Death and Deception (22 page)

He rang the station. The foreigners were Latvians, of all people. Bill would try to find him an interpreter, and get started on the boxing angle. There was yet another message from his Mum. He had to tell her where Alison was at some point, but not now. He put the phone back in his pocket, and tried to ignore the itch of guilt.

What kind of a man am I, he asked himself as he strode along to the mortuary, that I prefer to seek out the company of a dead man rather than deal with my emotions regarding the living?

Date: Wednesday 26th April
Time: 11:27
Irina Akis

Irina Akis finished her cigarette and ground it under the toe of her knee-length black leather boot. She had positioned herself outside Blockbusters’ Video and Game store and was watching the alleyway leading to the studio door through the reflection in the window. She adjusted her focus and noticed that her hair, usually dead straight and almost white, was curling and going frizzy in the drizzle that had begun to fall. Adjusting her focus again, she noticed that the two youths serving in the shop were beckoning to her and grinning. She gave them the finger and stalked away.

The Police had been in the studio for hours. The British police weren’t armed, were they? So how had Filip lost his gun? He was as strong as a moose. And Filip wasn’t answering his phone either, so she had to assume it had been taken away.

She made her way up the High Street and found Grigor waiting in Nando’s. He’d ordered her a coffee.

‘The investigation team is packing up, but they will have taken everything they could find, so I don’t see the point of trying to get in to look around.’

She took a seat opposite him.

Grigor checked if anyone was within listening distance. Irina laughed, ‘I doubt there are more than half a dozen people in this whole city who

speak Latvian, Grigor. Relax.’

He glared across at her.

‘I am worrying that if Filip is in prison, he will talk to the Police and leave us to take the rap.’

Irina laughed again, a light, tinkling sound,

‘ “Take the rap!” You’re beginning to speak like an American movie star. This is England, not LA.’

‘Anyway, we will not worry too much. Filip will be able to hold out against the English Police without too much trouble. We just need tonight, then we are finished. I shall meet the actors later and prepare them at the house. You will do the filming instead of Jed. You do know how to do that, don’t you, darling?’

Grigor nodded. He was temporarily unable to speak as Irina had pushed the pointed tip of her boot up under the table and was pressing it hard against his testicles.

‘We should aim to be on the boat for the sailing early tomorrow morning. The finished DVDs are in the van already so we will just upload the master copy for tonight’s film from the laptop, then drop that machine and all the others into the North Sea - untraceable.’ She frowned, a little crease appearing between her fine eyebrows. ‘We will have to arrange for a different method of production when we get home. Abrams is no longer of use to us now that he is known to the police. It is such a shame. This business arrangement has been very lucrative for us.’

Grigor shifted to his left, wriggling away from her grip.

‘Won’t the Police be round to search Jed’s house? They have him in custody. He will talk. It’s too dangerous to continue.’

Irina fixed the shards of blue ice that passed for eyes onto Grigor’s handsome face.

‘For you, it is too dangerous not to continue. Jed will not talk. He is more frightened of me than any English ‘Bobby’. She shook her head and smoothed down the damp frizz. ‘No, we will continue. Jed will give the address of his city centre flat, not the address of his parents’ house, to the Police. He is not completely stupid. Why should they even know about it? We use the house. They are away. It’s easy. Stop worrying. I do the worrying, darling.’

‘What about Filip?’ he persisted.

Again the laugh.

‘He has always been just the muscle, Grigor, you know that. If he survives whatever injury he has sustained, he has enough sense not to talk to the Police. He may have to spend some time in prison, but an English prison is like a holiday camp, no? If he does well, we will reward him. If not, we will take his family, one at a time. We all know the rules when we join the team.’

She wandered outside to smoke a cigarette and answer her phone, leaving Grigor to stir the froth on his cappuccino and ponder, yet again, what gods he had angered.

Grigor often wondered who the ‘we’ in the team were. He had only known Irina and her father. He had grown up with Filip in a village outside Saldus in the country south west of Riga. There was no work on the family farm so they had both headed for the bright lights of the city. Within days they had lost their money at cards, been assaulted, propositioned and robbed. Only a residual spark of pride had prevented them from crawling home.

Being found by Irina had felt like winning the lottery. She had said she was twenty-five, also from the country, and that she was looking for two honest young men to protect her in the big, frightening city. They could not resist the slim blonde with the longest legs they had ever seen, even if they tried.

So, she dressed them, fed them, trained them at the best gyms, boxing clubs and firing ranges. They never questioned where she got her money. Filip, always a large, strong boy, found his vocation in boxing and became quite well known on the circuit. Grigor was better with guns.

Then, after a year or so, she took them into her ‘family’ and their lives had been a living nightmare ever since. They had met Pavels Akis, her father, just once. Grigor could not forget the fear that had been instilled about what would happen to his family, one by one, if he betrayed Irina. There were even pictures of his mother and his sister in a file with his name on it. There was no going back, that was abundantly clear.

Irina was one of the most damaged people Grigor and Filip knew. She claimed to belong to this wealthy old Latvian family, but they had seen no sign of aristocracy or gentility in the four years they had worked for her. Pavels Akis ran the port of Riga and took a cut from every ship that landed there. He had Irina in a grip just as tight as the one in which she held Grigor and Filip.

Also, Grigor had come to realise, there was no way that Irina was twenty-nine. When he looked closely, he could see the flat features of Botox and the too-white teeth of the cosmetic dentist. He thought she must be in her late thirties at the least. She had snared them as easily as any spider might snare an unsuspecting fly.

He stared at her now, back through the window of the café. She was waving her arms about and shouting between puffs on her cigarette. She liked to hurt people, and he did not like to be hurt.

Her exploitation of the burgeoning market in child pornography, something that made Grigor sick to even think about, had made her a fortune and destroyed dozens of young lives. She liked to direct the films herself. Filip was convinced her father had probably abused her as a child. But, it didn’t matter why she did it. They were both as lost as she was now, too far into the filth to escape. They could never be clean again.

The move to production in England had come at exactly the right time, as the local police had begun to notice the rise in kiddie porn available in Riga.

Jed Abrams had been in the city, promoting a band. The meeting between him and Irina at a nightclub in the centre of Riga, gave her all the contacts she needed to set up in Exeter, and clean up her business at home. From her offices at the docks, she shipped her films all over Europe under the cover of being a courier for a Swedish film company. She had made a fortune over the Internet.

Irina came back inside and sat down, looking at him from under her eyelashes. She had drunk her cappuccino and crunched the little biscuit, and was scooping out the froth with her finger.

‘What are you thinking about? Are you worried about Filip?’

When Grigor nodded, she laughed again. ‘It is about time you two were separated for a while. Anyway, I have news for you. This will be my last trip. I am leaving the family business. It has been agreed that you will take over my role in the film production and liaise directly with my father. He is sorting out the details ready for when we return.’

She smiled again … a different smile. A smile that said she had somehow persuaded Pavels Akis to let her go.

For Grigor, it was the first moment in his life that he considered suicide.

Date: Wednesday 26thApril Time:12:
30
Royal Devon & Exeter Hospital

Miles Westlake endured the nods, tuts and warnings of the consultant. He made the appropriate noises to the psychologist, reassuring her that the suicide attempt was a terrible mistake, an impulsive response to a dreadful situation. As feeling returned to his body, he was allowed out of bed. He took his medication and ate a little breakfast. Odd that he could feel no pain, although he knew his organs must be damaged.

He was allowed to visit his small bathroom, as long as he pulled the drip along with him on a trolley. The consultant said that he had sustained some permanent damage to his liver and kidneys, and that he may need a transplant in the future. He also said that a fast recovery was a sure sign of someone who had a strong desire to live. Miles really had a strong desire to die, and possibly to kill. But to do either, he had to get out of the hospital.

He noted the change of guard as the young police officer was replaced by an older man with greying hair and the beginnings of a paunch. He knew the Police would be in to interview him at some point during the day, and that he would go to prison as soon as he was signed out of hospital. His clothes, minus his belt and shoelaces, hung in the alcove. He had to be ready for any opportunity.

As soon as the orderly had removed his lunch tray, Miles staggered out of bed and headed for the bathroom making as much noise as he could. The head of the Policeman guarding him appeared in the window, was happy with what he saw and disappeared again. Miles heard the orderly giving the guard a cup of tea. He disconnected himself from the drip and, crouching, passed by the door again to grab his clothes from the hooks. He dressed in the bathroom and put his hospital issue gown on over his jeans and shirt, hiding his trainers under the bed.

Then he got back into bed to wait for fate to intervene, as he knew it would. He had to finish a task, and he knew that was why he had been allowed to live for just a little longer. Then, he would be allowed to be with Carly.

Grigor Pelakais sat in the black Mercedes van with the blacked-out windows in the car park opposite the main entrance to the Royal Devon and Exeter Hospital. Dozens of people had arrived and left in the half hour he had been sitting there.

Grigor had good English, it had been taught as the second language in his school, and he did most of the talking on their journeys to and from the country. But, he didn’t know whether he could bluff his way into and out of a hospital. He shrugged. If his plan worked, he just had to get in. Even if it was dangerous, he had to know if Filip was dead or alive, so it was worth the risk of being caught before he got to the right place. Filip had never been very good at schoolwork, and Grigor doubted that he could remember enough English to speak to the doctors. Or the Police. He needed Grigor.

What had Filip been thinking, shooting a Police officer? Shooting anyone? Grigor handled the guns, not Filip. Had Irina given Filip a gun? Had she told him to shoot the Policemen? He wouldn’t have put it past her to want Filip to be captured. She was jealous of their friendship. And it could explain why she was so relaxed about what had happened.

He looked at his watch, 12.30 pm. He’d left Irina at the house, getting the rooms ready for the filming. He’d got the rest of the afternoon to himself before she wondered where he was. Grigor glanced down at the seat beside him. He had found the Army and Navy Stores easily and soon realised that they were pretty much the same all over Europe. The lab coat had cost him ten pounds, the soft clogs another fifteen, and the sheaf of notes and diagrams had been printed from a medical website. If he’d walked in there in his Gucci shoes and Armani suit, he would have stood out like a black bear in a petting zoo. He changed in the van. As he turned to lock the door, he picked up the last part of his disguise - the lanyard and name tag, slung it round his neck and headed for the main entrance.

Grigor didn’t pause in the Atrium and did not approach the information desk. Instead, he walked straight through, down past the shops and cafeteria until he came to a junction. There he pretended to look at his notes while he scanned the massive wall for signs for something he might recognise.

PC Will Rowntree was helping his colleague, PC Andy Waters, to complete the Daily Mirror crossword. They were at either end of the Intensive Care Unit, guarding the two prisoners. Waters thought his guy would survive. He was getting out of bed and going to the toilet on his own, but Rowntree wasn’t so sure about his guy, the big foreigner. He hadn’t moved much, although the nurse said he had regained consciousness a few minutes ago. He must be a tough bugger, thought Will. Rumour had it that their new DI, Dan Hellier had battered him with his baton and crushed his skull when he saw that the guy had shot Ian Gould. Nice one, thought Will. He wondered if they taught you to do that in the Met.

His attention was pulled back into the corridor as he noticed that Andy had stopped whistling under his breath as he wrestled with the clues. He was looking left, past Will’s chair. Will followed his gaze to see a tall doctor standing at the end of the corridor, carrying a sheaf of papers. He wasn’t one of the team that had come round earlier in the day. The man moved towards Will slowly, reading from one of the papers in his hand. He stopped in front of the constable.