Carver nodded, wondering if it was the result of the two years they worked together that Alec’s instincts mirrored his own or just that they shared the same basic philosophy - that proper detective work involves wearing out shoe-leather and knocking on doors.
‘Have you said anything?’
Alec nodded, glumly. ‘And so’s Jess. But he insists he wants to do it his way. He says there must be a link between the Durzlans and the Danelians. He thinks if we find it, it’ll turn them up.’
‘And he may be right,’ Carver said. ‘But only if you find it in time. We spent weeks reviewing the Durzlan case on Chainlink and never came up with anything. Okay, we didn’t know about Vahrig Danelian back then, nevertheless….’
‘That’s what we told him. But he did’nae seem impressed.’
‘You told him that I’d reviewed it?’
Alec nodded. ‘Should I not hae done?’
Carver shrugged. ‘It shouldn’t be an issue, but knowing Terry, he’d probably love to find something I’d missed.’
Alec supped his pint. ‘That’s what Jess and I wondered.’
‘What about the immigration side? How’s that going?’
‘We’ve got a team down at the Immigration Office, going through all their records for the year before and after the Durzlan family were killed.’
Carver pulled a face. ‘There won’t be a record. From what Kahramanyan said, I’d bet my wages the Danelians came here illegally.’
‘We told West that as well. But he said we can’t do everything. ‘One thing at a time,’ he said.’
Carver pursed his lips. ‘Normally I’d say the same. But when you’re up against the clock you’ve got to be looking at everything.’ A thought occurred to him. ‘Has he put in for more staff yet?’
Alec shook his head. ‘ Jess thinks that with the Duke only just having departed he’s holding off. In case they think he can’t manage.’
Carver shook his head, letting his exasperation show.
‘People worry too much about what others think. There’s a bloody killer out there needs to be caught.’ But from the look on Alec’s face Carver could see he wasn’t saying anything the older DS hadn’t already considered. He’d come looking for advice.
A thought occurred to him.
‘Does Jess know about us meeting?’
Alec looked abashed, then shook his head. ‘She said I wasn’t to involve yeh. Under any circumstances. She said if I did, you could end up in the shite.’
‘Oh, thanks. You’re not bothered about me getting in the shite then?’
Alec smiled. ‘Och, I know the way yeh operate. If I thought you was going to drop yerself in it, I would’nea be here.’
Carver gave a sarcastic nod of appreciation. ‘Thank you for that vote of confidence.’
As they paused a moment to give their attention to their beers, Carver mused on how closely it matched with the concerns he’d been having. The day Kahramanyan briefed them on Vahrig Danelian, his instinct had been that if the Danelian family were here, the best way of finding them would be through the Armenian community itself. But that would need a lot of leg work and not a little luck. Once they arrive in this country and are absorbed into their own community, illegals are notoriously difficult to track down – particularly if they are otherwise law-abiding. He recalled the recent intelligence assessment he’d seen estimating the true number of illegal immigrants into the UK over the past five years - part of what people referred to routinely now as, ‘Under-Britain.’ The numbers were staggering. It was one of the reasons why Carver and others with access to the sort of information politicians never dare release into the public arena were so strongly in favour of Identity Cards. But from an investigator’s point of view, the trouble is, such communities are fiercely protective of their own and easily capable of running the most intense police enquiry into the ground - as Carver had discovered during the Ancoats Rapist case. Despite it being the Asian community’s women being attacked, it had taken all of Carver’s diplomacy skills, along with help from elsewhere, to break down the barriers of suspicion that held the investigation back in the first few weeks.
‘So what are yer thoughts?’ Alec’s question pulled Carver back to the problem at hand. ‘I was wonderin’ whether to have a word with The Duke in case-.’
‘No. Leave him out of it. He’s got enough on his plate. And I need to think things through before doing anything. I don’t want to drop you or anyone else in the mire by letting on we’ve spoken.’
Alec shook his head, sadly. ‘Fuckin’ politics.’ He said it in his deepest brogue. ‘This case wid be right up your street. And this nutter we’re lookin’ for is just the sort of bastard you’re guid wi’.’ Then he added, ‘I mean that as a compliment.’
Carver smiled.
But as he left the pub to head back to the office, Carver was conscious it wasn’t just politics he needed to consider if he was going to come up with something to accelerate Aslan’s progress. Then he remembered. There was another matter he needed to front. He rang Rosanna and told her about his visit with Sarah.
‘And?’ she said, waiting.
‘And what?’ he said.
‘You would not ring just to tell me you have seen Sarah. What is it?’
He grimaced before he said it. ‘What are your plans for next week?’
CHAPTER 29
The next morning Carver was at his desk early, so he could do what he wanted to do before some nosy-parker bounced in and hit him with an awkward question. Such as, ‘So what, exactly, is the NCA’s interest in the Manchester-Armenian community?’ But by the time everyone started arriving, his enthusiasm for the task was already draining.
The previous evening, after Rosanna stopped talking to him, he had gone on line, just to see what there was on the UK Armenian Community. His first search - “UK Armenian Community” - turned up fourteen million results. A quick scan showed they covered a huge range of topic; religion, history, community, business, and more. He tried narrowing his search by changing it to “Manchester Armenian Community”. The results increased to twenty million. ‘What the f-?’ After going to bed, he fell asleep thinking about where to even begin looking.
Since arriving at work, he had searched again, digging deeper into what came up. So far, nothing was jumping out as a possible start point. Many entries he clicked on simply took him to sites signposting restaurants, bars, and specialist food and other goods targeted at the Armenian community. Other sites seemed almost like clones of each other, but offering subtly differing slants on the topic around which most were centred - Turkey’s attempt in nineteen-fifteen to wipe out the remnants of the Ottoman Empire’s Armenian population, commonly referred to as the Armenian Genocide. After searching through the umpteenth site that appeared little more than a vehicle for some fringe-group’s rant against Turkey’s continuing failure to officially recognise its responsibility for the atrocity, Carver tutted loudly, pushed himself away from the desk and turned towards the window.
As he sat looking out at the several, unmarked business units that always made him wonder how the Post Office knew which was which and who was who, he derided his naïve optimism that made him think he would find answers on-line. The world-wide-web is wonderful in many ways, but it hadn’t yet reached the point where detective work can be conducted from behind a desk. His thoughts turned again in the direction they had taken the previous afternoon, speaking with Alec. But almost immediately, other thoughts crowded around, stifling him with their suffocating warnings about ‘consequences.’ Carver rubbed at his forehead, where the tension was growing again. Each night of late as he lay in bed, it seemed to take longer to disappear.
Worrying, or even just thinking about consequences, had never come easily to Carver. Since his early days in CID he had learned to trust to his instincts and let the investigative process take him where it would. It could be some backstreet dive frequented by gangsters and junkies where the police nowadays only ever patrol in numbers. Or
it may be a leafy, city suburb where criminals disguise their activities under a cloak of respectability. Either way, his willingness to go with the flow had always served him well. If it meant venturing, occasionally, into territory a more cautious detective may think twice about, then so be it. What’s the saying about not making omelettes without breaking eggs? Musing on it, he was aware that at least his approach meant that the only person’s safety he had to worry about, was his own, though there was the odd occasion when he needed to be mindful of the fall-out that can follow when some notable figure becomes drawn into a sensitive police investigation, as in the case of the late Alistair Kenworthy MP. But right now Carver was operating under constraints with which he was entirely unfamiliar.
Never before had he held back simply because someone in authority had told him that not doing so might be bad for his career. Even during his short-lived marriage to Gill, he had never experienced the feeling of unease that came whenever he thought about how Rosanna may react if he were to mention escaping from the frustrations of his present role.
‘Jesus, Carver,’ he said aloud, conscious his mind was beginning to loop around the problem in the way it had been doing for days. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘I am not sure. Perhaps we should talk about it.’
Carver spun round. Mikayel Kahramanyan was in the doorway, nodding his thanks to Shiela for showing him in as she turned to make her way back to her desk.
‘Mikayel,’ Carver said, glossing over the embarrassment he felt at having been overheard. ‘Good to see you.’ Coming round the desk, they shook hands.
Carver had seen relatively little of the psychiatrist since his arrival. Most of the past two weeks he had been ensconced with one or other members of the SMUI team, trying to help them anticipate Vahrig Danelian’s intentions. During that time, there had only been time for the occasional coffee or snatched lunch.
‘I am just letting you know, I will be leaving tomorrow. I have to get back.’
‘Problems?’ Carver said. The man’s face spoke of his regret at having to leave before Danelian had been found.
‘Some of the inmates that escaped the Institute are starting to turn up again. My colleagues need my help in re-settling them.’
‘I don’t envy you,’ Carver said.
Kahramanyan had said only little about what had happened the day the Institute was destroyed. But it was enough that Carver sensed there was a deal of pain there that the Armenian preferred not to dwell on. But he had mentioned how most of the Inmate Records had been lost, burned or scattered to the winds. In many cases it meant the authorities were having to start from scratch in re-mapping the individual’s profiles.
‘And I don’t envy you either,’ Kahramanyan said. ‘It is frustrating watching others do what you want to do yourself.’
Carver blinked, taken aback by the psychiatrist’s directness. Then he remembered. Jess and he had been spending a fair bit of time together. Suddenly wary, Carver crossed to his coffee pot and held it up. Kahramanyan nodded. He poured two mugs then returned to his chair. Cradling his in his lap, he was careful in the way he framed his response to the psychiatrist’s observation.
‘Yes, it is frustrating. But that’s something we all have to live with now and again.’ He intended it to sound casual, and was surprised when Kahramanyan seemed to read something into it.
The Armenian sat forward. ‘And can you?’
‘Can I what?’
‘Live with it.’
Carver’s brow furrowed. ‘Well I’m not suicidal or anything.’
‘I’m not suggesting you are. But please, forgive me for saying this, but you do not seem happy with your present situation.’
Unsure whether it was a statement or a question, Carver felt unsettled by the psychiatrist’s smooth segue into professional mode. But to his surprise, instead of steering the conversation elsewhere, he found himself responding.
‘No, I’m not happy with the situation. But I can’t do much about it.’
‘Cannot, or do not want to?’
His response came back so quickly Carver wondered if Kahramanyan had been anticipating it. What the hell’s he doing?
‘Forgive me Mikayel. I’m afraid things are complicated right now. There’re things happening you’re not aware of. I’m restricted as to what I can get involved in. Organisational stuff, politics, you know.’
Again, the psychiatrist didn’t hesitate. ‘I am not sure a loss of confidence can be blamed on organisational influences alone.’
Carver stared at the man across the desk. He’d been right. He and Jess had been talking.
‘Who said anything about a loss of confidence? It’s just that as I’m not part of SMIU, this Danelian thing is not my responsibility.’ Though Kahramanyan’s face didn’t change, Carver was in no doubt what he was thinking. Liar.
The psychiatrist changed tack.
‘I believe the last couple of years have been hard for you. Some difficult cases, yes?’
‘Where have you heard that?’ Just you wait, Jess.
‘Oh… around. Is it true?’
He hesitated. Should I even be talking about this?
‘Yes.’
‘I believe some people you were close to died.’
Carver gave a slow nod. ‘Yes.’
‘I am sorry to hear,’ Kahramanyan said.
‘Thank you. But that was all a while ago. In the past.’
‘Is it?’
‘Is it what?’
‘Is it in the past, or is it here, in the present?’
‘What are you getting at, Mikayel?’
Kahramanyan looked nonchalant. ‘Nothing in particular. It is just that, some people like to think that because things happened long ago, they are no longer affecting us. When in fact they are.’
Carver stared at him, uncertain as to what was going on. But before he could say anything the man continued. ‘Take these people you knew who died. I suspect you felt their loss greatly.’
Carver took a moment before replying. ‘Yes, I did.’
‘And not just grief, perhaps?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Perhaps some guilt also? Misplaced guilt I have no doubt, but guilt all the same.’
Carver felt his chest tightening. ‘Some.’
‘And would you say that guilt is still with you?’
Carver hesitated. He knew now this was no casual conversation about life in general or the sort of problems a stressful job can sometimes throw up. This was about him. And though part of him wanted to shy away from it, another said, Stay with it, he wasn’t sure why.
His gaze stayed on Kahramanyan as he answered his question. ‘Some of it may be.’
‘Only, some?’
Carver shrugged. ‘Some of it, all of it, who knows? How do you gauge these things? Some things you can just never forget.’
‘This is true, but it is possible to remember things from the past, without letting them impact on the present.’
Carver frowned. ‘What is it you are trying to say, Mikayel. Has Jess asked you to do a number on me or something?’.
He waved it away. ‘Absolutely not. I would not allow such a thing to happen.’
‘Then why-’
‘Because I think you are suffering, my friend.’
‘Suffering? Suffering how?’
‘I do not know. You tell me.’
For several seconds, snatches of half-formed thoughts raced through Carver’s mind. But it seemed that each time he tried to grab at one so that he could hold it and see it clearly, it leapt away, evading his grasp. Kahramanyan seemed to sense his difficulty.
‘Are you having difficulty sleeping?’
‘Some nights.’ Then, ‘Most nights.’
‘Would you rather be doing other work than the work you are doing right now?’
‘Well like I said before, it can be frustrating-’
‘Personal relationships?’
‘What about them?’
‘
Would you say there are difficulties there?’
An image of Rosanna formed. Sarah. His parents. Jason and his grandparents.
‘In some areas, maybe.’
‘Difficulty making decisions?’
He thought about recent conversations with The Duke, about him switching to SMIU, around whether he ought to be applying for another promotion board. With Rosanna, about their future together, and Jason. Decisions avoided, or postponed.
He nodded, saying nothing.
Without warning, Kahramanyan switched tack. ‘Tell me again about Operation Aslan, why you are not involved in it.’
‘Like I said, I’m under orders to stay out of it.’
‘And the approach they are taking. Is it what you would do?’
He stifled a snort. ‘Not exactly.’
‘You would do things differently?’
‘Some.’
‘And what will happen if they do not catch The Monster in time?’
‘He will probably kill his family. Others as well perhaps.’
‘You think you could prevent this happening if you were involved?’
‘I’d have a bloody good go.’
‘So why aren’t you? Having a bloody good go, I mean?’
‘I’ve told you. They won’t let me.’
‘And that is the only reason?’
‘What other reason could there be?’
‘Guilt. Fear.’
‘What sort of guilt? And what’s there to be afraid of?’
‘Guilt over the fact that in the past you weren’t able to save people you cared about from being murdered. Fear that if you get involved someone else you care about may die.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘Is it? People tell me that you have always done what you think needs doing, rather than obeying your superiors, is that true?’
‘Probably.’
‘So what is different this time? You think you could probably help save a family, yet here you are, staring out of the window, talking to yourself.’
Family Reunion Page 15
