by Tana Collins
During the drive, Carruthers stared out of the window, trying to get his bearings. He decided the journey to the centre of the city was nothing special. In fact he was distinctly underwhelmed. Dull Soviet-style buildings occasionally interspersed with older architecture. The man who had picked him up had his driver’s window wound down and Carruthers felt a welcome breeze on his face. He was surprised at how humid it was. Being so close to Russia he just assumed Estonia would be chilly in summer. But then he knew very little about Estonia. Just what Bingham had told him, what he’d read in spy stories and heard on the news. For some reason Russia was always portrayed in the UK as being perpetually cold. Big coats and fur hats. Why was that?
‘When will I meet Gunnar?’ asked Carruthers, left nervous by the lack of conversation.
The man didn’t look at him but simply continued driving as he said, ‘Tomorrow at eight. He will come to the hotel.’ Aare’s brother pulled up outside the tallest skyscraper Carruthers had so far seen in the country. ‘This is it. Hotel Viru. Your time is your own until morning. Enjoy Estonia.’
Carruthers said goodbye, got out of the car and stared up at the ugly high-rise hotel. It was the epitome of Cold War Eastern Bloc architecture – functional, soulless and lacking in aesthetic features.
Carruthers checked in to his surprisingly comfortable single room on the seventh floor, dumping his small suitcase on the bed. He walked across to the window, and pulling the curtain further back, looked out. His room overlooked a busy thoroughfare of four lanes of traffic. He watched a blue tram going past. The view was dominated by the glass and concrete structure of the Nordic Hotel Forum. On the skyline there was the distant view of the spires of the Old Town and beyond, the Baltic Sea.
What am I doing here? he suddenly thought. Will I get to the bottom of what is going on in three days? It suddenly seemed a tall order.
He checked his smart phone for messages. Finding there were none he placed his phone carefully on the bedside table, took his clothes off, laid them over the back of a chair and slipped into the shower. Emerging a little while later, clean but still exhausted, he opened his case, took out his toiletries, hung up a couple of work shirts, brushed his teeth then climbed into bed. Within minutes he was asleep.
After a fitful sleep Carruthers rose at seven. After a shower he took a wander to the breakfast bar. As he walked into the vast self-service restaurant he noticed it had a distinctly corporate feel. Many of the dark brown tables were of cheap woodchip, several seating six. He walked the length of the room and threw his jacket onto a chair in one of the small booths near the window. Tried to throw off the sluggish feeling he was experiencing. He had been surprised at how early daylight had begun. He hadn’t slept much after four.
He glanced around him. There were a few other early risers enjoying breakfast alone or in small groups. To his left was an elegant blonde woman in her thirties sipping coffee. She caught his eye and smiled. He smiled back.
He walked over to the breakfast bar and loaded his plate with Gouda, a selection of hams and a couple of hard boiled eggs. He couldn’t stomach the pickled herring so he bypassed that offering. He fixed himself a black coffee and made his way back to his table. As he sat back down the blonde woman at the next table leant over.
‘Did you manage to get any sleep last night?’
Surprised by the Home Counties accent, Carruthers shook his head, unsure what she was getting at.
‘Whenever I travel to Estonia in the summer,’ she said, ‘I always make sure I have my eye mask with me. I won’t be able to get a proper sleep otherwise.’
‘I didn’t sleep well,’ he admitted. ‘It must have been the light. I’m used to black-out curtains.’
‘Are you from Edinburgh?’ she said, clearly picking up on his accent.
‘Glasgow, but I now live in Fife.’
She smiled. ‘First visit?’
Carruthers nodded. He took a sip of his coffee. ‘I’ve never been to Eastern Europe before.’
The woman laughed. ‘Don’t let Estonians hear you say that. They don’t see themselves as being part of Eastern Europe. Many see Estonia as a Nordic country.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s very close to Finland. I know some Estonians who feel Northern European.’
Carruthers was silent, absorbing her words, thinking about how easy it was to pre-judge peoples of another country. After all, hadn’t he also assumed they all had bad teeth with terrible dentistry?
‘It’s a fascinating country,’ she continued. Carruthers noticed that she kept one eye on her mobile which was sitting on her table. She smiled. ‘I love it here. It’s my fifth visit. You do need that eye mask, though. Have you heard of the term “astronomical twilight”?’
Carruthers shook his head. He tried the expression in his head and liked the sound of it.
‘Did you notice last night, after sunset,’ she continued, ‘it’s no longer light, but it doesn’t get dark immediately either? That phenomenon is known as “astronomical twilight”.’
Carruthers speared a piece of cheese and thought about it. He hadn’t noticed but then maybe that was because he lived in Scotland. Some parts of Scotland never got dark in summer.
He looked over once more at the woman. She interested him despite her rather formal way of speaking. Her blonde hair fell over her face and she smoothed it away with her hand. Carruthers loved the way the light was catching the highlights. He wondered if she was an academic.
‘I didn’t sleep very well,’ he admitted, ‘but I have a lot on my mind at the moment. It must be strange to live here for those not used to it,’ he added.
‘No darkness during summer and little light during winter. It must affect the psyche, don’t you think?’ She laughed.
‘Have you been here in the winter?’ he asked, thinking her description of Estonia sounded a bit like Scotland.
She laughed. ‘No. Just summer, although I’ve been to Finland in the winter. Do you know much about Estonia?’
Carruthers shook his head.
‘It’s got a fascinating history. You know this very hotel was built by the Russians to spy on foreigners? Some of the bedrooms were bugged.’ She leaned closer towards his table. Lowering her voice she said, ‘There’s a story that the hotel frowned on people having sex in the rooms. Couples were made to keep their beds apart. Apparently if a couple started moving the beds together there’d be a knock at the door within a few minutes and a maid would appear to tell them to move their beds back to where they were.’
Carruthers listened, intrigued. ‘How did the maid know?’ He wondered if she was trying to pick him up with this talk about sex. He didn’t know. Although he prided himself on being adept at reading signals, for some inexplicable reason he was useless at reading women.
The blonde woman laughed. ‘The bugging devices in the rooms didn’t work so well if the beds were moved away from the wall. That’s how the KGB knew what the guests were doing.’
Carruthers tried to imagine the lack of freedom and couldn’t. He studied the beautiful woman in front of him, instead.
‘When I was here last I got talking to another guest, a wonderful Finnish woman called Bodil,’ she said. ‘She told me she was a PA and that she and her boss used to get the ferry over from Helsinki for a few days business when Estonia was under Soviet rule. Of course, they stayed in this hotel. They didn’t get a choice. According to her, it was an open secret that the rooms were bugged. She said that even the vase of flowers on the reception desk had a bugging device in it. They used to talk into the flowers and a member of staff would appear as if by magic. In the old days the KGB also used to employ little old ladies who would sit on their own having cups of tea looking like they were reading the newspaper. Really they were listening in on conversations going on around them and reporting them back.’ Her face changed and she looked serious. ‘It all sounds twee, but a lot of people disappeared from the hotel if they were considered a threat. They were taken away and never seen again.’ Just at that moment the
woman’s mobile rang. ‘Excuse me. I must get this call. I’ll let you get back to your breakfast. Enjoy your stay.’
Carruthers wondered what happened to the people who were taken away. Tortured and killed, he supposed, then buried in a shallow grave somewhere. When he had finished eating he rose, giving the blonde woman a backwards glance. He smiled at her but she was still on her phone and didn’t see him. Back in his room he brushed his teeth, then grabbing his wallet and a lightweight jacket he returned downstairs. He was waiting in the hotel foyer when a slim dark-haired man with gaunt cheeks walked in.
‘Are you Jim Carruthers?’ the man said, reaching out his hand.
Carruthers nodded and took the cool dry hand. As they broke contact the man took out his police ID. As Carruthers glanced at it, Gunnar Aare touched Carruthers’ arm lightly.
‘Come, let’s walk.’ They left the foyer and Aare hesitated for a fraction of a moment on the doorstep of the hotel before turning left and walking towards the Old Town. As soon as they were outside in the bright light Carruthers had to blink to get used to it. They crossed the busy main road at the lights and walked towards the main entrance to the Old Town, which was marked by two ancient grey-brown stone towers. The towers were topped with red roof tiles in a cone and it all blended with the old city wall. Between the towers, a wide cobbled street led into the maze of the historic heart of the medieval city as the exquisite stone buildings and narrow alleys baked beneath a cloudless sky. Looking around this breath-taking place Jim unexpectedly felt captivated by it. One day he must return to really enjoy the city.
‘I know a good place for coffee,’ said Aare.
Dragged back from his romanticising, Carruthers realised he wouldn’t mind having a second shot. He wondered if the Estonians were big coffee drinkers. He realised how little he knew of this former Eastern Bloc country. He was going to have to get up to speed fast. He side-stepped a woman pushing a buggy. Aare took a first right onto another cobbled road, Carruthers noticed the street sign, Vana Viru. There was a little coffee shop on the right with an attractive outside terrace under a white awning. They picked a table and sat down.
Aare turned to Carruthers. He said quietly, ‘You must understand the politics here to get a grasp of this situation. Unfortunately the police, like all official institutions, has been infiltrated by Estonian Mafia. They are a scourge. This is why I need you here. A well-trained police officer from the UK.’
‘What can I do?’
‘You must help me flush out the bad guys.’
‘You can’t possibly be serious,’ said Carruthers, starting to feel angry. He felt duped. Had been brought over here on false pretences? ‘How can you even think I can begin to help? You said it yourself, I don’t know the first thing about Estonia, its history or politics. I’m only here three days. You must be mad.’
Gunnar Aare leant forward. ‘Not mad. Desperate, my friend. There is a difference. You forget we just lost three of our colleagues.’ He continued. ‘But you have something of ours we need and we have something of yours.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Carruthers.
‘You have Aleks Voller. We’ve been trying to locate him for months. We knew he and his brother were the link between Estonia and the rest of Europe. Marek is still here in Estonia. But Aleks disappeared. We just didn’t know where to. Then he turns up in Scotland. You can help flush him out. Where would I start looking in Scotland? I’ve never been to Scotland. Like I said, you have something we want. And we have something you want.’
‘Meaning?’
They paused as a blonde woman with bright blue eyes, wearing skinny black jeans and a white top, came up to take their order.
Aare turned to Carruthers. ‘Coffee? Black?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
Aare ordered for them, barking instructions in Estonian. Carruthers, although not understanding what he said, felt vaguely uncomfortable at the manner in which the man spoke.
Aare leaned forward. ‘You want to put a stop to these art thefts you were talking about and at the same time, how do you say, nip in the bud this gang of pimps who are starting to operate in Scotland. Trust me. They are bad news. These art thefts are helping to fund the Mafia in Tallinn. British artists are very popular in Russia, the States, even Japan. We, you and I, bring down Marek and Aleks Voller, put a stop to the gang of art thieves, cutting off one primary sources of income for the Mafia. It will benefit both societies. But first I need you to help me flush out the bad eggs in the Tallinn Police.’
‘Bad apples,’ Carruthers corrected, without thinking.
‘That’s right,’ said Gunnar. ‘Bad apples. I’m not under any illusion. I know another gang will spring up. But having one lot off the streets is a start, is it not? What do you say?’
‘I still think you’re mad. I’m only here for three days. What can I do in such a short space of time?’
‘Let me tell you about the situation in Estonia and then you might understand a bit better. For fifty years this tiny republic was under illegal occupation by the Soviet Union. Estonia recognised this, the rest of the world recognised it. The Soviet Union did not. In 1940, Soviet troops invaded Estonia installing a puppet government with the backing of the Soviet Union. We paid a heavy price.’ He waved his hand. ‘Anyway, I won’t go into that just now. But back in 1991 when the old Soviet Union was crumbling we peacefully took back what was rightfully ours.’
‘Things haven’t been easy,’ said Carruthers, cautiously.
‘Far from it. However, Russia has always looked upon us as theirs. To do with whatever they want. You’re right. Things have not been easy. We have a big drug problem here. Since 1991 the Russian Mafia saw opportunity and flooded Estonia and this wonderful city, with cheap drugs. Many of our young people are now drug addicts. Even schoolchildren.’
Carruthers wondered if Bingham knew this.
‘They saw big money to be made. We also have a prostitution problem. Those drug addicts needed money to buy their drugs. Many of the Estonian Mafia have connections with their Russian Mafia counterparts. And, of course, many Russian Mafia are former members of the KGB.’
Carruthers nodded. He knew of the connection between the KGB and Russian Mafia. He didn’t, however, know about the prevalence of drugs in Estonia.
‘I’m sure you’ve heard a lot about Russian organised crime and its links with the Russian state,’ said Aare. ‘But it operates not just at home. Its reach is global. They have their hands in everything – theft; drugs; prostitution; human trafficking. However, trafficking is now treated as a serious matter by the Estonian government, which passed a law in 2012 criminalising people trafficking with penalties of up to fifteen years imprisonment. We also have stronger anti-corruption legislation than we used to but still…’
Carruthers nodded. It sounded like Estonia had had a lot of work to do. He then thought of Scotland. Police Scotland had come into effect in 2013 to a lot of criticism. Some said it was nothing more than a cost-cutting exercise when the eight regional forces merged into one. Bingham had been one such critic.
Carruthers shifted his attention back to Gunnar. It was all becoming almost too expansive, too abstract for Carruthers to take in. He realised he needed to talk details. The picture of the mutilated body of the dead woman on a windswept beach back in Fife came into his mind. ‘Tell me about Hanna Mets,’ he said. ‘First of all, do you have a photograph of her?’
Aare placed his briefcase on the table, opened it and drew out a photograph. He passed it to Carruthers. The Scottish cop’s heart did a leap when he saw the attractive blonde woman in the picture. He then tried to visualise the torn mutilated face of the dead girl on the Fife beach as he had viewed her. Was it the same woman? Same white blonde hair. Same shape face. He took out a police photo of the woman and studied it. Carruthers nodded. ‘I think it’s the same woman but I couldn’t be certain. Tell me about her.’
‘It does look like Hanna Mets,’ agreed Aare. What do you want to know?’
Aare shrugged and stopped. Took out a red and white packet of cigarettes from the breast pocket of his shirt. ‘A good cop. An honest cop, but she was also a woman haunted. And out for revenge.’ He put an unlit cigarette between his teeth. Offered the pack to Carruthers, who shook his head. He saw the pack was Winston. He wondered if this was a popular brand.
‘Why?’
‘Aleks Voller killed her sister.’
Carruthers dragged his gaze away from the unfamiliar pack of cigarettes to the face of the man sitting opposite him. ‘You said she was undercover when she died,’ said Carruthers. ‘Why weren’t the Scottish Police informed?’
Aare extracted a silver lighter from his trouser pocket, lit the cigarette and took a long drag. ‘She was working undercover in Tallinn. We didn’t give her permission to travel to Scotland. Then suddenly she disappeared off the radar altogether.’
Carruthers kept listening.
‘We knew she was probably in trouble,’ the Estonian continued. ‘We couldn’t locate her. We left messages for her on her mobile, in code of course.’
‘She never returned any of them?’
‘No.’
‘When she was found she had no personal effects with her,’ said Carruthers. ‘We never retrieved a mobile or anything else. It made us wonder if she’d killed herself. Simply walked out of home with suicide in mind.’
Aare nodded slowly. ‘I can see why you’d think that.’
Carruthers watched as Aare took another long drag on his cigarette, tilting his head back and expelling the smoke into the warm Tallinn air. Simply dressed in jeans and a grey T-shirt, Carruthers could already feel the sweat beading between his shoulder blades. He was looking forward to a cold shower back at the hotel later. Carruthers leaned into the table as he asked his next question. ‘You don’t think she committed suicide, do you?’
Aare took another long drag at his cigarette. This time he expelled it between his teeth. ‘No. There’s no way she would have taken her own life. She believed in what we were doing, what she was doing.’