Dead Blind

by Rebecca Bradley

  He started small. With some thefts. Found he was good, and the money easy. He branched out into drugs. This was a much bigger part of the pot and Rusnac clawed his way up, fought with anyone who tried to stop him.

  The natural progression from drugs was the girls. If you moved drugs you may as well move girls.

  He thought his life was as he wanted it. He was at the top of his little empire, but then the news came from his Mama that her heart was failing. They could offer no treatment. She needed a new one but they couldn’t do it for her there. They just couldn’t. She didn’t have the funds.

  Rusnac had contacts. They were Russians. They had crossed paths but generally kept out of each other’s way. Now he wanted their help. At whatever cost.

  They had done it all. His Mama had her transplant. Vova hadn’t questioned where the heart had come from. And now he was here.

  Indebted to the Russians.

  He shook himself free and turned back to the task at hand. He looked at the mother, but there was already someone with her.

  The group. He needed to talk to the group.

  The sky was grey overhead, like a slab of slate had been laid above him. Heavy, loud and obvious in its presence, the damp in the air a precursor to what would likely be a substantial downpour. He needed to move: the group would disperse once the rain came.

  Rusnac raised himself to his full height, pushed his shoulders back and stopped the group. They weren’t pleased with the intrusion but it was of little consequence to him. Though he did want to get this done with as little public fuss as possible. He wasn’t a stupid man. Stupidity got men dead. Or locked up. And he didn’t plan on either of those.

  He introduced himself as a new friend of Billy’s. The group looked sceptical, and then bemused by the interruption, confused that Billy would have a new friend that looked and sounded like Rusnac.

  Rusnac took offence and wanted to smash each of their sneering little faces in until they bled from their judging eyes. He would listen with pleasure as they popped from their sockets. And it was as he imagined this sound that he heard the man speak behind him. He wanted to introduce himself. Rusnac stiffened. He liked to be prepared and he had no idea who had managed to sneak up on him. He was annoyed. Now here he was in a vulnerable position.

  ‘I’m DI Ray Patrick from Stoke Newington police station.’

  Fuck. Police.

  He had the option of the Glock.

  The kids he had talked to disrespected the cop and moved away. That was an option. He did the same. No need to cause a scene. He’d done what he came here to do. Now to leave and be done. His back was still to the cop.

  The cop wouldn’t be done though. He wouldn’t stop. He shouted and hollered. He followed. He was drawing attention to him. People would stare and they would remember him. Drawing in a breath, he put his hand on the butt of the gun in his waistband and turned to face the cop.

  Fuck. It was the cop he had killed the kid in front of. His fingers tightened around the handle. His forearm tensed and the material strained over them.

  He couldn’t. Not here. He’d be the most wanted man in the city. He turned away, hoped he could make it away before the cop grabbed him. But instead of hearing the cop run, he shouted him, told Rusnac he wanted to talk to him.

  Talk? Seriously? That’s what they did in this country after they saw a kid killed in cold blood?

  Rusnac looked at the cop. Stared at his face. It was definitely the same guy. He’d never forget that face. The dark hair streaked through with grey over dark probing eyes. Strong chin.

  Whatever was going on, Rusnac didn’t want to hang around to find out.

  42

  Ray was standing motionless.

  ‘So who was it?’ asked Joe. The rain had started to come down heavier now. Umbrellas were put up.

  ‘No one.’

  ‘No one? It looked like it was someone, Ray, the way you ran after him and the way he didn’t want to talk to you.’

  Elaine watched her two supervisors with interest.

  ‘It’s not important.’ Ray started to move towards his car.

  Joe put a hand on his arm. A light touch. Ray spun as though burnt. Eyes flaring. ‘I said it’s not important, Joe.’

  ‘But here, Ray. At Billy’s funeral. Today of all days. In this location. Does it have anything to do with the investigation? You have to see I have no choice but to ask?’

  There was a heavy silence. Mourners moved about. A hearse pulled up with the family car behind it. Daddy in flowers, in pinks, whites and lilacs on the side of the coffin. The sky felt low, dark, oppressive. A blanket smothering the day.

  Elaine pushed her hair behind her ears. Waited. The men stared at each other. Neither backing down.

  ‘I can understand you asking. Of course, I can,’ Ray replied at last. ‘But I assure you, it’s bad timing, is all. I saw someone I wanted to talk to in relation to another case. You know what this job’s like. People pop up anywhere. You know he didn’t attend the memorial, so he wasn’t part of Billy’s crowd, which is what we were interested in. He’s local, was probably passing, saw someone he knew, one of that group, and came to say hello. It’s a small world when all is said and done.’

  Joe waited a moment. Digested the information. ‘Okay. Sounds reasonable. You know I had to ask though?’

  ‘Yeah. I’d have done the same,’ Ray answered.

  ‘Shall we go and grab those kids before they disappear? See what they can tell us about Billy that we maybe didn’t know?’ asked Elaine, breaking in. She could see from her guv’s face he was far from happy, that something was wrong. The guy he’d chased, somewhat weakly, had been important to him in some way, but she didn’t know how.

  ‘Sounds like a plan,’ he replied.

  They caught up with the group as they walked away from the church towards town. People were going about their daily business.

  ‘Hey, can we talk to you?’ shouted Joe as they approached. A lad with his face down to his phone, which he held close to his body, protecting it from the rain, jerked his head around to look at Joe, panic on his face. Joe shook his head, then indicated further ahead. The lad sighed, crossed the road and went back to his phone.

  Ray was still distracted, Elaine noticed. It wasn’t as simple as he’d made out to Joe. Whatever the male meant to Ray it was important, and he was brooding. His mind wasn’t in the game now.

  The group stopped. Seemed to turn as one. Looked at the white cops approaching them. Looked them up and down.

  ‘Cops, yeah?’ one of them asked.

  ‘Yeah, we’re cops,’ replied Joe. ‘But you’re not in any trouble. We’re here for Billy.’

  ‘Much good you did him, yeah,’ said another. A sneer on his lip.

  They were closer now and Joe lowered his voice so as not to shout and sound overbearing.

  ‘I know you’re upset. He’s dead. You have every right to be. You’ve lost a friend. We need your help to make sure someone pays for that and Billy’s death doesn’t go unanswered.’

  The rain was hammering down now. Elaine struggled to hear over the noise on her umbrella. A dull, inconsistent beat. The group were hostile. Kids who hadn’t had much good come out of interaction with cops.

  ‘Fuck, man, you think we’re upset? We’re angry. What’ve you ever done for us? Now you want us to help you?’ The speaker turned his back on them. The rest of the group followed suit.

  ‘Did you know Billy came to us?’ Ray asked. Hands in his pockets. Rain streaming down his face. Joe looked at him. Surprised by the disclosure. They hadn’t agreed on what they would tell them.

  The group paused. No one turned.

  Ray spoke again. ‘He was into something big and he wanted us to help him sort it out.’

  The smallest of the group turned now. ‘And you got him killed, yeah?’ Anger in his voice.

  Ray took a step back as though he’d been physically hit.

  ‘What Billy got himself involved in was too big and too dan
gerous for him. He didn’t allow us to know too much. We weren’t in a position to help him as we’d have expected to,’ Joe answered. ‘That’s why we’re here. To see if he talked to any of you guys about it.’

  The group were engaged now.

  ‘So. Can we talk?’

  43

  It was a downpour but Ray barely noticed. He wanted the information from the group in front of him but he wasn’t blind to the scowls that were directed at him. To faces wiped off only to be drenched again a moment later.

  ‘I don’t want to keep you long,’ he said. ‘It’d be useful to know what he spoke about before he was killed. The smallest nugget might be useful to us.’

  ‘How we’s supposed to know what’s useful to you, man?’ one of the group asked – red trainers, the same kind as Billy wore, Ray noticed.

  ‘Okay, how about we move to the pub? I’ll get the drinks in and you can tell me what you know there?’

  This time the group looked at one another, a silent conversation, and then they nodded in unison.

  The Rose and Crown was on the corner of Church Street and Albion Road. Ray wasn’t too far away from home. It was an old-style pub with a wood-coffered ceiling, tiled floor, wood panelling and a real fire, which was lit but low. It offered a gentle warmth and felt welcoming, friendly.

  The bar was already half full. It was a weekday and these were likely to be regulars. Ray wondered if they stood out as cops. He was always picked out as a cop. Elaine less so. With her slim, petite figure, she wasn’t what people expected a cop to look like. Though he never knew what female cops were supposed to look like. Ray imagined Joe would be easily picked out as well.

  He ordered drinks, five pints of lager and three Cokes. They were on duty, and now it was clear they were cops. With the drinks on a tray Ray turned around and realised he wouldn’t be able to find his group. He’d said he would buy the drinks and fetch them over. It was natural instinct: instead of asking Joe to help him carry them and then being able to follow behind Joe as he walked to their table, he had done what he would have done before the accident, coped on his own.

  Ice ran through his veins. He took a step back and felt the curved edge of the bar dig into his back.

  There were so many people in here. Didn’t they have jobs or homes to go to? Why were so many people in the pub? Why were they here! The tray started to shake in his hands.

  People were scattered all over, going all the way to the back of the pub. A couple of glasses on the tray clinked together.

  Calm down Ray. You can do this. Remember who you’re looking for. It’s a specific group. Five black males, a white male and a white female.

  He took a deep breath. Yes, they were identifiable, he could do this. With another deep breath he steadied himself, looked around as anyone would who needed to search for friends or colleagues who had wandered off to sit down, and identified his group.

  Ray handed the pints out, then realised he wouldn’t be able to identify the lad with the red trainers now that they were seated at a table. It didn’t matter. He didn’t need to know who was who; all he needed was to know the information they had about Billy.

  If they had any.

  It wasn’t clear if he had passed any on to his friends. He said he hadn’t involved anyone, but you never knew what could have slipped out. And they needed all the help they could get.

  Ray looked across at the table opposite them. He wanted to know who might be within hearing distance. A couple, thirties, too much into each other to be interested in any conversations going on around them. They looked to have been in the bar a while, as there was no sign of them having been caught in the rain. He had his chair pulled right up to hers and she’d hooked her leg around his, and in response his arm was snaked around her neck, where he twirled a piece of hair in his finger. She talked low so as to not be overheard, and the male couldn’t take his eyes from her.

  ‘… isn’t that right, Ray?’ Joe looked at him.

  Ray returned his look. Admitted with it that he hadn’t heard.

  ‘I’m confirming again that we only want to talk about Billy, we think he was a great kid and he’s never been in any trouble with us.’

  Ray took a large swig of his Coke. The drink was cold and fizzy and he wished it was a beer. ‘I didn’t know Billy long because I’d been absent from work, but the little I did know of him, I recognised him as a strong and vibrant person who was ethical and brave, who wanted to do the right thing, and that has resulted in a tragic loss that I personally want to right. I know I can’t bring Billy back but I can damn well bring his killer to justice. And that’s exactly what he’d have wanted. I know that from the short conversations I had with him. You know him better than me, was justice his thing?’

  There was silence around the table. The group didn’t do their usual – look at each other and manage to converse in silence; instead, they dropped their heads, considered their drinks.

  Had he got it wrong? Pushed too hard, maybe? He looked at Elaine. She shrugged.

  They waited.

  ‘He was our mate, you know.’

  ‘Yeah, we know. We’re genuinely sorry for your loss,’ said Joe.

  The speaker looked toward Ray. ‘We knew he was up to something. He kept disappearing. Answered his phone but refused to take the call in front of us. Said it was better for us that way.’ His voice dropped. Ray leaned in. Arms on the sticky table. ‘We thought he might be getting himself into trouble. We followed him one night.’

  Ray could feel his pulse start to race. He didn’t dare turn away from the lad who was speaking, now. Didn’t dare break the spell. Not even to acknowledge to Elaine that they might be about to find that they had witnesses to one of the organisation. ‘And?’

  ‘He met some guy. In Abney Park cemetery. He had this really thick neck. That’s what stood out about him. They talked. Billy was animated. Passionate about summat. His arms were all over. He wanted to get his point across. The dude stood there and took it. Then it was over and Billy walked away.’

  ‘Sounds like Borta,’ said Elaine.

  ‘Who’s that?’ One of the lads popped his head up now.

  ‘One of the guys we already have in custody,’ replied Ray. They were no further forward.

  ‘So we decided to have it out with him.’ One of the others had decided to pick up the story. ‘He wasn’t too happy about it. Disgusted with us, he were. That we’d followed him and that.’

  Ray listened, let them talk.

  Elaine drank her Coke. Eyed the group over her drink. Her pocket notebook and pen in front of her, where she’d made some notes.

  ‘But in the end he said to us, if anything happened to him, to tell the feds: dedit.’

  ‘Dead it?’ asked Elaine. Pen poised.

  ‘No. One word. He spelled it out for us. D.e.d.i.t.’

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Ray.

  ‘Don’t know, man. We’ve given you what we know. Now you have to find who killed him.’

  44

  Ray, Elaine and Joe nursed their Cokes. Not in a rush to fill up with another. Not in a rush to get back to the office. Billy’s friends had left. They had no idea what they’d discovered. A word, that was it, one word had come from meeting Billy’s mates at the memorial, and no explanation.

  ‘So, what the hell is dedit?’ Joe looked at Elaine and Ray with confusion on his face.

  ‘Beats me. Maybe it’s an abbreviation, you know, how they miss out some vowels in words nowadays, so short for “dead and it”, and we’re supposed to figure out what is dead?’ Elaine tried.

  ‘Billy’s dead.’ Ray felt flat. Defeated.

  ‘But Billy said this when he was alive. It doesn’t mean Billy,’ countered Elaine.

  Ray pulled his phone from his pocket. Woke it up, pulled up a browser window and tapped in ‘dedit’. Joe and Elaine looked over his shoulder as he worked. He read through the results and looked at his colleagues.

  ‘Found anything?’ asked Joe.

 
‘According to our friend Google, dedit is the Latin word for giving; a Canadian law for a sum forfeited by one who has failed in an engagement; and according to an urban dictionary, it’s an insult, emphasising an embarrassing moment.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘What the hell do we do with that?’

  ‘I don’t know. We take what we’ve been told and what we know back to the office and we cross-check it all against everything we already have and see what comes back.’

  There was a hum in the office when Ray and Elaine walked back in. He could feel it the minute he was through the door. It wasn’t the busy hum of wading through enquiries, paperwork, red tape, the drudgery of the job, the plodding necessity, this was the hum of excitement at a lead having broken through. The expectation of not having to sit at those desks, those computers, for another minute more because now they had a concrete lead. Ray looked at his phone; there was a missed call from Prabhat. It must have been while they were in the pub with Billy’s friends.

  Elaine looked to him as though he’d know through osmosis just being in the room, simply because of his rank. He shook his head. She walked to her desk and fired up her computer. Turned to a colleague beside her. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘The DNA from the cig found at the burnt-out garage came back from Interpol. We have an ID.’

  ‘Name?’ Ray demanded, his chest contracting, squeezing until he realised he’d been holding his breath and took in a deep breath.

  ‘Guy called Vova Rus …’ The speaker looked down at a sheet of paper. ‘Rusnac. Vova Rusnac. He’s from Romania, which is next door to Moldova, where Ion Borta is from.’

  ‘We have any idea where he is?’ asked Ray, now pulling off his coat, ready to get to work. All thought of dedit forgotten.

  ‘Not yet, guv. That’s what everyone is trying to do now. Trying to locate him. It’s not likely he’s registered legitimately for anything anywhere, but we are checking all our systems and cross-checking them for associates and intelligence.’