by Tana Collins
‘This other person is involved in the art world?’ asked Carruthers.
‘We don’t know if they are directly involved in the art world. But we think Ilves is involved to some degree in the art thefts. And this gang is getting its money from somewhere. It’s a little unusual, though,’ said Kuul. ‘Criminal gangs in Eastern Europe are not usually involved in art heists. It is usually drugs and prostitution.’
‘What do they normally do with the money they make?’ asked Carruthers. As he asked the question he thought about what he’d been told about how art thieves, particularly in the UK, were becoming more violent. And how there was now a closer link between art theft, drugs and prostitution.
‘They normally invest it in real estate. There was a case recently involving a family who were attacked by criminals over disputes involving real estate. Investing the money in art is unusual. More unusual still is stealing works of art, especially abroad. It shows they are getting more and more daring.’
Carruthers frowned. He was deep in thought. ‘These gangs here in Estonia that run prostitutes – do most of the prostitutes stay in Estonia or are they taken overseas?’
Kuul shook his head. ‘Estonia is a source country for the trafficking of women to countries like Norway, Finland and the United Kingdom.’
Norway and Finland Carruthers could understand. Especially Finland. After all he’d seen where the big cruise ships from Helsinki had docked. The passage between the two countries was only a short distance.
‘Most of the women trafficked are poor members of the Russian-speaking community in the north east part of the country,’ said Kuul.
Carruthers thought of the anonymous call he had taken from the dead girl’s friend. Could she have been a Russian speaker? He then thought about Marika Paju and her parents. They didn’t fit that description.
‘Often they answer ads offering jobs abroad. They think they are going to be maids or child minders. Once they leave Estonia they find things are unfortunately very different. I need you to go through every detail of every conversation you’ve had with Kert Ilves,’ said Kuul.
As best he could, Carruthers detailed the conversations he had had over the previous couple of days. It felt strange being the one interrogated. Usually he was the one doing the questioning. He didn’t like being on the receiving end one little bit.
Kuul listened thoughtfully to what Carruthers said. When Carruthers had finished, Kuul nodded. ‘Well, at least Kert Ilves was right about one thing. The Russians are dangerous. They are a threat. Definitely not to be underestimated.’ He glanced at Carruthers. ‘Look, I don’t want you to think all Russians are bad. They are not. There are some really good people. But some Russians, especially the former KGB… well. And it might sound farfetched to you to say that even one bent cop in the Estonian police might threaten the very fabric of Estonian society and culture but it’s not an exaggeration.’
Carruthers noticed Kuul staring at him intently.
‘I can see that you are not convinced. Of course, you will know what is happening in the Ukraine. We are all very worried about this escalating situation. But did you know that a few months ago an Estonian intelligence officer was kidnapped at gunpoint at the Luhamaa border checkpoint? Like I said, on the border but still within Estonia.’
‘What was he doing when he got kidnapped?’ asked Carruthers, feeling uncomfortable.
‘The man was simply investigating an incident of cross-border crime. Gun smuggling.’
‘What will happen to him?’ asked Carruthers.
‘Thank God he’s been released. However, he’d been charged with espionage and was facing twenty years in prison.’
‘Why?’
‘Because they can. The Russians are flexing their muscles. His arrest came just days after Barack Obama visited Estonia to give us Washington’s support over the Ukraine crisis. It was a warning.’
Carruthers said nothing but was inclined to agree. It was most definitely a warning.
‘Have you given any thought to what I said?’ asked Kuul. ‘About the big piece of news that you have for Ilves?’
Carruthers couldn’t think. His mind had gone blank. What big piece of news could he give Ilves? And then he thought of something. A seed of an idea was starting to take hold in his mind. Something to do with a diary and Hanna Mets. ‘I’ve thought of something,’ said Carruthers.
‘Set up a meeting with Kert Ilves,’ said Kuul, giving Carruthers his business card. ‘Ring me when you’ve spoken to him.’
17
Carruthers left the hotel in the afternoon. He was now in the habit of taking the stairs rather than the lift. He didn’t much like confined spaces at the best of times. And these were hardly the best of times. He’d seen too many spy films where the victim was dispensed with in the lift by a man carrying a silencer. The body dragged away by the assailant, heels scraping, only to be bundled into the boot of car.
‘You wanted to see me? What’s this news you have?’ Ilves drew a long drag on his cigarette. He exhaled the smoke through his nostrils.
Carruthers stared into the man’s narrow blue eyes, aware Ilves was watching him intently while trying to perfect the casual look. He was finding it hard to digest the news that it wasn’t Gunnar Aare he was having a conversation with, but Kert Ilves, the double-crossing former police officer.
‘It’s Hanna Mets.’
Ilves looked up sharply at Carruthers. ‘What about her?’
‘Apparently she kept a diary.’
Ilves drew a sharp drag on his cigarette and flicked it onto the ground. Carruthers could see he had Ilves’ full attention. Lifting his head up slowly he asked, ‘Has it been found?’
‘Yes,’ said Carruthers cautiously. ‘We’re hoping it’ll be a great help in furthering the investigation, but we have nobody who reads Estonian.’
‘Get them to send it over here,’ said Ilves, quickly.
‘To you?’ said Carruthers.
‘Yes, that’s an excellent idea. To me.’
I bet you think it’s an excellent idea, you little piece of shit, thought Carruthers. ‘I’m not sure I’ll be able to do that.’ He needed to stall and this would work as well as any device. ‘In cases like this, we rarely let potential evidence go out of police control. But I’ll speak to my superintendent. Since I’m here and you’re willing to translate for us, he might agree and send the diary over.’ And what would you do with it, if it existed? Bitter thoughts ran through his mind. Read and destroy it. Like you destroyed all those good men at Tallinn Police Station. And let’s not forget Hanna Mets. You would have been responsible for her death, too. Carruthers looked at the man he now considered to be a despicable piece of filth, and wanted to punch him.
‘Do you know when Barry Cuthbert’s being moved to the safe house?’ said Ilves suddenly.
Carruthers felt a sucker blow to his gut. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said slowly.
‘But he’s still in hospital?’ asked Ilves.
Carruthers thought about lying but realised that Ilves would have his spies in Scotland. Maybe he’s testing me, he thought. Perhaps he knows I’m onto him. I can’t let my guard down. Not even for a minute.
‘Yes, I believe, he’s still in hospital.’
‘With an armed guard?’
Christ, thought Carruthers. He’s not going to try anything while Cuthbert’s in hospital, is he? He must think Cuthbert’s got information he could pass on that could blow his operation or cover sky-high. But what information? And how do we get it out of Cuthbert?
Carruthers thought quickly. ‘I need to phone the station and get the latest on Cuthbert. I was under the impression he was being moved for his own safety.’
‘While you do that I need to go to the toilet,’ said Ilves. Carruthers watched Ilves walk away. Carruthers grabbed his mobile out of his pocket and made a call to Fletcher. While he did indeed ask for the latest on Cuthbert, the real purpose of the call was to find out if the station had managed to secure a search warrant
for Cuthbert’s place.
‘We had to let him go.’
‘What?’ said Ilves.
‘Barry Cuthbert. We had to let him go,’ said Carruthers.
‘I thought you said he was going to help you, you were going to grant him immunity from prosecution?’
‘Not anymore.’ Carruthers was thinking quickly on his feet. He had no choice. He realised Barry Cuthbert’s life was in mortal danger. Frankly he didn’t give a stuff about Cuthbert but Fletcher was on her way over to interview him again on Bingham’s instructions. What if she got caught up with an attempt on Cuthbert’s life? This man would have phoned his contacts in Scotland by now. If anything happened to Fletcher how would he forgive himself? Carruthers thought quickly. Already a plan was forming in his mind. He just hoped it would work.
‘Cuthbert’s being released. I didn’t want to say anything earlier. I knew you’d be disappointed. He’s refusing to talk and we have nothing on him. No hard evidence anyway.’
‘I thought you said–’
‘He’s got a good lawyer, who no doubt would get him off on a technicality.’ Well, that wasn’t a word of lie. Barry Cuthbert would have a good lawyer. His sort always did.
‘So he’s not going to help the police? Turn informant?’
‘No.’ No, he’s not going to turn informant, thought Carruthers. He had a far bigger role lined up for Mr Barry Cuthbert. But first he needed to enlist the help of Fletcher. Fletcher’s role, in his absence, was pivotal. And Cuthbert, who was at the centre of Carruthers’ plan, was needed to lure Aleks Voller in the open.
‘I want you back on Scottish soil, Carruthers, ASAP. It’s too dangerous out there.’ This was just the reaction Carruthers had been expecting from Bingham. He’d finally bitten the bullet and rang his boss on his new mobile. Explained his plan. Bingham was none too happy about it.
‘We need to draw Voller out,’ said Carruthers. ‘I believe he’s directly responsible for the death of at least two people in Fife. I can’t do that if I’m back in Scotland.’ He could hear Bingham remonstrating with him on the phone but rather than listen he decided to talk over him. Time was short and he didn’t have the luxury of a drawn-out conversation. Lives depended on swift action. His, mostly. ‘Our best bet is to go through Ilves,’ continued Carruthers. ‘Look, while Ilves still thinks I believe he’s Gunnar Aare–’
‘I want you on the next flight back, Jim, and that’s an order.’
‘We can draw Voller out by going through Cuthbert. Ilves is already asking questions about Cuthbert’s whereabouts. I don’t think he’d try anything while he’s in the hospital but if we set up a safe house and leak it to Ilves, I think he’ll send Voller to kill him. Cuthbert knows too much. We can set a trap. Kuul agrees with me. Thinks this is the best plan.’
‘How the hell do you know whether you can trust Kuul?’ said Bingham. ‘After all, you’ve been taken in once, already.’
Carruthers was smarting. ‘I can trust him,’ he said, determinedly. He refused to think about the consequences if he was proved wrong.
‘And who’s going to talk to Cuthbert? Get him on side with you in Estonia?’ said Bingham.
‘Andie’s agreed to do it.’
‘Jesus Christ, Jim. You’ve already spoken to Fletcher about this? Before you spoke to me?’
‘I’m sorry. I was just sounding her out.’
‘The search warrant’s come through for Cuthbert’s place,’ said Bingham. ‘I’ll have to get Fletcher and Watson to go after all. I don’t feel we can sit on this.’
‘There’s a trail that leads from Cuthbert to Aleks Voller in Scotland to Ilves and Marek Voller in Estonia to… God knows who. Kuul thinks there’s a spy at the Tallinn Police Station.’
‘A bent copper? Wouldn’t be the first. Look, Jim, we’re not Interpol. Leave the Estonians to deal with their own affairs.’
‘I can’t do that. I wish I could. Five people are dead because of this gang. Five people we know of, anyway.’ As he said this, the image of the dead woman on the beach, Hanna Mets, came into his head. It was an image he knew he’d have to live with for a very long time. He also heard the voice of Mikael Tamm in his head and the crying of the female police officer. ‘I won’t have the blood of anybody else on my hands,’ he said. ‘We have a chance to bring down one of the most ruthless criminal gangs in Estonia, a gang who’s already starting to operate in Scotland. Art thefts are just the tip of the iceberg. They’re using the thefts to fund their cross-border operation. God only knows what else they’re doing with the money. Gangs like these who have spies in the Estonian police and government are helping to destabilise the whole Baltic region.’
Carruthers finished the call and lay down on the bed. It was deathly silent in his room. He imagined he could hear the ticking of his watch. He could certainly feel the hammering of his heart. Once more he wondered if the room was being bugged. Should he try to move hotel? No, of course not. That would look really bad. He stared at the white ceiling while trying to put his thoughts in order.
He suddenly felt very alone. More alone than perhaps he had ever felt before. Now he understood the difference between feeling alone and feeling lonely. When his wife had first left him, and for a long time after, if he was honest, he had felt lonely. Now he just felt alone. Even with Kuul on his side. But after what Bingham had said, whom could he trust? He felt a fear that he had never felt before. Perhaps all the people he could have trusted, at least in Estonia, were now dead. Perhaps his enemies were just waiting until he was able to lead them to Cuthbert and then he, too, would be killed. Cuthbert would be slain in Scotland and he would be murdered in Estonia. No doubt his death would be made to look like an accident.
Thinking of Aare, he sat upright and drew out the card he’d been given with Kuul’s phone number on it. Reached over and grabbed his mobile. Punched in the number and waited. And waited. There was no answer. He heard it going to voicemail and hung up. He waited a few minutes then dialled again. Still no answer. Carruthers sat on the end of the bed tapping the end of the mobile against his chin thoughtfully.
He reached across the bed, grabbed his jacket, wallet and keys and left his room. He took the stairs rather than the lift but just as he reached ground floor his pulse quickened. Walking into the lift was Sadie Andrews.
Carruthers was just about to call out when he realised she wasn’t alone. Closely behind her was Kert Ilves. As he hid behind the wall, Carruthers’ heart lurched. Their heads bowed close together; they were murmuring. As the lift doors shut Carruthers watched, nauseated, as they kissed.
18
Fletcher and Watson stood on the top of the stone steps of Barry Cuthbert’s house. Fletcher rang the doorbell and it was answered by a young woman, polished and poised from the top of her blonde chignon to the hem of her business suit. When Fletcher asked, she gave her name as Pip McGuire.
So this is the elusive estate manager, thought Fletcher getting out her ID and flashing it in front of the superior-looking woman.
‘DS Fletcher and DS Watson,’ Fletcher said. ‘We have a warrant to search the premises.’
‘It would be better if you came back when Barry’s out of hospital,’ Pip McGuire said, frowning, as she looked behind them to see Dougie Harris and three DCs disembarking from the second car. ‘I don’t feel comfortable letting you in when he’s not here.’
‘’Fraid that’s not possible,’ said Watson, barging past the estate manager. Fletcher followed Gayle into the interior. She was aware that Harris and the other DCs were taking up the rear.
‘Where do we start?’ said Harris behind her.
‘Back outside and take the outbuildings. Break the doors down if you need to.’
‘If you break the doors down you’ll have me to deal with. Anyway, no need for that,’ said Pip McGuire, changing her countenance and suddenly looking alarmed. ‘I have keys to every building and room.’
Fletcher watched the woman anxiously sprinting off, presumably to get the keys. ‘On sec
ond thoughts, go with her, Dougie. Make sure she doesn’t call anyone.’
Harris followed the young woman’s retreating back.
‘Reckon a good place to start is Barry’s drawing room,’ said Fletcher, leading the way down the corridor. They entered the large high-ceilinged room in the centre of which was a crystal glass chandelier. Fletcher looked around her. Her eyes narrowed when she took in the ostentatious velvet chaise longue, mahogany table and paintings on the wall. She walked over to the empty area of wall where the stolen Stubbs had hung. Watson joined her.
‘Do you think he staged his own robbery?’ asked Watson, looking at the now empty wall.
Fletcher bit her lip. ‘I honestly don’t know. I wouldn’t put it past him, but he took quite a hammering from the assault.’
‘It’s unlikely whoever did it meant for him to hit his head as he fell. That sort of thing can’t really be planned.’
‘Maybe,’ said Fletcher. She turned to Watson. ‘Just say the robbery was staged and the Stubbs was still in the house. Where would you hide it?’
‘I dunno, but do you really think he’d keep any of the paintings here? He doesn’t strike me as someone who’s naïve.’
‘No, “naïve” isn’t a word I’d apply to Cuthbert.’ Fletcher looked at Watson. ‘But “cocky” and “arrogant” are.’
‘I take your point. So if he’s cocky enough to keep the paintings in his home I’d say in a locked room nobody else would have access to? Somewhere out of the way. In an attic, perhaps? Not sure of a basement or cellar, though. Might be too damp. Does he have a safe?’
‘Would have to be a bloody big safe,’ said Fletcher. ‘How big was the Stubbs? Three by three feet would you say?’
They both looked at the blank part of the wall where the painting had hung. Fletcher turned to Watson. ‘Do we have the dimensions of the other stolen paintings?’
