by Tana Collins
‘What do you know of the Voller brothers?’ asked Jakobson.
‘I take it that name’s familiar to you?’
Jakobson nodded. ‘Local pimps, drug dealers. Connection to Mafia. They’re nasty pieces of work.’
‘He marks his prostitutes with a tattoo of an eye on the ankle,’ said Carruthers. It was more a statement than a question.
‘That’s Kurat’s trademark.’
Carruthers could see that Jakobson was sizing him up, deciding whether he could be trusted. It works both ways, thought Carruthers. Have I done right to trust Jakobson?
‘I see you are well informed,’ said Jakobson. ‘How do you know this?’
‘I spoke with Mikael Tamm on the phone hours before he was killed. And Kuul filled me in. I’ve also met Kert Ilves.’
‘Kert Ilves?’ Jakobson frowned. ‘He left the police force. Must be three years ago.’
‘He didn’t tell me his name was Kert Ilves,’ said Carruthers. ‘He introduced himself to me as Gunnar Aare.’
‘But Gunnar Aare is dead.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Kert Ilves knows we’re getting close to Aleks Voller. Voller is currently operating in Scotland. Apart from supplying prostitutes for parties of influential people, we also believe he may be behind a spate of art heists. He has connections to a local estate owner called Barry Cuthbert.’
Jakobson shook his head. ‘I don’t know this name.’
‘Aleks Voller is supplying prostitutes to Cuthbert. For a large cut we believe Cuthbert is helping Voller target local bigwigs–’
‘Bigwigs?’
‘Important people. People with money. And art. What we don’t know is how this art is being smuggled out the country. And up until recently we didn’t know who Voller’s contact is here in Estonia.’
‘It’s Kert Ilves.’ It was a statement rather than a question.
‘Yes. But Janek Kuul also thinks Ilves has a contact who works for the police here in Tallinn. In this very station.’
‘Who sent Mikael Tamm and Gunnar Aare to their deaths.’
‘Not just them. Hanna Mets, too. She was working undercover, wasn’t she?
‘She’s dead?’
‘Discovered on a beach in Fife. She’d fallen to her death.’
Jakobson swore in Estonian. ‘And you think it was the work of Aleks Voller?’
‘She had his tattoo on her ankle. She was pregnant when she died. It’s possible she’d been raped just before her death.’
Suddenly Carruthers’ mobile started its shrill noise. Fletcher again. He cursed.
‘Perhaps you should take that call,’ said Jakobson. ‘It might be important.’
Carruthers nodded and took the call.
‘Jim, I’m at the hospital.’ Fletcher’s words came out in gasps. ‘There’s been an attempt made on Barry Cuthbert’s life. He’s fine. They’d switched him to another ward. Some other poor sod copped it instead. I’m afraid PC Murray got shot. He’s been operated on. I’ve been told he should make a full recovery.’
Carruthers didn’t want to say too much. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine. Can you talk now?’
‘No, not really. I’m at the Tallinn Police Station. Let me give you a call later when I’m on my own.’
He cut the call, wishing he’d been able to talk further.
20
Fletcher and Watson travelled back to the station together. They had spent several hours at the hospital with an armed response team trying to locate Aleks Voller. He was nowhere to be found. They’d both concluded he must have escaped the hospital grounds. Watson had insisted on driving. She looked across at Fletcher. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine,’ said Fletcher, although she could still feel her teeth chattering. Guessed it must be the adrenaline.
‘You’re not, though, are you?’ said Watson. ‘Fine, I mean. I wouldn’t be. You could have been killed.’
‘I wasn’t, though.’ But Watson was right. She could have been killed. She imagined how it would have been for Lara, had her baby lived, growing up without a mother. She couldn’t imagine it. She wondered what her daughter would have looked like. She tried to put the image of Lara out of her mind. It was funny. Most of the time she was alright. And she was being honest when she told Carruthers the counselling had helped. But every so often painful memories or feelings intruded when she least expected them. She turned to Watson, chasing the ghosts of the memories away.
‘I got the impression Jim couldn’t speak freely,’ said Fletcher. ‘He was at the police station. He sounded nervous. He’s going to ring me later.’
‘You didn’t tell him about your run-in with Voller?’
Fletcher shrugged. ‘What good would it have done? You know he would have just worried. He’s got enough on his mind just now.’
‘Why would Aleks Voller try to kill Barry Cuthbert?’ said Watson.
Fletcher pulled a face. ‘It happens. Criminals turn on each other. We’ve said all along. Perhaps Cuthbert got greedy. Wanted a bigger cut. Or Voller thinks Cuthbert’s going to rat on him. We’re going to have to try to move Cuthbert to the safe house a bit sooner.’
‘Not sure the hospital will like that.’
‘Cuthbert seems to be making a pretty rapid improvement. They wouldn’t have moved him to another ward so soon.’
‘S’pose. Well, at least we’ve increased the security in the hospital for the time being.’ They had organised for two armed police officers to be positioned outside his hospital room.
‘How’s PC Murray?’
‘He’ll live, but it will be a while before he goes back to active duty. He’ll be offered rehab and counselling.’
Fletcher remained silent. She stared at the road ahead as Watson drove the pool car.
A shrill noise interrupted her thoughts. It was her mobile. She answered, listening to the person on the other end. ‘Right, we’ll come straight back.’ Watson threw Fletcher a worried glance. Fletcher turned to her colleague. ‘That was despatch. There’s been another shooting. In the car park of the hospital.’ As she said it, Fletcher could feel the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
‘Shit. Who’s the victim?’
‘All I know is he’s male.’
‘Christ, at least he’s already at the hospital.’
Fletcher shook her head. ‘Won’t help him. Apparently he’s dead.’
Watson drove on until she found a gate leading to a farm and did a speedy U-turn. Fletcher felt herself pushed back in her seat by the extra speed Watson was now pulling. Mercifully the country roads were quiet. ‘Good thing we were on the back roads. Any holiday traffic is on the other road,’ Fletcher said. They sped past fields of wheat and barley. They turned into the hospital car park to be greeted by a uniformed police officer who peered into their car.
‘No further, ladies. This is a crime scene.’
Watson flashed her badge at the man. ‘Oh, sorry, ma’am. On you go.’
‘Have the SOCOs been called?’ asked Fletcher.
‘They’re on their way.’
‘You haven’t touched him?’
‘No, no. It was obvious he was dead. My colleague is with him.’
Fletcher thanked the officer, as Watson swept in the car park and pulled in to the first available parking place. Both jumped out of the car. A knot of onlookers had formed a semi-circle. Fletcher looked around her and took in the scene. A noise made her look over her shoulder. Another two cars were being stopped at the entrance to the car park. ‘Dr Mackie’s arrived.’ The second car held the scene of crime officers.
‘Keep back, please,’ shouted Watson as the two of them made their way through the crowd.
The victim was lying on his back with his eyes wide open and staring. His head was at an angle, displaying the greasy black ponytail. He hadn’t stood a chance. He’d been shot right between the eyes.
Watson peered at the victim. ‘Isn’t that–’
‘Aleks Voller.’
‘Looks like a professional hit.’ Watson took out her mobile.
‘Who are you calling?’
‘My partner. Looks like I won’t be in for supper tonight.’
‘Who found him?’
‘I did,’ said a red-haired police officer walking towards them. Fletcher didn’t know him, but she was sure she had seen him about the station. His uniform was neat and crisp, and unlike a lot of them, he hadn’t seemed to be affected by the recent heatwave. Another time she might ask him how he managed that. She looked up the two necessary inches as he stopped in front of her. ‘I even saw the man who killed him. He took off when he saw me. He was stooping over the body as if checking he was dead.’
‘Is there a gun on him?’
‘Don’t think so. He didn’t have it in his hand, anyway.’
Most likely taken by the killer, unless it was still on him somewhere. Fletcher looked into the dead, staring eyes of the man who could have killed her. A flood of unexpected hatred nearly drowned her, for the fear he had made her feel. She felt like kicking his lifeless body. It was likely the killer had checked to see if Voller was carrying anything that could incriminate the rest of the gang. Unlikely the assailant was checking to see if Voller was dead.
‘You know the drill,’ said Fletcher. ‘I’ll need to see your statement.’
‘You’re keen,’ said the officer. ‘I haven’t had a chance to write it yet.’
‘What did the assailant look like?’
‘Male, five foot eight, stocky, blond haired.’
‘Did you hear him speak?’
The police officer shook his head.
Dr Mackie came striding up from behind the two women wearing his coverall, latex gloves and paper footwear and holding his black medical bag.
‘You’re certainly keeping me busy, lassie,’ he said to Fletcher.
The SOCOs were also busy getting into their coveralls. A police officer was shooing onlookers away. Another starting to tape the exclusion zone. Soon enough a tent would be erected and the painstaking task of gathering evidence would start.
‘Dr Mackie, do me a favour, will you?’ said Fletcher.
‘Don’t tell me. You want me to have a feel in his pockets to see if he’s got any means of ID?’
‘Already know who he is,’ said Fletcher. ‘What I want to know is if he has a gun or mobile on him.’
With a groan, Mackie knelt down by Aleks Voller. ‘Bugger, this is a job for a much younger man.’
‘Or woman,’ said Watson.
‘Indeed,’ said Mackie. He patted Voller’s trouser pockets, bringing out a small mobile.
‘Think this is what you are looking for,’ Mackie said, producing an evidence bag. He dropped the mobile into it and then passed it to Fletcher. ‘No sign of a gun.’
Fletcher looked down at the evidence bag holding the cheap Nokia mobile. ‘This little beauty goes straight to the techie guys. With a bit of luck within a few hours, we’ll have Voller’s entire contact list.’
‘Jim’ll be pleased,’ said Watson. ‘This might be the break he’s been waiting for.’
‘So, where does that leave things?’ asked Watson.
‘Aleks Voller tries to murder Barry Cuthbert. Within an hour Aleks Voller is killed. Well, we only know one thing,’ said Fletcher, ‘the perpetrator wasn’t Barry Cuthbert.’
Watson touched Fletcher’s arm. ‘I still think we need to interview Cuthbert.’
They left the SOCOs and entered the hospital, showing their ID to security as they walked in. They took the lift to the second floor and approached the room Barry Cuthbert was in. There were two armed police officers on the door. Fletcher opened the door and walked in, followed by Watson. Barry Cuthbert was awake.
‘What’s going on?’ he said.
‘You were very lucky you moved rooms,’ said Watson. ‘There’s been a couple of shootings.’
‘I know about the attempt on my life. Aleks Voller tried to shoot me. Is he in police custody?’
‘No,’ said Fletcher. ‘A man’s been shot dead in the hospital car park. We believe it’s Aleks Voller.’
Cuthbert tried to sit up. His eyes were full of pain and something else. Fear. He grimaced. ‘Oh, Jesus Christ. I need to be given more security.’
Fletcher pulled up a visitor chair and angled it close to Cuthbert’s hospital bed. ‘You better tell us what’s going on, Barry.’
‘We know you and Aleks Voller were working together,’ said Watson, also pulling up a chair and sitting. ‘We suspect you were using prostitutes at parties for a start. These girls were being supplied from Eastern Europe by Aleks Voller. We also know you were behind the art thefts.’
Barry Cuthbert didn’t answer.
‘We’ve had a search warrant for your house, Barry,’ said Watson. ‘Game’s up. We found the stolen paintings. And it’s only a matter of time before we get into your safe. I wonder what the McMullans and Warristons are going to say when they know you were behind the thefts. You’re finished. You do realise that. You’ll be looking at a prison sentence.’
‘Reckon that’ll be the least of his problems when the Estonians find out he’s still alive,’ said Watson.
The silence in the room was punctured by the noise of Fletcher’s mobile phone again. She fished it out of her handbag. It was Carruthers. She left the room and turned her back on the two guards.
‘Jim. Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine. Where are you just now?’
‘The hospital. I’ve been with Barry Cuthbert. I came straight from his place to the hospital. Jim, we’ve found all the stolen art. At Cuthbert’s. We can start by charging him with theft.’ Fletcher looked through the glass door. She could see Watson was speaking to Cuthbert. She turned her back on the glass door and lowered her voice. ‘There’s been another shooting. The man’s dead. Shot in the hospital car park. We believe it’s Aleks Voller. The good news is that we’ve got his mobile. The man who killed him was interrupted before he had chance to snatch it. Who would try to murder Aleks Voller? Unless… unless Voller and Cuthbert both got greedy. Decided to go into business for themselves.’
‘How is Cuthbert now?’
‘As nervous as hell. Now Voller’s out the picture I guess he’s just waiting to be bumped off by whoever killed Voller. Guess he feels like a sitting duck. He’s demanding even more protection now. We might be able to exploit his vulnerability. What’s going on with you, Jim?’
‘I can’t talk freely. Lean on Cuthbert, Andie. Get him to talk. Keep an eye on the head gamekeeper, Sturrock too, will you? He definitely knows more than he’s saying. If you need to bring Sturrock in and question him you have my full backing. I’ll try to call you later.’
The line went dead. Fletcher put her mobile in her black handbag and went back into Cuthbert’s room.
‘You need to move me. I’m not safe here.’
Fletcher scrutinised Cuthbert; taking in his pale lined face, his shallow breathing and the sheen of perspiration on his forehead. He is scared, really scared, she thought.
She pulled the chair even closer to the bed and sat. Leaned in. ‘We’ll move you as soon as you give us the information we need, and not before, Barry.’ She looked across at Watson.
‘What information?’ he asked.
‘You know what information,’ Fletcher said. ‘What is your connection with Aleks Voller?’
‘You don’t have anything on me except that the stolen artworks were found in my house. I have a vast number of staff. Anyone of them could have thieved them.’
‘I don’t think so, Barry,’ said Watson. ‘And we have a lot more than just finding stolen art at your house. One of your gamekeepers is dead, Barry. We have information that you’ve used prostitutes at parties, almost definitely Eastern European and more than likely trafficked into the country. The man we believe supplied them is now dead. You are up to your neck, Barry, in shit. A charge of theft is the least of your problems. You’re going down for multiple murder.’
/> ‘You can’t be serious? You have no evidence.’
Fletcher had had enough. She stood up. ‘Come on, Gayle. Let’s head back to the station.’
Watson stood up.
Cuthbert looked alarmed. ‘You’re leaving me?’
‘We are, Barry.’
‘The officers outside my door will stay though, won’t they?’
‘No. We need them back at the station.’
‘But I’m a sitting duck!’
‘Not our problem, Barry,’ said Fletcher, enjoying seeing the once over-confident Cuthbert grovelling. The two officers headed towards the door. Watson opened it.
‘OK. OK. Look, I’m willing to cut a deal.’
Fletcher turned round to face Cuthbert. She wasn’t surprised. After all, Carruthers had already said that men like Barry Cuthbert would do anything to save their own skin.
‘I’m listening.’ She kept her voice calm and face neutral but inside she was bubbling with excitement. While Carruthers was out of the country she was the senior investigating officer on this case. If she was the one to crack the investigation from the Scotland end – well, it wouldn’t do her career any harm at all.
‘If you promise to waive all charges and keep my name out of the press I’ll tell you what I know,’ said Cuthbert.
Fletcher hesitated. She knew waiving all charges would be impossible and she should run cutting any sort of deal by Carruthers first but given that he was not easy to get hold of…
‘What do you know?’
‘Get me out of here, first.’
‘Give me a reason to.’
Fletcher could see Cuthbert weighing up, assessing how much or how little he needed to tell the two officers in order to get what he wanted. ‘Alright, yeah, so I had girls at my parties. They was young, they was foreign, but they didn’t object and I swear I didn’t pick ’em underage. They was for, well, you know. Some of my guests, they… they had… certain tastes. Had to keep ’em sweet.’
‘So you admit to being involved in a prostitution ring. Were these women sex slaves, Barry?’
Cuthbert attempted to look horrified. He put his hand on his heart. ‘On me mother’s grave, I know nuffin’ about sex slaves. Those girls were willing.’
