Diary of a War Crime

by Simon McCleave

Ruth got her footing and pushed herself up with all her strength.

  She could hear male voices getting closer. Someone was coming down the side of the house.

  Shit!

  She rolled over the top of the fence and dropped down on the other side to join Lucy. They were in a goods yard with a long concrete bay and stacks of wooden pallets. Two Luton vans were parked to one side.

  As they ran quickly across the yard, Ruth glanced back. The two men were now in the back garden. A second later, one of the men spotted them and pointed.

  ‘Shit! They’ve seen us,’ Ruth gasped.

  ‘Just keep running,’ Lucy said as they turned left down a small mews street with a cobblestone surface.

  Ruth was seriously out of breath and getting a stitch.

  Bloody hell! I’m unfit.

  Looking back, she could see that there was no sign of the men – yet.

  They reached a main road and found themselves back on the Hammersmith one-way system.

  Ruth looked at Lucy who had already caught her breath.

  ‘I can’t believe you just made me do that!’ Ruth panted.

  ‘Perk of the job.’

  ‘Who the bloody hell were they?’ Ruth asked, holding her side where the stitch had developed.

  Lucy blew out her cheeks. ‘No idea. But I didn’t want to find out.’

  ‘Now we’ve got to get to the car,’ Ruth said shaking her head.

  ‘Give it ten minutes and they’ll probably have gone.’

  ‘Probably?’ Ruth said dryly. ‘Great.’

  Lucy indicated a nearby pedestrian crossing. They crossed the main road, then nipped into a newsagent’s and bought two cans of Diet Coke. They drank them as they walked back to where they had come from.

  Stopping at the end of Summer Gardens, they looked down the road. There was no one around.

  ‘Told you. Coast is clear,’ Lucy said as they set off towards their car.

  Ruth wasn’t quite as blasé and kept a watchful eye out.

  As they reached the car, Lucy tossed Ruth the keys. ‘Do you mind driving? I think I’ve jarred my ankle.’

  Suddenly, the doors of the car behind them opened and the two men in overcoats got out and walked towards them.

  ‘Oh bollocks,’ Lucy muttered under her breath.

  I’m not running again, Ruth thought.

  ‘Good morning ladies,’ the first man said. He looked the younger of the two, and had a shaved head and a public school accent.

  At least they’re not Serbian hitmen.

  ‘Morning,’ Lucy said in a sing-song voice. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘You two seemed very interested in No 32 over there,’ the older man said.

  ‘We run a property company. It looks ideal for renovation,’ Ruth said, thinking on her feet.

  ‘And you normally jump over fences do you?’ asked the younger one.

  ‘No offence, but you two looked pretty bloody scary coming along like that,’ Lucy said with an innocent smile.

  ‘Cut the bullshit please ladies,’ the older man said as he took out identification and showed it to them. ‘Intelligence Service.’

  Ruth got out her warrant card. ‘CID Peckham.’

  ‘What are MI5 doing snooping around that house then?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘We have an ongoing surveillance operation in this area,’ the younger man said.

  ‘Why’s that then?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘I’m afraid that’s classified,’ he replied.

  ‘Oh right. So, you could tell me but then you’d have to kill me?’ Lucy quipped.

  Don’t take the piss out of them, Lucy!

  ‘We’re just following a lead in a murder investigation,’ Ruth explained.

  ‘If you have any enquiries regarding this property then you need to run it past the Home Office first,’ the older man said gravely.

  ‘What do you know about a man named Simo Petrovic?’ Lucy asked, sounding a little confrontational.

  Bloody hell, Lucy!

  There was a moment as Lucy’s question seemed to hang in the air.

  ‘Have a good day, ladies,’ he said as they turned and walked back to their car.

  Lucy looked over at Ruth with a smirk. ‘Looks like we’ve pissed on somebody’s chips!’

  IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON. Lucy and Ruth had been sitting in the CID office for several hours. The CCTV tapes from Waterloo station had arrived earlier, and Lucy insisted that they trawl through for the date that Hamzar Mujic claimed to have seen Simo Petrovic. Even though it was a bit of a long shot, Ruth knew they had a chance of spotting Petrovic – and that would confirm Mujic’s story.

  They knew that Mujic was waiting to get on a train from Waterloo East up to London Bridge, where he would have caught a train to Queen’s Road station in Peckham. It was a journey of just over thirty minutes. They had therefore narrowed down their search to the only platform that had trains travelling to Queen’s Road.

  However, Ruth was starting to feel frustrated. They had looked through the footage from 1pm through to 3.30pm twice. It had taken them hours. But there was no sign of Mujic or Petrovic anywhere at Waterloo station. Lucy seemed irritated but reluctant to give up.

  Ruth arched her back and stretched. Maybe she should go for a walk, get them another coffee, and have a cigarette. Her mind turned momentarily to Dan and what was happening at home. There just didn’t seem to be any way forward. She wanted to take Ella on a foreign holiday in the summer, but they couldn’t afford it.

  ‘Check the date again, would you?’ Lucy asked, breaking Ruth’s train of thought.

  She’s starting to get on my nerves.

  Ruth blinked, took a deep breath, and looked at the paused frame on the monitor. The platform at Waterloo East in mid-afternoon wasn’t busy. There were no more than four or five passengers waiting for the trains heading south.

  We’re not getting anywhere, Lucy!

  ‘It’s pretty empty isn’t it?’ Ruth said, which was a polite way of saying shall we move on to a more productive line of enquiry.

  ‘Ruth?’ Lucy said raising an eyebrow.

  Ruth tried her best not to show her annoyance. ‘What?’

  ‘Please.’ Lucy gestured to Mujic’s diary. ‘Just have a look, eh?’

  Ruth shrugged. ‘Hamzar Mujic was an old man. He had been through a lot of trauma. Maybe he saw someone who looked similar to Petrovic? Maybe it was just some kind of flashback? Or maybe he just wanted to see him for some reason?’

  ‘I just don’t believe that Mujic would have got it that wrong. He didn’t see him for a second and then he was gone. He says that he followed him to the underground.’

  ‘But we can’t find either of them,’ Ruth said, wondering why Lucy was avoiding using basic detection principles in favour of her gut instinct. ‘We can’t look through those tapes forever.’

  Brooks came thundering through the door and glared at them both.

  ‘Where were you two this morning?’ he asked angrily.

  Lucy put on her best innocent smile. ‘Kensington police station, guv.’

  ‘Don’t piss me about,’ he growled. ‘Why have I got a fax from Scotland Yard asking if I sent two female detectives to an address in Hammersmith?’

  Oh shit! We’re in trouble now.

  Ruth could feel herself blush. She had never seen Brooks so infuriated.

  ‘Are you suggesting it was us?’ Lucy asked with a mock frown.

  Don’t take the piss, Lucy.

  ‘No, Lucy. How could it be? Two female detectives, claiming to be from this nick, identified themselves at an address that the Security Services have under surveillance. Tell me, how many female detectives do we have in this nick?’

  ‘Is this a trick question?’ she asked.

  Ruth shot her a look to say Shut up.

  Brooks was really starting to lose his temper now. ‘What the hell were you doing there?’

  ‘It was the address that was written on the back of the photo of Simo Petrovic, guv,’ Ruth said m
eekly. She needed to say something.

  ‘I thought we had established that Simo Petrovic was dead and buried in Bosnia and that we weren’t going to follow his involvement in Hamzar Mujic’s murder as a line of enquiry?’ Brooks was getting red in the face.

  ‘That’s what you suggested, guv. But we think he was involved. How else do you explain that address being under the surveillance of the Intelligence Service?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘Firstly, dropping any investigation into Petrovic wasn’t a suggestion, it was a direct order. As for why MI5 have any property in London under surveillance is beyond our jurisdiction,’ Brooks said sharply.

  ‘But I know you don’t believe in coincidences, guv,’ Lucy said.

  ‘If you two don’t leave this alone, I have no other option but to give you both a written warning,’ Brooks said irritably.

  Lucy could not help herself. ‘But, guv, what if Petrovic is alive and in London?’

  Please don’t talk Lucy.

  ‘Ruth? You’re not saying very much so I assume you’re less keen to lose your job than your smart-mouthed colleague here?’

  ‘No, I don’t want to lose my job. But I do think that Simo Petrovic is a viable suspect. It’s hard for us to ignore that. But you’ve told us to drop it, so there’s not a lot we can do,’ she replied, hoping that might pacify him.

  ‘Good. Someone talking a bit of sense. What’s this you’re looking at then?’ he asked, gesturing to the monitor.

  ‘CCTV from Waterloo, guv,’ Ruth said sheepishly.

  Brooks shook his head. ‘Brilliant,’ he said sarcastically. ‘What have you found?’

  He was deliberately ignoring Lucy and focussing all his attention on Ruth.

  ‘Nothing, guv,’ she said quietly.

  ‘You’re wasting your time, ladies. It’s time to move on. I do not want to have this conversation again. Understood?’ Brooks said sternly as he turned and then closed the door firmly behind him.

  Lucy looked at Ruth and blew out her cheeks. ‘Christ, he’s such a dick.’

  Ruth had had enough of Lucy. ‘He’s not a dick though, is he? If he doesn’t do what the Home Office and Scotland Yard tell him to do, he’ll be out of a job. And so will we. He’s trying to protect all three of us.’

  Lucy nodded and pushed her chair away from the desk. She gave an audible sigh. ‘Sorry. I don’t know why this case has got to me so much.’

  ‘It’s all right. I read Mujic’s diary too. Petrovic was an evil bastard and I hope he is dead in a grave in Bosnia.’

  ‘And if he’s not?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘I don’t know. But until we have some concrete proof, I think we have to put it to one side. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Please. Just check that date in the diary again. If it tallies, we’ll drop it and we’ll move on.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Lucy!’

  Lucy gave her a disarming smile. ‘I promise. Brownie’s honour.’

  ‘You were never a Brownie,’ Ruth said raising an eyebrow.

  ‘Just look at the flipping date, will you?’

  Ruth went to the translation of Mujic’s diary and turned back to the page she had marked. ‘Here it is. 17th April is the day he was at Waterloo station.’

  Lucy pointed to the date on the timecode of the CCTV tape which read 17th April 1997.

  ‘Bollocks ... Mujic was imagining things then,’ Lucy said, sounding deflated.

  ‘Right, can we turn that bloody thing off now?’ Ruth said, indicating the monitor and VHS player. ‘I’ve got a headache.’

  Lucy nodded and moved her chair over to the table.

  ‘Do you want a coffee?’ Ruth asked.

  Lucy nodded. ‘Chocolate. I need chocolate. I’ll come with you to the canteen. There’s that young bloke who works behind the till. Lovely eyes.’

  ‘Eyes or arse?’ Ruth laughed.

  ‘Both actually.’

  ‘He’s about eighteen, Lucy!’

  ‘I’m not that old,’ she protested.

  Ruth looked again at the diary entry as she went to close it. She saw something that didn’t add up.

  ‘Wait a second ... The 17th of April was a Thursday wasn’t it?’

  ‘No idea. Sorry. Why?’ Lucy asked as she pressed eject and took out the VHS tape.

  ‘It was a Thursday. It would have been my Mum’s birthday. And it was definitely a Thursday because I went to Streatham cemetery to lay flowers on her grave,’ Ruth said thinking out loud.

  ‘Sorry Ruth, you’ve lost me now.’

  ‘The diary entry is for Wednesday 17th April. What if Mujic got his dates and days muddled. What if he was a day out?’

  ‘You mean he might have been at Waterloo station on Wednesday 16th April?’ Lucy’s eyes widened. She went back to the video tapes. ‘They sent the whole week of CCTV over.’

  Lucy grabbed the relevant VHS and swapped the tapes over. Then she whizzed through the CCTV for Wednesday 16th April and got to 2pm.

  ‘This is it,’ she said, as she allowed the tape to play at normal speed so that the image was clean.

  Ruth came over, leaned in close, and peered at the screen. As with the day before, there were only a handful of passengers and none of them looked remotely like Mujic or Petrovic.

  Lucy sped the tape forward ten minutes and let it play again. Nothing. Another ten minutes. Again, nothing.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Lucy said in a frustrated tone.

  ‘Worth a try.’

  Lucy pondered for a moment then said, ‘I’m just going to look at the main concourse.’

  ‘I really think we’re wasting our time here,’ Ruth said pointedly.

  Lucy glared at her but said nothing as she sped the tape forward several more times. There was still no sign of either of the men.

  Ruth looked at her watch. It was time to leave and go and pick Ella up from nursery. She then watched as Lucy delved into the box again and pulled out another VHS. ‘This is the other end of the main concourse at Waterloo station on the same afternoon.’

  Bloody hell! I don’t have the patience for this anymore.

  Ruth shook her head. ‘We’re really clutching at straws now.’

  Lucy looked at her and snapped, ‘Are you interested in finding this scumbag or not Ruth?’

  ‘Of course. I think that Petrovic should face justice if he’s still alive.’

  ‘If? Bloody hell, Ruth. Have you had your head up your arse for the last few days?’ Lucy growled.

  ‘Oi! What’s got into you?’

  ‘I hate being told what I can and can’t investigate when I know there’s something suspicious going on. We can’t do our job properly.’

  ‘We’re out of our depth with this - and I can’t afford to lose my job!’ Ruth said, now losing her temper. ‘And Petrovic might be dead and buried in Bosnia.’

  ‘Don’t be so bloody naïve! This is some kind of coverup, and you know it.’

  ‘I don’t get paid enough to try and expose political conspiracies.’

  ‘You’re being selfish.’

  ‘No, I’m not. So where is he, Lucy?’ Ruth snapped.

  ‘Bury your head and pretend it’s not happening. That’s how the Nazis got away with the holocaust and how men like Petrovic got away with slaughtering Muslims in Bosnia,’ Lucy thundered.

  Ruth headed over to her desk and chair to get her jacket. ‘For God’s sake, that’s not fair. And I think we need to have this conversation when you’ve calmed down. I need to go and pick up Ella.’

  ‘Well off you go then,’ Lucy sighed, as she switched over the VHS tapes and began trawling through the footage again.

  Ruth went over to the coat stand, grabbed her overcoat and put it on. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then?’ she said quietly.

  ‘I’ve got him,’ Lucy said in a virtual whisper.

  ‘What?’

  What did she say?

  ‘Petrovic,’ Lucy said, her eyes widening as she turned to look at her. ‘I’ve got him ... on the tape here. Bold as fucking brass.’

>   ‘What?’ Ruth said approaching. ‘Where?’

  Lucy pointed to the screen. ‘Say cheese, you murdering bastard.’

  Ruth looked at the image.

  There was no doubt.

  The bearded man coming through the ticket barrier was Simo Petrovic.

  ‘Jesus Christ! That’s him!’

  CHAPTER 13

  By the time Ruth got home, she was still trying to process what she had seen on the CCTV from Waterloo station. The image of Simo Petrovic was solid proof that he was alive and living in London. It also meant that the lines of enquiry they had established for both Mujic’s and Avdic’s murders which implicated Petrovic were probably correct. The two Muslim men had discovered that the Butcher of Mount Strigova had faked his own death, was living in London, and they were either going to expose him or take their revenge. And that’s why they were killed.

  Why were there people trying to cover up his existence? Why had the Home Office ordered them to close down that line of enquiry? And why did MI5 have the property in Hammersmith under surveillance if the Home Office truly believed that Petrovic was dead and buried in Bosnia. To say that it stank of some kind of political coverup was a huge understatement. However, it did scare her to think that she and Lucy were so far out of their depth.

  Putting those thoughts to one side, Ruth made Ella boiled eggs and toast soldiers. Then she went about tidying the house and getting some washing done. Dan was doing some roadie work in North London but said he wouldn’t be late. If she was honest, she hoped he would be. Ruth had started to realise that she preferred life without him. She didn’t trust him for starters. He seemed to only take care of Ella when it was convenient for him – which was rarely. And even though he was about to turn thirty, he acted as if he was a twenty-year-old single man.

  The worst part of it was that Ruth had allowed him to get away with it for far too long. She ignored the fact that he lied about where he was at night ... that she had found two unexplained phone numbers in his pockets ... that he rarely wanted sex with her anymore ... that he drank and smoked weed like a student. She had now reached the point where everything about him either irritated her or made her want to do him physical harm. She was aware that this was no way to live. Life was too short to be this miserable at home.