by Thomas Ryan
Avni Leka had orchestrated Mema’s courtroom successes and had made the puffed-up charlatan a legend in a country where there were few heroes. In return, Mema had happily done what he was told, leaving Leka the quiet power behind the throne. But lately Mema had displayed a degree of guarded resistance when asked to perform his duties. Because the citizens of Kosovo had come to regard him as the country’s most eminent lawyer, he was now making buckets of money from genuine clients with pockets stashed with cash. It seemed that the stuffed envelopes he once greedily grasped without question had lost their appeal. Mema had begun to believe all the media hype, imagining himself to be some sort of Kosovon Perry Mason rather than a bought-and-paid-for third-rate solicitor operating out of a shipping container.
Gashi towelled himself off, downed a cognac and poured another. It was clear what needed to be done. Regrettable, but necessary.
The door opened and a young woman poked her head in. He recognised her as another of the newbies from Moldova. A rare beauty, barely eighteen. She had brought him fresh clothing.
‘On the chair.’
The girl did as instructed. Gashi looked down over his paunch. The effects of the Viagra had not worn off. And the shower had rejuvenated him. He held out a hand.
‘Wait. Come here.’
Avni Leka rarely took the chance to visit the few hundred hectares of grassy fields and forest that constituted Germia Park, even though it was only a fifteen-minute drive from the Prishtina business centre. If he felt the need to get away he had always preferred the mountains. Up high he could find an isolated spot to relax and think about nothing. Germia Park in summer could be a little nightmarish. Its lake-sized swimming pool, sports fields and barbeque pits attracted hundreds of Prishtina families to eat and play. He disliked crowds. Each day at the courthouse he was obliged to suffer throngs of citizens. He had no desire to suffer the unwashed masses on his days of rest.
When he entered the park he saw another reason for his staying away: signposts along the forest fringes warning of landmines. Thousands had been laid by the Serbian military but maps showing the location of the deadly anti-personnel bombs had been lost or purposely destroyed. He had once witnessed a stray soccer ball detonate a mine. Deterrent enough to keep his distance. But that pest Gashi had insisted they meet at one of the park’s two restaurants. Gashi had further insisted that they sit outside on the veranda to be as far away from other diners as possible. A light breeze had dropped the temperature below freezing.
‘This better be good, Gashi.’ Leka pulled his coat collar higher around his neck. ‘I’m cold and I’m not happy.’
‘What needs to be discussed has to be in private.’
‘You have your wish. Now get on with it.’
The black apron of a waiter came into view alongside Gashi. A bottle of cognac and two glasses were placed on the table.
‘Make sure we are not disturbed.’ The way the waiter turned his back and rubbed his arms through a thin cotton shirt was a clear message to Gashi he needn’t worry. ‘Wait.’ The waiter stopped and glared and rubbed harder. Gashi pulled a wallet from his pocket and passed the waiter a hundred euro note. ‘For your trouble.’
The waiter’s face broke into a smile. ‘No trouble at all, sir.’
He left and closed the doors to the veranda behind him.
Gashi shrugged at Leka’s steady stare. ‘What? You think me incapable of generosity?’
‘I’ve misjudged you. Accept my apologies. Now can we get to the point before this place freezes my arse off.’
‘Blerim let Sulla Bogdani go.’
Leka’s mouth dropped to his chin. Brandy sloshed out of his glass onto his coat.
‘What? Let him go. Are you certain? Did Blerim not receive Tomi’s message?’
‘I double-checked with Tomi. He definitely passed on the message exactly as you instructed. Perhaps he had scruples about their family ties?’
‘No.’ The response was sharp. ‘That would have only made killing Sulla more likely, not less. To betray a friend is bad enough. To betray family as Sulla did? Unforgiveable.’
Leka picked up a napkin to wipe droplets of cognac from his trouser leg. The cloth was damp.
‘Shit.’ He threw it on the table. ‘You assured me he would never leave Peje alive, Gashi. Remember?’
Gashi offered a shrug. ‘I was wrong. It happens.’
‘I think it is happening far too often these days,’ Leka snapped.
Gashi was losing his grip. First the debacle with Shala and that damned vineyard, and now Sulla. Halam Akbar would arrive any day now and he did not want any complications while Akbar was in the country.
The thought of Sulla on the loose made him uneasy. That Sulla had been freed from prison so quickly after he had contrived to get rid of him was shock enough; it was some time ago now and that Sulla had not yet come after him was a puzzle, but Basholli not killing him defied belief. What now? Sulla was no killer. Leka did not expect an ambush down a back alley. But Sulla would still want revenge. Leka planned to be long gone before Sulla had a chance to exact it. The timetable had just been stepped up a bit, he decided.
Leka’s moment of contemplation must have annoyed Gashi. He lifted the cognac bottle and let it clink against the side of Leka’s glass. The ruse worked. Leka inclined back towards him. Gashi topped up his drink before he spoke. ‘The New Zealander told Tomi he was staying on in Kosovo to secure the Shala property for his family. But after the meeting with the American, I’m not certain that might be his only reason.’
Leka thought on that. ‘Well. Here’s a plan. I could arrange for the courts to issue a ruling and have the vineyard returned to the Shala family. That would remove the reason for the New Zealander to extend his stay here in Kosovo.’
To Leka’s surprise Gashi looked unruffled by the suggestion. ‘You win some, you lose some. At least if the question of the vineyard is removed and he still remains here, we will know I was right.’
‘Very well. I’ll make arrangements in the morning. Are we done?’
‘No. We have another problem: Tomi Mema.’
Leka sat back and tapped his gloves on the table top. ‘Mema. What about Mema?’
‘If Basholli told Sulla that Tomi Mema warned him about Sulla going to Peje, then Sulla will go after him. Tomi is not a courageous man. He could break. Possibly point him back to us.’
Us? There’s no us here. It’s just you, you stupid cretin.
‘Yes, of course. But be careful how you handle it. Tomi is a celebrity. Something happens to him and every police officer in the country will be investigating. Including the internationals. It has to look every inch an unfortunate accident. Are we clear on this?’
‘Yes. I understand. Don’t worry. Whatever happens the noise will die quickly.’
Leka knew Gashi was mostly right. Kosovo was a land in constant turmoil. A new disaster replaced the old every day. But if Gashi made any mistakes, the international authorities might not be so quick to close off the last chapter on Tomi Mema’s life. They did not have quite the same sort of selective memory as Kosovons.
Leka downed his cognac and stood. ‘Just remember, Osman: be careful.’
38.
Standing at his desk with the receiver clutched to his ear like a life preserver, Tomi Mema listened to Osman Gashi with growing relief.
‘The Municipal Court is to reinstate the title deed of Arben Shala’s property to his family. It is to be done first thing in the morning. Are we clear?’
‘Yes. I understand. But how do I explain the sudden change of heart to Bradley?’
‘You’re the lawyer. Think of something. Anyway, what does it matter what you tell him? The family gets the property and Bradley gets to go home. End of story. Just do your job. Prepare the documents and don’t screw it up.’
‘Yes. And Bogdani? What about him? He will know I wa
rned Basholli.’
‘Shit happens, Tomi. I’m doing my best to clean up your mess. So keep your head down and get the paperwork done.’
The line went dead. With a shaking hand Mema sought the cognac bottle. His hands were still shaking when he telephoned Morgan Delaney and asked her to pass on the good news to Jeff Bradley.
‘Interesting change of heart, don’t you reckon?’
Jeff watched Morgan pace the floor. A pencil tapped across the palm of her hand. Why was it that a bright green sweater could so accentuate the lustrous red of somebody’s hair like that? And why was it he found the colour in her fine cheeks and her elegant movements so mesmerising?
‘I couldn’t get zip out of the courts when Arben was alive,’ she said. ‘Now they change their minds? I’m a suspicious bitch by nature and I know this place brings out paranoia with red neon lights flashing warnings all over the place, but something doesn’t smell right. Maybe you should stall.’
Jeff loved the way she came out fighting on every issue. He also liked the way her hair bounced and her eyes flashed when she became excited.
‘I can’t really see that I can complain,’ Jeff said. ‘I sure as hell can’t tell Kimie Shala that they offered me the land but I couldn’t accept it because a beautiful American had a funny feeling.’
Morgan stopped mid-stride. ‘Hang on a minute. Beautiful. Was this a general observation or a compliment?’
‘Mm. Maybe I’m leaning towards compliment.’
Morgan grinned and returned to her chair. ‘Then the American thanks you. But no, Jeff. Of course you can’t turn down the opportunity of getting the property back. Want me to come to court with you?’
‘Could I keep you away?’
‘Not a chance.’
‘I need to get going now. Sulla’s waiting outside. We’re off to visit Tomi Mema and see if he craps his pinstriped trousers.’ Jeff stopped in the doorway. ‘Dinner tonight?’
‘Is that an order, or an invitation?’
‘Which would you prefer?’
‘I like my men strong-willed but with manners.’
One eyebrow rose on Jeff’s face. ‘My men? Okay then, it’s an invitation.’
When Jeff walked into Mema’s office with Sulla at his shoulder the lawyer cowered behind his desk like a trapped wild animal. His eyes darted back and forth, seeking out a non-existent escape route.
‘Hi, Mema. This is Sulla Bogdani, a friend of mine. He’s been helping me out while I’m here.’
Mema nodded in Sulla’s direction but avoided eye contact. ‘Please, gentlemen. Take a seat.’
Jeff remained standing. ‘We aren’t staying. I‘ve spoken with Arben’s family. Are you certain it will be all over tomorrow?’
‘With the Kosovon legal system, nothing is ever certain.’ Mema’s eyes shifted briefly to Sulla then quickly back to Jeff. ‘But yes. I believe I can say that Arben’s family will be satisfied with the outcome. Of course it’s no compensation for their loss. But it is something.’
‘And the Xhiha brothers?’
‘They must accept the decision of the courts like everyone else. You will have no further problem with the Xhihas. Meet me outside the Municipal Court at nine thirty. I’ll try to get it all taken care of as quickly as possible.’
Mema tried to relax after Bradley and Bogdani had left and the immediate threat to his safety appeared to have passed. He retrieved his bottle of cognac from behind the filing cabinet and searched for a glass. There were none. The bottle went straight to his mouth as he flopped back in his chair. How would Gashi react when he found out Bogdani had been to his office?
He put the bottle to his lips again. The burn of alcohol was good.
Light was fading when Lee Caldwell arrived in Prishtina. The traffic lights outside the Grand Hotel were not working and a very youthful-looking Kosovon police officer appeared to be making a hash of directing rush-hour traffic. Caldwell fidgeted with impatience. The car hadn’t moved for fifteen minutes.
He pushed open his door. ‘Driver. Wait for me in the hotel car park, will you? I’ll take it on foot from here.’
Another two minutes and Caldwell was surveying Jeff and Sulla. The two men were standing at the corner of the bar waiting for him. He peeled a pair of kid-leather gloves off his hands as he fixed his attention on Sulla’s face. The Kosovon looked anything but relaxed to him.
‘Okay, Bogdani. To the point. We tested your explosives and they’re not the same as those handed into NATO. I’m satisfied you were telling the truth.’
Tension dropped from the big man’s frame. His face creased into an enormous smile. ‘Thank you. Thank you, Mr Caldwell. That is very good news. So good.’
Caldwell reached for a handful of peanuts from the bar top. ‘Yes. Good news for you, Mr Bogdani. For us it remains bad. There are still explosives out there waiting to be used in other bombings.’
‘What I do not understand is why switch the explosives at all?’ Sulla asked.
Caldwell shrugged and crunched a couple of peanuts. ‘Since you ask, I’ll tell you. The protocols for the arms-for-cash programme call for routine analysis of the weapons and explosives handed in. The results are circulated to most international intelligence and crime agencies. Whoever the bad guys are, they obviously knew this and that eventually there would be a match. It’s like spraying pepper in the path of a bloodhound. We end up chasing ghosts. Arresting you, for example. Shoving you in jail. Meantime, the real baddies carry on their merry way.’
Jeff was thoughtful. ‘Is there any way you can track whoever made the switch through the documentary team?’
‘I asked the British police to re-question the film crew and find how the switch could have been made. They say they used a local man working with the UN arms-for-cash programme to hand the explosives over. He was killed during riots over a year ago. Shot through the back of the head.’
‘Convenient.’
‘Very. And it transpires that his widow is an unusually wealthy woman. He had too much money in the bank, far more than he could have earned at the UN.’
‘I have some news for you as well, Caldwell,’ Jeff said. ‘It seems like you’re not the only one who wants me to go home. The title to Arben Shala’s property is inexplicably no longer in dispute. Tomorrow I’ll be given notarised documents to pass on to Arben’s family.’
Caldwell raised an eyebrow. ‘Interesting. You have a theory on that?’
Jeff nodded at Sulla. ‘Sulla might.’
Caldwell listened as Sulla relayed the events that had taken place in Peje. ‘Mr Bogdani, you know these people. Is Tomi Mema smart enough to be our main man?’
‘I doubt this. He may have the intelligence for it but he has not the nerve. You think this too, Jeff?’
‘I do. Shady lawyer, yes. Criminal mastermind? Unlikely.’
Sulla turned back to Caldwell. ‘Gashi and Tomi Mema. No one in Kosovo would believe these two could be working together. In collusion, you say? But for me there is another reason not to believe Mema is the main man. He telephoned my brother-in-law and told him I was going to Peje. He did this knowing Blerim wanted me dead. Fortunately, Blerim did not kill me and he told me Mema had made contact. The point is Mema does not know me well enough to hate me that much. Someone else wanted me dead. Mema was only the messenger.’
Caldwell nodded. Bradley and Bogdani might have been crossing his path more than he would like, but they did seem to stumble over bright, shiny nuggets of truth from time to time. Eventually they might kick over a big one.
Time to turn on the charm. ‘Let’s celebrate Mr Bogdani’s good fortune. Everybody for a round of decent Scotch?’
39.
Tomi Mema staggered into his sitting room and slumped into an armchair. His wife had never seen him in such an inebriated state. She fussed and worried over him. She knelt on the floor to remove his shoes.
Mema obliged by lifting his leg. She slipped his shoe off but before she could remove the other, he pushed her aside. ‘Where’s the television remote?’
His eyes fell upon it lying on a nearby settee. He launched himself from the chair and stumbled across the room. The second shoe clung to his toes. He kicked. It flew over his wife’s head and bounced off the wall. The edge of a mat tripped him. Falling backwards in a spin he spread-eagled over the carpet. His wife hurried to his side and tried to help him up.
‘Leave me alone. I can do it.’
Mema managed to raise himself enough to crawl into a sitting position on the settee. The anxious face of his wife appeared before him. His mouth gaped twice before words came to his tongue.
‘We. Us. Going to Slovenia,’ he slurred. Then his world went to blackness.
Morning light filtering into the room caused Mema’s eyes to blink open. He stared without comprehension at the ceiling. His head pounded and his mouth was so dry that his tongue had adhered to his back teeth. As he worked at producing a modicum of saliva, he raised his arm. The Rolex attached read a quarter to nine. ‘Dammit.’
His wife must be very angry not to have woken him. Somewhere in his memory of the night before he remembered tears and slamming doors.
Right now he had no time to make it up to her. He had to get to court. An unsteady rise to his feet resulted in the sensation of spinning. Only his hand coming to rest on the back of a chair stopped him from crashing onto the coffee table. If he didn’t finish the Shala documents in the next few hours, he would be in deep trouble with Gashi. That had to be avoided.