‘Not so much a friend, but Gaffney had his ear to the ground.’
‘Too close. No doubt he upset someone, spoke out of turn.’
‘This is Sergeant Gladstone,’ Isaac said.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Cojocaru said as he shook Wendy’s hand. She thought the man pleasant, dressed as he was in a navy suit with an open-necked white shirt. He smelt of aftershave, the same one as her husband had favoured. ‘You’ll not want a pint, I assume. Let me get you something else.’
‘Beer is fine,’ Wendy said.
‘No one’s going to disturb us,’ Cojocaru said. ‘I’ve paid the publican to keep anyone else out, at least for the next hour.’
‘Why here?’ Isaac asked.
‘Neutral territory. I prefer wandering eyes not to see us or to speculate.’
‘Here is hardly secret.’
‘I agree, but it’s better than nothing. And besides, what I know is not that secret anyway. I just wanted us to meet and talk, a mutual problem.’
‘Mr Cojocaru, if you don’t mind me saying,’ Wendy said, ‘we don’t have anything in common.’
‘Under normal circumstances, I might agree. But I thought that if I scratch your back, you’ll scratch mine. An English saying, I believe.’
‘It is,’ Isaac said, ‘but Sergeant Gladstone’s right.’
‘Let me finish. I’ve had feelers out overseas, back in Romania and elsewhere. There’s a group in Russia who are eyeing England and other countries for a major expansion.’
‘Drugs?’
‘Yes. They want to expand, cut out the middlemen, drive up the price. They’re ruthless, and nothing or nobody will dissuade them.’
‘This is England,’ Wendy said. ‘We will.’
‘Unfortunately, the typical English resilience won’t help you. Of course, you can stop whoever, but you know how English law works, how people think in general. A slow intrusion here and there, the occasional act of violence, the increased level of drug activity on the streets and people adjust. How many people are talking about Briganti’s now? Not as many as on the day and nobody stops outside the salon. They just walk by, their faces glued to the screens of their phones, or earpieces listening to music.’
‘I’ll agree with you there,’ Isaac said. ‘But why should we work with you on this one? You’re hardly a saint.’
‘An honest businessman, if you want our meeting to continue.’
‘Honest men don’t concern themselves with criminal activities,’ Isaac said, aware that he was testing the man, pushing more than he should, less than he would have liked to. He wanted the man in jail or out of the country, but for the present he was a man to be friendly with.
‘I’ll ignore your comment, a lady present. DCI Cook, there’s a problem bigger than either of us, bigger than the London Metropolitan Police, and that’s the Bratva. You know who they are?’
‘The Russian mafia, the brotherhood.’
‘They’re well-organised, structured along the lines of a large business: a CEO, board meetings, lieutenants, rank and file hoodlums. And they’re vicious.’
‘Proof, names?’
‘Briganti’s was the starter. A test to see how the police would respond, your weak spots, your strengths, not that there are many of those.’
‘Insults won’t get you far,’ Isaac said. He lifted his glass of beer and took a drink. He was aware that he needed to hold his own with Cojocaru, aware that the man was educated, able to converse in good English.
‘Not insults, facts. What have you done so far? Checked out those in Briganti’s, found out nothing, other than Abano was a criminal, two of the others used cocaine, and Hendry had good taste in women. While I, a man with contacts around the world, know more about the truth than you do.’
‘Seamus Gaffney, relevant?’
‘Not here. The man was useful to some, but he was an informer. His killer will be found in due course. You are aware of the gangs, the Rastas, as well as some others who are arming up, ready for a battle royal?’
‘We were told they were not arming against the Russians, and what about this shipment? Do you know when it’s coming in and how?’
‘Believe me, Cook, I don’t want this to escalate any more than you do.’
Wendy was not sure what to make of the man. On the one hand, he was pleasant, he spoke well, and he seemed obliging and generous in what he was telling them. Yet she had read his record: the violence, the torturing, the killing of others at his command.
‘What do you want, Mr Cojocaru?’ Wendy said. ‘An amnesty, that we’ll leave you alone for the duration?’
‘Not me. I’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘We’ll not go further with that discussion,’ Isaac said. ‘But the Russians are disturbing. How do we find out more, and where are they? Who shot up Briganti’s?’
‘The name of the man is not important. It is the person behind the man, not the man behind the weapon. You know that as well as I do. I will give you a name, and we will talk again in two days.’
‘The Russians are not going to be satisfied with our part of London,’ Isaac said as he emptied his glass. The conversation was coming to an end.
‘They’re using us as the litmus paper, the toe in the water to check if the water’s warm or cold.’
‘Why us?’ Wendy said.
‘You’ll need to ask them,’ Cojocaru said.
Isaac knew, but he chose not to mention it. It was because Cojocaru was the funnel through which the Russians had been working. They were testing him, ascertaining whether he was up to the task or not.
‘The name that you are going to give us?’
‘Stanislav Ivanov. Check him out.’
Cojocaru shook hands with Wendy and Isaac and walked out of the door. Outside, he got into the back seat of his black BMW, Becali in the driver’s seat, Antonescu alongside.
‘What do you reckon?’ Isaac said after the man had
