Family Reunion

by Robert F Barker

  ‘Now then, my little Indian ruby.’ The ripple of delight that passed through Radi marked his pleasure at seeing her again. ‘You have been away too long. I am so pleased to see you.’ Then, remembering his manners he turned to Carver. ‘And to meet your friend.’ Carver nodded back, amused, but also impressed by the man’s open display of affection. Would that more people felt that way about their local police.

  For a couple of minutes Radi and Padma talked family. Radi asked after her work and parents. She enquired as to his wife, son and daughters and how business was doing. Carver wasn’t certain which business she meant. After being let in by Radi, Eric delivered a tray laden with coffee in small cups which Carver knew would taste foul, a bottle of Rakija, and glasses. As he laid them out Eric’s eyes hardly left Carver, but he said nothing. When he’d gone, Radi locked the door behind him.

  ‘Drink,’ Radi said, sweeping his hand over the tray.

  Carver took his coffee and sipped at it, fearing the worst. It was wonderful, not too sweet and full of flavour, Nothing like the ground-earth bitterness that characterises most Greek-Balkan brews. It drew him to exclaim, ‘This is really good.’

  Radi showed surprise. ‘You think I would serve shit to my guests?’ Carver glanced at Padma who chuckled in a way that showed her natural charm. She was clearly at home in these surroundings. Radi poured them shots of the Rakija. As Padma took hers and knocked it straight back, Carver’s estimation of her went up another notch.

  The drinks ritual completed, Radi brought his chair round and sat down in front of Padma, eyeing her, slyly. ‘Now, be honest with your old bunic. What is it you are wanting from me?’

  Padma smiled. ‘What makes you think I have not come just for the pleasure of seeing you again?’

  Radi scoffed. ‘Well first of all, I am old and wrinkled, while you are young and beautiful. Secondly, with all respect to your friend,’ he nodded politely to Carver, who returned it. ‘You would not bring someone so important here unless it was business.’

  Padma gave a wry grin before accepting defeat. ‘Mr Carver - Jamie - is trying to find some people. An Armenian family. I thought you might have had business with them.’

  Radi’s put on a serious face, giving her a pointed look he did not share with Carver. ‘Business?’

  She nodded, matching his seriousness, look for look. ‘Business.’

  Sitting off to Radi’s left, Carver just caught the way Radi’s eyes flicked in his direction before returning to Padma.

  ‘It is alright, Radi. Jamie is okay.’

  Carver wasn’t certain what, exactly, Padma’s ‘Okay’ was intended to convey to Radi. He assumed it was something to do with trust, and that Radi could talk openly about his ‘business’ without having to worry that Carver would react the way some senior police officers might upon hearing about certain, unregulated activities. Whatever it was, it had the desired effect. Radi turned in his chair to face Carver squarely, arms stretched out in front so his hands rested upon his knees. For several moments he explored the detective’s face, before speaking.

  ‘So, Mr Jamie. Our mutual friend Padma vouches for you. You are therefore my trusted friend as well. She has told you about me, yes?’

  Carver shook his head. ‘Not a word.’ Radi turned to Padma, surprised.

  She shrugged. ‘It would not be right for me to tell him without your permission bunic,’

  Radi studied Carver one last time. ‘Then you have my permission.’

  Padma turned to Carver. ‘Radi is a banker. At least he was in his own country.’ She turned to the older man, as if to apologise in advance. ‘Now, I suppose he would be called, a money-lender.’ Radi shrugged his acceptance of the term.

  ‘That is correct Mr Jamie. I am from Bulgaria, and for, ahem, various reasons would not be given a license to bank in your country. Unfortunately there are many people who need money, but dare not use the banks here because-’ He hesitated.

  ‘Because they aren’t supposed to be here,’ Carver finished.

  Radi pushed his bottom lip out and spread his hands in a, ‘What can I say,’ gesture. But he was quick to clarify.

  ‘Please do not think that I deal with the criminals Mr Jamie. The drug-peddlers and money launderers. Nor am I one of these usurers who bleed people to death with their squeezing interest rates. I run a co-operative, on behalf of the peoples of many communities, not just my own. And we charge only as much interest as we need to keep things going.’ His hand swept out, gesturing beyond the walls. ‘As you can see, I am not a rich man. I have to work for a living, like other people.’

  Carver had never met a banker prepared to admit to being rich, but tempered his scepticism. In the short time he had known Radi, his wizarding skills had been working flat out. So far, he had seen or heard nothing that suggested the man wasn’t saying anything he didn’t truly believe. And by admitting even the little he had already, Radi had shown a degree of trust that Carver felt duty bound to return. Besides, Carver had met some like him before. People who genuinely see it as their responsibility to do whatever they can to help others within their community, whatever their status.

  ‘I believe you,’ Carver said.

  ‘Good. So tell me, Mr Jamie. Who is this family you are looking for?’

  Carver told him about Vahrig Danelian, and the urgent need to find his family.

  Radi looked troubled when Carver told of their fears as to what Vahrig intended. He asked what Carver knew of them.

  ‘All I can tell you are the names they went under in Armenia and their approximate ages.’ He handed Radi the sheet of paper he had brought with him.

  ‘Photographs?’ Radi said.

  ‘Only of Vahrig, I’m afraid.’ He dug one out and passed it across. Radi looked at it blankly, before placing it on his desk. ‘All the ones of his family appear to have been destroyed I’m afraid.’

  ‘Ach.’ Radi shook his head, gravely.

  Carver glanced towards Padma for confirmation before asking his next question. ‘Do you think it likely the family might have turned to you?’

  Deep in thought, it was a moment before Radi replied. ‘I am sorry, what? Oh yes. If they are Armenian, almost certainly.’ Carver’s heart did a little skip. Radi continued. ‘The only ones who do not come to me are the Chinese and Africans. They like to handle their own affairs. And people nearly always come to see me first. There is nowhere else they can go you see. Even if they have money, where can they change it?’

  Carver considered it - how obvious - and wondered why he had never thought about it before. He resolved that the next time he needed to track down ‘illegals’, the first people he would turn to would be the money-lenders.

  Without saying a word, Radi got up and went across to a shelf that ran the length of the wall behind his desk. It was packed tight with ledgers and journals. He ran a finger along them as if hoping to magically coax out one that might contain the information Carver needed. On his way back, he stopped a third of the way along, and pulled out several ledgers. They were all thick, and dusty. As he opened one up, checking the dates, Carver caught a glimpse of the columns of entries. Each journal had to contain several hundred transactions. Unless Radi already remembered something, it didn’t look like it was going to be easy, or quick.

  Radi stacked the ledgers on his desk, brought his chair back round and sat down. He looked first at Carver. ‘I will try to find who you are looking for.’ Then he turned to Padma. ‘I will ring you when I have something.’

  As he let them out, Carver and Radi shook hands again. ‘Thank you, Radi,’ Carver said, noting from the corner of his eye that Radi’s minder was off his stool and in the alert position again. He wondered how much cash was in the safe.

  Padma leaned forward and kissed Radi on the forehead. ‘I am grateful, bunic. I will be in touch.’

  As they left through the shop, Eric was re-stocking shelves and Carver felt the young man’s gaze follow him all the way out the front door.

  Back in the
Golf, Carver turned to Padma. ‘An interesting character. How did you get to know him?’

  For a second she looked at him strangely, then she said, ‘Through my own bunic. My grandfather on my mum’s side. Apparently he and Radi did business together when mum’s family first moved here.’

  Carver blinked. ‘You mean your mother’s family was….’ But the look on her face told him he should drop it. He turned the engine. ‘Bloody hell.’

  Carver waited, letting a couple of cars pass before pulling away. Checking his mirror, he just caught sight of the dark figure who came out of the newsagents, a couple of doors down from Radi’s. Given the time of year, his long black coat seemed out of place. Unsure if his first impression was correct, Carver watched as the man stepped further out onto the pavement, as if following their departure. Though certain he had never seen him before, Carver had no trouble recognising that they had been made.

  ‘Your friend Radi may be sound, but I think some of his fellow countrymen round here aren’t too keen on the likes of us hanging around.’ He jerked a thumb behind him.

  Padma turned to look but when Carver checked again, the man had gone.

  ‘I never suggested this was a crime-free area,’ she said.

  Carver chuckled. ‘And how right you are.’

  Back at the NCA, Carver was heading down the corridor to his office when he met Terry West coming the other way. He had never seen West this side of the divide before and the way he reacted when he saw Carver made him wonder what he was doing there.

  ‘I’m looking for Jess,’ West explained, too quickly. ‘Thought she might be with you.’

  ‘A phone call would have done it,’ Carver said.

  ‘Thought it was time I saw how the NCA operates,’ Terry said.

  Carver half-turned back in the direction of the main office. West would have passed it to get this far. The Merseysider didn’t flinch.

  ‘Nice set-up,’ he said. ‘But I’d better leave you to it. You’re obviously busy.’

  Carver watched as West re-traced his steps down the corridor and out through the dividing door, before making his way to his own office.

  On entering he checked around but couldn’t see anything that looked like it had been disturbed. Thinking he was being paranoid, he dropped into his chair - just as his monitor went to screen-saver. It was set up to kick in after an annoyingly short three minutes and Carver had never got round to adjusting it. He stared at it for a few seconds, then moved the mouse. The web-browser came back up, still showing the home page of the Armenian Community and Church Council of Great Britain, the last place he’d trawled for inspiration before heading out to meet Padma.

  He looked up at the door through which Terry West would have left some three minutes before.

  ‘Damn,’ he said.

  CHAPTER 32

  The porcelain cup rattled on its saucer as Radi Maleeva handed it across to his visitor. As he did so, the moneylender took heart from knowing that Ishvan was at his post, only a few short feet away.

  Radi could not remember ever leaving the office door unlocked while he did business, not even the time he was visited by those two Romanians seeking to discuss ‘insurance.’ But having seen the cold look in his visitor’s face when he invited him to take coffee, Radi decided he would be happier knowing Ishvan could respond to any summons instantly, without having to worry about him getting through the door.

  The man in the black coat’s arrival – only minutes after Padma and Carver left - had caught Radi unprepared. He had anticipated that after the officers had gone, he would have time to think it all through, to decide what to do for the best before dealing with the man in the black coat again. Instead, he was having to work hard at not letting his nervousness show.

  There was definitely something different about the man this time. An edginess that was not there when he first showed up claiming to be an Armenian undercover police officer seeking an escaped killer. Though initially suspicious, as Radi always was of people who refused to say how they’d learned of him and the services he provided, Radi eventually accepted the man’s story. That the Armenian authorities wished to keep the British Government in the dark concerning the extent of their security and border failures had the ring of truth about it, particularly as Radi was only too aware of certain members of the Armenian Governments’ complicity in the illegal trafficking of people, especially young women, from that area. To Radi, a man working on his own, with a brief to detain an embarrassing escapee and arrange for his ‘unofficial repatriation’ sounded plausible. No fuss no bother.

  It was only later, after the man had left, that Radi thought, why go to the trouble of returning such a man at all? If this, ‘undercover officer’, did manage to track his man down, why not deal with him there and then? What good would it do taking him all the way back simply to incarcerate him for the rest of his miserable life? No. Far simpler to end things here. A knife in the night and it was done. Even if the body were found, so what? The local police wouldn’t have a hope of identifying him, or tracing his killer. He would just be one more dead illegal amongst the increasing number the English police had to deal with these days. It wouldn’t be the first time such action had been taken on English soil by foreign governments. And unless Radi’s ability to judge character had suddenly waned, his visitor was possessed of all the qualities such a solution required, and in ample measure.

  But following Padma’s visit, Radi was confused. The undercover man – he gave his name as Garo – had insisted that his mission and the background to it were not known to the British authorities. So how was it Padma and her colleague were looking for the same man? The detective, Carver, had spoken of someone from Armenia’s Health Ministry assisting him. That did not fit with any supposed ‘undercover’ operation.

  So what was going on?

  It was only Radi’s natural wariness of being too open with the police - his experiences in his home land had conditioned him to exercise caution in such matters - that prevented him from telling Padma about this other fellow as soon as he heard they were looking for the same family. And the way his visitor was now pumping him, Radi was beginning to wish he had done.

  ‘Are you certain, Radi?’ Garo said, as he sipped at his coffee. ‘They made no mention at all of the matters that interest me?’

  Radi feigned indifference. ‘As I have told you, it was to do with a gang fight in the city. A man was stabbed. They have information it was someone from around here. They thought I may be able to help.’

  As he spoke, Radi avoided the man’s searching gaze by pretending to be looking for something amongst the papers strewn over the desk. Nevertheless he was conscious of the man’s scrutiny. When his casual explanation was met only with silence, he glanced up to see Garo’s eyes roaming the desk, as if looking for what could be of such importance as to distract Radi from giving him his full attention.

  ‘And what did you tell them?’ Garo said, eventually.

  Radi shrugged. ‘What I always tell them. That I will make enquires and contact them if I hear anything.’

  ‘And will you?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  Garo nodded, beginning to seem less agitated than he was when he arrived. ‘This is wise. A man in your position should not be seen to be cooperating with the police here against your own kind. It would not be… acceptable.’

  Radi was quick to concur. ‘My view also.’

  ‘Of course the same does not hold for myself. After all, we are compatriots.’ The way Garo looked at him, Radi was in no doubt as to his meaning. ‘So what do you have for me? Have you found out what I asked?’

  Radi showed regret. ‘Alas, not yet, Inspector. It seems that the family keep very much to themselves these days. If they ever had a son back home, no one knows of it.’

  The man drew himself up in his chair and let out a long sigh that sounded like disappointment. The way he looked at him, Radi thought for a moment he was about to tell him he believed none of it. He prayed that
Ishvan had not chosen that moment to relieve himself. But the man seemed simply to be considering his options.

  ‘What about the daughter? She goes out doesn’t she? She must have friends, people she talks to?’

  Radi shook his head. ‘Her father is crippled and her mother ailing. She spends most her time looking after them. She does not seem to have a life outside her home.’ For a moment, Radi forgot about his own dilemma. ‘It is a great shame. Such a lovely girl.’

  As Radi spoke of her, wistfully, he saw Garo’s gaze become unfocused. For what seemed a long time he stared out into empty space, as if his mind had suddenly wandered elsewhere. And for some reason the leering half-smile that played around his mouth, made Radi’s flesh crawl. With a shake of his head, Garo returned and, to Radi’s relief, stood up. But as he made ready to leave, he fixed Radi with a cold look and when he spoke, his voice had dropped an octave.

  ‘You must try harder, Radi. I must know if this is the family I seek before I do anything. No one else must learn I am here. You must promise me.’

  Radi swallowed. ‘Of course, sir. I will do everything I can. I swear.’

  ‘Good. Thank you for the coffee. It was excellent.’

  As the man left the shop, Radi saw him nod and smile to Nadia on the till. A chill ran down his spine, making him shudder.

  It was only when he returned to his office, after making sure Ishvan was going nowhere and locking himself in again that he saw it. On the desk, near to where Garo had sat, right where the English detective had left it. The photograph of Vahrig Danelian, was half-obscured by the papers he had shuffled round. But it was visible enough for someone to make out the face if they already knew it. And as Radi remembered Garo’s eyes wandering over the desk – might he have missed it? - a feeling of dread took up residence in his stomach, and refused to leave.

  That evening as they drove home, Nadia in the back seemed to notice her father’s distraction.