‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Russell ran a finger round the inside of his collar.
She felt a shiver scurry along her bones. ‘Do you traffic girls illegally for the sex trade?’
‘I’ll report you for slander,’ he retorted.
‘Report away. It was just a question.’ Lottie paused, arranging her thoughts. ‘I’ve been speaking to Frank Phillips. You know him?’
‘I’ve heard of him. Nothing to do with me.’
‘Know anyone by the name of Fatjon?’ She watched him intently. His eyes flickered, nothing more.
‘Can’t say that I do. Why?’
‘He’s involved in trafficking girls and women for sex. I suspect your management company facilitate it. Be easy for you to hide them among genuine asylum seekers so that they remain undocumented. Never appearing on any official register. What I don’t understand is why. Why would you do it? It’s such a high-risk operation. Money? How much do you make? Is it per girl or per the hour?’
Russell lifted the phone on his desk.
‘Don’t bother ringing my boss. He knows I’m here,’ Lottie said.
Russell’s finger hovered over the keypad.
‘Lipjan.’ Lottie pounced. ‘What does it mean to you?’
Tilting his chair back, Russell rested his hands behind his head. She could see grey hair poking out where his shirt stretched across his abdomen. His thin moustache wobbled on his upper lip as he laughed.
‘What’s so funny, Mr Russell?’
‘You are. You’ve researched it, so you know Lipjan is a town in Kosovo where peacekeeping troops were based under the NATO flag. The camp was built beside an old chicken farm. Your husband was based there. Not far from Pristina.’
‘You’re right. I have researched it. Wasn’t it in Pristina where a doctor illegally harvested human organs?’ She thought of her late night on the computer. ‘More like barbaric butchery. And let me tell you, Mr Russell, it had nothing to do with Adam Parker.’ She threw him a meaningful look. ‘But the fact that you insinuated he was involved leads me to believe you had something to do with it.’ She had no evidence if he had or not, but she needed to see his reaction.
‘How do you reach that conclusion? Your detective skills? Don’t make me laugh again.’ His face remained neutral.
Lottie paced for a moment before stopping behind him. She fought an urge to upend his chair. Leaning so close to his ear she could see hair sprouting inside, she whispered, ‘Gjon Jashari.’
The effect of her words was instant. Russell pulled his hands out from behind his head, almost hitting her, and leapt up. She jumped back against the wall.
He turned and pressed his face close to hers. ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about.’
Spittle landed on her face. Lottie edged sideways, threw a glance to Boyd telling him to stay where he was and faced Russell.
‘Gjon Jashari,’ she repeated. ‘He lived and worked in Pristina during and after the war, at the time of your tour duties. Interesting, don’t you think?’
Russell opened and shut his mouth. Boyd did likewise. Lottie forced a weak smile. Hopefully she’d soon have a reply to the email she’d dispatched in the early hours. Until then, everything was speculation.
‘Get out! Get out of my office,’ Russell commanded, pointing to the door. His moustache now drooped with sweat and spit. His sleek hair fell across his forehead. He looked demented.
‘Frank Phillips told me he knows you.’ Keep going while you’re ahead, Lottie thought.
‘That bastard.’
‘So you do know him?’
‘Know of him.’ Russell backed down. ‘Before you accuse me, I read about his missing daughter and it has nothing to do with me.’
‘Interesting.’ Lottie moved away, ignoring Boyd’s questioning eyes. She gazed along the line of photographs for the second time since she’d arrived. ‘Is he in any of these?’
‘Phillips was never in the army.’ Russell folded his arms.
‘Not Phillips. Your friend. The one with the crooked teeth.’
‘You’re insane. Fishing expedition, that’s what you’re on.’
Nail on the head, but she wasn’t about to admit it. Continue catching him off balance, hoping he slipped up. ‘I have murder victims with severe bite marks. This Fatjon has crooked teeth. We can match up the bites with forensics. Tell me about him.’
‘I’m telling you to get out. Now.’ This time, when he lifted the phone, he punched in a number.
‘Let’s go, DS Boyd. I’ve got what I need for now.’
‘You got nothing from me,’ Russell sneered.
Lottie hoisted her bag up her shoulder and walked to the door. ‘That’s what you think. Don’t leave town. I’ll be back for you.’
Keeping his hand around the dog’s mouth to stop him from yelping, the man melted into the shadows at the side of the cookhouse. He watched the two detectives walk quickly out of Block A, down the path and out the gate.
He looked up at the window on the first floor. Dan Russell stood there, staring out, holding a phone in his hand. What had he told the detectives? Time to find out.
He bent over the dog.
‘Sorry about this, mutt,’ he said. With a jerk of his hand, he broke the dog’s neck. He laughed. The dog had been a prop, helping him blend into normality. The time for blending in was now past.
Releasing the small furry body, he unfastened the lead and wrapped it around his hand. He kicked the dog into the gully beside a vermin trap and headed across the square to Block A.
‘I could do with a cigarette,’ Lottie said, pausing on the footbridge. The sun blazed down from the morning sky. The cherry blossom trees were all but bare, their petals drowning in the turbid waters of the canal. Unlike her mind, which at last was beginning to clear.
Boyd lit two cigarettes and handed her one in silence.
She dragged hard on it and puffed out a curl of smoke. ‘I need to speak with Andri Petrovci.’
Boyd said nothing.
‘I have to find out how he fits into all this. And we need to find Maeve Phillips.’
‘Being practical, I’d say she’s dead.’
‘Never give up. Never lose hope, Boyd. Otherwise you may as well hand in your badge.’
‘I was only saying.’
‘Well, don’t. I’m going to speak with Petrovci. After that debacle with Russell I now suspect Petrovci’s the Lipjan character on Twitter, so he must know something about Maeve.’
‘Corrigan will have a field day if he finds out about all this. I suppose you think Petrovci is involved in smuggling human organs too.’
‘He was only a boy when the war was raging in Kosovo. He couldn’t have been involved then, could he? I don’t know about now.’ She flipped her cigarette into the water below. ‘Are you coming?’
‘I suppose I am.’ He sighed.
‘Knew I could count on you.’
* * *
They cut down by the canal towpath and on to Main Street, where the warm air was clogged with dust and the noise of diggers. Traffic shuffled along like a little old lady.
‘After we released him on Saturday night, we put a tail on Petrovci,’ Boyd said.
‘I know. Find out if he’s at work now.’
Skirting round the corner of the Malloca Café, Lottie marched down Columb Street. The remnants of crime-scene tape trailed from lamp posts, but SOCOs had moved on to the old pump house. Bob Weir’s gates were open and it seemed business was returning to normal. A sheet of metal covered the crater in the ground where the second body had been found. Cars avoiding the congestion on Main Street passed over it, oblivious.
Boyd talked animatedly into his phone as he walked. He ended the call and Lottie looked over at him without breaking stride.
‘They lost him?’ she said.
‘How did you…’ he began.
Lottie shook her head. ‘How could they lose him? He’s one man, not an army. Now Corrigan will have that field d
ay you were going on about.’
‘Shit, I don’t know. The squad car stayed outside his apartment Saturday night, and all day and night Sunday. Said he never left, not even for work this morning. They’ve just knocked on his door. No answer.’ He paused for breath.
‘We’d better go up there.’ Turning round, she began striding back the way they’d come. ‘He could be dead inside.’ She broke into a run.
‘Slow down. If he’s dead, he’s not going anywhere,’ Boyd panted.
She kept running.
SEVENTY-FOUR
Dan Russell heard the door open and turned away from the window. The phone slid from his fingers when he saw the man entering his office twisting a leather dog lead round and round his hand.
Rooted to the spot, Russell said, ‘How are…’
The words died on his lips when Fatjon stepped into the office behind the first man.
‘Wh-what’s going on?’ Russell asked, backing up against the wall, knocking down two of his prized photographs.
The man with the dog lead spoke. ‘I was hoping you could tell me that, Dan.’ He moved further into the office until he stood beneath the motionless ceiling fan. ‘Why don’t you sit and make yourself comfortable.’ He unfurled the lead and slapped it against his thigh. ‘This won’t take long. Will it?’
‘I told the police nothing. Do you hear? Nothing. There’s no need to be threatening me.’
‘I thought I could trust you,’ the man said. ‘Instead you bring the pigs sniffing and grunting into our business. And you know I don’t like pigs.’
‘I swear to God, I didn’t say a thing. That girl, Mimoza, she involved them. It’s all her fault.’
‘Come on. You promised me you would do what you were told. The one thing –’ the man slapped the leather against the palm of his hand – ‘the only thing you had to do was keep that girl and boy safe for me. Did you do that?’ He turned to Fatjon. ‘Did he?’
Russell didn’t like the sneering tone. He gulped spit down his throat, tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t form.
‘It’s his fault.’ He pointed at Fatjon.
‘Fatjon here is a sex-mad lunatic. He couldn’t organise a… What do you Irish call it? A piss-up in a brewery.’
Russell prided himself on never begging for anything, but this was a time to plead.
‘I’ll find the boy. I promise. Just give me today and I’ll bring him back to you.’
‘Too late, my friend. I already know where he is and will deal with him myself. And as you’ve reneged on our agreement, I will have to deal with you like I dealt with the other troublemakers.’
‘You can’t do that. We agreed—’
‘Deal’s off. You lost the boy.’
‘I got his mother for you, and that other bitch. I only involved the detective to try to find the boy for you. She doesn’t know you have his mother.’
‘Too little, too late, my friend.’
‘But you promised that if I let you take who you wanted, you would never tell anyone what I was involved in, in Pristina. Please. The only thing I have left is my reputation.’
‘Reputation? You didn’t care back then that you could drag the name of peacekeepers through the mud. You only saw the colour of the dollar flashing before your eyes. I don’t care about your reputation, Captain, it’s your life I want.’ The man laughed loudly, the sinister sound cutting through the air.
Russell heard the crack of the lead before he felt it lash his face, the prong from the brass catch hooking into his eye. He sensed the second strike without hearing it. Sinking to the floor, his legs like jellied eels, he raised a hand to shield his face. As he touched his eye, he felt it hanging from its socket like a smashed ping-pong ball.
SEVENTY-FIVE
‘Open up! Come on, Petrovci. I know you’re in there.’
Lottie banged hard on the door. Neighbours stared. Boyd rocked from foot to foot beside her. Two uniformed gardaí stood on the bottom step shooing onlookers away.
‘This is your last chance. I’m counting to three, then I’m breaking down the door.’
‘You’re not breaking down anything,’ Boyd said.
‘No, but you are, smart-arse. Get the enforcer from the trunk of the patrol car. Hurry up.’ Lottie continued banging on the door. It remained firmly shut. Shit, hopefully he wasn’t dead. Not because she felt anything for the foreigner with the pained eyes. No. She needed him alive to get information. And possibly charge him with three murders, two abductions and attacking her daughter. Bastard.
Boyd returned hauling a battering ram.
Lottie shouted at the door, ‘Andri Petrovci, this is your final warning. We’re coming in on the count of three.’ She counted loudly, then stepped out of the way and gestured for Boyd to proceed.
The door splintered with the force of his strike. Lottie pulled on gloves, put her hand through the fragmented wood and unlocked the latch. Boyd dropped the enforcer, gloved up and followed her into the silence of the one-bedroom flat.
Katie opened the front door.
‘Hi, Eamon,’ she said. ‘Are you here for Milot?’
‘I’m afraid I am.’
‘Mum isn’t here. I can’t let you in until she gets home from work. Sorry.’
He glanced around nervously. ‘I have documents which allow me to take the boy. We’ve found a good home for him. He can live there until his mother is located.’
Katie smiled her sweetest smile. ‘All the same, I can’t let you in. Come back later when Mum is home. There’s a squad car patrolling the area, so I think you should go.’
The social worker looked over his shoulder. Katie followed his gaze, but saw no garda car. Nor was there a car parked outside the house.
‘Did you walk over here?’ she asked in surprise.
‘Er, no. Yes.’
‘Which? You can’t take Milot with you. He’s only a child. He can’t walk far. It’s too warm. He’ll get heat stroke.’ She pushed the door, but his foot stopped it closing fully.
‘What are you doing?’ Katie asked, her skin prickling.
‘I have to take him with me. Now.’
‘I’m sorry, but—’
She was hurled back into the hall as Eamon Carter pushed the door inwards. Landing on her side, she squealed loudly. ‘What the—’
His hand clamped over her mouth. ‘Shh. I don’t want to hurt you.’
Her eyes bulged.
He said, ‘I’m going to take my hand away and close the door. Do not scream. Understand?’
She tried to nod.
‘Good girl.’
When he removed his hand, Katie gasped for air and screamed as loudly as her lungs would allow. His fist crashed into the side of her head and stars floated in front of her eyes.
He slammed the door and drew the safety chain across.
‘I asked you to be quiet.’ He knelt down beside her. ‘I shouldn’t have hit you. But it’s not my fault. I have to get the boy. Let me help you up and I’ll explain.’
‘Who the fuck are you?’ Chloe shouted from the top of the stairs, brandishing Sean’s hurley stick like it was a sword. ‘Don’t you dare touch my sister or I’ll fucking kill you.’
She leaped down, three steps at a time, and cracked the hurley across his knees as he raised his hands to his face to protect himself.
‘Chloe! Stop, you’ll kill him,’ Katie shouted.
Eamon Carter staggered against the wall. ‘Fucking mad bitches.’
‘You haven’t seen the half of it,’ Chloe said. ‘Now what the hell are you doing here? Tell me before I hit you again.’
The room was neat and tidy. Two wooden chairs pushed in against the table. Floor swept. One mug, a bowl and spoon drying on the draining board. Couch with throws neatly folded. A coffee table free from clutter.
No one home. No sign of a struggle. Nothing out of place.
Lottie looked in the bin. A few empty Coke cans, a sliced-bread wrapper and a chunk of hard cheese in cling film. She opened the re
frigerator. Milk in date, tomatoes, ham and butter. Slamming it shut, she went to the bedroom.
Single bed. Not a wrinkle on the sheets. Military-style. Wardrobe open. Empty. Dresser drawers hanging out. All empty.
‘Not even a mothball,’ she said.
Boyd stuck his head into a small bathroom. ‘Likewise in here.’
‘Where did he go?’
‘Well, he wasn’t dragged out against his will,’ Boyd said.
‘Not through the front door anyway, unless those two feckers were asleep on the job.’
Lottie pulled Boyd out of her way and entered the small bathroom.
‘Here,’ she said, pointing up to the window hanging open on its hinges. ‘It’s about two feet by three. Plenty of room to squeeze out.’
‘This is the first floor. What did he do? Sprout wings?’ Boyd ran one hand through his hair and the other along his chin.
Lottie flipped down the toilet seat, stood on it and looked out. ‘He wouldn’t have to be Superman. There are fire-escape steps right outside.’
‘Shit.’ Boyd jumped up beside her. ‘You’re right. Fuck.’
‘Did they not think to watch the back of the building?’ Lottie shook her head and inadvertently knocked Boyd off the seat.
He banged his elbow off the wall. ‘They probably thought there was no exit.’
‘Thought? They should have checked.’ She stepped down beside Boyd in the confined space. ‘What a cock-up!’
Boyd said, ‘He could be in Timbuktu by now.’
Lottie brushed past him and re-entered the living-room-cum-kitchen. ‘He’s not gone far. He has to finish what he came here for.’ She picked a book from the shelves, flicked through the pages.
‘And what might that be?’
‘If I knew that, I’d be God. Get SOCOs to give the place a going-over. He might have held the girls here.’ She shoved the book back in place. ‘Let’s see if Kirby found out anything from the phone records and if Lynch has got us a crime scene.’
Katie ran upstairs to check on Milot, leaving Chloe watching Eamon Carter. When she’d gone to answer the door, she’d left the boy in Sean’s room playing a game on the computer. Sean would have a canary when he got home from school, but it kept the youngster occupied. Looking in now, she saw that Milot had mastered the keyboard and was engrossed in Minecraft.
The Stolen Girls Page 29
