Wilderness (Arbogast trilogy)

by Campbell Hart

  No-one noticed while the roar grew louder that one of the photographers had dropped back to check his equipment. He had stopped pointing his camera at the machine as this was not his intended subject. His employer had given him a very special mission. The photographer had been given the equipment earlier that morning. His Pentax K5 appeared industry standard but with a .22 magnum pen gun installed inside it was guaranteed to be the deadliest shot taken that day. The first person to notice there was anything wrong was the Mayor’s PA. Altan Tirpas had raised his hand to reach the back of his neck but by then it was too late. The bullet had severed his spinal cord and he was dead before he hit the ground. About twenty seconds passed before anyone realised what had happened and the silent screaming started. By the time the machines had ground to a halt the press had already been shepherded away. Initially the cause was thought to have been a stray piece of masonry. It wasn’t until the next day that the coroner confirmed the mayor had been shot. And by that time Onur had already left Istanbul for good.

  ***

  When Arbogast arrived at the high flats on Coll Road he had already been round the houses. When Rich had told him the CHIS lived in Red Road he had been slightly off the mark. Anah Uday lived in a single block about a mile from Red Road. It sat alone among an avenue of post war council housing and was somewhat out of place. At 26 floors it was 24 floors bigger than anything else anywhere near it. Arbogast knew he was on the right trail as he had been told to look for the burnt out flat in the middle of the block, which was none too promising in itself. These flats had all been re-rendered over the last few years and looked much better than he remembered. But two weeks after the Coll Road flats had been finished there had been an accident. Frank Fields had been enjoying his usual half and a half at his local pub. The landlord was always happy to see Frank as he spent most of his pension there and Frank was glad to see the landlord as he had nowhere else to go. That plus the heating was free and he couldn’t afford to warm his own place as the electric fire ate up too much money too quickly. Every night was pretty much the same for Frank. Three rounds of drinks, darts, watch the ten o’clock news then home for 11:00. On his last visit, though, he had rather overdone it. A modest win on the national lottery meant that he had been quite drunk by the time he had got home. Failing in his fight to fend off an alcoholic hunger brought on by five too many pints he had fired up the chip pan before promptly firing up his own home. They found Frank’s body next to the cooker. They had picked out bits of tea towel from his face. His case file read that he had slipped and fallen while trying to douse the flames. As Arbogast looked up at the blackened plaster around his 7th floor flat he couldn’t help wonder if there was a worse way to go. ‘Stupid old bugger.’ And that was when he met Anah Uday, who was waiting for him in the hall outside the office of the concierge.

  “Come in here please. It’s OK, I have an arrangement.”

  In the past the high rise blocks all had a concierge on call 24 hours a day. They had lived in the blocks and if something went wrong it was reported and fixed. Now there was one man for eight blocks and nothing got done in a hurry. It became obvious to Arbogast that the office was no longer used, or hardly at any rate. He dusted down a green swivel chair and looked his host over for the first time. Anah Uday was about five feet six inches tall. The story of his eye may have had some truth in it. The eye wasn’t covered up but an injury had left a white globe in its wake which gave his host a rather crazed look. His skin was scarred above his injured right eye but other than that it seemed he had at one time been a good looking man, and he retained a sense of dignity that Arbogast warmed to. This was a man who did not mess about.

  “You want to know about the refugees yes?” Anah Uday said.

  “Not exactly, my colleagues are looking for a Turkish woman who has been taken captive. She’s been working out of sex clubs as a dancer but we think she’s being held by people – possibly connected to John Madoch. Do you know of him?”

  Anah Uday considered this for a while before answering, “I know of this Madoch although I have never met him. His company owns lots of flats in the Red Road,” he said, pointing north. Arbogast followed his hand with his eyes then felt like a fool when he ended up staring at a blank wall.

  “People come and go at the flats – criminals, associates and yes as you say sometimes prostitutes. Usually no-one asks questions. These are not people that need to be caught. They are small fry,’’ he said, mouthing the last two words slowly, relishing the sound.

  “I can’t tell you too much Anah but there’s a woman we must find. I don’t need to speak to her now but I do need to know where she is. She may be the key to an investigation I’m involved with. You would be well paid if we find her.”

  Anah nodded his understanding, “You have perhaps a picture for me to make finding this woman easier?” Arbogast handed off the garish snapshot he had. The only picture they had of the woman, “You wait here and I will return in one hour.”

  Rosalind Ying wished the mobile had been traced to anywhere but ‘here’. Here was floor 21 of 10 Petershill Court. The DCI cursed the broken lifts and wondered why there was no-one on site to fix the damn things. Fifty per cent of the houses were empty, some with their doors lying open. Some had been used as drug dens while other flats were occupied by refugees who spoke little English. And then there were the little old ladies who just wanted someone to talk to. She had been pacing the floors for two and a half hours now and hadn’t even finished block one. The pretence was a neighbourhood watch campaign. To see who opened up and who didn’t. When no one answered she stood and listened but so far there had been nothing that was not just run of the mill. ‘Run of the mill,’ she thought, ‘more like four hours on a treadmill.’ Her calves were aching from the steps and the shuffling along corridors from flat to flat while she shifted her weight from one leg to another whenever she found someone in. Now she stood on the landing of the 21st floor, looking out onto Glasgow from North to South. She had to admit you got a fantastic view from the stairwell. In the distance she could see another block; it looked like there had been a fire in one of the floors.

  He had seen them coming, the police officers, going door-to-door, on his floor. He had panicked at first but then he realised he had no need to. He kept very still as the woman knocked on the door. He watched her facial expressions on the camera. He saw the initial determination followed by the waiting, and then she stood and listened with her ear against the door. But there was no movement here and no sound. John Clark was rigid and Hanom was out cold. All he needed to do was wait and then they would be gone. And then she went to the next door, unaware of how close she had come.

  Kovan Kocack had been alone for a long time. He had gone and left her. He said he wouldn’t be long but he hadn’t come back, that she shouldn’t move and shouldn’t say a word. He said if Kovan said something, anything – when he wasn’t here – especially if he wasn’t here – then he’d still know. He said that if I was a bad girl then mummy wouldn’t come. Not ever again and she wanted to see her mummy. This place was cold. The windows were frozen on the inside leaving ice maidens to glisten in the sun. Every time she touched the glass the cold hurt her. ‘Please come back soon,’ she thought as she pulled the rough blanket around her, ‘please come back soon.’

  16

  Istanbul, Turkey, August 4th 2009

  News of the Mayor’s death spread quickly and by the time Onur arrived home the enormity of what had happened was only just starting to sink in. The authorities had not yet released full details but Onur was certain his brother’s hand had played a part. He knew the Mayor had been shot as soon as he saw the mark at the back of neck. Despite this the event was still being reported as an accident, rather than an assassination. Karim’s threats had been real and it seemed that his help had not been needed after all. Onur’s mind was racing as he tried to figure out what to do. Karim had suggested he would become a target if he refused to help but the attack had taken place anyway. Some
one on the inside had been involved and Onur had come to the conclusion that it had to have been someone he knew. What was worse was that he had been warned but had done nothing. As a thousand possibilities raced through his head a familiar voice sounded behind him.

  “I told you this would happen, brother, you really should have listened.” It was Karim, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, a million miles away from the usual designer suits. “You look surprised to see me but not as surprised as you should be. I told you I needed your help but you didn’t listen. A terrible shame about the Mayor don’t you think? The worst thing is that he wasn’t even the target – it was you,” Karim stopped as Onur struggled to take the information in, “The less you know about the assassination the better but we only had one shot and it missed the target. You should know that they’ll come for you if you stay here.”

  Onur looked horrified, “What on earth are you talking about? Why would anyone want me dead?”

  “Well technically it’s not you that’s the problem, it’s me. My trip to New York did not go to plan. Some money disappeared. I made a mistake and now people are angry, which is natural enough under the circumstances.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that your stupidity has finally got the better of you but I still don’t see what any of this has got to do with me. I work hard and I know nothing of your business. You bring this destruction on my family then turn up with threats.” Hanom walked in and stood between them. Karim looked at Hanom then Onur.

  “In my line of work brother it pays for employers to have insurance. In my case, the firm knew about my family. It has hung over me from the start. I knew that if I made a mistake I would pay and so would my family and unfortunately that means you. Today’s ‘mix up’ will create a lot of problems. The news is already all over the internet but you can bet the hardest questions will be asked right here in Istanbul. I will try and put this right but you need to disappear, get out of the country.”

  Hanom was angry now, “Leave? Leave to where – what would you have us do? Onur don’t listen to this man – he’s a beast – a wicked beast. Why should we listen to you?” she was shouting now and it wasn’t until Kovan appeared in the doorway that she held herself in check, “Kovan my darling. You must be wondering what all the noise is about but don’t worry everything’s OK. Your uncle has had some bad news that’s all. Let’s go upstairs and see what we can find for you to do.”

  The two men watched the girl, who was eyeing them uncertainly, sucking on her thumb for comfort. She knew something wasn’t right but didn’t know what it was, so she started to cry.

  “We must leave now brother,” Karim said. He had raised his arm towards him and Onur thought at first that he meant to shake hands, until he realised he was now squarely in the sights of a gun.

  “What have you got me into?”

  “You will be able to return here someday, but you must leave now if you want to live. I warned you this was coming and although you obviously disregarded what I said I’ve been making plans on your behalf. I have associates in Britain who are willing to give you work. Good work actually in the renewable energy sector. You might even end up quite liking Scotland.”

  “Scotland?”

  “I’m afraid so Onur – that’s where you’re going and we can even make it look official. I have the right papers. I will arrange for Hanom and Kovan to join you in good time but they will need to be smuggled into the country. We cannot leave a trail. I feel responsible for this brother – please let me try and fix it.”

  Onur stared at Karim, unable to speak.

  “Let me put it another way Onur, if you don’t go with me you will all be dead by the end of the week, perhaps sooner. I have a car downstairs that will take you to the airport. It has all been arranged. I will contact you in a few weeks to let you know when the others will follow but you must trust me, this will go smoothly.”

  “This is ridiculous why should we leave for your mistake? I will go to the police and tell them – this is your problem you must have known this might happen?”

  “Ah yes the police, but what would you say to them? That you were given your job after Mr Eser put in a good word for you as a favour to me? That a number of people have died under your watch? That my company is the largest private investor in the Metro? That I am now a wanted man by Interpol? The strands all tie together and I’m afraid they’re all hooked on you. You’ll be taken care of in the UK. I’ll cover your tracks here, it’ll look as if you’ve disappeared.”

  He stopped talking and fired his pistol, the shot ringing past Onur’s head, causing him to grasp his ear in pain. “You will leave now Onur or I will have to take matters into my own hands. This plan cannot be allowed to unravel. You must trust me. You must.”

  Onur was led down and out of the rickety wooden house without so much as a parting word to his family. His ear was bleeding from the blast of the shot and as he looked up he could see his wife and daughter watching from the window. There was another man with them.

  “It’s all for your security Onur. We are blood and you should know that I will not betray you. I will guarantee you will all be reunited and soon. Come now.”

  As the yellow Honda pulled away Onur could not help but feel a growing sense of dread at what exactly his brother had in store for him.

  ***

  Arbogast had been sitting in the little room at the bottom of the high rise flat for more than an hour. He had spent the time checking his emails on his mobile phone. There was no word of progress from the search in Red Road, a work detail he was thankful to have been spared. He could see the buildings where the search was taking place from where he sat. He was glad he would not be going door-to-door in there, which reminded him as he felt a slightly bulging gut that he really ought to try and get running again. He looked up the force Facebook page on his mobile phone, which had been set up specifically for this investigation. They had decided to try to use modern technology to ‘connect with people’ as Norrie Smith had described it. As his thumb glided over the screen of his handset the blue banded web page appeared. There was video footage of Mary and Kovan at the bus stop which sat alongside video interviews with Rosalind and Norrie. The idea was the same as always, to get people to come forward but the page was still unusual enough to have created its own headlines and it had received heavy traffic. They had had a big response in terms of volume but gained little in terms of quality, meaning there were plenty of people coming forward to confirm what they already knew. Still it kept up their public profile and that was half the battle. What they really needed was a break and he could feel they were close. Arbogast was beginning to think he had wasted his time with the CHIS and that he would be sat here a long time for no good reason. He sighed knowing that it had been a long shot that this guy would have heard anything, and even if the call had come from one of the tower blocks what were the chances the woman was still there? Then his phone rang.

  “Detective Arbogast it is Anah Uday here. I may have something for you.” The reception was poor and the phone cut out momentarily, “my contact chchchchchch,”

  “Hello?” Arbogast said, shouting.

  “chchchoch at Red Road, number 10 chchchoch people are leaving.”

  “Fuck.” By the time Arbogast had finished swearing the only thing left in the room to evidence that he had been there at all was a spinning chair and dust mites glinting in the sharp winter light.

  Rosalind Ying had had about enough of the search by the time they were three doors in. She knew that if they didn’t manage to turn something up the investigation would take two steps back, but she still had a feeling that they were getting close to something. She had been paired with PC James Kerr who she had known from a previous job. On floor 22 no-one had been in. As they made her way to the stairwell leading to 23 Rosalind made up her mind to stay positive. ‘Plenty more people to get round.’ She pushed hard against the heavyweight fire doors which creaked under the pressure. She opened the door for James Kerr who climbed the stairs
two at a time. DCI Ying made to follow but stopped midway. She had heard a noise behind her. Rosalind looked to her feet scanning the floor, half expecting to see a rat scurry past, but as she looked back down the corridor she realised she was being watched. A man stood arms crossed, midway out of one of the doors she had just tried. When she caught his glance he disappeared back into the house.

  “Excuse me...excuse me sir can I have a word please?” She looked back but her partner had gone. She knew she shouldn’t proceed alone but curiosity drove her on. 22F, 22E, 22D rolled past until she came face-to-face with a door which was slightly ajar. Rosalind scanned the hall in both directions before deciding to knock.

  “Is there anyone there? This is DCI Ying from Strathclyde Police.” Rosalind slowly opened the door with her index finger. She was not armed but did have a baton. Passing through the door and over the threshold Rosalind could see there was no one there. The door opened onto a hallway with four doors leading off it, three of which were closed. The walls were papered with a faded red floral print which looked like it had been there for a very long time. There were rectangular patches of brighter colour where framed pictures had once hung and a green and brown shag pile carpet which was matted and worn. There was no sign of life so Rosalind extended her baton and crept down the corridor where a door stood open. As she got nearer she could see a man was waiting by the window. He turned as she got to the door and smiled broadly at her. He seemed to be carrying a phone.

  “Come in, I’ve been expecting you,” he said as he raised and pointed the phone. It was only much later that Rosalind realised her mistake. The convulsions which racked her body came from a Taser gun and not a mobile phone. The last thing she remembered before passing out was a delighted smile peering down from above and strong hands covering her face.