database, Simon Nichols is an alias for a Bulgarian criminal called Simcho Nikolov. They’re sending the complete file on him ASAP.’
Fry tapped the photograph. ‘He’s a suspect for this shooting in Pleven?’
‘He was a known associate of Yotova’s, and he disappeared about the time of the shooting. The Bulgarian police have been looking for him ever since.’
‘So he could be a professional hit man,’ said Hitchens.
‘It looks that way,’ said Kessen. ‘Europol intelligence has come up with two more associates of Nikolov’s: the Zhivko brothers — Anton and Lazar. It appears they were members of a criminal gang that got involved in some kind of turf war. The older brother, Anton, was badly injured. He got a bullet lodged in his spine and was left paralysed from the waist down. The Zhivkos had enough money stashed away from their criminal activities that they were able to do a runner and get clear of the country.’
‘Don’t tell me they’re here?’
‘Yes, right here in Derbyshire. Two years ago, the Zhivko brothers opened an electrical shop in Chesterfield. It’s possible Nikolov came here to join them. So far, they’ve behaved themselves, but Europol have passed on a tip-off that the Zhivkos are expecting a visitor from their own country — a visitor they might not welcome. An organized crime surveillance unit has been set up in Chesterfield to keep an eye on things.’
‘An East European feud happening on our territory?’ Hitchens ran a hand through his hair. He was starting to look less elegant than he had when the week started. ‘We’d better find out if we have any more Bulgarians in the area. I’ll run a check on the dispersal facilities, for a start.’
Kessen studied Fry. ‘There’s a job for you, Diane. Europol have arranged for an English-speaking officer to liaise with us from Pleven. He’ll be calling this morning. And I want you to deal with him.’
Fry was aghast. ‘With respect, sir, I’ve got far more important things to do than become involved in international liaison — especially on the basis of such a tenuous connection.’
‘Not quite so tenuous,’ said Kessen calmly. ‘DC Cooper is following up a potential lead to Simon Nichols in the exact area where Rose Shepherd made calls to a public phone box. And don’t forget that the victim had the international dialling code for Bulgaria in her address book — the magic 359.’
Still fuming, Fry went back to her own desk. Bulgaria. The Balkans, right? A former Soviet bloc country, a bastion of Communism during the Cold War era. But what else did she know about it? Nothing.
Fry was still trying to picture what a Bulgarian might actually look like, when her phone rang.
‘Hello, DS Fry.’
‘
Fry tried to mask her sigh. ‘Oh, Sergeant Kotsev. Hello. Thank you for sparing the time to talk to us.’
‘It’s a pleasure to co-operate with our colleagues in the United Kingdom.’
His voice was deep and only slightly accented, not what Fry had expected at all. It didn’t fit the Slavic stereotype that had been lurking at the back of her mind — some hatchet-faced villain out of a James Bond film. Kotsev sounded like the man they saved for PR work, smooth and articulate, with excellent English.
‘I have your fax about the two shooting victims in Pleven,’ said Fry. ‘I wonder if you have any further information?’
‘We know that they were both shot with an assault rifle, probably a Kalashnikov AK47.’
‘Are AK47s commonly available in Bulgaria?’
‘If you know the right people, of course.’
Fry grunted, unsurprised. Kalashnikovs were everywhere. They’d become legendary around the world’s trouble spots.
‘We manufacture a great many Kalashnikovs in Bulgaria,’ said Kotsev, perhaps misinterpreting her silence. ‘Yes, even now.’
‘And they’re used by criminal gangs, Sergeant?’
Kotsev laughed. ‘
Fry could have listened to him talk for a while, his voice was so interesting. She guessed he’d be one of those people who were terribly disappointing when you met them in person, because their faces didn’t match the picture their voices conjured up. Probably he
‘Any idea of a motive for these killings?’ she asked.
‘Certainly. People want money. Sometimes they see a way of filling their pockets and getting away with it.’ From the tone of his voice, she could almost hear Kotsev shrug. ‘And then they get drawn in to events. They mix with the wrong people.’
‘And the law catches up with them.’
‘The law? Not so often.’
Fry didn’t feel able to join in with his chuckle. She turned back to the report on the shooting. ‘Dimitar Iliev was involved in organized crime, is that right?’
‘Yes, we believe so. But Iliev was a very small player in the game, who became greedy, we think. He and Yotova were found in their car on the E83 highway outside Pleven. We don’t know where they were heading.’
‘Tell me what you know about Simcho Nikolov.’
‘Nikolov is aged fifty-five, a native of the Rhodope Mountains. An army veteran. He was a companion of Iliev’s for many years — indeed, they served together as soldiers, but fell on bad times after release from the army. Like so many, these two men turned to crime. For a long time, they were protected from prosecution by their connection with powerful criminal bosses.’
‘But their luck ran out,’ said Fry.
‘Iliev’s did, at least. Simcho Nikolov has been sought ever since. We have had no news of him.’
‘The shooting was a year ago. You don’t seem to have made a lot of progress.’
‘Sadly, that is not unusual in this type of investigation.’ ‘Well, could you keep us updated?’
‘I’ll fax you any relevant information if we have new developments. Would that be suitable?’
‘Yes, excellent.’
Kotsev paused. She thought she heard him drinking, and imagined a cup of decent coffee in his hand. Did they have good coffee in Bulgaria? Just the idea of it was making her mouth dry.
‘And what about you, Sergeant Fry?’ he said. ‘What is your situation?’
‘One of my colleagues is following up a possible lead to Nikolov. In fact, he’s on his way to the address right now. And we’ve identified some associates of Nikolov’s living in the area. Two brothers by the name of Zhivko.’
Sergeant Kotsev seemed to choke over his coffee. ‘Zhivko? Anton and Lazar?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is one of them disabled? In a wheelchair?’
‘I believe so.’
‘You should arrest them immediately.’
Surprised by the sudden urgency in his tone, Fry raised her eyebrows at her colleagues in the office, the way they all did when they had someone strange on the phone.
‘They don’t appear to have committed any crimes here, Sergeant,’ she said. ‘But we’ve got them under surveillance.’
‘They’re dangerous people. And so are their associates. Anton Zhivko was almost killed in an assassination attempt by a rival gang. That was why they left the country.’
‘We’re aware of that. But they seem to be running a legitimate business so far.’
‘That is a joke.’
‘No.’
‘The Zhivkos are desperate men. In fear of their lives, and therefore dangerous.’
‘I’ll mention your concerns to my senior officers.’
There was silence at the other end of the phone for a moment. The line to Pleven was so good that she could hear Kotsev breathing, and even the faint buzz of background conversation, and a door closing somewhere.
