‘Okay, try this. Blond, hair cut short, not as stocky as before.’
‘It’s probable, but it’s an image from an iPhone, not in focus either.’
‘We’ve got Brigitte checking through the flights to Ireland and the ferries crossing the Irish Sea. Any chance for you to check with the car rental companies in Dublin?’
‘We checked before, went nowhere.’
‘That was before. We’ve got one man for attempted murder, another at Challis Street who’s claiming to be innocent. He was thought to be dead, but here he is, and he’s altered his appearance. A thug, as bad as they get, and not too bright. If he were in Ireland, he could have made a mistake. Check the clubs, pubs, anywhere a degenerate could get to, and the man’s accent is strong, so he would probably stand out.’
‘Briganti’s?’
‘It’s possible he’s involved. We don’t know how long he’s been on Ivanov’s team, but they’ve dumped him now. Probably trying to distance Ivanov from Cojocaru’s death, but why they left Antonescu on the street, we’re not sure. It seems to be an error on their part, and Ivanov doesn’t make many errors, but if it wraps up the murder investigations, then we’ll pursue it at all costs. Annie, bring in whoever you can and let’s get this man.’
‘Send me an updated photo.’
‘Five minutes and you’ll have it. We can’t hold the man for long. He’s here voluntarily.’
Isaac phoned Gordon Windsor. ‘Any updates on Cojocaru?’
‘The man’s with Pathology, but they’ll not be able to tell you much more. We’ve not found any clear evidence at the murder scene, other than a blond hair.’
‘Is it with Forensics?’
‘It is. Significant?’
‘Test it against Crin Antonescu. You should have a sample of his DNA.’
‘Should we? I don’t think so, not unless he’s on our database.’
‘Very well. Send one of your people down to Homicide, and we’ll get you a sample.’
***
Crin Antonescu, who in an act of desperation had willingly walked into Challis Street Police Station, now found himself charged with the murder of Nicolae Cojocaru. Not that the proof was certain, Isaac knew that, but they needed Antonescu’s DNA to move forward. With an arrest, the man would be forced to comply.
The sample was with Forensics within the hour, a swab from inside the man’s mouth, a strand of hair. Antonescu had complained, but legally he had no option.
Back in his cell, the Romanian sat quietly, taking his meals when they came, and asking for coffee every twenty minutes. Isaac and Larry looked at the man on the camera in the cell, unable to make any sense of a villain who came into a police station uninvited. It was behaviour they had not experienced before; the assumption was that he was more frightened of Ivanov than of the police. That was understandable, but why had he returned to England, why not go somewhere else? Ivanov frightened Isaac and Larry. The man was distinguished, and some would say charismatic, and the general view of the populace was that he was a man who had made good in the new Russia.
Oscar Braxton was over from Serious and Organised Crime Command. He was sensing a victory of sorts, but not total. ‘We’ll never get Ivanov,’ he said.
‘Any worth in talking to him again?’ Isaac said. The three, including Larry, were sitting in Isaac’s office.
‘He’ll not admit to anything, and Becali outside his house is circumstantial. Damning to Becali and to us, but Ivanov will have the best legal minds with him. He’ll come out clean, and if he was behind Briganti’s and Cojocaru’s death, where is the connection?’
‘Leave him for now, focus on wrapping up the murders. Any word from Inspector O’Carroll?’ Isaac said, directing his glance over to Larry.
‘Not yet. She’s trying, but there’s no forensics to back it up. We may get Antonescu for Cojocaru, but not for Buckley, even if he’s guilty.’
A phone call from Gordon Windsor, a look of relief on Isaac’s face. ‘Bring Antonescu back up. We’ve made the connection to Cojocaru. He’s already been charged, but this time it’s up to him to see if he’s willing to admit to the crime and whether he’s willing to implicate others.’
Chapter 28
Annie O’Carroll phoned from Ireland. The indications were that Antonescu had been in Ireland, although the photo, enhanced as best as it could be, was not good enough to be proof positive. It appeared that the murder of Buckley would remain without a convicted murderer, although there was no doubt about who was responsible.
Antonescu sat in the interview room once more. Klaus Ponta, who had represented Becali, sat to his side, the charged man having relented about the need for a lawyer.
‘Mr Antonescu, you’ve been charged with the murder of Nicolae Cojocaru. Is there anything you want to say in your defence?’ Isaac said.
‘Your evidence is circumstantial,’ Ponta said. ‘My client has not admitted to the crime.’
Isaac respected Ponta; the man was just doing his job.
‘It’s not, and with added focus, we’ll find more evidence. We’re also certain that Antonescu shot Inspector Ryan Buckley in Ireland. Your client, if he is not able to offer an alternative explanation of why he was at Cojocaru’s penthouse, and why he was in Ireland, will stand trial.’
‘I didn’t do it,’ Antonescu said. He slammed the table with his fist, almost causing a glass of water that Larry had brought into the room to topple off and onto the floor.
‘There are unresolved questions,’ Isaac said. ‘The first is what did Inspector Buckley find out from Seamus Gaffney that condemned him? And who did he tell it to? The fact that he wasn’t killed by Mr Antonescu indicates that Gaffney either hadn’t revealed what he knew or that Buckley killed him first. Antonescu, what do you have to say?’
‘Ion Becali killed Buckley. Seamus Gaffney had dirt on Cojocaru, not Ivanov. I wasn’t involved,’ Antonescu said.
‘But you know the story?’
‘I’m not saying anything. All I know is that Gaffney was trying to blackmail Cojocaru and that Becali killed Buckley.’
‘It wasn’t Becali. We can trace his movements at the time of Buckley’s death; yours, we can’t.’
‘My client has no more to say,’ Ponta said.
‘Let’s move on,’ Isaac said. He was feeling increasingly comfortable with the situation. Oscar Braxton was listening in from another room, as was Richard Goddard.
‘To where?’
‘Marcus Hearne.’
‘The black man,’ Antonescu said sneeringly.
‘Do you have an issue with people of colour?’
‘Not me. I knew him, didn’t like him, although I suppose you did.’
Isaac could tell that the Romanian was racist, not that it impacted the investigation, unless it was a motive.
‘Cojocaru attempted to bring the West Indian gangs in, the reason that four of their leaders accepted his hospitality. Claude Bateman, Devon Harris and Jeremy Miller made it to the meeting, Hearne didn’t. Why?’
‘I’ll not answer that question.’
‘Because you can’t, or you don’t want to?’
‘My client has been charged with one murder. We will address the falsehood of that, not other purported crimes,’ Ponta said.
‘Dead in a ditch is not purported,’ Larry said.
‘To you it’s important, but not to my client who is innocent. He is concerned with a false accusation against him. He came to this police station, not to be charged with murder, but for assistance. He is fearful for his life, and now you have jeopardised it further.’
‘Why?’
‘Nicolae Cojocaru has powerful friends in Romania. They will not take his death lightly.’
‘The man had no friends in Romania. He was a social pariah, convicted of crimes in absentia, derided by the villains there. Let’s not pretend otherwise. The man’s dead and no one is going to miss him.’
‘Then someone did you a favour,’ Antonescu said.
‘They did,
but it’s still murder, and you did it.’
‘Gentlemen, this is going nowhere,’ Ponta said. ‘Mr Antonescu wants to help, but with a murder charge against him, he is reluctant to say more. If an accommodation could be made, then it may be possible that he can further assist.’
‘We can’t grant him immunity from prosecution, not for murder,’ Isaac said.
‘Then he has no more to say.’
***
‘What can Antonescu do against us?’ Gennady Peskov asked. He was in Ivanov’s house, a glass of whisky in his hand, the same as Ivanov.
Ivanov touched the plaster on his head, felt a slight pain as he applied pressure. Apart from that he felt fine, although he realised that his mental acumen was still not up to speed. He had erred with Antonescu, underestimated the stupidity of the man.
‘Antonescu can do nothing against me,’ Ivanov said. ‘You allowed him to be arrested. What do you intend to do?’
‘But you commanded me to tell him to kill Cojocaru.’
‘And then you were meant to kill Antonescu and to ensure his body was never found. Why didn’t you?’
‘It was planned. He may have sensed that others were coming for him.’
‘He sensed nothing. He is just a mindless thug. The same as you, Gennady Peskov, have proven to be.’
‘I gave instructions for him to be killed after he left Cojocaru’s.’
‘You are not the mastermind, I am. I entrusted you with more responsibility after you stayed by my side in the hospital, but it appears that my weakness in crediting you with brains was a mistake.’
‘I will discipline those that have failed us.’
‘Failed you. Can your command be tied back to you, to me? Can these men be trusted again?’
‘Not in this country.’
‘Then they must leave immediately. Where are they now?’
‘They are nearby.’
‘A plane is waiting for them, make sure they are on it. I want them out of England within two hours, is that clear?’
‘And what of me?’
‘You will stay. You will protect me at all costs, even your own life. But you are a fool. I will need to keep a watch on you from now on.’
‘I will not let you down,’ Peskov said.
‘If you do, I will not be so generous the next time,’ Ivanov said. He knew that he was not generous, only astute. Gennady Peskov, for all his faults, was the one man who would stand between him and a bullet.
In another part of London, a group of police officers discussed the situation.
‘Marcus Hearne?’
‘Becali or Antonescu, probably both,’ Isaac said.
‘Ivanov is still free,’ Larry said.
‘And will remain so,’ Oscar Braxton said. ‘He’s taken on a couple of Queen’s Counsels to protect him legally, and a PR company to deflect the negative publicity that’s stuck to him. Expect to see more of Ivanov at charitable functions in the next month or so, overly-generous donations as well. We can’t beat him, not while money speaks.’
‘Briganti’s?’ Wendy said.
‘It still needs to be solved. Marcus Hearne knew something, or Cojocaru couldn’t trust him, not after he was speaking to me,’ Larry said.
‘He’s not the first person who’s given you information that has died,’ Isaac said.
‘Not the first, not the last,’ Larry agreed, ‘but Wendy’s right. What about Briganti’s?’
Isaac made one more phone call, Gordon Windsor answered.
‘Antonescu was at Cojocaru’s penthouse; we can prove that from a strand of hair on a chair that he sat in,’ Windsor said. ‘It’s recent, the chair had been cleaned in the last couple of weeks. We’ve also checked Antonescu against Briganti’s. No shortage of hair there, a hairdressing salon, but we found proof that he had been in there as well. Not blond and dyed, dark and natural. How the man pulled it off and managed to walk out of there unseen, we don’t know. But he’s your man. He killed those people at Briganti’s.’
Isaac relayed Windsor’s findings to the team. ‘He must have been working for Ivanov for a long time,’ he said.
‘Poor Sal,’ Wendy said. ‘She thought it was love and then the man killed her.’
‘The others didn’t deserve to die either. What about Ralphie, who killed him?’ Isaac said.
‘Antonescu. Sal used to speak to Ralphie. He phoned the man, probably trying to get money out of him and was killed for it.’
Isaac picked up his phone and made one more call. The phone at the other end was answered.
‘Detective Chief Superintendent Goddard,’ the voice said.
‘Antonescu killed the people at Briganti’s, Cojocaru as well. The other murders are either him or Becali; both are in custody. You can phone Commissioner Alwyn Davies.’
‘And Ivanov?’
‘Expect to see him on the television and gracing the social pages of the newspapers. He’s on a charm offensive now, and there’s nothing we can do about it.’
‘The biggest villain walks free, is that it?’
‘It is,’ Isaac said.
The end of a long-running murder investigation should have been a time for satisfaction at a job well-done. No one in Homicide felt in the mood for a pat on the back or a celebratory drink at the pub.
The End.
ALSO BY THE AUTHOR
Death in the Village – A DI Tremayne Thriller
Nobody liked Gloria Wiggins, a woman who regarded anyone who did not acquiesce to her jaundiced view of the world with disdain. James Baxter, the previous vicar, had been one of those, and her scurrilous outburst in the church one Sunday had hastened his death.
And now, years later, the woman was dead, hanging from a beam in her garage. Detective Inspector Tremayne and Sergeant Clare Yarwood had seen the body, interviewed the woman’s acquaintances, and those who had hated her.
Buy here: Amazon.
Death by a Dead Man’s Hand – A DI Tremayne Thriller
A flawed heist of forty gold bars from a security van late at night. One of the perpetrators is killed by his brother as they argue over what they have stolen.
Eighteen years later, the murderer, released after serving his sentence for his brother’s murder, waits in a church for a man purporting to be the brother he killed.
The threads stretch back a long way, and now more people are dying in the search for the missing gold bars.
Detective Inspector Tremayne, his health causing him concern, and Sergeant Clare Yarwood, still seeking romance, are pushed to the limit solving the murder, attempting to prevent any more.
Buy here: Amazon.
Death at Coombe Farm – A DI Tremayne Thriller
A warring family. A disputed inheritance. A recipe for death.
If it hadn’t been for the circumstances, Detective Inspector Keith Tremayne would have said the view was outstanding. Up high, overlooking the farmhouse in the valley below, the panoramic vista of Salisbury Plain stretching out beyond. The only problem was that near where he stood with his sergeant, Clare Yarwood, there was a body, and it wasn’t a pleasant sight.
Buy here: Amazon.
Death and the Lucky Man – A DI Tremayne Thriller
Sixty-eight million pounds and dead. Hardly the outcome expected for the luckiest man in England the day his lottery ticket was drawn out of the barrel. But then, Alan Winters’ rags-to-riches story had never been conventional, and there were those who had benefited, but others who hadn’t.
Buy here: Amazon.
Death and the Assassin’s Blade – A DI Tremayne Thriller
It was meant to be high drama, not murder, but someone’s switched the daggers. The man’s death took place in plain view of two serving police officers.
He was not meant to die; the daggers were only theatrical props, plastic and harmless. A summer’s night, a production of Julius Caesar amongst the ruins of an Anglo-Saxon fort. Detective Inspector Tremayne is there with his sergeant, Clare Yarwood. In the assassination scene, Caes
ar collapses to the ground. Brutus defends his actions; Mark Antony rebukes him.
They’re a disparate group, the amateur actors. One’s an estate agent, another an accountant. And then there is the teenage school student, the gay man, the funeral director. And what about the women? They could be involved.
They’ve each got a secret, but which of those on the stage wanted Gordon Mason, the actor who had portrayed Caesar, dead?
Buy here: Amazon.
Death Unholy – A DI Tremayne Thriller
All that remained were the man’s two legs and a chair full of greasy and fetid ash. Little did DI Keith Tremayne know that it was the beginning of a journey into the murky world of paganism and its ancient rituals. And it was going to get very dangerous.
‘Do you believe in spontaneous human combustion?’ Detective Inspector Keith Tremayne asked.
‘Not me. I’ve read about it. Who hasn’t?’ Sergeant Clare Yarwood answered.
‘I haven’t,’ Tremayne replied, which did not surprise his young sergeant. In the months they had been working together, she had come to realise that he was a man who had little interest in the world. When he had a cigarette in his mouth, a beer in his hand, and a murder to solve he was about the happiest she ever saw him, but even then he could hardly be regarded as one of life’s most sociable people. And as for reading? The most he managed was an occasional police report, an early-morning newspaper, turning first to the back pages for the racing results.
Buy here: Amazon.
Murder has no Guilt – A DCI Cook Thriller
No one knows who was the target or why, but there are eight dead. The men seem the most likely, or could have it been one of the two women, the attractive Gillian Dickenson, or even the celebrity-obsessed Sal Maynard?
Murder Has No Guilt Page 21