Scared to Live

a monthly fee, you understand. Owners who refused to pay fell victim to repeated robberies. You would call it the protection racket. Now mutra daddies drive around in armed convoys, and the only way we can get rid of them is if one of their own does it for us. These people behave as if they’re living in a Hollywood movie. We have Anton “The Beak” and Vassil “The Scalp”. Until now, they have been untouchable.’

‘Why untouchable, Georgi?’

Kotsev tapped his nose. ‘Connections. It is said that some of our highest government officials owe their positions to an association with these gangsters. And now they’re in a difficult position. Our government wants to join the European Union. The European Union says we must get rid of our Mafia. “If the police are issuing traffic tickets but turning their backs on major organized crime,” they say, “it raises a question over how democratic your country is.” Would you agree?’

‘Well, yes.’

‘Dobre. There you have our problem. Sadly, if we don’t make progress in this area, it will delay our entry. A very big problem.’

‘I see.’

‘But, ah!’ said Kotsev, throwing out a hand. ‘Not such a problem, after all. Suddenly we have a miracle! And now, things are going our way.’

‘A miracle?’

‘In the past two years some of the most powerful Mafia bosses have been eliminated. One of them is shot leaving a casino after celebrating a victory by his football team. Another is gunned down with his bodyguards outside a bar. Sometimes, an entire family is murdered, as was often the case in blood feuds. All these killings appear to have been carried out by an expert shot. Perhaps more than one, we do not know. The suspects have never been caught, or even identified. The official theory concerns a war between rival gangs, who have employed hit men to do their dirty work.’

‘That sounds feasible.’

‘Yes, of course.’ He waited expectantly.

‘Are you suggesting the Zhivkos died in this way?’ asked Fry.

Kotsev spread his hands apologetically. ‘You understand there is much I can’t say.’

‘I’m too junior, is that it?’

‘My apologies, Sergeant. But, you see, the Zhivko brothers found themselves in the middle of all this. First on one side, as the agents of a leading mutra chief. Then, suddenly, they are on the losing side of the game. The Zhivkos are in danger of their lives, and they must leave the country. Yet even here, in Britain, they were not safe.’

Fry knew there was something else that he wasn’t telling her. His silence invited another question, if only she could work out what it was.

‘Wait a minute — you said that was the official theory. What’s the unofficial one?’

Kotsev smiled. ‘You may know, Sergeant Fry, that we have a highly efficient secret service in Bulgaria, the Darzavna Sigurnost. They were trained by the KGB in the old days, and many of them have remained in their employment. Their usefulness did not disappear with Communism.’

‘I’m not sure what you’re saying, Georgi.’

‘Some of these people have a talent for convenient assassinations. What more efficient way could there be to remove annoying criminals and save the difficulty of a trial, where embarrassing facts about government officials might emerge? A few extra stotinki in the pockets of a Darzavna Sigurnost operative. Boom, boom. Problem solved. Now it’s, “See, Mr EU Commissioner, we don’t have the nasty Mafia any more. How lucky. Now you can let us into your club.”’

Fry put down her fork. ‘No, that’s too incredible,’ she said.

Kotsev’s eyes crinkled as he held up a forkful of steak.

‘To you, perhaps. But you’re not in Kansas now.’

25

Cooper took his brother’s call at home in the middle of the evening, just as he was settling down to watch a good film with a bottle of beer in his hand and the cat on his knee.

‘Ben, it says here that older fathers are more liable to have kids with schizophrenia. If you’re between forty- five and forty-nine, you’re twice as likely to have a child with the illness as a man of twenty-five.’

‘Matt, you’re only thirty-five now. You were still in your twenties when you had the girls.’

‘Yes, well. I’ve written down all the facts to talk to the doctor about. Did you know schizophrenia can start at any age, but most people are affected in their late teens or early twenties? In their teens, Ben.’

‘Considering the average teenager, I wonder how they can tell.’

Matt had taken a breath to continue, but came to an abrupt halt as if his brother had made a rude noise down the phone.

‘It’s not funny, Ben.’

Ben found himself standing in front of the fireplace in the sitting room. The framed photograph on the wall was one of the few things he’d brought with him when he moved out of Bridge End Farm. It was both reassuring and somehow disturbing to have his father’s eyes watching him as he listened to his brother.

‘You know something?’ he said. ‘Mum would have found it funny.’

Matt sighed. ‘For heaven’s sake, Ben.’

And the strange thing was that Matt was so similar to their father in many ways. Even this conversation sounded like one of those occasions when Joe Cooper would sit his sons down and give them advice. A few words of caution … It had been one of his favourite phrases.

‘Matt, have you thought of joining one of the support groups? There’s one called Rethink. It used to be the National Schizophrenia Fellowship.’

‘Why would I do that?’

‘So you could talk to people with similar experiences and get some reassurance. That’s what those organizations are for.’

‘You’re not being very helpful, are you?’

‘Actually, I think that’s exactly what I’m being.’

Ben was glaring at his phone now. But he couldn’t keep it up. He had to smile when he pictured his brother doing the same at the other end. This was the way their arguments always started.

‘I can tell you’re not in the right frame of mind at the moment,’ said Matt. ‘You must have had a bad day, or something.’

‘As a matter of fact, it wasn’t such a bad day — until now.’

Of course, he didn’t really mean that, but there was almost a set script between them when they got to this stage. Matt knew it as well as he did.

‘Oh, right. Sorry to have bothered you, I’m sure. I suppose that means you won’t want me to share any information I manage to find out from Dr Joyce tomorrow?’

‘You’ll suit yourself, Matt. It doesn’t matter what I say.’

There was a muttered swear word, a crash of something falling over, and silence. His brother had gone.

Ben found his eyes focusing straight ahead. And there was Sergeant Joe Cooper, gazing out from his place in the second row, among all those other solemn-faced police officers lined up in their best uniforms to have their photograph taken.

It was odd, really. He’d spent so much time thinking that his life had been dictated and overshadowed by the legacy of Joe Cooper. Everyone who’d known his father said how alike they were. Here he was doing a similar job, in the same place, and often dealing with the same individuals that Joe Cooper had encountered.

Sometimes it had made Ben feel as if he was a clone, a walking carrier of his father’s gene pattern. He hadn’t seriously considered what he might have inherited from his mother’s side, or which of her chromosomes he’d been