by Tana Collins
Getting out of the lift, he walked quickly down the corridor. He jumped when he heard a door slam some way away. As soon as the key card opened the door he walked into his room and stopped dead in his tracks. Stopped as if he was about to tread on a mine. Somebody had been in before him. He could sense it. He stood absolutely still, not moving a muscle. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest.
He felt so tense his neck muscles were sore. He looked round him, trying to remember where he’d put the few personal possessions he’d brought with him. His shaver, which had been sitting on the dresser, was still there, but Carruthers had the feeling it had been moved, as had his book. He picked up the book. The bookmark was in the wrong place. Could it have been the maid? The sheet wasn’t turned down so had she even been in? He let out a sigh of relief. His mobile was still lying on his bed.
Switching the bedroom light off, he navigated his way in the dark over to the window. Hiding in the shadows he peeked out to the road below. Cars made their way up and down the street, sloshing through the rivulets of rain. The lighting cast its sickly yellow glow over the wet pavements. Carruthers didn’t know what he was looking for. Someone, his Eastern counterpart, also lurking in the shadows? When he thought of spies watching a hotel he imagined a tall gaunt man wearing a long coat and dark trilby standing with his back leaning against a car, smoking a cigarette. He didn’t see anyone lurking on a street corner or standing against a car but knew they wouldn’t look like they’d stepped out of a 1930s noir film.
The window rattled as the wind picked up again. He moved away from it, closing the curtains as he went. He heard another door slam and then voices in the corridor. Switching the light back on, he walked over to the door and locked it from the inside. Debated moving the bedside table up against the door but decided against it.
Just as he was taking his shirt off there was a knock on his door. He buttoned the shirt back up and unlocking the door, called out, ‘Who is it?’
‘Reception.’
Carruthers hesitated then opened the door a fraction. Seeing the young man who was behind reception earlier he opened the door wider. The man thrust his hand out.
‘I have a letter for you.’
Carruthers took the sealed envelope. Looked over the man’s shoulder. ‘Did you see the person who left this?’
‘No. It wasn’t given to me. It was given to my colleague. But apparently it had to be delivered to you tonight.’
‘Man or woman?’
‘Man.’
‘Has anyone been into the room while I’ve been out? A maid perhaps?’
The man from reception looked confused. ‘No, sir.’
Carruthers quickly ripped open the envelope, read the letter. It was short. It read, ‘Don’t trust Kert Ilves. We think he works for the Russians.’
16
Carruthers sat on the edge of the bed holding the note in his hand. Who the hell was Kert Ilves? And who had written the note? Who were the ‘we’ to which it referred? Carruthers picked up his mobile. Started punching in Fletcher’s number then stopped. Broke the connection. Should he leave the hotel and ring her, or sit it out until first light? Who was to say the room wasn’t bugged? Or that his phone hadn’t been tampered with? Or was he being ridiculous? He no longer knew.
He decided he couldn’t trust his mobile. Made the decision to buy a pay-as-you-go the next morning. Tried to get some sleep but it wasn’t easy to come by. He tossed and turned. Lay wide-awake, eyes open, arms behind his head. At 3am he was still listening to the sounds of the hotel. The occasional voice from the street below, slosh of a car driving by on wet streets. At 3.15 he got up. Padded naked to the curtain and pulled it back to look out onto the street below. He couldn’t see anything other than the silhouettes of the city so got back into bed. Fell into an uneasy sleep at around 4am.
At 8am he awoke with a start at the sound of a car backfiring. He felt exhausted and anxious. Had a hasty shower and a cup of coffee in his room. Leaving the hotel he went in search of a mobile phone shop. Didn’t have far to go before he found one. Amongst other surprises he had found out that Estonia was a leader in technology. Bought a cheap mobile and called Fletcher from a street corner.
‘Listen, Andie, I don’t have much time to talk. Do me a favour? I need you to find out about someone for me. Anything you can find out about a man called Kert Ilves.’ He thought for a moment. ‘And while you’re at it…’ He hesitated. ‘Gunnar Aare.’
‘Sure. What’s up?’
‘Don’t ring me on my mobile. Can you call me on this number?’ He gave her his new number. ‘And, Andie? Quick as you can.’
He severed the connection. Walked into a coffee shop. Ordered another coffee and a croissant. Drank the black liquid and ate the croissant, although for all he tasted, it he could have been eating cardboard. Waited for Fletcher to call back.
He leapt as his new mobile rang. Snatched at it and cradled it under his chin as he grabbed the pen from his shirt pocket.
‘I’ve got that information you wanted,’ Fletcher said. ‘Who shall I start with? Gunnar Aare or Kert Ilves?’
‘Either. Just give me what you’ve got. What have you got on Gunnar Aare?’
‘Gunnar Aare was one of the three men killed in the shoot-out. He died alongside Mikael Tamm and Olev Lepp.’ Whatever Carruthers was expecting, it wasn’t this. His throat suddenly felt constricted, as if someone was trying to squeeze the very life out of him. He couldn’t breathe. He felt his heart pounding somewhere in his throat. ‘You sure about that?’
‘Yes I am. What’s going on, Jim?’
Jesus, thought Carruthers. If it hadn’t been Gunnar Aare he’d been meeting with, who the hell had it been? He felt himself going hot then cold. Of course there was only one person. Kert Ilves. He couldn’t believe he could have been duped like that. He felt a sharp stab of anger. And fear.
Ignoring her question he said, ‘What about Kert Ilves?’ He felt another momentary prickle of fear.
‘He used to be attached to the Tallinn Police. He left three years ago under a cloud. How much detail do you want?’
‘As much as you’ve got,’ said Carruthers.
‘That information was harder to find, but I did discover he’s got an Estonian father and a Russian mother.’
‘His mother’s Russian?’
‘That’s right. Now, are you going to tell me what’s going on?’ said Fletcher.
‘Why did he leave the police?’ Even as he asked the question Carruthers wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.
‘I have no idea.’
As he spoke, Carruthers’ eyes flicked over the other customers. Decided none of them was a threat. ‘Don’t worry about me,’ he said. ‘Just look after Barry Cuthbert. How’s he doing, by the way?’
‘Much better. Reckon he’s ready to talk. Knows what side his bread’s buttered on.’
‘Has he said anything?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Make sure he’s never left alone. I’ll be back soon.’
‘OK. Jim? I should tell you that Bingham’s appointed a new DCI. She’s starting next month.’
Carruthers swore.
‘It was a shock to all of us,’ said Fletcher.
It hadn’t been a shock to him, but to appoint her so soon? ‘Have you met her?’
‘All I know is her name’s Sandra McTavish. Comes from CID Lothian and Borders.’
Carruthers finished the call, paid for his coffee and walked briskly back to his hotel. He could feel his skin prickling with anger. Anger over McTavish’s appointment. And fear. Kert Ilves kicked out of the police. No wonder Ilves didn’t want Carruthers to meet him at the station. He didn’t work there anymore. Carruthers raked his hands through his grey hair. Picked up his pace. His mind was working nineteen to the dozen. His breathing was fast and shallow so he deliberately slowed it to calm himself.
The situation was bad, however, what it also showed was that someone – the man who had written the note – was
a friend; and he needed friends. He was also in a far better position than he had been twenty-four hours before. Now he had the heads-up on the situation, when he met ‘Gunnar Aare’ again he would know he was actually most probably speaking to Kert Ilves. He wondered if his acting skills were up to it.
Once back in his room he sat drumming his fingers on the bed for ten minutes then made a decision. He was going to go to the Tallinn Police Station. Brave or stupid? He didn’t know. What was he going to do when he was there? He didn’t know the answer to that question either. All he knew was that doing nothing was not an option.
He grabbed his jacket. Took the stairs. Got to the foyer and approached the front desk of reception. They were busy checking a couple out. Carruthers didn’t recognise either of the reception staff. Both were young women. Carruthers stood in line until they were ready for him. He glanced around. Noticed a man reading a newspaper on the sofa. When it was his turn to speak he told the receptionist his name and asked if there were any messages for him. Having been told there were none he turned to leave and the man who had been reading his newspaper stood up.
‘Jim Carruthers?’ he asked.
‘Who’s asking?’
The man walked up to him. ‘Can we go somewhere to talk?’ he said.
Without smiling, Carruthers said, ‘Not until you tell me who you are.’
‘I left you that note last night. My name’s Janek Kuul.’
Under his breath Carruthers said, ‘Even if you are who you say who you are, why should I trust you?’
‘I sent you the information on Aleks Voller. Inspector Carruthers, you are a foreign police officer in a strange country. No doubt you feel you are in over your head. You need to trust someone. You feel very alone at the moment, I should think. And I am one of the good guys. Come, let’s walk. But first I want to show you this.’ He put his hand in his trouser pocket and pulled something out.
Carruthers jumped, wondering just what he was concealing in his pocket. Then he relaxed. It was a police ID badge.
‘No doubt Kert Ilves showed you his badge?’
Carruthers nodded.
‘It isn’t genuine,’ continued Kuul.
‘How did you know who I was? That I was coming over to Tallinn?’
‘I was with Mikael Tamm when he took your call. He told my colleague and myself he’d set up a phone meeting. Before he was killed.’
‘Who is your colleague?’
‘A man called Andres Jakobson. You can trust him.’
‘I got told you’d transferred,’ said Carruthers.
‘I haven’t transferred and I do not know who told you I had. But it confirms to me that there is at least one person who is a spy at the Tallinn Police Station. Let me ask you something if you don’t want to believe me. Why do you think Ilves brought you out here?’
‘For information.’
‘Exactly. And how much information have you given him?’
Carruthers remained quiet. Once again, he was going over in his own head all the information Ilves had got out of him. He wasn’t about to tell this man, though.
‘Too much, then. And how much did you get from him? Precisely nothing, I’ll bet. Nothing useful, anyway.’
‘That’s not completely true,’ said Carruthers, feeling defensive.
‘He will have given you as much or as little information as he wants you to know. No more. No less.’
‘So he brought me out here because he wants information?’ said Carruthers.
‘Exactly.’
Carruthers wasn’t liking the way the conversation was going. ‘And now?’
‘If Ilves thinks you’ve given him all the information you have to give, then,’ he paused, shrugged, ‘he won’t hesitate to kill you. Have you? Given him all the information?’
Carruthers felt his heart turn cold. There was a quick stab of pain in the left side of his chest. He wondered, with hereditary heart disease running in his family, unless he could get his stress under control, what would kill him first? Ilves or a heart attack? He momentarily wondered how his mother would react to the news of a second heart attack in the family.
The sound of the man’s voice brought Carruthers out of the hole his dark thoughts were digging.
‘Just out of interest, what sort of questions was he asking you?’
Carruthers thought for a moment. ‘He was asking about Aleks Voller. About his whereabouts.’
‘This is interesting. I wonder… we heard that the group had been double-crossed by someone. Perhaps Aleks Voller is one of the middle men.’
‘He would need allies in both Scotland and Estonia, surely?’ said Carruthers. ‘After all, they still have to get the paintings out.’ How many middle men are there? thought Carruthers. Barry Cuthbert? Aleks Voller?
‘It’s just curious Ilves is asking about Voller. Why would he do that? I wonder if Voller and the middleman got greedy. Perhaps Voller is trying to double-cross Ilves. Or even his brother, Marek.’
‘What do I do?’ asked Carruthers.
‘What you have to do is make Ilves believe you still have information he wants.’
Carruthers said nothing once again but thought about this. It made sense. It was about the only thing that did. ‘I was followed, yesterday,’ he volunteered, taking a punt on trusting this man. The man was right. He did have to trust someone. He felt his options were running out and fast.
‘I know. I was watching.’
‘You were the man watching me? Following me?’
‘No. I was watching the man who was following you.’
‘Do you know who he was?’
‘One of Ilves’s men. Tell me, if you are still undecided, did Ilves tell you not to go to the police station?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And now you know why, don’t you? Because of course if you did, you’d realise he’s impersonating Gunnar Aare, who is now dead.’
Carruthers thought quickly about this. If Kert Ilves had been kicked out of the force some years back and he’d been impersonating Gunnar Aare, who had he, Carruthers, been talking to on the phone? It certainly hadn’t been Ilves or Aare. Somebody, though, who was on Kert Ilves’s side. It could only be a bent copper.
Carruthers’ eyes narrowed. ‘Was it you who went through my things in my room?’
‘Yes, sorry about the invasion of privacy. I needed to be sure of you.’
Carruthers felt angry even asking this question but he had to know. ‘Did you manage to intercept my phone and text messages?’
‘Yes, I did. I needed to know whether you were the type of police officer who might be bribed.’
Carruthers’ mouth felt set like a steel trap. ‘And what did you conclude?’
‘I concluded that being the type of police officer who could be bought off or bribed,’ he paused, ‘might be the only way you’re going to get out of this alive. Unless you follow my instruction.’
Never having been particularly good at chess Carruthers was now starting to feel like a pawn. The only problem was that he wasn’t sure whose side he was playing for and who he was playing against. Idly he wondered if the man also knew he had slept with Sadie Andrews. Would she now be in danger?
‘Tell me what I need to do,’ said Carruthers.
‘You need to get in touch with Ilves. Set up another meeting. Make it sound as if your station’s been back in touch with you. That they’re going to give you some big piece of important news. Maybe about the art thefts. You’re an intelligent man. I’m sure you’ll think of something.’
Carruthers didn’t feel very intelligent. In fact, he was feeling pretty stupid at coming all the way to Estonia to do nothing but put his life at risk. After all, what had he really discovered? Very little. However, he also thought he should do his best to help the Tallinn Police flush out the spy.
‘Tell me one thing about Hanna Mets,’ said Carruthers.
‘Ah yes, poor Hanna.’
‘Did you know she was pregnant when she was killed?’
‘No. I didn’t.’
‘Did she know about Ilves? About what was going on at the station? That it had been infiltrated?’
‘She knew we had a spy. She just didn’t know who he or she was. None of us did then. Just before she went missing we managed to contact her. She was told to get out. Being undercover had become too dangerous. We were pretty sure her cover was about to be blown.’
‘And that’s when she turns up in Scotland.’
‘So it would appear. You know her sister was killed by the Voller brothers?’
Carruthers nodded.
‘She had recently found out it was by Aleks Voller.’
‘Who was now operating in Scotland.’
‘He’s back and forth but, yes, his main operation is setting the business up in Scotland. There’s not much we can do for Hanna. You should focus on saving yourself. Ilves will want to know what your piece of news is. He’s not going to kill you until he gets it. You’ll have to think fast, though. I’m afraid time isn’t on your side. And once you’ve thought of something, you’re going to have to keep stalling him. That’s going to be an art form in itself.’
‘Why haven’t you arrested Ilves?’ asked Carruthers.
Kuul grasped Carruthers’ arm. Exerted pressure to the point of pain. ‘There’s something else.’
Carruthers looked up in alarm.
‘You’re getting close to Ilves and we need your help. We know Ilves is passing information to someone. Information that’s coming out of the police station. We want that bent cop. We don’t know who this person is. That’s why we haven’t arrested Ilves yet. Perhaps we should. Mikael Tamm and Gunnar Aare might still be alive. Nobody’s managed to get close to him. Before we close Ilves down we need to find out who this other man is. We need you to feed Ilves false information. The stakes are high. This is not just about art theft anymore. The integrity of the Estonian security services is at risk. But it is also dangerous.’
