Greene glanced at his solicitor and shifted in his chair. “I may have seen him once or twice. I’m not sure.”
“I think you’re lying. You’ve seen him at the offices of IRG, haven’t you? What is your connection with IRG?”
“I handle various legal matters for them. I can’t discuss it in any more detail than that. Privileged information.”
“Do you know anyone who lives in Finsbury Park? Or perhaps Highgate? Crouch End?”
“I have friends and colleagues all over London.”
“I have some more photos I would like you to see.” She selected another photo from the stack. “In this one, you’re collecting a young woman from one of the brothels. What’s her name, Mr. Greene?”
“I don’t know, something ending in ‘ova.’ I can’t recall.”
“Perhaps I can help you. Her name is Katya. Katya Demetrova.”
Greene looked surprised. He glanced at his solicitor and cleared his throat. “Ah, yeah. That might be it. Sounds familiar.”
“I wonder what she does in the UK. Where were you taking her?”
“We were going to a party, that’s all.”
Elaine slid another photo across the table. “That looks like a lot of groceries for a party. Where exactly was this party?”
“None of your business. Just someone’s home.”
“Do you normally take prostitutes to parties? As a date? Or for entertainment?” She didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, she tapped the photo of Nilo with her finger. “Was this young man at the party?”
“I can’t recall.”
“What happened after you delivered Katya to the party? Did you and the other men there gang rape her? Beat her? What went on?”
“I didn’t stay. I left after a few minutes.”
“I see.” Elaine gathered up the photos and replaced them in the envelope. “Are you familiar with the concept of being an accessory to a crime?”
“Of course I am. I’m a lawyer.”
Elaine smiled and shook her head. “Not for much longer. You see, Mr. Greene, we have evidence that ties you to any number of crimes. Promoting prostitution, money laundering, various drug offenses, even human trafficking. Do you have anything to say about that?”
“No.”
“Did you return Katya to her home after the party?”
“No comment.”
“When you go to bed at night, and you’re thinking of all those fun little vices you took part in during that day, the cocaine and the lap dances and free blow jobs, do you ever think about murder and attempted murder, Mr. Greene? You may recall I mentioned murder in our previous interview. First a young girl named Sheila Watson was found beaten and slashed. Her body was dumped in a wasteland. Then we found another woman. You knew this one—Geri Harding. Different place, different method, but we’ve tied her murder to Sheila’s. Now there’s another victim. The victim being, of course, Katya.”
Greene blanched. Elaine leaned over the table.
“You see, you delivered her to”—she pushed a sheet of paper across the table—“this address.” Greene’s eyes bulged. He began to sweat.
Elaine sat back in her chair. It had been too easy. Might as well get it over with. “We believe we can tie you to a whole series of crimes. A real bouillabaisse of fishy connections. We’ve talked to the prostitutes, and they talked back to us, Mr. Greene. They shared lots of information. All about your regular visits and collection bags, your sleazy extortion for sex, all of it. So we can make those charges stick, and when we do, you can kiss all your fun good-bye.” She collected the papers and envelope and made a show of placing them in a neat pile before she continued.
“And now we have Katya.” She looked up and knew Greene was done.
“You see, she was supposed to be dead and dumped, same as young Sheila. But your Katya didn’t die. She’s in the hospital, and oh, we’ll get the story from her. You can ‘no comment’ until you’re hoarse, but it won’t matter.”
“I never killed anyone. Never even tried to. Not in my life.”
“But you helped make it possible because someone asked you to. We know you’re a small fry. Nearly insignificant when you consider the scope of what’s happened. If it were only the brothel-keeping charges, and if you cooperated, perhaps the judge would take that into account at your sentencing. But now there’s grievous bodily harm in the mix. And attempted murder’s a different kettle of fish, isn’t it? When we add accessory to that on top of the other charges, I don’t expect a judge to be very lenient, do you? Especially if you don’t cooperate.”
His lawyer leaned over and whispered in Greene’s ear. Greene nodded.
“I need to consult with my lawyer. And we would like to speak with the CPS.”
“Right, then. You go ahead. You know that in these cases, everything comes out eventually. All the sordid little details. We find them. It’s our job, and we’re very good at it.” She nodded at the door. “The prosecutor is available when you’re ready. Constable Bull and I have some important business to take care of, but we’ll be back soon. If you haven’t made your statement before then, things could go much, much rougher for you.” She rose to walk to the door but turned back. “By the way, you’ll probably be interviewed by the financial crimes unit once we’re finished.” She left the room.
* * *
The cup smashed against the wall and shattered into hundreds of tiny, brittle slivers. Nilo cursed and kicked the coffee table halfway across the sitting room of the small flat. It was too small. There was no room to move, and he couldn’t see more than eight feet in any direction. The view through the back window showed nothing more than the brick wall of the next block.
“What the hell? I just got that table two weeks ago.” Bosko turned the table upright and carried it back to the sofa. When he tried to put it in its place in front of the sofa, Nilo stretched his legs out. Bosko stood there, holding the small table.
“Put it down there and I’ll bloody well kick it to pieces. Plenty more flat packs at IKEA. Didn’t want no goddam tea, did I? Don’t you keep any blow in this fucking hole? No booze? How do you live here, anyway? No room to move. You never bring women here, do you? You never had a woman, unless it was me who found her for you. Right? Am I right?”
Bosko placed the table down and sat on it. “I’ve had girlfriends. More than you know about.”
“We’ve been here for a night and a day with sod all to do and you’re right out of all your b’s. No blow, no bitches, no booze.” He cackled at his own wit. “That about sums you up. What do you spend your money on? You live in a crap flat, so it can’t be that.” He rose to his feet and looked out the grimy window.
“It’s enough for me. Janko doesn’t pay me all that much, you know.”
Nilo snorted and began pacing the floor of the tiny sitting room. “Janko? Bloody good for you that it’s Janko you work for. Janko’s not much more than a salesman. Or maybe a politician. You fuck up with Janko and it’s a slap and bed with no supper. Anton has higher standards. Demands more. You got to be willing to do what it takes to work for Anton. Christ, I need something. Gimme the keys.”
“No. I won’t. We need to stay put. What if someone saw us last night? And you’re in no condition to drive. They might have found the girl by now. I don’t want to go out.”
Nilo was fed up. His voice rose to a shriek. “I know when I can drive and when I can’t!” He turned and flung himself at Bosko, his momentum bowling them both against the wall. Bosko pushed away and swung his fist wildly, off balance, allowing Nilo to close and place a solid body blow under his ribs. Bosko crumpled with a grunt. He lay on the floor retching and gasping.
Nilo smirked and turned away. That felt good. Now he needed cash and a plan. He could get the first at a cash machine. The other would take some thought. Should he run or should he meet the enemy head on?
Right now, he couldn’t run far. He could always run later, after he had settled the score. Two scores. Both bitches needed to learn they couldn’t trea
t him the way they had. One at a time or together? One at a time would be better. That way he could focus his energy.
He could lay low back at his own house for a few more days while it all came together. He couldn’t do it all on his own, though. He looked down at Bosko, who had struggled his way onto all fours and was still gasping for breath. Bosko would be good for errands, but once the fun started, he would only get in the way. Who could he depend on? Definitely not Anton. His uncle would not be pleased, which meant that it might—no, would—be too dangerous to contact him. But he had some friends back home who owed him favors, and they were solid blokes, so they might be able to come help him. He had enough cash in his account if he could get to it quickly. It could work.
Nilo felt the comforting pressure of the gun in his belt. Right. He’d get the cash and a prepaid phone. Go to his house for some blow and a shower. Make the calls and start the ball rolling. By now, Bosko was on his knees and his breathing had returned to normal.
Nilo couldn’t take the chance on leaving Bosko alone. “Get up. We’re going out.”
THIRTY-TWO
“Have you seen anyone in the house?” Elaine asked Chief Inspector McIntosh, the burly Scot who commanded the specialist firearms team charged with taking down Nilo’s house.
“No activity. Doesn’t mean a lot, though. Our infrared sensors will only pick up body heat if a person is near a window or perhaps behind a door. The house could be empty or the suspect could be lying in wait. I’ve seen both scenarios in my time.”
They were in the back of a large command-and-control van parked a block from the target house. The compartment was dark except for green and red lights on radio sets and six video screens that glowed from one wall. All the systems were monitored by three officers in headsets.
Elaine watched the black-and-white images on each screen. Two screens displayed images of the house, front and back. She assumed these were from fixed cameras, perhaps smuggled through the back doors of neighboring houses and positioned in windows. The other four screens appeared to be fed from body cameras mounted on the firearms officers’ black helmets. These currently showed groups of black-clad officers clustered together talking. Elaine didn’t have a headset, so she couldn’t hear what they were saying.
McIntosh anticipated Elaine’s question. “Each team is going over its role for the last time. Once they’re done, the sergeants will gather in here for a final look and last-minute tactical questions. It gets crowded, so if you don’t mind, DCI Hope, I’ll kindly ask you to step outside until they disperse.”
Elaine exited down the steps from the van door. Her team of detectives—Paula, Simon, Bull, and Liz—was waiting. She took a deep breath and looked at Paula. “Right, then. Anything I need to know before the show starts?”
Paula gave a quick nod. Elaine wondered if Paula ever did anything slowly; she probably slept quickly. “Traffic Control has detours in force. No vehicles within two blocks in any direction. All the neighbors have been evacuated, except the Marstons. Harry refused to leave, and Livvy wouldn’t go without him, so they have an officer with them and orders to stay away from the front rooms in case shooting starts. We’re ready here. We’ll go in with you as soon as the assault team gives the all clear and the Srecko kid is collared.”
Collared. Elaine wondered if it would be that easy. Either Danilo wasn’t there or he’d put up a fight. She looked at the sergeants as they left the van to return to their teams. Would they all go home tonight?
Paradoxically, the fact the teams carried guns increased the possibility that someone might not go home. Elaine was a firm believer in an unarmed police force. From the beginning of their training, British police officers were taught to try to defuse a tense situation, not escalate it. Britain’s concept of policing by consent was somewhat unique in the world. But unfortunately, there were times and situations where firearms were called for. This was one of them.
She scanned the faces of the other three detectives. Simon was his usual placid self. Elaine often wondered if he just couldn’t be bothered to have a case of nerves. Liz was showing some strain, chewing on her lower lip and shifting from one foot to the other. Bull, the ex-Marine, looked eager and alert, as if he wanted to be on one of the firearms teams.
As Elaine watched, Bull placed his hand on Liz’s shoulder, and when she looked at him, he gave her a sly wink, as if to say, “Now it’s getting good. Just stick with me.”
Elaine smiled to herself. Boys and girls. She climbed the steps and opened the door to the van. McIntosh waved her inside and handed her a headset.
“You’ll hear everything I hear, but your microphone is off, so no one can hear you.” He turned his attention to the screens. “The teams are moving into position.”
Elaine put on her headset, and immediately a steady stream of quiet commands and responses flowed from her earpieces. One of the officers monitoring the video raised his hand. The radio became quiet.
On the screen fed by the stationary cameras, Elaine watched as the lines of black-clad armored police scuttled along the pavement, hugging the garden walls and hedges lining the street. At set intervals an officer in each line would stop, take up a position, and wait. Another screen displayed a similar line of officers behind the fence in the back of Nilo’s house, squatting in place and waiting for the signal.
Once the tactical situation had been studied and a plan devised, it had all come together quickly. It amazed her how quietly and efficiently the armed teams moved into their positions. Training, training, and more training. She scanned the screens, her attention riveted by the herky-jerky motions of the helmet-mounted cameras. The cameras’ perspectives shifted constantly as the officers looked left and right, up at the house, at other officers. Hand signals, inscrutable to Elaine, flashed on the edges of the screen. Only the sound of boots on pavement and the occasional muffled click and clink of equipment met her ears.
At once, most of the motion stopped. The radio became silent, except for the sound of twelve armed men breathing almost in unison. She thought she could hear their hearts pounding, but then she realized it was the sound of her own blood rushing in her ears.
Two officers crept silently past the front gate of the house, glided up to the front stoop, and positioned themselves on each side of the front door. One of them carefully grasped the front doorknob, but it didn’t budge. He shook his head and gave a hand signal to an officer carrying what looked like a heavy four-inch-thick pipe with handles—a kinetic ram. The officer rushed up the steps and crashed the ram against the door, splintering it.
“GO! GO! GO!” At the shouted commands, black-clad lines of police flowed into the house. Elaine jerked her attention back to the other screens. Although it was daylight, the interior of the house was dim. Flashlights mounted on each gun whirled like a kaleidoscope over walls, lit the recesses behind furniture, probed into closets. Watching the screens, Elaine felt like she was looking over the sights of a semiautomatic rifle as the officer swept his vision and gun across each room. Over the radio link, she could hear pounding and crashing as boots rushed across wooden floors, up the narrow stairs, and into bedrooms on the upper floor. She felt dizzy from the images whirling across the screens and the tumult assaulting her ears.
At last, multiple shouts of “CLEAR!” arose over the communications channels. The house was empty. The raid had taken fifteen seconds.
Once the armed team had filed out, Elaine and her detectives pulled on their latex gloves and entered the house with the SOCO technicians. The place was in shambles. Discarded lager cans and pizza boxes lay strewn about the floor. She inspected the sitting room while Simon, Bull, and Liz split up to other rooms.
Within seconds, Simon’s voice rang out from the bedroom upstairs. “Up here, guv!”
Upon entering the room, she saw Simon standing over a bloodstain next to the bed. Smears and spatters of blood marked the wall. Simon pointed to a corner, where a bloody baseball bat lay. There were no sheets covering the mattress.
“Looks like this is where he assaulted Katya. There’s a pile of coke, I think, on the dressing table. It has blood spatters in it.”
“Have SOCO start here. You stay and supervise the search. Take the place apart.”
Paula’s voice came up the stairs. “Found something, guv.”
She was waiting for Elaine outside a pantry behind the kitchen. “Quite a collection.”
Elaine looked into the small room. An AK-47 assault rifle was propped in one corner, next to a stack of its curved magazines. On the wall was a pegboard, from which hung four handguns and a collection of military knives. A semiautomatic pistol and a knife appeared to be missing.
“Well. We can assume that he’s armed and should be considered extremely dangerous. Get that out to the uniforms as quickly as possible. If anyone sees him, they are to report but not approach. So when did he leave? And if he didn’t take the Transit, he must have had another vehicle available. Bull said the blue Audi was still at the car park the other day when he was watching the offices. Ask the neighbors if they ever saw another car parked here. Let’s go finish up with Greene.”
* * *
Bosko saw the police detour from two blocks away. “Shit! What’s up here?”
Nilo slid down as far as he could get below the level of the windscreen. “Take the next right. Then turn left at the next street.” Bosko complied. As soon as they made the left turn, Nilo stuck his head up and pointed. “Turn in this drive.”
The drive ran almost the full length of the block, providing access to the residences that lined each side. Bosko drove to the end and pulled into an empty space, shielded by a row of hedges. Nilo got out and slowly pushed apart some branches.
He could see the entire length of his street. A group of black-clad armed police were gathered around a large boxy van, helmets off, listening to an officer that Nilo assumed to be their commander. Uniformed police stood at intervals along the street, some solitary, some in pairs. White-suited forensic technicians hurried to and fro in and out of his house, along with what appeared to be a steady stream of police of all types. Then he saw them.
Souls of Men Page 21