ‘Gathering information as part of our investigation?’
Ruth saw Lucy’s smile change when she noticed something down the street. Ruth turned and spotted two men in dark overcoats walking along purposefully. They were about a hundred yards away.
Ruth’s stomach tensed. ‘Shit!’
‘Who are those clowns?’ Lucy said as she shoved the envelopes into her coat pocket.
‘I don’t know, but maybe we should make ourselves scarce?’
Lucy gestured to the passageway down the side of the house. ‘Down here then.’
Ruth followed Lucy down the weed-strewn passageway that led to the back of the house. The garden was overgrown, and two old mattresses and a stained fridge were propped up against the stone garden wall. It smelled of old rubbish and urine.
‘Now where?’ Ruth asked.
Lucy pointed to the fence-topped wall at the bottom of the garden. ‘What about that way?’
‘Seriously? We’re going over that?’ Ruth grumbled.
This is bloody ridiculous.
Sprinting to the wall, Ruth climbed onto its top and grabbed the mesh fence with her hands.
How the hell am I going to do this?
Glancing left, she could see that Lucy had beaten her and already had one leg over the top of the fence.
‘Come on, slow coach,’ she urged.
Diary of a War Crime Page 7
