Shadows

by Conrad Jones

  “Hello.”

  “Any joy with Cain’s laptop?” he asked.

  “I can’t see the joy but there is lots of information,” she said, walking to the printer. “We’re printing off everything relevant from the last two weeks.”

  “Any details on the informer?”

  “Not yet. It will be there somewhere on there but unfortunately there’s no file set up under ‘informer’.”

  “If only things were that simple.”

  “There’s plenty in her Karpov file but it is old news, mostly from our archives.”

  “What about day to day stuff?”

  “Most of that was backed up on the server anyway but I’ve got plenty of reading to do to catch up with her case files.”

  “It took me a month to get a grip on things when I moved to MIT.”

  “I’ve talked to all my sergeants and all my UC’s are accounted for bar two. I am assuming one of them is the missing link.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “I suppose you could say that,” Jo said. “One of the missing UC’s is listed as, George.”

  “And?”

  “The last few months of my time undercover, a guy began to frequent the seedier parts of town. He appeared to be a down and out on the surface but he always had cash, buying the working girls coffee and cigarettes. My instinct told me that he was Matrix, you know, making friends with the addicts. You make friends with the addicts and you soon know who all the dealers are. Some of the girls used to call him, gorgeous George. He had a way about him that people liked, always smiling.”

  “Could be a coincidence.” Braddick didn’t sound convinced.

  “One thing that my time as Lilly taught me, the city might be vast but the underbelly and the people who live there make up a community. Six months on the streets in the city centre and you know everyone that there is to know. I’m trying to work through her files but I think it might be him.”

  “Would you be able to find him?”

  “I remember that he was always hanging around the Jamaica Street area.”

  “The Baltic Triangle?”

  “Yes. He used to hang around the girls who work near the old mills,” Jo explained. “It’s less than five minutes from the station. I’ll asked uniform to keep an eye out for him around there.”

  “Good idea. Can we assume he knows that Cain is dead?”

  “Not really,” she said matter of factly. “It would take a while for that to get around. He may have been rattled by the lack of communication though.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “When communications breakdown, UC’s are given a location to hook them back up with their handler. There are several in the city and they rotate them from time to time. Cain changed it last month to a new location. Have a guess where that was?”

  “Not a clue.”

  “The old Kodak building,” she paused for effect. “The canteen in the old Kodak building to be precise.”

  “You’re kidding me?”

  “I am not even joking.”

  “The same canteen where the fishermen were nailed to a table?”

  “The very same.”

  “What does that mean to you?”

  “It means that they knew Cain and Pilkington were handling a UC. And they knew that with them gone, the UC would eventually have to break cover and go to that address. I think that they were trying to identify the UC.”

  “So you think George could be the tramp that found the fishermen?”

  “Exactly. I think he was one of our UC’s. Maybe not George but certainly one of them.”

  “Who knew about that location?”

  “Only the Matrix Team sergeants and above. Four people at the max.”

  “So they could have got to one of them?”

  “They must have. They left the fishermen there to scare the shit out of the UC when he turned up and to let us know that they are onto us. I don’t think that they know who the informer is but they do know that they have one.”

  “If that was your UC, they were trying to identify him and make him break cover,” Braddick said. “They wanted to force him to do something that he wouldn’t normally consider. Something rash.”

  “Like warn the informer,” Jo said, following his train of thought.

  “Exactly.”

  “They want him to lead them right to him.”

  “That’s what I think. There’s nothing I can do about it right now,” she sighed. “I’ll keep going through the laptop and keep you in the loop.”

  “Do that.”

  “How’s things from your side?”

  “I’m going to bump into Yuri Karpov tonight at a charity event,” Braddick said seriously. “I’m going to rattle his cage and see what falls out.”

  “You need to be careful,” she warned. “Their lawyers will crucify you.”

  “I’ll keep them in mind,” he joked. “I just want to look in his eyes when I mention Cain’s name. I’ll know if they had anything to do with it.” Jo stayed quiet. He decided to leave it there. “Any sign of Ron Mason yet?”

  “Not yet. He won’t give us anything anyway. I want the witness. We’ll get him from social media, eventually. People can’t help themselves on there.” She sounded distracted. “I’d better get on. Try not to stab Karpov in the eye with your fork.”

  “I’ll do my best.” The line went dead.

  26

  Yuri Karpov

  St George’s Hall is a rectangular, sand coloured building that could have been taken from a movie set in ancient Rome. With a flat roof, wide sweeping steps lead up to sixteen huge Corinthian columns, three massive doorways and a myriad of giant bronze statues. Inside, red polished granite columns hold up a tunnel vaulted ceiling and multicoloured Minton tiles adorn the floor. As Braddick entered the main hall, the acoustics reminded him of a leisure centre swimming pool, voices echoed from the ceiling. Security was tight. He had to queue to be scanned and searched before giving in his ticket and overcoat to a greeter, who had a fixed grin on his face. The entrance was busy and he stood aside and waited for Ade Burns to be processed.

  “Sorted,” Ade said as he cleared security. “Where is the bar?”

  “On the right over there.”

  “Do you want a pint, Guv?”

  “No,” Braddick said, looking around. He couldn’t see any sign of the main sponsor. “And neither do you. I want you focused tonight. We shouldn’t be here. Any fuck ups and we’re for the high jump. I don’t want you half-cut, shooting your mouth off, okay?”

  “When have I ever done that?” Ade looked hurt.

  “Every work function you’ve been to for the last twenty years,” Braddick said matter of factly. “Do you need me to list them?”

  “No thanks. Orange juice?”

  “Diet coke for me, please.”

  “I’ll get a receipt for my expenses,” Ade grumbled sarcastically. He walked into the crowd near the bar, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Braddick sensed that Ade was uncomfortable when surrounded by the city’s movers and shakers. He was out of his comfort zone. Throw him into an interview room with a hardened criminal and he could dissect them with clinical precision but ask him to have an intelligent conversation with a VIP and he would implode. “I’m sure that one or two vodkas won’t hurt,” he muttered as he approached the bar.

  Braddick ignored him and scanned the room. He nodded hello to a council official and waved to the town centre manager. The men in the room all looked smart in dinner suits and black ties and the woman looked spectacular in their evening dresses. He could smell perfume and aftershave. The air was thick with the scent of a hundred brands drifting like a cloud in the huge concert room. His mobile rang and he took it out of his dinner jacket and looked at the screen. It was an MIT number.

  “DI Braddick,” he answered.

  “It’s Google, Guv,” one of his sergeants said. “Sorry to disturb you. I know you’re at a function but I thought that you would want to k
now straight away.”

  “It’s no problem. What’s up?”

  “CSI found a gun at Mike Pilkington’s gaff.”

  “A gun, what type?”

  “It’s a nine millimetre Makarov.”

  “A Russian weapon.”

  “Yes, Guv. I thought you should know.”

  “Where did they find it?”

  “In the glove box of his MG.”

  “That’s where I keep mine,” Braddick scoffed.

  “Me too,” Google chuckled.

  “Ballistics?”

  “Not back yet. I’ll let you know as soon as it comes in.”

  “Thanks, Google.”

  Braddick put his phone back into his jacket and looked for Ade.

  “Inspector Braddick.” A female voice interrupted his thoughts. He turned to see the Lady Mayoress approaching. They had met at a police charity ball a few months earlier. Whoever had first coined the word ‘cougar’ to apply to an aging temptress, was thinking about women like her. He was embarrassed that he couldn’t remember her first name. “What a lovely surprise to see you. I didn’t see your name on the guest list.”

  “I’m a last minute substitute,” he joked, kissing her on each cheek. “It’s nice to see you again. You smell good. I like that perfume.”

  “Thank you,” she said, grinning. “So do you. What are you wearing?”

  “Creed.”

  “Oh,” she looked disappointed. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Good,” he smiled. “Then no one else will be wearing it, will they? That’s a beautiful dress by the way. You look amazing.”

  She smoothed her dress at the hip and blushed. “Thank you, Inspector.”

  “Drink, Guv,” Ade said, approaching. He nodded to the Mayoress and stared at her cleavage. She hoisted her neckline, conscious of his gaze. Her smile faded. Braddick could smell vodka on Ade’s breath.

  “Can I get you a drink?” Braddick asked her, taking his drink from Ade.

  “Oh, that’s very kind of you,” she said smiling. “I’ll have a glass of pinot please.”

  “Could you get the Mayoress a glass of pinot, please.” Braddick grinned sarcastically. Ade nodded silently and sulked off into the crowd again.

  “Oh, call me Jan,” she said, touching his shoulder. “There’s no need for formality.”

  “Okay, Jan it is. What table are you sitting on?” he asked.

  “I’m on the sponsor’s table. They are Russians, you know?” she said with a sigh. “I think there’s two of them coming along with their entourage. They don’t step out of their hotels without being surrounded by bodyguards.”

  “Yes. I’m familiar with the Karpovs. They have a lot of enemies in their own country and some of them wouldn’t think twice about coming here.”

  “They have a lot here too from what I hear.”

  “The super-rich always have enemies, Jan. It depends on how many people they squashed on their way to the top.”

  “That’s true. I know businessmen can be ruthless and dull but oh my God, it was so painful last year. They were so bloody miserable,” she whispered. “I’m going to have a few wines before we sit down. I can’t face it stone cold sober.”

  “I don’t blame you one bit. I wouldn’t mind five minutes with them. Could you introduce us at some point after the meal?”

  “Of course,” she said, looking intrigued. “Official business?”

  “Good heavens no!” Braddick smiled. “This is neither the time or the place for that. We have dark damp interview rooms for things like that.” He joked. “I wanted to meet him and mention the new wing that they’re building at Alderhey,” he lied. “These functions do great work but the money raised is a drop in the ocean. The Karpovs could build that wing without blinking about the cost.”

  “I’ll give you a nod if someone leaves the table after we have eaten. Where are you sitting?”

  “We’re on table twelve,” Braddick said.

  “One large glass of pinot.” Ade returned and handed her the wine. He stared at her cleavage again. She took it and smiled uncomfortably. “That glass of wine costs more than an entire bottle in Aldi.”

  “Really?” the Mayoress said, trying to sound interested. “I have never bought wine from there.” She smiled thinly, clearly uncomfortable. “In fact, I’ve never bought anything from there. I would expect to pay more at an event like this. It is a charity fund raiser after all.” Ade was about to reply but Braddick threw him a look that said ‘don’t’. “Would you excuse me, Inspector. I’m being waved at furiously by my husband. I’ll give you a nod later.”

  “Of course. My regards to your husband. Enjoy your evening.” Braddick kissed the back of her hand. She blushed a little and walked away. Ade followed the movement of her hips.

  “I could do that some damage. I’d smash her back doors in,” he said, almost drooling. “She’s not bad for an older bird, eh Guv?”

  “It’s nice to see romance isn’t dead,” Braddick said, shaking his head. “How long have you been single again?”

  “Nearly eight years now.”

  “It’s hard to understand why,” Braddick muttered to himself. “I can’t understand it at all.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I said I’ve just had a call from Google about Mike Pilkington. They found a Russian made Makarov in his MG.”

  “Fucking hell,” Ade said, looking shocked. “That’s not good. Any ballistics yet?”

  “They’re running it now.”

  “I can’t put my finger on it but something isn’t right with him.”

  “Keep that to yourself for now. There’s no evidence that he was dirty.”

  “Not yet,” Ade mumbled.

  A murmur ran through the crowd. Braddick looked towards the door. Three gorillas in leather overcoats parted the crowd, flanking two men in dinners suits.

  “They’re here.” Braddick recognised Yuri Karpov immediately. His bodyguards had an air of menace about them.

  “I recognise Yuri Karpov,” Ade said. “Who is the younger bloke?”

  Braddick thought that the second man was vaguely familiar from observation photos that he had seen when he was seconded to the NCA. It came back to him in a flash.

  “The name Sergei Karpov springs to mind. He is a generation younger than Yuri.”

  “What tier is he on?”

  “He’s right at the top. He was allegedly in charge of operations in the Balkans.”

  Ade glanced at Braddick. “The Balkans. Bloody hell, the UK will be a like a theme park after running that place.”

  “That’s if he is here permanently. Let’s hope he isn’t or we had better order some more body bags.”

  “Nice guy then?”

  “He was in the Russian military when the Bosnia/Serbia conflict was settling down. Interpol have a file on him starting after the conflict ended, that reads like a manual on how to establish a drug network. There was no hard evidence of course, just rumour and speculation but Interpol were desperate to nail him. It never happened.”

  “Of course it didn’t.”

  “He always seemed to be there whenever anything bad happened. The Balkans were virtually lawless for years. When the borders were redrawn, the infighting in the underworld was brutal. The Karpovs came out on top. From what I read about it, Sergei was the main man.”

  “What do you think he is doing here in the UK?”

  “Let’s hope it’s leisure and not business,” Braddick said. He didn’t take his eyes of the Karpovs. “I think we should head to our table” As they turned, Braddick came face to face with the Chief Constable. He was wearing his full dress uniform. “Evening, Sir.”

  “Inspector Braddick,” he said, shaking his hand. The position of his thumb told Braddick that he was a mason. “I didn’t know that you were coming.”

  “Last minute thing, Sir,” Braddick said. He could feel his face redden. “I didn’t realise you would be here either.”

  “I’ve had the May
or and Jim Barnes on my case all week.” The chief lowered his voice. Jim Barnes was the local MP. “You know what a pain in my backside Barnes can be. He mentions the word ‘funding’ in every sentence. To say that I didn’t have much choice would be an understatement. Sharing a table with those Russian upstarts is the last thing that I want to do but I’m afraid our job is as much politics as it is policing nowadays.”

  “Isn’t that the truth,” Braddick said, nodding. He felt gutted. Trying to get to the Karpovs would be virtually impossible now. “Still we soldier on, Sir.”

  “Indeed we do, Inspector, indeed we do.” He tapped his hat with his forefinger in mock salute. “Enjoy the evening. I’m damn sure that I won’t.”

  “Have a good night,” Braddick said as he walked away. He turned to Ade and gestured with his head. “I won’t be able to get near the bastards now.”

  “Another time, eh Guv. Does that mean I can have a pint?”

  Braddick ignored him again. They walked to table twelve and sat down. Ade sipped his diet coke and hoped that Braddick wouldn’t smell the vodka in it. They watched as the Karpov entourage made their way slowly to the top table, shaking hands with the local dignitaries along the way. The Chief Constable looked uncomfortable as they were introduced by the Mayor. The handshake looked less than cordial. Another murmur announced the arrival of eight stunning females dressed as serving wenches. They were wearing short black dresses, fishnet stockings and white pinafores. Each pushed a trolley stocked with bottles of premium vodka and crystal shot glasses. Their minders followed at a discreet distance, standing stony faced when their progress came to a halt. The Master of Ceremonies banged his gavel on the top table and the room fell silent. He made some introductions, the sponsors, the Mayor and Mayoress, councillors, the Chief Constable and VIP’s. He announced that the sponsors had kindly provided the vodka and that everyone was encouraged to try the unusual brands. He added that the meal would be served as soon as everyone was seated. Braddick’s mobile rang again.