‘Bloody hell!’ Lucy explained. She felt her pulse start to quicken.
‘Not only was someone creeping around out here, but they also didn’t even bother to hide the fact,’ he said as he got up.
Even though it was spring, the breeze was chilly and Lucy shivered. ‘What does that mean?’
‘It means that either they don’t care that you know they were here. Or they actually want you to know,’ he said in a serious tone.
‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ Lucy said under her breath.
‘You need to pack a bag.’
‘Why? Where am I going?’
‘I don’t know yet. But you’re not staying here anymore.’
‘I’ll be fine tonight. It’s really late so I’ll go to my sister’s tomorrow.’
Brooks nodded and pulled her towards him. ‘Make sure you do. And lock everything after I leave.’
CHAPTER 19
Ruth looked up from where she was standing on Balham Hill. She remembered when the Deco building across the road had been a cinema before they turned it into a bingo hall in the 1980s. She recalled her dad telling her that he had gone there with his mates to see Elvis Presley in King Creole in 1957. He must have been in his early teens. She had seen the photos of her dad dressed as a teddy boy. Black lacquered quiff, long Edwardian jacket, drainpipe trousers, and brothel-creeper shoes. He’d told her that some of the south London teddy boy gangs, also known as cosh boys, were bloody hooligans. They had ripped apart a cinema in Elephant and Castle while watching the rock’n’roll film Blackboard Jungle, and had fought with the police outside. Eventually, Ruth’s dad had been banned from going out at night after a Clapham gang of teddy boys called The Plough Boys had knifed and killed a boy by the bandstand up on Clapham Common. Even though it was nearly fifty years ago, Ruth thought of the parallels. Teenage boys still hung out in gangs and killed each other today.
A car pulled over and the driver beeped its horn. It was Lucy. She was picking her up and they were heading up to Kensington to collect the toxicology report on Mersad Avdic, and to talk to CID. Of course, they had to change their approach now so there would be no mention of Simo Petrovic to anyone.
Ruth got in and put on her seatbelt.
‘Bloody hell. You looked miles away when I pulled over,’ Lucy said as she pulled out into the traffic.
‘I was just thinking about my dad being a teddy boy back in the 50s.’
‘Eww. Big greasy quiffs. My cousin was a mod back in the day. Had the scooter, all the mirrors, big parka coat. Big group of them used to go down to Brighton and fight all the rockers.’
‘We weren’t even born then,’ Ruth mumbled and then looked over at Lucy. ‘I think someone had a go at my front door lock last night.’
‘What? Are you sure?’
‘I heard what I thought was someone trying to put a key in the lock. I saw a figure through the glass. When I went outside, one of the lock’s screws had gone and the other was half out. Like it had been unscrewed.’
‘Bloody hell. Have you reported it?’
‘Who to?’
‘Why didn’t you ring me for starters, you daft sod?’
‘I thought I was imagining things.’
‘You need to tell Brooks,’ Lucy said.
Ruth frowned. ‘I can’t tell Brooks. We’re not meant to be anywhere near Petrovic.’
Lucy looked at her and pulled a face. ‘Actually, Brooks knows everything. He’s looking into Petrovic too. He thinks there’s something very dodgy going on.’
‘What? How come you know that, and I don’t?’ Ruth asked, feeling slightly angry.
‘He didn’t want you to know. Thought it might compromise you if you knew that he was disobeying direct orders from the Yard.’
Ruth was annoyed. ‘Nice to be kept in the bloody loop. Why are you suddenly his bloody favourite, especially after your row the other day?’
‘Sorry. I was just working late, and he told me.’
‘Why have you told me now then?’ Ruth asked, aware that she was sounding a little petulant.
‘Someone has been snooping around my garden. They kicked over a flowerpot and left a dirty great footprint. Now you’ve told me that someone’s had a go at your locks. After the wacky racers on the A3 yesterday, I suggest that someone is trying to put the frighteners on us. And Brooks needs to be kept in the loop on everything.’
Ruth nodded. It was starting to sound like their investigation was ruffling a few feathers.
HALF AN HOUR LATER, Ruth and Lucy were sitting in a side office in Kensington CID. DS Kevin Hart walked in with a fax, put it on the table, and sat down.
‘Tox report for you ladies,’ he said. Hart wore an ill-fitting grey suit and, with his moustache and fidgety manner, Ruth thought he seemed more like a car salesman.
‘Anything come up?’ she asked.
‘Same as your bloke. Lethal levels of fentanyl.’
Now that confirms Petrovic killed both Mujic and Advic – no question.
‘Same MO,’ Ruth said.
‘You got any ideas about motive?’ Hart asked.
Ruth glanced at Lucy. ‘We’ve got a load of missing jewellery.’
‘Robbery then,’ he said nodding.
Hart frowned, trying to make sense of it. ‘Maybe our killer took stuff from Avdic’s flat. It’s hard to tell. He was just a pensioner so he couldn’t have put up much of a struggle. Instead of banging him on the head and nicking his stuff, someone injected him in the neck and killed him. Why?’
Lucy shrugged. ‘It’s a mystery at the moment.’
Hart nodded. ‘But both victims came from Bosnia and they were friends?’
‘Yes. But we can’t see any link. They were just two old men from Bosnia. And they were friends,’ Ruth said.
‘Does the name Simo Petrovic mean anything to you?’ Hart asked.
Oh shit!
Lucy looked over at Ruth. ‘Simo Petrovic? No, I don’t think so. Why?’
‘One of my officers was looking through some of the books from his flat. At the front of one of them was written Simo Petrovic 16th April 1997. The book’s in Serb-Croat so I don’t know what it’s about.’
Ruth shrugged. ‘Sorry. Name doesn’t ring a bell.’
‘I did some digging around on this Petrovic,’ Hart added.
Oh great. Sherlock bloody Holmes. Just what we need.
‘Find anything?’ Lucy asked.
‘The Butcher of Mount Strigova. That’s what they called him. He ordered the deaths of loads of Muslim civilians in Bosnia. A right evil bastard by all accounts.’
Ruth was starting to worry about where Hart was going with all this. They did not want him to come to the same conclusion as they had, that Petrovic was behind Advic’s and Mujic’s murders. That would make everything a thousand times more complicated.
‘I think I remember reading about that somewhere,’ Lucy said nodding. Ruth could see that she was getting tense.
‘I don’t think it’s relevant though,’ Hart said.
‘Oh, why not?’ Ruth asked, with some sense of relief.
‘Simo Petrovic shot himself in the head a couple of years ago. He’s buried in Bosnia,’ he explained.
‘Oh right. No, I don’t suppose it is relevant then,’ Lucy said.
‘I mean it’s not likely that he’s going to be wandering around London or anything,’ Hart said with a smile.
Lucy gathered her papers into her file and stood up. ‘Right. Well, thanks for your help Kevin. Not sure where we go from here.’
‘I’ll let you know if we come up with anything,’ he said as he went over to the door to show them out.
‘And we’ll keep you posted if we come across anything,’ Ruth added as they left.
RUTH AND LUCY PARKED up in a residential street in Mortlake, West London. It was the address that Safet Dudic had given them for Katerina Selimovic.
A car slowed down beside them for a second, but before Ruth could see inside it had speeded up and
gone.
Who the hell was that?
Walking up to the tall Victorian terraced house, Ruth looked around carefully.
‘I know this sounds paranoid, but I keep thinking that we’re being watched,’ she said.
Lucy rang the doorbell. ‘No, I keep thinking the same. I’m sure we’re not, but the last twenty-four hours have been a bit spooky.’
After a few seconds, an attractive woman in her 50s answered the door.
‘Katerina Selimovic?’ Lucy asked showing her warrant card.
Katerina smiled and gestured for them to go inside. ‘Come in. Come in. Safet said that you would be coming to see me.’
‘Sorry. We were in the area, so we thought we’d see if you were in,’ Lucy explained.
‘Thank you,’ Ruth said as she followed Lucy inside.
The flat was tastefully decorated, if a little old-fashioned for Ruth’s taste. The walls in the hallway had several beautiful photographs of landscapes. Ruth stopped to look.
Katerina pointed to them. ‘My sister took those. She’s an excellent photographer.’
‘She is ... Where is that?’ Ruth asked.
‘The Loire Valley, northern France.’
‘Looks beautiful.’
‘The most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. Why don’t you come and sit down?’ Katerina said as she led them to a small but attractively-furnished living room.
Ruth could smell something as soon as she walked into the room. At first, she thought it was strong cigarettes. No, that’s the smell of cigar smoke. And Katerina doesn’t seem the kind of woman who would smoke cigars!
‘I’m not sure how much Safet told you,’ Lucy said as she and Ruth sat down on the plush sofa.
‘He told me the terrible news about Advic and Hamzar,’ Katerina said sadly.
‘Their names were on a list that we found in a journal in Hamzar’s flat. Your name, and Safet’s, were on there too. Four names. Do you know why you were on that list?’ Ruth asked gently.
‘We were all friends. We all grew up together in the same village in Bosnia,’ Katerina explained. ‘It is so sad. We only saw them a few months ago.’
Ruth looked over at Lucy – that doesn’t tally with what Safet told us yesterday.
She then heard a faint noise which sounded like a door closing – it could have been next door. Victorian terraces weren’t the best when it came to soundproofing.
‘When you say ‘we’, I assume that you are referring to yourself and Safet?’ Lucy asked.
Katerina nodded. ‘Yes. All four of us got together once or twice a year. I wish it was more but we’re all getting old. And now ...’
Ruth could see that Katerina was getting teary and gave her an empathetic nod.
‘Safet led us to believe that he didn’t see much of Advic in recent years,’ Lucy said, trying to lead Katerina in to contradicting his account from the day before.
Katerina raised an eyebrow. ‘Why would he say that?’
Lucy shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea. Do you know why he might have told us that?’
‘No, I am afraid not. Safet is a very private man. He doesn’t like talking about his personal business to anyone.’
Ruth gazed over at some photos that were spread over a long, teak, 50s-style sideboard.
‘Mind if I have a look?’ she asked, indicating the photos.
‘No, of course not.’
As Ruth got up, she heard a faint sound from above – Someone is upstairs.
‘Does the name Simo Petrovic mean anything to you?’ Lucy asked.
Katerina visibly tensed. ‘Yes.’
‘Hamzar claimed that he had seen Simo Petrovic a few weeks ago in London. Did he tell you that?’
‘Yes. He rang me to tell me.’
‘What did you say?’
Katerina shifted uncomfortably in her chair. ‘I told him that he was an old fool and not to go around telling people.’
‘Why was that?’ Ruth asked as she peered at the black and white photos of family events, which she assumed had taken place back in Bosnia. A wedding, a family picnic, and a christening.
‘That man is dead. He killed himself because he was a coward. I have seen a photograph of his grave in Bosnia. How could he be here?’
Ruth spotted a small, ceramic ashtray which had been pushed out of sight behind a photograph at the end of the sideboard. The dark brown butt of a cigar and ash were inside. Beside it was an old Panama hat.
There’s someone else here, Ruth thought.
‘And you hadn’t met up with Hamzar, Advic, or Safet since Hamzar claimed to have seen Petrovic?’ Lucy asked.
‘No. I wish I had seen Hamzar and Advic recently ...’ Katerina said quietly.
After a few seconds, Ruth came and sat back down. ‘And you live here alone, do you Katerina?’
Ruth saw Lucy glance over at her – they were on the same page.
‘Yes. Just me.’
‘And you don’t have anyone staying here with you?’ Ruth asked.
Katerina looked uncomfortable. ‘No, of course not.’
Ruth waited for the pressure to build a little and then looked up at the ceiling. ‘No one here visiting you for the day?’
Katerina shook her head with a frown. ‘No, no. No one.’
Lucy leaned forward. ‘You know if you feel that you are in any kind of danger, you can tell us.’
‘Why would I be in danger? I’m just an old woman.’
Ruth handed Katerina her card. ‘If you change your mind, or if there’s anything else you want to tell us, please give me a ring.’
RUTH AND LUCY WERE making their way across London to have a meeting with Claire Gold, the human rights lawyer that Shiori had suggested.
‘Did you get the impression there was someone upstairs?’ Lucy asked after a few minutes of silence.
‘Yes. Did you?’
‘Definitely. The cigar smoke was a bit of a giveaway.’
‘Plus a cigar butt hidden away in an ashtray on the sideboard.’
‘Maybe she just had her lover hidden away up there?’ Lucy suggested.
‘Maybe. She was definitely spooked when we asked about Petrovic.’
Lucy raised an eyebrow. ‘Everyone seems spooked when we mention Petrovic.’
‘Should we be worried that there was someone upstairs?’
‘Yes. But we don’t have enough for a warrant. We could pop back later?’ Lucy replied as she parked outside the lawyers’ offices in West London.
Getting out of the car, Ruth looked up at the office blocks that dominated this part of London. The pavements were full of smartly-dressed professionals drinking takeaway coffees and talking on their phones.
Ruth and Lucy went inside, showed their warrant cards, and were shown to the fifteenth floor where they waited in a large office with glass windows that gave them an amazing view north over London.
‘Better than the view from Peckham CID,’ Lucy said. ‘Any sightings of Dan?’
Ruth shook her head. ‘He’s got a few more things to pick up. Frankly, it’s nice without him there.’
‘Hey, less washing, cleaning and cooking.’
The door opened and a tall woman in her 30s strode in. She was carrying a folder of papers.
‘Hi, hi. I’m Claire,’ she said as she shook their hands and sat down at the table. ‘Have you been offered coffee or something to drink?’
‘We’re fine, thanks,’ Lucy said.
‘And which one of you is Shiori’s friend?’ Claire asked.
Ruth smiled. ‘Guilty.’
Claire took a few moments, sat back in her chair, and then looked at them.
‘If what I’ve been told is true, then you are sitting on something that is potentially incredibly damaging and explosive,’ Claire said opening the folder. ‘If I go over the information that Shiori gave me, you can fill in the blanks. Okay?’
She seems uber calm and confident.
Ruth and Lucy nodded.
‘There have been two mur
ders. Mersad Advic and Hamzar Mujic. Both men were Bosnian Muslims and living in London. They were friends. There were no signs of robbery at either of the murders, so the motive is unclear. They were both poisoned by an injection of fentanyl which is highly unusual. Hamzar Mujic had claimed that he saw a Serbian war criminal called Simo Petrovic at Waterloo station three weeks ago. Home Office records show that the Bosnian government officially confirmed that Simo Petrovic committed suicide in Bosnia and was buried there. However, there is CCTV footage from Waterloo, from the date mentioned by Mr Mujic, that shows a man bearing a very striking resemblance to Simo Petrovic entering Waterloo station ... How am I doing?’ Claire asked looking up from her folder.
‘Pretty good. There’s not much more than that. We have a theory that Simo Petrovic is now going by the name Oliver Stankovic. He had a plane ticket booked on a flight to Germany a couple of days ago but didn’t use it,’ Lucy explained.
‘And we know that an Oliver Stankovic was being sent post to an address in Hammersmith. MI5 have that property under surveillance, but we have no idea why,’ Ruth added.
‘Shiori mentioned that there might be some other Bosnians involved?’ Claire asked, clicking her pen to take notes.
‘Hamzar Mujic’s final entry in his diary had a list of four names. His own, Mersad Advic, Safet Dudic and Katerina Selimovic. We’ve been to see the last two in the last twenty-four hours. They claim to know nothing more than Hamzar Mujic’s claim to have seen Petrovic. Both of them thought his claim was ridiculous,’ Ruth said.
‘Did you believe them?’
‘We’re not sure. Both of them were hiding something. It may be that they are scared. Two people on that list have been murdered and it could be they’re frightened that they might be next,’ Lucy said.
‘Do you think they are in danger?’
Lucy answered, ‘Not to the point where we can do anything about it. It’s difficult if they’re lying to us.’
‘And you have had a visit from the Home Office to ask you not to pursue any investigation into the theory that Simo Petrovic is alive, in London, and had something to do with these murders?’
Diary of a War Crime Page 13
