by Anna Smith
When he got to the building he went round the back and up the fire escape onto the roof. He knew he could enter his top floor apartment from a trap door on the roof. He eased it open and silently dropped inside the bedroom.
Besmir moved like a cat, listening, peering in the darkness. He slipped the knife out of his pocket. He saw a door in the living room move a fraction. He pretended he hadn’t noticed and walked in, the knife in his hand.
As soon as he put his foot into the room, the man jumped him and stabbed him in the arm. Besmir turned swiftly and plunged his knife into his attacker. It was Sergei, Leka’s bodyguard. He dropped like a sack onto the floor.
Blood seeped through Besmir’s shirt but he couldn’t stop now. He went quickly into the bedroom and threw some things into his small rucksack then climbed down the fire escape and hailed a taxi. He looked at his watch. If he hurried he could get the midnight ferry to Morocco. If he was still in Spain by the morning he would be dead.
CHAPTER 29
‘So tell me exactly what they said, Adrian. This is a real turn-up for the books.’
Rosie listened as Adrian gave her the details of the conversation he’d overheard between Daletsky and another of his Russian friends who was visiting. Leka was also in the car. He’d been driving them to Puerto Banus, and Daletsky and his friend were talking in Russian together. What they didn’t know was that Adrian had understood most of what they were saying. For nearly two years in Glasgow he’d had a Russian student girlfriend, he told Rosie, and he’d picked up the language.
‘You’re a revelation every day,’ Rosie grinned as she poured him a coffee. He’d been waiting at the hotel for her when she arrived back from Glasgow. He was very excited, which was an eye-opener in itself. Adrian didn’t do excited.
As they settled themselves on the terrace of Rosie’s bedroom, Adrian had told her that Martin Lennon’s father, who died of a heart attack eight months earlier while on business in Amsterdam, had been up to his eyes in scandal. He had been involved in the death of a prostitute in Russia months before. But he had managed to keep it under wraps.
‘Daletsky told Leka and the other man that the kid, Amy, was stolen for revenge – payback he said – for an old comrade.’
‘Payback?’
‘Yes. I heard him say that word, that he had an old friend, a comrade, named Uri, a Ukrainian. This is what he said. They fought together in Afghanistan in the war, and they see many terrible things. It was a long war. But after the war finish, they went different ways – Uri goes home to Ukraine and works in a factory, and Daletsky goes to Russia and made all the money.
‘He did not hear again from him until one day this year, when Uri came to Russia, to his business, asking to see him. Daletsky said his friend was like the shadow of the man he knew. It seem his daughter – he had only one daughter – was killed in Moscow. She had left home, and he did not know that she was a prostitute in the hotels, hanging around the bars and picking up Western businessmen. One of them was Martin Lennon. I heard him say the name, and I understood what he was saying, because I know this name. I was very surprised, Rosie.’
‘No wonder. Go on.’
In fact, following Adrian’s call yesterday, before she’d left Glasgow Rosie had phoned a private eye friend to look into Martin Lennon senior’s dealings. So far he hadn’t come back to her.
‘I am driving, and listening hard,’ Adrian continued, ‘and I hear Daletsky say that Martin Lennon killed the prostitute in his hotel room in Moscow.’ He drew on his cigarette. ‘Some sex game goes wrong. She is found the next day in the room with a sheet pushed in her mouth, naked and dead.’ He raised his eyebrows at Rosie. ‘And she is pregnant. Was.’
They sat quietly for a moment as Rosie processed the information.
‘Was anything said about how Martin Lennon could have got out of the country without being arrested, after leaving a dead body in a hotel room? That just doesn’t seem possible. In Russia?’
‘I don’t know, Rosie. It is Russia. It depend on who you know. You can get anything you want in Russia if you know the right people.’
‘But Lennon was an estate agent. He bought and sold property, he wasn’t a gangster. How would someone like that know anyone in Russia powerful enough to get him out of the country and in those circumstances?’
‘Who knows, Rosie? I do not know the answer to that.’
Rosie thought about the Lennons and wondered if they had any inkling that their little girl’s grandfather had been involved in the seedy death of a prostitute. Surely they couldn’t be hiding something like that from the police investigation.
‘It’s hard to believe that they would actually kidnap someone’s innocent child because of something her grandfather did. Is there anything these people won’t do?’
‘Nothing, Rosie.’ Adrian’s jaw tightened. ‘I told you. They do anything to protect themselves and their people. They do not care who they kill.’
‘So what else did Daletsky say? Was this all some grand plan or something? I mean, how did they know the Lennons were in Spain?’
Adrian blew air out of pursed lips. ‘I do not know for sure. Only one thing Daletsky said is that one month ago one of his men made contact with the son of Lennon. With Amy’s father.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘No.’
‘And?’
‘Well,’ Adrian pressed his fingers to his temple, concentrating. ‘I did not hear all what he said. But I think he say something about they had spoken about properties in Spain that Lennon would be selling for them. His father had been selling. I think that is what he said. He told them he was coming to Spain for the holiday, and maybe they would have a meeting. They were going to make a deal.’
‘So it could be that Daletsky’s men were just fishing to find out where he would be, and bingo, he just happens to be coming here? So they start planning their kidnap from then?’
Adrian shrugged. ‘Who knows?’
‘Christ,’ Rosie said. ‘This puts a different complexion on things.’ She got up and paced the terrace. ‘I wonder if Martin Lennon met this man Daletsky or one of his cohorts for talks while he was here. If he did, maybe Martin even told them where he was staying. Maybe he even took his wife and Amy along to the meeting. What if he introduced his kid to the very people who would kidnap her?’
‘Is possible, Rosie. Is all possible.’
‘So, Adrian,’ Rosie said, ‘would they really kidnap, maybe even kill, little Amy for sheer badness and revenge? She’s innocent. So are the Lennons.’
Adrian sighed. ‘Yes, they would, Rosie. They would. I don’t know what they did with the girl. All I know is that Daletsky said he got the call from Morocco and that the girl had been delivered. So she is in Morocco. Besmir, the Albanian, took her. Remember, I told you?’
‘But why? Delivered to who? What do you think, Adrian?’ Rosie felt sick, remembering her conversation with Frankie Nelson and how Vinny was making child porn movies in Morocco.
‘Who knows?’ Adrian said. ‘They would use a little girl to bargain with the Moroccans about anything – drugs, arms trade. That’s what they do with people.’
Almost on cue, Rosie’s mobile rang. It was Mickey Kavanagh, an ex-cop turned private eye who she’d known for more than a decade. He was more clued up than most working cops.
‘Hey, Mickey. Howsit going?’
‘Not bad, Rosie. Pissin’ down, but I’d rather be here than where you are. At least it’s safer.’
‘Ha!’ Rosie could picture Mickey’s cheeky grin. ‘What do you mean? Have you found any info on old Martin Lennon?’
‘I have. That stuff you said, about something happening in Russia? Well, it’s kosher. He was involved with some hooker he picked up.’
‘And?’ Rosie knew Mickey liked a bit of drama. ‘Come on Mickey, I’m on the edge of my seat here.’
Mickey confirmed the story Rosie had heard from Adrian.
‘Are you serious, Mickey?’
�
�As serious as a Moscow lift operator. Have you ever seen the torn faces on these guys? In fact all of the Russians?’
‘Come on, Mickey. This is important.’
‘Apparently randy old Martin Lennon got off his mark after the kinky legover situation went tits-up, so to speak. He got the first flight out of Moscow, which was to Paris – not his original destination – but he wanted out of Russia smartish. Understandably. Then he’s back to the UK as if nothing happened. A few months later he snuffs it of a heart attack in Amsterdam while on business. That was straight up though, nothing dodgy on his death.’
‘So how come the cops in Russia didn’t follow up on the dead girl? How come they didn’t contact Interpol or cops in the UK? He must have at least merited a bit of questioning, a bit of getting his collar felt.’
‘That I’m not sure of, Rosie. What I can tell you is that Lennon was over in Moscow on business. He was going to be branching out his estate agent business to Spain, and he was seeing some property developer who was going to show him properties off-plan they were building in Spain.’
‘You mean he was meeting with a gangster?’
‘They’re all gangsters in Russia. There are no businessmen, only hoods.’
‘Are you saying Martin Lennon was a gangster? That just doesn’t ring true.’
‘No. That’s the thing, Rosie. He wasn’t. He was quite innocent really, in a lot of ways. He’d met this developer in Spain at one of these estate agent conferences they have down on the Costa, and they’d struck up a kind of friendship. They’d kept in touch, but the Russian’s property agency was just a money-laundering scam. Lennon appears to have known nothing about that. He’d be getting a using to launder their dirty money. Or if he did know, he was turning a blind eye in order to do the property deal.’
Rosie was still confused. ‘But that doesn’t explain how he didn’t get questioned by Russian police, or even UK police,’ she said.
‘Well, for starters, Rosie, I don’t think anyone in Russia – cops or otherwise – gives a toss about a dead hooker. Plenty more where they came from, so nobody busts a gut to investigate it. The hotel don’t want to make a fuss because it’s bad for business. Plus, it only takes a few quid greasing some official palms and the whole incident gets buried. That’s the end of that.’
Rosie had heard enough. That was the end of that, until Lennon’s grand-daughter got stolen from a beach in Spain under the nose of her parents. Someone wanted revenge – badly. The conversation Adrian had overheard was now sounding blindingly possible, and Rosie’s heart was picking up the pace.
‘Okay, Mickey. That’s all fascinating stuff. Thanks a lot.’
She didn’t need to ask where his info came from. Mickey had contacts everywhere, from the streets to the murky corners of MI6.
‘Aye, no worries, Rosie. That’s a big dinner you owe me.’ He paused. ‘But a word in your shell-like darlin’: just watch your back. I’ve an idea why you want this info, but be careful what cages you’re rattling over there. These people make big Jake Cox look like the Widow Twanky.’
Rose chuckled, even if it was a nervous chuckle.
‘Right. I’ll be careful. Big dinner is on when I get back to Glasgow. Thanks, pal.’ She had no sooner hung up when her mobile rang again.
‘Hola, Javier. I was just about to call you.’
‘I’m on my way to your hotel. What room are you in?’
‘Give me five minutes and I’ll call you back.’
Rosie looked at Adrian. She knew she could trust Javier with her life, but it was only fair to Adrian that no other person saw him with her. She’d told Javier about his sister and that the big Bosnian was crucial to the investigation, but Adrian preferred to be in the background for the moment. He stood up, sensing her unease.
‘I will go now, Rosie. You can phone me.’ Adrian’s mobile rang and he took it out of his pocket. ‘It is Leka.’ He put the phone to his ear and walked past Rosie. She heard him say ‘hello’ as he was going out of the bedroom door.
‘So has your lover gone?’ Javier kissed Rosie fleetingly and walked past her into the room.
‘Come in,’ Rosie smiled, sarcastic. ‘He’s having a shower.’ She turned away from him and walked out onto the terrace. ‘We can talk out here, Javier – let my lover slip away quietly.’
‘Of course.’ He gave her a wry smile. ‘Discretion is everything.’
He gave her all the information he’d dug up linking one of the offshoots of Daletsky’s complex business empire to people-trafficking. It was checked out and solid from his best Guarda Civil contact. Rosie could see that, as ever, Javier had done a meticulous job.
With the interview already done in Sarajevo with Katya, the rescued friend of Adrian’s sister, Rosie was ready to write the next big exclusive, linking Carter-Smith to Daletsky’s empire. She would have dinner in her room and write it tonight. McGuire would be well pleased.
But Rosie’s thoughts were already running to Morocco: Frankie Nelson’s ‘find Vinny’ words were still ringing in her ears.
‘Javier, do you have any contacts in Morocco?’
‘I don’t, but I know a few people who do. What do you need?’
She told him about the interview with Frankie Nelson and what he had said about Vinny and the child porn movie trade in Morocco.
‘Sick bastard. I’d kill the coño with my bare hands.’
‘I’d be in the queue behind you, Javier, believe me, but what do you think the chances are of tracking him down?’
Javier stretched out his long legs.
‘I will speak to my people. A Brit paedo in Morocco should be easy to find.’ He looked at Rosie as though reading her mind. ‘You think the kid is definitely in Morocco?’
‘Yep. My friend, Adrian, the Bosnian who’s just been here. He told me.’
Javier grinned.
‘So that’s who was here when I called you, Rosita. Thought you were a bit cagey.’
‘Don’t be daft, Javier. He’s my friend – has been for a while back in Glasgow.’ Then the smile went from her face. ‘I owe him my life. Quite literally.’ She saw Javier’s surprise. ‘I’ll tell you about it some time, when we’re drunk. Not now.’
She told him about the conversation Adrian had overheard about Daletsky’s connection to Lennon’s late father, and watched his eyes widen at the possibility that this had all been set up for revenge.
‘I want to go to Morocco, Javier.’
Javier gave a little laugh and rolled his eyes upwards.
‘I knew you were going to say that.’
Rosie wasn’t smiling. ‘I’m serious, Javier. I want to go there, find that Vinny bastard and get him done. I want to go there and maybe, just maybe, we can track Amy down. We have to try.’
Javier shook his head.
‘Don’t you think the police should know about this latest information? It changes everything, Rosie. Have you told your editor this?’
She wanted to tell him to stop thinking like a cop but didn’t want to risk a punch-up this early.
‘I’ve only just been told about it in the last half hour, Javier. I’m still taking it in.’
‘Bullshit, Rosie. I know you too well. You’re thinking you can just waltz into Morocco and hunt down Amy’s kidnappers. Go for glory.’
‘It’s not like that, Javier.’
She didn’t want to snap, but she was running the show here. She leaned her back on the railing and looked at him.
‘If we tell the police, or my paper publishes the story, then the people who have got Amy will feel cornered and could do anything, even kill her to get rid of her.’
‘How do you know they’ve not already done that?’
‘I don’t. But I want a chance to run at this myself before everyone wades in – police, media, etcetera. If we can track down this Vinny, maybe get Adrian to lean on him, you never know where that might lead us.’
Javier let out a long sigh.
‘I worry when you’re like this,
Rosie. It’s dangerous. For all of us.’
‘Not for you, Javier. You just have to set us up with the contacts. Get us a minder.’ She pushed her hair back and folded her arms.
He laughed.
‘Temper, Rosita! You think I would let you go there without me?’ He stretched out and touched her arm.
‘I hoped you’d say that.’
Javier stood up and leaned on the railing, looking at her. ‘Do you want to have dinner, Rosie? We can talk more, make some plans?’
She looked out to sea, knowing he was watching her. She couldn’t think of a better way to spend the evening. She sighed.
‘Sorry, Javier,’ she spread her hands as though she was typing on a keyboard. ‘Got to work. I have to write the guts of the story you just told me about Daletsky’s sordid little empire. I need to get it written tonight and talk to the editor. Why don’t you go ahead and start making some discreet enquiries with your connections and we can gear ourselves up for Morocco. I’ll tell Matt to get himself organised. And I’ll tell McGuire what I know. He’ll agree that I should go and pursue the line a bit on my own to see the strength of it. He won’t have a problem with it.’
‘Okay, I’ll see what I can dig up, but it’s dangerous, Rosie. I must be crazy, allowing myself to get involved in this.’
‘You won’t be saying that if we can find Amy.’
He brushed his lips against her cheek and left.
Rosie felt a mixture of desolation and relief after he’d gone and she was alone on the terrace. Her mind flashed back to the prison visit with Frankie Nelson and the mention of a lowlife called Vinny. She figured that was the moment when this all became much more than just a story.
CHAPTER 30
‘Shit, Rosie. This is fraught with all sorts of problems, and only one of them is the possibility you might end up with your throat cut in some back street in Tangiers,’ McGuire said. ‘And by the way, why are you only telling me now about this Vinny connection of Frankie Nelson’s? I don’t like being kept in the dark, Rosie.’
Rosie knew she’d pushed her luck by not keeping McGuire briefed about what Nelson had told her.