CHAPTER 50
De Souza felt the panic in his stomach as he read the headlines: ‘Minister caught in naked romp’. Paying his money, he rushed back to his car and sat in the front seat, key in the ignition, to listen to the morning radio news, as he scanned the newspaper article. Someone had managed to leak information to the press and he knew he would be in the hot seat with the superintendent, since Burgess was away. Evidently, they knew the police had the Minister for Information on film in a ‘naughty romp’, as the article put it, ‘with ladies of dubious character’”. How quaint. De Souza read on. At least you don’t know about the snuff films. Thank God for that! He felt his heart thudding in his chest and took a deep breath to calm himself. I need to get a grip. After all, it’s obviously not the police who have leaked this, otherwise they’d know more. He realized he could cope with the superintendent after all. Somebody outside of their department had talked to the press. He would have to think of possibilities and then feed those to the super. For all he knew, it could be another politician trying to oust the minister. He knew the world of politics was cutthroat.
At the police station, the early shift was commenting on the newspaper and radio reports. De Souza felt more relaxed, now that the initial shock had worn off. His usually analytical mind had begun to extrapolate possibilities and ways to handle the superintendent without sounding defensive. He knew the phone call would not come in before nine o’clock and wondered if he should leave an early message, a sort of pre-emptive strike, to let the super know he was on the case. He picked up his phone and dialed headquarters, asking to be put through to the superintendent’s private line and feeling better as he left a message. De Souza preferred to be the one controlling a situation. He knew it came from years of dealing with lowlifes and criminals. Never let them think they have the upper hand. It amused him to think he was using that same tactic on his superior. What did that say of his opinion of the man?
Pamela breezed in, followed shortly afterwards by Skinner. Mrs. Ming would arrive at nine on the dot and they would begin their day. Thankfully, no serious crime had taken place overnight and they could dedicate themselves to the two cases at hand. De Souza smelled freshly brewed coffee coming from the kitchen and made his way towards it.
“Pamela, you’re a life saver. Did you hear the news?”
Pamela smiled over her shoulder as she opened a tin of assorted cookies. “Oh, yes. I sure did. Our superintendent will be having a coronary about now. Who do you think leaked it?”
“Could have been one of the prostitutes involved… good for business? Also, who knows... a politician who hates the minister, who maybe also frequents ladies of dubious character? Forensics would not know. I doubt Mrs. Ingham would have known. Maybe the gardener? He seemed to be more informed than most gardeners but I don’t think he would have had specific names of people involved in any naughty business. The most important thing is they don’t know anything about the snuff films. That would be a disaster.”
At this point, Skinner, who had been quietly listening at the door of the kitchen, interjected, “Well, I hate to think what the island is going to make of it all. Can’t say I ever liked that particular minister. I wonder how the government is going to play this one down.”
De Souza nodded. “Right now, I’m wondering how I’m going to play it down to the superintendent. He’s bound to overreact and, after the leak we had on our last case, he’s so paranoid about things like this reflecting badly on the police.”
“C’mon, De Souza,” Pamela’s voice was gentle. “How can he blame us for this? We haven’t leaked it and if we had, it wouldn’t have been a leak, it would have been more like a tsunami.”
At that moment, the phone rang. De Souza looked at his watch. Nine o’clock. “I bet that’s the superintendent now. Wish me luck.” Grabbing a couple of cookies, he reluctantly left the kitchen.
Pamela and Skinner looked across at De Souza from the kitchen and could see him holding the receiver away from his ear.
“Yep. It’s the super.” Skinner laughed. Pamela shrugged and went back to her desk, where she hoped to have an email from Archie or Burgess.
Back at Cherry Hill, Nana had just poured a second cup of coffee for Jacintha.
“Have you heard from Leon yet, dear?” Nana was excited to find out how Burgess’s trip was going.
“Just a quick text message. He said he and Archie arrived safely and the hotel was comfortable and they were going to get an early night. They have a meeting in the morning with the Russian police detective and are quite intrigued to find out what he’s like.”
“I’m sure the whole experience will be enlightening. It’s a pity they’re there for business and not able to take in some of the sights. I understand Red Square is spectacular and some of the subway stations are like art galleries with great vaulted ceilings with paintings and murals. They built them under Stalin and used local artisans to make them works of art in themselves.”
“Nana, how do you know all this?” Jacintha was always amazed at the depth of Nana’s knowledge.
“Well, honey, you forget, I was once a teacher. In my day, we didn’t travel overseas nor did we have television, so we read. It’s a pity that today’s kids don’t read more, instead of sitting in front of a computer screen playing those games all day.”
Recognizing that Nana was about to embark on one of her pet peeves, Jacintha thought it better to make a move to leave for the hospital. Just as she was gathering the breakfast cups, the news came on the radio. Both paused in horror as they listened to Johnny McCabe as he read the headlines. Annoyingly, they then had to wait for a couple of commercials about home insurance and an anti-allergy medicine until his voice came back on with the details. They listened together in silence as the story unfolded of the Minister for Information’s antics at the home of the Russian film director.
Jacintha looked across at Nana’s worried face and tried to smile reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Nana. Buddy is away from all of this. The minister is the one who needs to be worrying, not the police.”
“But what if it’s another leak from someone in the force?” Nana’s voice betrayed her anxiety. “You know how mean that superintendent gets. I’ll bet he’d have fired Leon for that departmental leak during the last case, if he had not been such a hero during that time.”
“Nana, there’s not a snowball’s chance in Hell that the leak came from the police. There are plenty of other people who probably know about these things. I bet the minister has an enemy or two who might like to see him brought down.” Jacintha felt uneasy leaving Nana as the news had evidently upset her. “Anyways, Nana, you can hear it all on the People’s Corner this afternoon. No doubt there’ll be all sorts of opinions called in and I’m sure the minister will come in for a slating – not the police.”
Nana chuckled. “Yes, especially from the ones brandishing their bibles like a sword. I know some of my church friends get pretty riled up when they hear all this nonsense. When will we ever learn? Honey, I’m telling you, Bermuda was a much nicer place thirty years ago. Do you know, I had to walk three miles to school along a dirt road? And it was a long way. Things all started to change when they built that airport.”
Jacintha realized that what Nana really meant was that things had all started to go wrong when they had built the airport. She knew now was as good a time as any to head off to work. Nana was definitely back on track and ready to take her down memory lane. Ruffling the top of Digby’s head, she made her way smiling to the kitchen door.
“Nana, I’d love to hear about that again but I’d better get over to the hospital. I’ll see you tonight and you can catch me up on the news from the People’s Corner.”
“All right, dear. Have a lovely day.” If you can have a lovely day fiddling around with a bunch of dead people.
CHAPTER 51
Burgess and Archie waited downstairs in the lobby for their Russian counterpart. They were unsure quite what to expect but knew, as the only black me
n around, he would definitely find them. Both had taken pains to dress well but in an understated way. Burgess wore a navy sports jacket and stone colored pants with an open neck denim shirt and v-neck sweater. Archie, in deference to the cooler temperatures, wore khaki Dockers, a cream turtleneck and a brown suede bomber jacket. The approving glances from the ladies served to bolster their confidence. Sipping coffee in the lobby’s comfortable armchairs, they were startled by a voice behind them.
“Gentlemen, would you be from Bermuda police?” The speaker was a clean-shaven, tall, broad-chested bear of a man in his early thirties. His thick blond hair was worn long at the collar and in need of a style. His denim jeans and black leather jacket looked well-worn and there was a smell of smoke and aftershave, not displeasing, about his person. He extended a large ham of a hand towards Burgess and they made their introductions. Not someone to antagonize, was Burgess’s immediate thought. The gentle voice belied the size and obvious power of their Russian colleague. Burgess immediately liked him and noticed that Archie seemed at ease. They all sat down and Khitarov ordered a tea for himself, which arrived shortly afterwards in a glass with an intricately designed silver holder.
Khitarov saw there were no ashtrays and allowed his hand to stray from his pocket back to his tea cup. He would have to go without a cigarette and hoped the meeting inside would not last too long. He felt the need for a smoke. He looked across at the two detectives. They were both so different and yet each possessed a certain poise that exuded self-confidence. He intuitively felt he was in the presence of two decent men whom he could trust and who would not let him down in a tight spot. How he envied the fact that they both worked together. His lieutenant colonel basically gave him little support. Khitarov worked alone and, if he really thought about it, realized that any partner would be more of a liability than an asset to him. There were several police officers in the department who did not subscribe to the same work ethic as he and would not be averse to looking the other way for a few rubles. In a recent scandal, several in his department had been caught using their squad cars to provide police escorts to wealthy businessmen to help them through the Moscow traffic. Khitarov, however, was known as an incorruptible and knew they grudgingly respected him for that, although none would go out of their way for him. These thoughts were interrupted by Burgess who threw him a question.
“I sorry, my English not so good. Repeat please.” Khitarov knew his English was clumsy but the fact that the two men spoke no Russian helped him overcome his shyness.
Burgess endeavored to speak more slowly without sounding patronizing. “How was your trip out to the Black Sea?”
“Oh yes. Very interesting. Much to tell. Bodyguard dead now but I have much information.” Both Burgess and Archie leaned in closer. The three of them looked as if they were plotting some sort of conspiracy as their heads nearly touched over the coffee table. Khitarov told them of his trip to the hospital on the Black Sea and the horrifying interview with the bodyguard. He explained how the man had seen the diver in the water, shot at him, and then himself jumped overboard shortly before the explosion. He told them how the film director’s former wife and two children, several crew members and a cook had all lost their lives in the blast. The good news, however, was that the ex-wife had told the bodyguard that the film director was staying at her Mediterranean villa on the island of Mallorca.
“Bingo,” exclaimed Archie. “So that’s where he is.”
Khitarov told them he had been in touch with the Spanish Guardia Civil and given them the information. They would report back to him today with any results on the apprehension of Alexeev.
Burgess looked thoughtful. “Do we know who blew up the yacht?”
“Not yet. I worry it might be Russian Mafia.” Khitarov took another sip of his tea.
“Do you mean the Vory v Zakone?” Archie massacred the pronunciation, making Khitarov smile. Catching his look, Archie began to laugh. “Languages are not my thing.”
“We pronounce it Vory fa Zakonya.”
“Okay,” affirmed Burgess with a smile. “That I think we can handle.” He helped himself to more coffee from the cafetière and began to stir in some sugar, pushing the coffee pot towards Archie. “You know, we interviewed some young men in Bermuda, who had been approached by a gentleman with a lot of tattoos and a foreign accent, to break into Alexeev’s house and tie up the housekeepers. He told them he came from Estonia. We wondered if he could have been one of those mafioso types. We’re leaning towards the premise that he might have arrived later and tortured the Filipino in order to find out where Alexeev was.”
“Is very possible.” Khitarov looked serious. “Many Vor are now from outside Russia. We know that murdered girl’s mother is girlfriend of Vory boss. Vory not allowed to marry. I don’t think girl is his daughter but I guess he want to help girlfriend find daughter and, now that she is found, will want to know who killed her. Is very dangerous time for us now,” Archie and Burgess exchanged worried glances as Khitarov calmly continued. “Other important piece of information…” Khitarov paused for effect. He had decided to tell the detectives everything he knew, instinctively feeling this was the way forward with them. “Bodyguard has evidence that Alexeev involved in filming murder of girl. He told me he has DVD in cupboard in his office at the casino. Numbers for cupboard…”
“You mean the combination to open a safe?” Archie interjected.
“Yes. Combination is on piece of paper in his apartment. We need to get into apartment and get combination.”
“Did he give you the keys?” Archie raised his eyebrows as he posed the question.
“Nyet. We break in.” Khitarov’s voice remained totally matter of fact.
So much for the new saintly Russian police force; Burgess had visions of he and Archie stuck in Lubyanka Prison or sent to Siberia for the rest of their lives and was surprised to hear himself saying, “Okay, sounds interesting. We can help with that,” all the while thinking this was not going to be your routine overseas trip.
“Well,” said Khitarov. “We go to apartment now. Come with me.”
They gathered up their jackets and followed Khitarov out into the busy Tverskaya Street. Burgess had never felt so helpless. He could not even read the street signs, unless they were the large ones using the Latin alphabet. He looked across at Archie and could see that he, too, was feeling just as vulnerable. The briskness of the air caught Burgess by surprise and he felt the familiar tightness in his chest as his asthma threatened. He reached into his pocket, startling Khitarov and took a pull on his inhaler.
Khitarov looked relieved. “I thought you pull out gun.” He laughed to hide his embarrassment. Evidently he was more jumpy than he let on – a fact that was not lost on either Burgess or Archie. Burgess felt a chill tingle down his spine… and it had nothing to do with the weather.
CHAPTER 52
De Souza was at the end of his tether. The interview with Clarissa Lightbourne had been a bust. She kept playing little miss innocent while all of De Souza’s instincts were screaming foul. Try as he could, she was too clever to let anything slip that could possibly incriminate her. He had spoken at length with Jan Du Bois regarding the blotting paper and blue pad found in Flood’s desk at his law offices. According to Forensics, they claimed that the note had formed part of a longer message written on the pad. The blotting paper was clear indication that the ‘sorry, darling’ was part of a message that began ‘sorry, darling, I’ll be a…’. Could that be ‘sorry, darling, I’ll be a little late’ or ‘sorry, darling, I’ll be at a meeting’ or ‘sorry, darling, I’ll be along later’? Hardly a suicide note, unless he planned on saying something like ‘sorry, darling, I’ll be a gentleman and kill myself since I have disgraced both you and myself’. Lightbourne continued to imply it was the wife who had most likely killed him whilst, for her part, Mrs. Flood accused Lightbourne. De Souza felt caught in a spider’s web. There was something he just was not seeing here and, try as he could, inspiration refused t
o strike. Burgess would be disappointed when he heard they did not have enough evidence to implicate either the wife or the personal assistant. Lightbourne’s fingerprints were not on the string of grey pearls, nor on the safe itself. If nothing turned up, they would have to be satisfied with death by person or persons unknown. That would drive Burgess crazy.
To make his day more miserable, Jan Du Bois had not been able to help further with the other crime scene in Point Shares. According to her additional search and analysis of the house and its grounds, most of the evidence had been trampled on or contaminated. The only person who had been able to confirm that nothing of value appeared to have been stolen was the cleaner, Mrs. Ingham. It had taken a great deal of persuasion to convince the old lady to go back into the house. Her world had been turned upside-down and she did not wish to relive what she had seen - or thought she had seen - when she first entered the home. Both Jan and De Souza felt that Mrs. Ingham’s testimony had served to corroborate the story of the two boys who had only broken in, tied up the occupants and ransacked the house looking for any adult DVDs they had been paid to find. In fact, Skinner now had the DVDs as evidence and they were readily commercially available. So, it would appear there had been two separate incidents at the house. The first had prepared the way for the second. The unknown foreigner had duped the boys into becoming part of a much deadlier crime. De Souza felt almost sorry for them but stupidity would not serve as a mitigating factor.
The Moscow traffic was as bad as in any European city. Burgess and Archie were crammed into Khitarov’s police car, a white Lada with little legroom. Burgess was in the front, with his seat as far forward as possible for Archie. Both men felt like they had their knees pressed into their chests. Khitarov drove at a fast pace, with the windows open, as he chain-smoked his Marlboros. Burgess was grateful for the fresh air as he would have been forced to use his inhaler in front of the Russian. He did not want to embarrass himself with an asthma attack. They alternately drove at breakneck speed or came to a grinding halt, depending on the flow of traffic. Burgess found Khitarov’s driving style somewhat lacking in finesse. In Bermuda, he would have had a ticket by now. They made their way into Nikolina Gora, one of the more upscale residential areas of Moscow, where busy roads gave way to leafy streets flanked on each side by huge homes nestled in magnificent grounds behind walls and fences. Khitarov came to an abrupt halt in front of the ornate wrought iron gate of a recently renovated mansion, now divided into luxury apartments. Ringing the bell, conveniently placed so that you need not leave your car, he held his police identification up to the television monitor. The gate glided open and they passed through into the parking area that was surrounded by shrubs and pleasant trees showing the first vestiges of spring.
Never to Dead to Talk (Detective Inspector Burgess Series) Page 16
