The Assassin's Dog

by David George Clarke

  Her thoughts turned to the young DC who would be making up the numbers in the Art Fraud Squad. “Let’s see what we can find out about you, Sofie with an f,” she said, as she keyed a set of instructions into her computer.

  She knew many of the personnel listings for the various police forces were confidential, especially to officers at her level. Her own name, for instance, was simply listed against her rank, but no personal or posting details and not even a photograph were shown. The Art Fraud Squad rated anonymity an important factor in its work. However, for less sensitive postings, more details were sometimes listed.

  She clicked on the Greater Manchester force, went to CID, and typed Sofie Lukina into the search. To her surprise, the information was as scant as her own, with only Lukina’s rank listed against her name. There was no posting data and no photograph. So either she was already in a sensitive job or personnel had been unusually efficient and removed her details ahead of her transfer.

  She closed the screen, drumming her fingers on the desk. She had no direct contacts in the Manchester area, but she did know someone who had transferred from there two years before. It was unlikely her close friend Detective Superintendent Trisha McVie would have come across Lukina directly, but she might know someone who had. She reached for her phone and dialled a number.

  “McVie.” The tone was no nonsense but without the irritation that so many senior officers injected into their voices, as if the caller were interrupting something of national importance.

  “Trish. Hi, it’s Jennifer. Have you got a moment?”

  “For you, Detective Sergeant, on your first day in command, of course. I’ve just sent an assistant commissioner off with a flea up his backside, so I’m all ears. How’s it all going in the dark and mysterious world of art fraud?”

  Jennifer laughed. It was always refreshing to talk to Trisha. She was always upbeat, always positive in spite of her inability to stay in a relationship for more than a few months. When their paths had first crossed soon after Trisha’s transfer to the Met nearly two years before, even with the difference in their ages and ranks, they had immediately bonded. Cotton had quickly become Jennifer, and out of the office environment, ma’am became Trish.

  It was a mutual love of art that initially set the two women on a path to friendship. Trish was passionate about paintings and sculpture, with a particular interest in the nineteenth century, but now, thanks to Jennifer, her passion had expanded to include Renaissance art.

  “Turned out to be the shortest command on record, I reckon,” replied Jennifer.

  “Why? What’s happened?”

  “Well, the first ten minutes were up to expectation, but then I was told I’ve been transferred out, back to regular CID.”

  “What! You must be joking. What the hell do they think they’re up to? They can’t mess you around like that. You should complain to the union rep. Where are you going? I’ve made it perfectly clear to those who control these things that if you ever get moved anywhere, it will be to my squad. It’s been promised, for Christ’s sake. Bloody hell, Jennifer, I didn’t see that coming. I’ll be having words.”

  “I didn’t see it coming either, not a hint, but despite it being a kind of weird thing to do, I’m not too dismayed.”

  “Really? Why? Where the hell are you going? I hope it’s not out of London; our girls’ nights out are far too important.”

  “I’m going back to my old squad in Nottingham, the SCF. Pete Hawkins, the DCS there, planned the whole thing, pulling rank and connections on Paul in the process.”

  “Nottingham? Well, it could be worse, but it’ll be a bit of a schlep when I need a shoulder to cry on the next time my love life falls apart, which, incidentally, I think it’s about to once again. And I’ll miss getting pissed with you in Henry Silk’s magnificent mansion.”

  “Ah-ah!” Jennifer was shaking her head. “No way. There’ll always be Hampstead, I promise you. Henry’s even started ordering your favourite vintages.”

  “God, I love that man. Why is he so fond of that billionairess when he could have all that I can offer him? You know, impossible work schedules, dates called off at the last minute, interruptions in the middle of the night to leave his bed for some grimy scene. I mean, her life is so boringly predictable.”

  “I can’t imagine you as my stepmother, Trish.”

  “Don’t tell me he’s marrying her! I like to think I still have a chance.”

  “Not that I know of, no, but they seem pretty together.”

  “I know. I’m not jealous or anything, as you can probably tell from the sound of grinding teeth. When are you off? Not today, I hope. We’ve got to have a swansong bender somewhere.”

  “You’re a bad influence, detective superintendent, I’m supposed to be getting fit for a half-marathon.”

  “Christ, you’re so fit, you could run it right now.”

  “Maybe, but you’re not, and we are running it together, if you remember.”

  “No problem, as long as you don’t mind carrying me for at least half the course.”

  “Only half? You must have been secretly training.”

  “Watch your lip, detective sergeant! Anyway, you didn’t answer my question. When are you off?”

  “Not until the end of next week. There’s a young DC replacing me who’s reporting for duty here on Thursday. Actually, she’s partly why I called. I was wondering if you know her or know someone who might. She’s rather intriguing.”

  “Mmm, I don’t know too many DCs outside of my own lot. Plus a few from my Manchester days.”

  “It was those days I was thinking of. She’s currently posted to a CID unit somewhere in Manchester, but I don’t know where. She’s pretty young, but I think she’s been there long enough to have overlapped with you.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Sofie Lukina. Sofie with an f.”

  “Lukina? That’s an unusual name. You know, I think it rings a bell.”

  “It’s Russian.”

  “Russian! We’re employing Russians now?”

  “Russian father, French mother. Fled here as dissidents.”

  “Really? And we think we have a hard time. We don’t know we’re born, Jennifer. How old is this young woman?”

  “Not sure. Mid- to late-twenties, I think.”

  “With an unusual name like that, I shouldn’t have much difficulty tracking her down. I’ll call you back. But it will cost you.”

  “2008 Premier Cru?”

  “Smooth-talking bitch. You knew one mention of that and I’d be putty in your hands.”

  “Thanks, Trish.”

  “Call you back later. Oh, God, the assistant commissioner’s hovering again. Must want his hair shirt changing for something rougher. Where did I put that horse whip?”

  Ten minutes later, Jennifer was still smiling to herself about her conversation with Trish when a bewildered Pete Whitacombe came into the office carrying two take-away coffees in Coco Coffee House’s own reusable china mugs.

  “These are fresh ones, Jennifer, I went to get some more. The others I got earlier went cold.”

  “Thanks, Pete. You didn’t buy new mugs, did you? We’ve got quite a collection sitting in the cupboard. Any more and we can have a car boot sale.”

  “I know. I keep forgetting to take them with me, but I’d prefer to buy new ones than use the disposable plastic ones.”

  Jennifer pursed her lips, not convinced of the logic. However, she was grateful for the coffee.

  Pete placed both mugs on Jennifer’s desk and turned around to grab a chair.

  “What’s this sudden posting all about?” he said, sitting down to face her. “I just don’t get it. For one moment, a very brief one, you’re this unit’s sarge, and the next, I’m acting and you’re off to the Midlands. Did Paul wake up this morning with this week’s great idea or is it something that’s been brewing for a while?”

  Jennifer picked up her coffee and took a tentative sip. “Wow, that’s hot!” sh
e said, and put the mug down again. She pulled a face. “You know, Pete, I think this whole thing blindsided Paul as much as it has us. I trust him; I don’t think he’s playing some daft game. No, it’s Pete Hawkins, the DCS in Nottingham who’s engineered everything. Did Paul tell you about my replacement?”

  “Sofie Lukina? Yes. Said she’ll be approaching your standard once she’s learned the ropes. Do you know anything about her?”

  “No, but I’m on to it. I have my faithful superintendent at Scotland Yard on the case. She’ll be calling me back soon.”

  As if on cue, the phone on Jennifer’s desk rang.

  She smiled. “That could be her now.”

  Chapter Five

  Jennifer lifted her phone’s handset.

  “Cotton.”

  “You know, your surname, stated like that, always sounds like a secret password I’m supposed to reply to with something equally obscure,” announced Trish.

  “It is. You’re supposed to say, ‘Egyptian or Indian?’ and then I say, ‘What took you so long? It’s been all of ten minutes since you set off on your quest for information’.”

  “Yes, sooo sorry about the delay, but after extensive research involving half the Manchester Constabulary, I think I’ve got the answers you need.”

  “I’m impressed. What have you found?”

  “Well, what you’ve been told already is correct: she’s a clever girl who’s impressed her bosses. Contributed some excellent input in a couple of difficult cases, but apparently she’s dead keen on joining your lot. Can’t think why, given it’s such a dead-end job with none of the excitement of regular CID work. I mean, when was the last time you had to risk your neck undercover to expose some shady art dealer?”

  “Confidential information, even at your level, ma’am, I’m sorry to tell you.”

  Jennifer smiled to herself at the look of incredulity on Pete Whitacombe’s face as he listened in on the conversation.

  Trish ignored her remark and continued. “Ticks all the boxes and apparently she’s far less lippy than the bird she’s replacing in your squad.”

  “Sounds too perfect to me; I still reckon she’s some kind of Mata Hari, but I’m confident she’ll break under my subtle interrogation. A week will be more than enough.”

  “Her mug shot is on its way to me. I’ll send it over as soon as it arrives.”

  The following Thursday morning, Jennifer was fifteen minutes early when she walked into the high-rise in Canary Wharf that was home to the Art Fraud Squad. She wanted to be ready and waiting in the office to greet DC Lukina. However, after passing through security and heading towards the lifts, she saw a woman of about the right age and build ahead of her waiting in the lift lobby. Jennifer looked at the woman’s reflection in the wide stainless steel panels surrounding the lift doors and recognised Lukina’s face from the photo Trish had sent her.

  She stood back to cast her eye over the new DC while they waited. Lukina was about an inch shorter than her, allowing for a slight difference in the heels of their shoes. She was slim and had the relaxed stance of someone who trained regularly, while her hair, shorter and a lighter brown than Jennifer’s, was well cut and augmented with a few highlights. Tailored black trousers, an expensive-looking brown leather jacket and the long strap of her bag slung casually over her shoulder all gave the impression of a young, outgoing executive or media type rather than a police officer. She would blend in well in many of the situations in which the squad members found themselves. From Lukina’s overall poise, Jennifer felt that here was a young woman who hadn’t just dressed up for the day to impress her new boss and colleagues; there was money behind her, over and above a detective constable’s pay. With a film star father and a stepfather who was an internationally famous fashion designer, Jennifer herself was in a similar situation and she looked forward to finding out more about her new short-term colleague.

  By the time the bell pinged to announce the arrival of the lift, two other people had joined them. When they walked in, Jennifer moved to the back of the car, noticing that Lukina did the same and was now standing to her right. One passenger got out on the third floor while the second left on the fifth. As the doors opened on the sixth floor, both women walked forward. Jennifer turned her head and smiled.

  “I think you must be DC Lukina,” she said, and held out her hand. “DS Cotton,” she added. “Jennifer.”

  Sofie Lukina’s eyes smiled warmly along with her mouth as she took Jennifer’s hand.

  “I’m delighted to meet you, er … is it all first names here?”

  Jennifer nodded. “In the Art Fraud Squad, yes, unless you’re on the carpet for something. It makes for a good working relationship in a small team.”

  Lukina shook Jennifer’s hand. “Sofie,” she said, letting go and reaching to block the doors that were now threatening to close. “Whoops!”

  She held the door back for Jennifer who exited the lift ahead of her.

  “I’m pleased to meet you too, Sofie. Welcome to the squad. The others should arrive over the next ten or fifteen minutes. Paul is pretty relaxed as a boss, but he is something of a stickler for punctuality.”

  “I’m pleased to hear he’s relaxed; I was concerned that I’ve been thrust upon him against his wishes. I mean, I applied for a transfer to the squad ages ago, but I was told that vacancies are few. So it was a bit of a shock last week to be informed that I was moving.”

  “Well, it could be serendipitous in that we all get what we want, although I must admit it’s sooner than expected.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “As so often happens in the force, it’s a game of musical postings, and if whoever is controlling the music gets it right, no one’s nose is put too much out of joint.”

  She caught Sofie’s still-puzzled expression as she pushed open the door to their office.

  “Here we are,” she said. “Home sweet home. Your desk is over there, for the time being, at least.” She pointed to a corner away from the row of windows.

  “For the time being?”

  “Yes. Once he takes over on Monday week, Pete might want to juggle things.”

  “But I thought you were the sarge; that I’d be working for you.”

  “You are until Friday of next week, then I’m off to Nottingham.” Jennifer paused and laughed. “This whole thing started because my old boss in the SCF in Nottingham, who it turns out is a DCS with a far longer reach than I ever imagined, wanted me back. He plotted and planned and then sprung his scheme, for which you proved to be a perfect find. With your qualifications, no one could object.”

  “Oh, well, that’s all very flattering, but I was hoping to learn from you.”

  “You’ll learn plenty from the others; they’ve got years of experience and I know they’ll be supportive. They’re good guys, believe me, and Paul’s a caring boss.” She stopped and put her bag on her desk before turning back to Sofie. “You don’t look convinced.”

  Sofie shrugged. “I suppose I was looking forward to working with a like-minded woman. The force is still very male-oriented and from what I’ve heard about you, I just knew we’d get on.”

  “Tell you what, after a year or two, if you’ve had enough and want to go back to nitty-gritty CID work, you could always apply to join me in Nottingham.”

  “You think I’ll have had enough after two years? I was thinking of it more as a long-term posting.”

  “It might well be, and good luck if it is. I’m just saying, that’s all. I know when I started, I felt a bit like that, and my first assignment couldn’t have been more exciting. But that was exceptional. A lot of the work is routine, although you do get up close and personal with a lot of really amazing art. Some days when I’ve been doing that, I’ve had to pinch myself, unable to believe my luck that someone was actually paying me to do it.”

  Sofie moved over to her desk, hung her jacket on the chair, took a deep breath and turned back to Jennifer, smiling. “I can’t believe I’m here. Two weeks
ago, I had no inkling.”

  “Nor me, I can tell you. However, if you want a bit of female company to let off steam with outside the office, I’ve got a friend on the force who’s totally into art. I’ll introduce you to her. In fact, you might have heard of her; she used to work in Manchester. Trisha McVie.”

  “Detective Superintendent Trisha McVie?”

  “The very same. She works over in the Yard, but she’s always looking for excuses to sniff around here. We get on really well; in fact, she’s become a great friend. And outside of work, she’s a total pisshead. We’ve had some great nights out.”

  “A DC, oh sorry, a DS and D Super? Unusual.”

  “Yeah, it is a bit. But it’s probably because we’re women up against the fellas. I doubt there are many equivalent male friendships. Not at our sort of age, anyway.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Nudging forty and something of a high-flyer, in that she’s already been a super for four years.”

  Sofie eyed the large pile of files on Jennifer’s desk. “What about cases? Are you busy at the moment?”

  “Oh, yes, we’re always busy. And there’s some good meat among this lot. I’ll—”

  She paused as the phone on her desk rang.

  “I’ll bet that’s Paul wanting to meet you.”

  She picked up the receiver, listened and grinned towards Sofie.

  “OK, Paul, I’ll bring her through.”

  After almost two days of showing Sofie the ropes and observing how at ease she was in dealing with people, Jennifer felt confident that her replacement would fit in perfectly. The two got on well and Jennifer was already regretting that she wouldn’t get much chance see Sofie in action as a police officer.