Someday Never Comes (#2 - D.I. Paolo Storey Crime Series)

by Frances di Plino

  Paolo smiled. “That clarifies matters. No, we’re not here for that, but I’ll send a uniformed officer out tomorrow to chat to you about Konstandin, if that’s okay with you?”

  “Fine, fine. What can I do for you if it isn’t about that?”

  Dave opened his file and slid the two images across the mammoth desk.

  “We’re looking for information on these two men. Bekim and Edar, we believe they are called.”

  Jetmir reached forward and picked up the images. “No, no,” he said. “I don’t know them. No, don’t know them.”

  He flicked the pictures back on the desk. Paolo noticed the man’s shaking hands.

  “Sorry, Mr Redzepi, but are you sure you don’t know either man? Please have another look.”

  “I don’t know them. I don’t know them,” he said, but made no attempt to pick the photos up again. He stood up. “I’m sorry I haven’t been any help to you, but I am very busy. Very busy. Was there anything else? I have much to do today.”

  Paolo signalled to Dave to pick up the pictures. “There isn’t anything at the moment, but would it be okay to come back if we need to ask you a few more questions?”

  “What about? I’ve told you, I know nothing, know nothing about bad men.”

  “We didn’t say they were bad men, Mr Redzepi.”

  “No need, no need. You are police and asking about them. They must be bad men. I have nothing to do with bad men. Send your uniformed police to me tomorrow. I’ll tell them all about Connor. I am very helpful, very helpful to the police.”

  He came round the desk and opened the door.

  Paolo and Dave had no choice but to shake his hand and leave. The door closed before they had moved more than a couple of steps back towards reception. Paolo put his finger to his lips to stop Dave from commenting on the man’s behaviour. Stopping at the reception desk, he signalled for Dave to open the folder and took out the images. He put them down in front of the receptionist.

  “Before we leave, could you tell me if you’ve ever seen either of these men?”

  She picked them up, one in each hand and studied the faces.

  “I can’t say for sure, but this one,” she said, waving Bekim’s image around, “looks a bit like a bloke who came here to speak to Mr Redzepi a few months back. I don’t know that it really was the same man, but…” She tilted her head to one side and screwed her eyes up in concentration. “Nah, now that I look at him again, I’m not at all sure it was him. Sorry.”

  She handed the images back to Dave. “Was there anything else?”

  “No, thank you. You’ve been very helpful,” Paolo said. “Please, keep the images. Could you show them to your drivers when they come in? If anyone has any information on either man, perhaps they could call me?” He handed her one of his cards.

  “Sure thing,” she said, putting the card and images on her desk, and then turned back to her computer.

  They walked outside and Paolo waited while Dave went through his usual pantomime of searching for his keys. When the doors were finally unlocked, they got in.

  “What do you make of Jetmir Redzepi?” Paolo asked.

  “I couldn’t work him out at all,” Dave said. “He certainly got the wind up when he saw the images, that’s for sure.”

  “Yes,” said Paolo, “but was that because they work for him or because he’s scared of whoever they do work for?”

  “The latter. He looked more scared of them than of us. I don’t think they are connected to him, but I would put a month’s salary on him knowing who they are and what they do.”

  Paolo nodded. “My thoughts exactly. Let’s move on to the next business. Set up your new toy to find the way.”

  “Turn right. After two hundred yards you have reached your destination. You have reached your destination.”

  Paolo grinned. “That sounds just like Mr Redzepi. Did you notice he says some things twice?”

  “I did, but my boss says I have to show more compassion and not make fun of afflicted people. Not even when he does it himself.”

  “Touché,” Paolo said. “That’ll teach me to keep my thoughts to myself.” He looked at the building housing Bogdani Imports. “This looks a bit more upmarket than the haulage place. There must be quite a bit of money in this industry. I wonder what they import.”

  Paolo pushed open the door and the fragrance of exotic spices wafted over him.

  “That answers my question,” he said to Dave.

  Unlike the haulage company, this was not a case of being smarter on the inside. There was a threadbare two-seater couch pushed against one wall. A plant, half dead and in desperate need of light, stood in one corner. A coat rack, overloaded with coats and jackets, filled one wall and a counter spread across the room with a sign saying ‘Reception’ hanging above it. The desk behind the barrier was empty, but there was a bell on the counter with a sign asking visitors to press it for assistance, so Paolo did exactly that. A loud ringing sound could be heard from far off in the bowels of the building.

  They waited for a few minutes, but no one came, so Paolo pressed and held the button down for a few seconds before releasing it.

  “That should bring someone,” Dave said. “If only to disconnect the bell.”

  “Listen,” Paolo said as the sound of someone running got closer and closer.

  A door behind the empty desk opened and a man Paolo recognised burst through.

  “Sorry, I’m here alone at the moment. Can I help you?”

  Paolo held out his hand. “Jeton, isn’t it?”

  Jeton looked surprised. “Sorry, do I know you?”

  “No, but I know your cousin. Not only do you look very much like him, but I saw you together at the hospital. I believe you gave him a lift that day because his car was in for service.”

  Jeton’s brow cleared. “Ah, yes, of course. I remember now. You were there with the woman with the green hair.”

  Paolo laughed. “People do tend to overlook me when I’m with Detective Sergeant Cathy Connor. She works quite closely with your cousin.”

  Jeton nodded. “Yes, I know. Are you here about…no, I mean…sorry, why are you here?”

  “We were hoping to have a word with Mr Bogdani. Is he here?”

  “Yes, he’s in his office. At the back of the warehouse. I’ll take you through to him. We’re a bit short-staffed at the moment. Our receptionist is off with the flu.”

  He lifted a section of the counter for Paolo and Dave to pass.

  “Before we go to see Mr Bogdani, perhaps you could have a look at a couple of images. You might recognise one of them. It would be really helpful if you could.”

  “Sure, of course. Is it to do with…sorry, I’m not supposed to know. Forget I said anything. I don’t want to get Gazmend in trouble.”

  Paolo smiled. “In trouble? In what way?”

  “I’m staying with him at the moment, so can’t help but know about his translating work. When he’s been at social services, he comes back really upset. It’s hard to be in the same room with him for an hour or so until he’s calmed down. He takes it to heart. But I’m not supposed to know where he’s been. He says it’s to do with data protection, so please don’t tell anyone I know about it.”

  “I won’t say a word,” Paolo said, passing the two images Dave had handed him over to Jeton. “We have reason to believe these two could help us with our enquiries. Do you know either of them? That one is Bekim and this one is Edar.”

  The colour left Jeton’s face and he trembled. “No! Sorry. I can’t help you. I’ve never seen either of them before.” He thrust the images back at Dave. “I’ll take you to Mr Bogdani.”

  Paolo and Dave exchanged a glance as Jeton strode off. Another one upset by sight of the images. These two certainly seemed to have made their mark on the Albanian business community.

  The warehouse, in contrast to the deserted reception area, was teeming with activity. Workers moved with precision between rows of shelving, picking boxes to add to t
rolleys. Paolo assumed they were filling orders for customers. Considering the numbers of workers, the place was almost deathly quiet. None of the men spoke and there was no music blasting out, as there was in many of the businesses on the industrial estate. People moved silently from spot to spot, eyes focused on the job in hand.

  Jeton led them across the warehouse to a door in the back wall. He knocked and waited.

  “What?”

  “Mr Bogdani, there are two police officers here to speak to you,” Jeton called through the closed door.

  A few seconds later the door opened to reveal a short, wiry man dressed immaculately in a grey three-piece suit. He glared at Paolo and Dave.

  “She’s lying. I caught her red-handed and if she says otherwise, I’ve got witnesses to prove what happened.”

  Jeton held up a hand. “They aren’t here about Maris, Mr Bogdani.”

  “What?” He turned to Paolo. “Well if it isn’t about that cow, what do you want?”

  “Maybe we could have a chat inside?” Paolo gestured towards the man’s office.

  “Yes, of course. Sorry. I thought you were here about my ex-secretary. She said she would go to the police when I fired her and I assumed that’s what she’d done when Jeton said the police were here. Jeton, what are you standing around for? Get back to work.”

  The look of relief on Jeton’s face as he left made Paolo determined to question him again after they’d finished with his boss. Gazmend’s cousin definitely knew something about the two men – and he’d been at the hospital the day the child was murdered. He might have mentioned to someone what ward she was on. If so, Paolo needed to know who he’d spoken to.

  Jorgi Bogdani strode to his desk and waved vaguely. “Sit down.”

  There was only one visitor’s chair available. Dave signalled for Paolo to take it and stood next to him.

  “We are investigating a case and are looking for information on these two men,” Paolo said as Dave passed the images across the desk.

  After a cursory glance, Jorgi Bogdani nodded. “Bad news, those two. I’m not sure I can tell you much, but the whisper in the Albanian community is that they are involved in things we wouldn’t want our children to know about.”

  “What sort of things?”

  “Drugs, prostitution, all the petty crimes.”

  Paolo raised his eyebrows. “Would you describe those as petty?”

  Jorgi Bogdani scowled. “It isn’t murder and it isn’t theft. Those are the really bad crimes. If kids want to destroy their lives by taking drugs, they are as much to blame as the pushers. Same with women who sell their bodies. No one is forcing them to do it.”

  “You’re wrong there, Mr Bogdani, at least in the case of prostitution. The case we’re investigating involves young girls, children who need to be protected from the likes of these men. Do you know where we can find them?”

  “Why would I know? I don’t associate with such types? What are you implying?”

  “I’m not implying anything,” Paolo said, struggling to keep his temper in check. “I’m simply asking if you are able to help us find these two men.”

  Jorgi Bogdani’s scowl deepened. “I don’t know them. I only know of them. They are a disgrace to our community. They give us all a bad name. I hope you catch them and put them away, but I don’t have a clue where you should start looking.”

  “Are most of your employees Albanian?” Paolo asked.

  “Yes, what of it? Is there a law against giving my own countrymen a helping hand?”

  Paolo sighed. God, this man was hard work. “No, there’s no law and that wasn’t why I was asking. We’d like to show the images to your workers. Maybe one of them can point us in the right direction.”

  “Oh, I see. Yes, go ahead, but please make it quick. They’ll look for any excuse to waste time and the orders have to go out today.” He nodded. “Please close the door on your way out. I need to get on with my paperwork. I don’t have a secretary and the agency says none of the girls on their books will work here. They say I’m too demanding. Too demanding! No wonder there are so many on the dole. No one wants to work hard.”

  Paolo and Dave left the office, carefully closing the door.

  “Bloody hell,” said Dave, “I swear I’ll never moan about my boss ever again.”

  Paolo laughed. “As your boss, I’ll make sure you don’t. Right, let’s show these images around and see if we get any further with his workers than we did with the boss.”

  But no one in the warehouse admitted to knowing either man. Many of them assumed the apprehensive look Paolo was beginning to recognise as the reaction to seeing the two faces, which meant those being questioned were lying when they said they didn’t recognise them, but being scared wasn’t a crime, so there was little Paolo could do to make them tell the truth.

  Handing the images back to Dave to return yet again to the file, Paolo looked around for Jeton, but couldn’t see him anywhere. He asked the man working closest to the reception doorway if he had any idea where Jeton might be.

  “Gone home, mate. He scooted out of here as soon as you went in to see Mr Bogdani. Looked as sick as a pig, he did. Maybe he’s got this flu that’s going around. He’ll be for it, though, if the boss realises he’s skived off.”

  Paolo thanked the man and turned to Dave.

  “I think a visit back here tomorrow is in order, don’t you? I’d like to know why our visit spooked Jeton. Right, let’s make our next stop. Back to town for the language school. Then, just to show you what a kind and understanding boss you have, I’ll treat you to a sandwich at the Nag and Bag.”

  “I’m overwhelmed, sir. A whole sandwich? All to myself? I don’t have to share it with the rest of the office?”

  Paolo grinned. “Don’t push it, Dave, or you might end up with a bag of crisps instead.”

  “Even you won’t find parking here, Dave,” Paolo said as they turned into Conference Road.

  There wasn’t a space anywhere to be seen.

  “You could be right, sir. Oh, hang on, look!”

  “That wouldn’t have happened if I’d been driving,” Paolo said, looking in disbelief as a car pulled out, leaving a spot right in front of the language school.

  Dave manoeuvred the car into position and got out.

  “I wonder what reaction we’ll get here,” he said as Paolo joined him on the pavement. “So far the only person who’s owned up to recognising the men was Jorgi Bogdani, but he wasn’t exactly over helpful, was he.”

  “No, maybe we’ll have better luck in here.”

  A young man in his early twenties greeted them as they entered the school.

  “Good day, may I help you?” he asked in the voice of someone not quite comfortable in English. “I am called Agim Corbajram.”

  “Hello, Agim,” Paolo said. “We would like to see Mr Xhepa. Could you please show us to his office?”

  “A pleasure it is for me to do it,” Agim replied with a formal bow. “You follow, please.”

  Paolo found himself responding and half bowed in return. He caught Dave grinning at him.

  “Any word from you and that packet of crisps is in danger of going the way of the sandwich.”

  Agim turned back to Paolo. “I am sorry, what is you say?”

  “Nothing, just a joke with my Detective Sergeant.”

  Agim stopped walking. “You are police? Is problem with visa? We all have good visa. School arranges. School arranges all.”

  “No, no, nothing like that,” Paolo said. “We need to talk to the owner of the school on something completely different. I’m sure your visas are all in order. Are you here on a course?”

  “Yes. Is good. When I come, I speak little. Now I speak good, yes?”

  “Very good,” Paolo said. “Certainly much better than I can speak any other language.”

  Agim looked pleased with the compliment. They followed him down a carpeted corridor to a staircase and then walked up to the first floor. They stopped outside a door mark
ed Principal. Agim tapped on the door and opened it. He said something in Albanian and then stood back to allow Paolo and Dave to pass.

  “Goodbye,” he said, smiling as he left.

  “Welcome. Do come in and make yourselves comfortable,” Isuf Xhepa said, pointing to a sofa and two armchairs. “What can I do for you?”

  Paolo sat in one of the armchairs and Dave took the other. There was something familiar about the man, but Paolo couldn’t quite place what it was.

  “Have we met before?” he asked.

  Isuf frowned in concentration. “I don’t believe so, but it’s possible we have seen each other at a civic function. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your names? My student said you were from the police.”

  Paolo took out a card. “My apologies. I should have introduced myself straightaway. I’m Detective Inspector Storey. This is Detective Sergeant Johnson. We’d like to ask you if you recognise either of these two men. If yes, could you give us any information regarding their whereabouts?”

  Isuf took the images from Dave. His hands shook in what now seemed to be a normal fashion whenever anyone handled the images.

  “I’ve seen them around, but I’m afraid I have no idea who they are or where you could find them. What is it they’ve done?”

  Paolo knew the man was lying about something, but what exactly? He’d certainly recognised the men, but like so many others, he seemed to be scared of them.

  “We’re looking for them to assist with our enquiries on a case. At this stage we don’t know that they have done anything, but we do need to speak to them. You say you’ve seen them around, could you be more specific?”

  Isuf swallowed. “No, I’m afraid not. It could have been anywhere. Maybe in the market or on the street. I’m sorry I can’t help you. Was there anything else?”

  Paolo and Dave stood up.

  “No. Thank you for your time, Mr Xhepa. Sorry to have bothered you.”

  A smile of pure relief washed over the man’s face. “No bother at all. We’re always happy to assist the police here.”