She already knew she could never forgive him. But she would not make him suffer any further. They got to the edge of the road and then she sat him down on the kerbside.
“We’ve got to get away. The police will be coming.”
“There’s someone else here, Parker. I have to get her.”
Eva ran past the Mitkin’s bodies until she got to the edge of 23 Dunlop Road. Laura was crouched in the doorway, hiding in the darkness of the hallway, trembling. Her T-shirt was torn and her mouth was bleeding, tears and mascara marred her face.
“It’s finished, Laura. Honestly, it’s finished.”
She helped Laura up to her feet. “Come with me now,” said Eva with calm authority. There was no time to argue.
Then the scream she had dreaded hearing since all this began. Jess! Jess was hurt. Eva let go of Laura’s hand and ran again, seeing a thin black shape already thrashing away like a sportsman down Dunlop road and away round the corner. Sirens echoed in the distance. The man in black had vanished and Jess was huddled on the floor, hair obscuring her face. Eva got to her and cradled her head in her hands. Jess looked up. “It’s Parker,” she whispered. “They hit Parker right in front of me.”
Ten
Parker was dead. There was no time for sorrow and not much was on offer, but there was plenty of shock and fear to go round. Eva didn’t know if she and Jess had been missed only by mistake – like Parker had been – only for someone to soon notice them alive and not like it. Now Albany Park was silent, a black hole was sucking the light out of the street, full of murder, full of horror. Eva had not been inside the park for years, if indeed she ever had – she couldn’t quite remember – and now she would never ever return again. There were fresh slash marks across Parker’s back near the original shoulder wounds, but these were clotted with blood and had sunk deep into his flesh. He was sprawled across Jess’s knees. Jess shuddered, wept quietly and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as if to wipe away a nightmare of emotions. The gesture did nothing to relieve her of the heavy weight on her heart. Her lips quivered and more of Parker’s blood trickled over her legs.
“We haven’t got time for this, Jess.”
Jess looked at Eva like she didn’t understand. She needed clarification. Distant sirens were wailing and coming closer. “If we have to explain this to the police, we’ll lose a day at best. Probably more. In the meantime, Dan could be killed.”
“He’s probably dead already,” said Jess, looking down at the body sprawled across her lap. She seemed to realise death was all over her legs, seeping into her own body, and she quickly withdrew. Parker rolled to the floor, thankfully still face down.
“Get up. Now.” Eva stretched out a hand and pulled Jess up. The girl’s jeans were sponge-full with blood all across her knees and thighs. Eva thought about the interior of her lovely car. Leather seats. It was a selfish thought and she shoved it out of her mind.
“I thought they were coming for me, Eva. They were running at me but they hacked Parker down. I saw death in his eyes, Eva. I think I saw the moment he died - while he was still standing up.” Eva nodded and said nothing. There was nothing to say. She looked towards number Twenty Three where Laura had been attacked just before the world had turned black.
“Come with us, Laura. Laura? Come on!” Eva pulled Jess to the corner of the street. The Alfa was parked just around the corner. Laura was nervous, but at least she moved quickly. Both of them were as good as insane right now, so Eva assumed control because someone had to. She opened the car doors, “Get in.” There were no complaints and no arguments. “We have to take off right now or we may as well give up.” Jess nodded, wiping her mouth in the same compulsive way. Gone were any vestiges of her cocky, sassy demeanour. Eva put both Jess and Laura in the back seats, slammed the door and ran to the driver’s side. She gunned the engine as quick as she could and drove – speeding up quickly to the legal limit of 30mph past the edge of Dunlop Road and the red light district, turning into the road with the East train station as three police cars with full flashing blues and twos howled past, all taking a sharp left towards Albany Park. Eva breathed a sigh of relief. In her rear view mirror she could see the two women in the backseat who were broken and needed patching up. She didn’t have the time or inclination to deal with this. Eva knew she was in shock herself, but she would have to be the one to man up. There was no one else.
“Laura. Until the dust settles, you’re with us.”
Laura said nothing, just stared out of the car window as they made towards the seafront. “Jess, hold it together. What we just saw is extreme. I’ve never seen anything like that in my life. You have to understand that. What we just saw was an assassination. A take down - gang warfare or something. This isn’t what we deal with, but it is what we have to deal with today. So please just take some deep breaths and suck it up. Or go home. Your call, but you need to tell me right now because we haven’t got time for anything else.” Jess nodded slowly. Eva’s eyes stayed on her in the rear view.
“I’m with you, Eva. You can’t handle this alone.”
“I can, Jess... But I’d prefer your help.”
“Then you’ve got it.”
“What I can’t get my head round is the scale of this thing. This is out of proportion, out of control. Dan doesn’t deserve any of this. This is far too big for him. We have to get him out of this…” said Eva.
“Out of what?”
“I don’t know, yet. But this didn’t have anything to do with Dan, that’s for sure. This is part of something bigger. I’m still sure Victor Marka’s men did this. Did you see those pasty, pinch-faced looking freaks, the guys in black? They effectively teamed up with the Somali gang and double-crossed the Mitkin boys right in front of us, just like Gillespie predicted.”
“They’re evil. Pure evil,” said Laura, her eyes glazed and distant.
“But someone else absolutely knows for certain that the Somali gang are two-faced, and therefore knew the risks, but still used them tonight,” said Jess.
“Someone who is more merciless than them, and then some. Victor Marka will be under no illusions. This is just a temporary deal, I’m sure. He is probably planning to double- cross them himself before they strike first.”
“So, what now?”
“We’re going after Marka. I can’t believe I actually said that. But it’s because we don’t have a choice. None. No choice at all. Marka is where this all started. Marka is where this is going to finish.” Her statement sounded full of conviction and authority. But listening to the words she just said, Eva knew they also made her sound utterly insane. How could two small time detectives take down the most unpredictable and dangerous gangster in London? The odds of success were dismal. But Eva knew that if Dan was alive, he would be with Marka. He didn’t deserve whatever Marka had in mind. She had enjoyed ruling Dan out of her life; it gave her peace and clarity when she did so. But now she knew Dan still provided her with something, some hope which she couldn’t give up altogether. And as a friend, if nothing else, she would not let him die.
Eleven
They were holed up back in the office. For all its faults, it had security shutters and would keep them from harm. Right now those shutters seemed like the best aspect of all. Though some new damage on their surface suggested the shutters had been tested while they had been away. Whether Parker had spoken to the Mitkins, as he had clearly intended, the Mitkin brothers were now gone, so was their threat and so was Parker. Eva didn’t think the Somali gang, or their hidden partner, would care yet about the activities of a provincial private detective agency led by a woman. Marka was a power-hungry, sexist, in the Russian oligarch tradition. The Somali gang were pure violent misogynists known to rape for fun and as a means of control.
Laura was fidgety, and more distant than ever. At first Eva thought she needed a hit. Maybe she did. By now, she had retreated into the wide-eyed cocoon of someone who had lost the last hope she had known in her broken life. And Jess had beco
me animated far beyond what was natural. Now she was now a caricature of her former self, over-elaborating her words and amplifying the mood in her positive talk. Both women were in shock. Albany Park, then Dagenham. Maybe it was all too much for her. Eva still had to motivate them, get something useful out of them and keep Jess on track towards finding Dan Bradley - dead or alive. Here and now, there were approximately twenty-four hours to go in the predicted timeline of Dan’s chances of surviving and remaining alive with his vital organs intact.
Eva studied her mind map of the case on her laptop. Laura cradled a small glass of white wine, sitting by herself at the furthest end of Eva’s oak dining table, while Jess fondled Eva’s iPad aimlessly and stared at Eva. Jess and Eva were both working on researching Victor Marka, starting with the most general information. They dug through everything, from his entry on Wikipedia as an international businessman to allegations of international crime, to the publicised business information displayed on the websites of his companies, including his restaurants, gambling establishments and property companies. Some of the so-called companies seemed to be fronts for other things, such as his Dagenham based importing business White Star Gazette. Then there was his proudest object – the one Marka had modelled on the other Russian oligarchs he sought to emulate – his very own newspaper. His purchase of the small London free-paper, The Daily, was the latest peak in Marka’s mountain range. The Daily was the peacock feathers which proudly covered the cage full of shit which Marka would rather his audience did not see. Containing a mix of tabloid news, an abridged broadsheet copy, entertainment and sports bulletins; The Daily was competing against The Metro and the London Standard. Lately, The Daily had captured the lion’s share of the modern free-paper market. The newspaper was the one Marka enterprise that the Russian was prepared to discuss in public. As a young Russian megalomaniac hoping to make it big before he reached the ripe old age of assassination, Victor Marka used every media opportunity to mention himself and The Daily in the same sentence, whether on television, radio, on the net or in other press. Marka was even billed as one of the paper’s contributors and given the title of Senior Editor in Chief. It was a title Marka had given himself, which enabled him to contribute as infrequently as it suited him and yet still retain the prestigious affectations of senior journalist. A great many news bloggers on the BBC, Guardian and Twitter gladly pointed out that Marka’s prose was turgid and only ever acceptable when re-typed by a backroom hack.
Occasionally, Jess would pipe up and look up from the iPad screen to mention the location and the topography of The Daily’s South London offices. Her comments were like hand grenades lobbed tamely without any explosion; just tossed in to prove to Eva she was working and being productive. Eva knew Jess was in pieces but there was so little time to fix things up so she had to place any thoughts of concern aside. There was a drastic change in dynamics and Laura was a new addition to the equation with dubious loyalty, which all made for awkwardness and poorly concealed feelings. The mammoths in the middle of the room had to be tackled.
“Okay, Jess, here is where we are at. We’re down to long ball tactics.”
“Eh?”
“Dan called it playing the long ball. It’s what he did when he was stuck, and right now, I think we’re pretty damn stuck. Dan was always using sport metaphors. Blokes know the language of sport better than they know English. In football some teams play lots of passes, sending the ball all over the park before they shoot for a goal. Dan used to say you could play a case this way, laying out all your knowledge until the target showed you a weakness to exploit – a bit like a lawyer. But when time is of the essence, you kick hard, long and fast while the opposition is napping and score a goal before they even know about it.”
“I don’t get it, Eva.”
“We are going to go for the jugular.”
“Eva… We don’t know where Dan is… All we do know is that Marka is a ruthless killer.”
“Brian Gillespie was a tall order himself, remember– and we had Mad Maggie to contend with as well. But Gillespie was never in this picture. Thinking we had to deal with Gillespie was just misdirection, spun by Parker, to throw us off the scent of his paymaster. He said he was betrayed, remember. He was betrayed by whoever was paying him.”
“So who is Parker’s paymaster?”
“You saw Parker. He was working with Rob Mitkin at least. But from the earliest calls and meetings when he was speaking about his mysterious list, he sounded iffy and chose his words carefully when he spoke to me – like he was always worried about something. I think he was. He was worried about me hearing the lies in his voice. Dan could never have believed that his old boss was a lying crook. Dan knew how much I didn’t believe him about his conspiracy theory and likewise, he would have not believed me about Parker. But there was too much unproven and unseen in Parker’s story for it to stick. One, we have Remy. Now, Remy is either; dead and buried, forever missing, or he has been locked up somewhere with Dan. Alternatively, what we witnessed when Remy was kidnapped was a sham. He was supposed to be one of the outsourcing people working those lists of dead men, of which Dan was one. Then Parker said Remy was on the list. The list seemed to change whenever he spoke about it. I’m not sure it ever existed. If it did, I don’t think the Mitkins could ever have been one of those ‘outsourcing gangs.’ Rob Mitkin thought himself too cool and too Hollywood to have been a subcontractor in the shadows. Hubris was one big reason why Rob Mitkin got killed. He had gotten bigger in his own head than in reality, and so didn’t notice he was being set up. But the outsourcing unit does exist, because we saw them tonight. But I don’t know why they took out the Mitkins. So what else does this tell us, Jess?”
“I don’t know, my brain is fried.”
“You do know, Jess. You know, but you’re strung out right now. Think – it will be good for you.”
“Um. Is it about Remy?”
“We have to write off Remy as possibly dead or a sham. As for the list - we forget all about that too until it reappears in the picture. Other things we have learned: Lee Mitkin was foolish to believe the Somalis and Gillespie could work together.”
“Lee thought he was going to come out on top,” said Laura. “Don’t get me wrong. He wasn’t bright. He was a bastard too. He could kiss me and then punch me the following minute. He always believed he was going to out-do his brother in the long term and prove he was the best of them.”
“Small man syndrome?” said Jess.
“Probably. But they were wrong about each other. Rob thought he could use the Somali muscle to jump up a level with the big guys. He thought he was a duke in Marka’s growing kingdom and that his partnership with the Somalis gave him the credibility to back it up. But Rob was short-sighted. Why didn’t he see that the Somalis had no loyalty to him whatsoever? I’ve been reading up on the Somali gangs tonight and all I see is a network of gangs working across London, and now across the whole South East, county to county, coast to coast. Unlike standard set-ups, they have no singular leader but a committee of gangs with a kind of exclusive agreement that the only bond they have is with each other and everyone else is expendable. There are stories and testimonies about the Somali gangs all over the press for the last five years. They came from a country torn by civil war where life is cheap, so cheap it’s terrifying. They came to England, where life is fat, indolent and riddled with addicts to every vice known in history. Compared to what they are used to, this country is easy meat. They exploit all the weaknesses they see, including a police service without the martial powers to eliminate threats like they are used to at home. So they have no fear of our police, our prisons or how the UK disciplines their offenders, because all our legal threats are empty compared to the living hell they endured at home. And as with all people who have been through war, life is still cheap regardless of whatever country they now live in. Only now, the drunks, junkies and poor of our own country are the expendable ones. What made Rob Mitkin think he could trust them?” Eva looke
d at Laura.
“Rob was always aloof. He didn’t touch me. Not much anyways. The couple of times he did, he looked like he was going to be physically sick afterwards. I never liked him. Rob thought he was destined for greatness and acted like he was there already. They worked with the Somalis because they thought that they could control them – Rob thought he was like one of those old imperial governors abroad - that was what he used to say –
like he could tell the Somalis what to do because he owned the land and let them use it. I was always scared of them and I never trusted them. It ain’t ‘cause I’m a racist. I’m not. I’ve got black friends. But those Somali boys were cruel and a few of them wouldn’t ever put their blades down.”
“So you think Rob was stupid?” asked Jess.
“No. Rob calculated, that was Rob. Always calculating so he could stay a step ahead and the Somali boys needed him to negotiate with the established gangs in London. He probably bigged up his links to the London mobs, which weren’t really that great, not the way I see it. He also persuaded the Somalis that they needed to stay united with him or the Gyppo mob would sweep them out of town. I think he liked that one best. I heard that one a few times.”
“The Gyppo mob? Gillespie you mean?” said Jess.
“Yep. Bad Boy Brian Gillespie and the gangs on Roe Park,” confirmed Laura.
“I think Rob underestimated the intelligence the Somalis share in their network. You can read about it all here in the online papers. The first reports of these gangs go back as far as 2005. They were ruthless then, all over the place, not ashamed to spill their stories or their mission even to our national papers. They seem to avoid press these days, but their bravado and their structure seems more like Al Qaeda than a commonplace gang. All it would have taken to break their agreement with Rob Mitkin was someone to expose the truth about how weak the Mitkins really were– or for someone with enough firepower and cash to offer them a sweeter deal. I think it’s the last one, but it could be both. The Somalis are all over this situation, but I don’t think they are our culprits. Mercenaries, foot soldiers, an army working for someone else is what they are. They are a time bomb waiting to blow themselves up.”
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