Diary of a War Crime

by Simon McCleave

  He nodded. ‘I understand,’ he said quietly.

  With that, Katerina turned and prepared to jump into the sea below.

  ‘NO!’ Lucy said, making a dive to stop her.

  It was too late.

  Katerina had already stepped out into the abyss and was falling feet first into the icy sea below.

  Oh my God!

  By now, several of the ferry’s security officers had arrived and were moving passengers back and out of the way.

  Lucy looked at Petrovic. ‘What about you? Are you going to jump?’

  Petrovic shook his head and said quietly, ‘No.’

  Ruth watched as Lucy grabbed Petrovic’s arms and handcuffed them behind his back. ‘Simo Petrovic, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murders of Mersad Advic, Hamzar Mujic and Safet Dudic. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

  Bloody hell! We got him! We bloody well got him, Ruth thought triumphantly to herself.

  Lucy pushed Petrovic forward and the security officers helped him over the railings.

  Ruth looked at Lucy with a mixture of relief, joy, and utter exhaustion that they had managed to actually track Petrovic down and arrest him. She thought it was never going to happen.

  She turned to the security officers. ‘Tell the Captain that he needs to stop the ferry. Someone’s jumped overboard.’

  ‘They won’t have survived the drop,’ one of them said gravely.

  ‘In that case we need to give the coastguard our position so they can retrieve the body, and you’re going to need to turn the ferry around. We have arrested that man and he needs to go into British custody as soon as possible.’

  As Lucy and Ruth escorted Petrovic along the now empty deck, he looked at them.

  ‘You do know that I’m going nowhere,’ he said.

  ‘Shut up and keep walking,’ Lucy growled.

  ‘Your star witness has just jumped into the sea. Everything else is circumstantial. And I have very powerful friends with very deep pockets. The worst that will happen to me is that I will be sent back to Bosnia where I will be greeted as a hero,’ Petrovic said arrogantly.

  Ruth looked at him. ‘You’ll be standing trial as a war criminal and you will die in prison.’

  ‘No. That will never happen. You wait and see,’ he smirked.

  Lucy gave Ruth a worried look as they exited the upper deck.

  CHAPTER 32

  It was nearly midnight by the time Ruth and Lucy had got back to Peckham nick, processed Petrovic into custody, and debriefed Brooks. As their DCI, Brooks had nearly had a heart attack when they described their day. However, he had admitted that bringing a known war criminal to justice was an incredible piece of police work. He had no idea what the Home Office or MI5 were going to say, but he didn’t care.

  ‘Where is he?’ Brooks asked, as he closed the blinds in his office.

  ‘In a holding cell downstairs,’ Lucy said.

  ‘Who did you book him in as?’

  ‘Oliver Stankovic,’ Lucy smirked.

  ‘Yeah, he didn’t find that particularly funny,’ Ruth said dryly.

  It would have been foolish to use his real name until they knew the ‘lie of the land’ when it came to the Met’s top brass, the Home Office and MI5.

  Ruth sensed that even though they had Petrovic in custody downstairs, Lucy was still worried. ‘Something he said has really got to me. He said he would never serve any time in a prison, because his friends were too powerful and too rich to let that happen.’

  Ruth tried to reassure her. ‘Don’t worry. He’s just bullshitting. Trying to get to you.’

  Brooks nodded. ‘He’ll be on a plane to The Hague in a few days and then he’ll rot in jail for the rest of his life.’

  ‘I just have a horrible feeling that’s not going to happen,’ Lucy said, sounding a little choked.

  Ruth put a comforting hand on Lucy’s arm. ‘Come on, Lucy. We’re both tired, and we’ve been through hell in the last few days. But we got him. We got Petrovic. And without your persistence and bloody brilliant detective work, he would still be out there.’

  ‘She’s right Lucy. You might have nearly cost me and yourselves our jobs, and been a monumental pain in the arse, but you brought him in. And that means hundreds of people will get justice.’

  Lucy smiled at Brooks’ compliment, but Ruth could see that she was still fearful that Petrovic might somehow escape prosecution.

  LUCY STOOD UNDER THE hot stream of water trying to shower away the stresses of what had been a physical and emotional rollercoaster of a day. She had downed half a bottle of wine as soon as she got in and was now feeling a pleasant warmth and numbness. As she rubbed in the shower gel, she noticed that her whole body seemed to ache.

  Did all that chaos happen in just a few hours? she thought for a moment, as if the events of the day had been a bad dream.

  Letting the water bounce off her face, she took a deep breath of steamy air. In her memory, the car crash in which Zivko had been killed seemed to have happened a few days ago. His broken, bloody face sat in her mind’s eye for a moment, but she felt no remorse that he had died.

  She dried her hair with a towel, and put on thick, winter pyjamas and a dressing gown. Even though it was a warm spring evening, she felt cold and shivery. She poured herself another glass of wine and switched on the television.

  She sat back to watch an old sitcom for a while, but she couldn’t concentrate. What she really wanted was for Harry to be by her side. She wondered if he really meant his promise to leave his wife. They had never had children because she had a medical condition that prevented her from getting pregnant. Harry blamed her terrible temper and mood swings on that fact. Not having children meant there would be less emotional damage if he left her, but it was uncomfortable for Lucy to think about being the cause of someone else’s pain.

  She poured more wine and looked in the fridge. She wasn’t hungry and nothing in there seemed to entice her anyway. The sensible thing would be for her to go to bed and get a decent night’s sleep. However, she wasn’t tired. She was too wired from the day, and adrenaline was still coursing through her veins.

  As she slumped back into the sofa and changed the channels on the television, she spotted the large photo album on the shelf. She went and grabbed it. There were some lovely photos at the front of the album of her and her sister as toddlers, and one of her sitting with her mum and the family dog, Honey.

  Turning another page, she saw a photograph of her and her dad. She instantly took a breath seeing him looking out at her. His dark hair, twinkling eyes, and infectious smile. He had been stationed at the British Army base in Westfalen in the North Rhine area of West Germany. She was probably about seven or eight when they had moved out there. As she looked at her dad’s tattooed arm wrapped protectively around her, she felt tears well in her eyes. She wished he was still alive now. What she would give to sit and talk to him right at that moment. The pain of grief twisted her heart as more tears came.

  The noise of her phone startled her.

  ‘Hello?’ she said, answering the phone.

  ‘Lucy, it’s Ruth. I just wanted to ring to see if you’re okay?’ Ruth asked gently.

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ she replied, aware that her voice was still full of emotion.

  ‘You don’t sound fine.’

  ‘It’s nothing. I just found a photograph of my dad and it upset me.’

  ‘Oh, sorry. After today, I just wanted to check in. Are you back at home?’

  ‘Yeah. While Petrovic was in hiding, we were a target to stop us looking for him. Now he’s in custody and Zivko is dead, I don’t think we’re in danger any longer.’ It hadn’t stopped her locking everything up and closing the curtains though.

  ‘I thought the same. I just wanted to check you were okay?’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll be fine. Maybe looking t
hrough an old photo album wasn’t the best idea after a few glasses of wine and the day we’ve had,’ Lucy said as she sniffed.

  ‘I’ve seen the photo you’ve got by your desk, but you don’t really talk about your dad,’ Ruth said.

  I don’t want to talk about him now.

  Lucy was aware that she had never told Ruth that her father was dead. It was too painful to talk about.

  ‘No. It’s complicated. Long story. I’ll tell you about it one day ... I can’t sleep, can you?’ Lucy said, keen to change the subject.

  ‘No. My brain’s racing. I’m just watching stuff about the election.’

  ‘That will send you to sleep,’ Lucy joked.

  ‘When I collected Ella, Shiori told me she’d had a message from Claire Gold. It’s possible that the newspaper story about Tankovic and party funding will be released tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow? I think you mean today. Look at your watch Ruth, it’s one o’clock in the morning. It’s election day.’ Lucy said. That doesn’t make any sense.

  ‘One o’clock already? Blimey, I’ve lost all track of time. Anyway, it’s the perfect day to bury a story like that. Everyone will be caught up in the election and will be busy voting anyway. There might be some resignations of civil servants and ministers of the Home Office. A few stories on pages four or five of the national papers, and then it will disappear.’

  ‘Bastards. How can anyone let that happen?’ Lucy said, feeling angry.

  ‘Money, politics, power. Unfortunately, I think stuff like this goes unnoticed all the time.’

  ‘What about Petrovic being brought to justice?’ Lucy said anxiously.

  ‘We did everything we could to find him and bring him in. Whatever happens to him now is out of our hands.’

  The thought of that made Lucy very uneasy. Maybe that isn’t good enough for me.

  ‘I’ll see you in a few hours,’ Lucy said. ‘Thanks for ringing.’

  CHAPTER 33

  Even though Brooks had told Ruth and Lucy not to come in until the afternoon, Ruth had got up early, voted at the nearby polling station, and made her way into CID by 9am. The amount of paperwork that needed filling in after the chase, and subsequent arrest, of Petrovic was daunting. She also had to speak to various high-ranking officers in the next two days to report on yesterday’s sequence of events. Although the Police Complaints Authority weren’t yet involved, preparations had to be made in case there was some kind of enquiry.

  Feeling the need for a caffeine hit before starting work on the mundane tasks she faced, Ruth went to the canteen to grab a coffee. As she returned to the CID room, she saw that Gaughran and Hassan were engaged in furtive conversation.

  ‘Where have you two been the last few days? Getting your hair done?’ Gaughran joked.

  ‘Yeah, something like that,’ Ruth said. She didn’t have the energy to react to Gaughran.

  Hassan approached with a more serious expression. ‘Something going on?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Ruth asked as she busied herself at her desk.

  ‘Brooks is acting strangely. You two disappeared. Lots of hushed conversations,’ he said under his breath.

  ‘Nothing to report I’m afraid, Syed.’

  Hassan nodded over at Gaughran. ‘Tim thinks it’s to do with that old man, Hamzar Mujic, who was murdered in Comeragh Gardens.’

  ‘Does he now?’ Ruth said in a tone that made it clear she wasn’t going to tell him anything.

  As Hassan wandered away, Ruth looked over at Lucy’s desk. Her computer was on, but her jacket wasn’t over the back of her chair – which suggested she had gone out.

  Wonder where she’s gone?

  ‘You guys see Lucy this morning?’ she called over to Hassan and Gaughran, bracing herself for another infantile joke.

  ‘Came in early. Then said to tell Brooks she was popping out for a bit,’ Hassan said with a shrug.

  ‘When was that?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘An hour ago.’

  Ruth nodded and went back to sorting out her paperwork.

  Twenty minutes later, after a cigarette break, Ruth went over to Lucy’s desk. They worked as partners, so it was very unusual for her to be out of the office without Ruth knowing where she was. After the events of the last few days, Ruth began to feel uneasy.

  She sat down at Lucy’s desk, and looked around to see if there were any clues as to where she had gone. The photograph of Lucy’s father, dressed in his military uniform, had been moved from where it normally sat by the computer screen. It had been placed in the middle of the desk. A small note pad to one side had a scribble in Lucy’s handwriting – Brookwood.

  Looking again at the photograph of Lucy’s father, she could see that printed at the bottom was Sergeant Mark Henry, 4th Regiment Royal Artillery. As she picked the photo up for a closer look, the light from above made the colours in the image stand out a little.

  Is he wearing a blue beret? Ruth wondered. I didn’t know British soldiers ever wore blue berets. It looks strange.

  Squinting at the camouflage jacket that Mark Henry was wearing, she noticed a square of blue material on the arm. She recognised the symbol in the centre of the square.

  Isn’t that the emblem of the United Nations?

  Then she saw the words United Nations – Nations Unies which confirmed her suspicions. It also brought a more worrying thought.

  Weren’t British troops used as part of the UN Peacekeeping force during the Balkan War?

  Ruth was confused.

  If Lucy’s father had been part of that force, then wouldn’t she have mentioned it to me at some point? Why would she not have mentioned it?

  Grabbing the phone, Ruth went through the main Met police switchboard and got through to the headquarters of the 4th Regiment Royal Artillery in Osnabrück, Germany.

  ‘Good morning, this is Detective Constable Ruth Hunter from the Metropolitan Police in London. I’m running a murder investigation and I need to confirm a couple of facts about your regiment,’ Ruth explained.

  ‘Can you tell me the nature of your enquiry?’ the woman at the other end of the phone asked.

  ‘I wanted to check whether your regiment was part of the United Nations Peacekeeping force in the Balkans a few years ago?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Several units from our regiment were part of the UN Peacekeeping force during the Balkan conflict,’ she replied.

  Ruth’s heart dropped. Why didn’t Lucy mention that her father had been in Bosnia? It doesn’t make any sense. We’ve spent the past ten days investigating murders directly linked to that war.

  ‘I also need some information about a soldier in your regiment. Sergeant Mark Henry.’ She wasn’t even sure if Lucy’s father was still a soldier.

  ‘I’m going to put you through to our Commanding Officer, Lieutenant Colonel Brannings. Could you hold the line please?’

  ‘Of course,’ Ruth said. She wasn’t sure if asking about Mark Henry was an issue.

  A few seconds later, a man’s voice came onto the line. ‘Detective Constable Hunter? Is that right?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ruth said.

  ‘I’m currently Commanding Officer for the 4th Artillery. I understand that you’re making an enquiry about Sergeant Mark Henry,’ Brannings said.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. In fact, I’m not even sure if he’s still part of your regiment.’

  There were a few seconds of silence. ‘I’m not sure I understand. Can you tell me the nature of your enquiry?’ he asked.

  Why is he being so cagey about this?

  ‘I get the feeling that there’s an issue with regards to Sergeant Mark Henry, Colonel?’

  ‘The only issue, Detective Constable, is that Sergeant Mark Henry was killed five years ago.’

  What the bloody hell is going on?

  ‘I see. I’m so sorry to hear that. And that was when he was part of the UN Peacekeeping force?’ Ruth said, making a guess.

  ‘I’m afraid so. Could you tell me what this is all about?’ Bra
nnings asked, clearly losing patience.

  ‘Could you tell me where Sergeant Henry is buried, please?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘Yes, he’s buried at the British Military Cemetery in Surrey,’ Brannings said. ‘Brookwood.’

  Glancing over at Lucy’s pad, she looked again at the scribbled word Brookwood. With a growing sense of unease, she wondered what on earth Lucy was doing?

  LUCY PUSHED DOWN ON the accelerator and watched as the speedometer hit 70mph. Glancing to the right, she saw the familiar sights of the Surrey countryside as the London suburbs gave way to open fields.

  A few minutes later, a white building that used to house the San Domenico restaurant loomed into view. Lucy remembered that her uncle had told her various stories about the restaurant in its heyday in the 70s and 80s. It was a favourite of stars such as Tom Jones, Cliff Richard, Eric Clapton, and even the racing driver Ayrton Senna. However, since its closure in 1990, there had been rumours that it was being used as a government safe house, or a meeting place for the London-based Italian mafia.

  ‘I’ve told you already, this isn’t the way to central London,’ came a gruff male voice from the back of the car.

  Looking quickly in the rear-view mirror, Lucy could tell that Petrovic was feeling concerned.

  He should be concerned, she thought.

  ‘Just sit back and enjoy the countryside,’ Lucy said.

  Petrovic struggled in the back. However, his hands were handcuffed behind him and the doors were locked – he was going nowhere.

  It had been forty minutes since Lucy had been to the custody suite at Peckham police station. She had known Smithy, the Duty Sergeant, for years. She explained that Petrovic needed to be transferred to Wandsworth Prison while they waited for the appropriate judge to decide whether or not he should be extradited to The Hague to face trial over his war crimes. She had assured Smithy that Ruth was accompanying her the journey. The Met had a policy of a minimum of two officers to escort any prisoner within London.