‘From Cojocaru?’
‘He’ll play it strategically. Have you seen any Russians?’
‘We don’t know who we’re looking for.’
‘Okay, I’ll give you a rundown on who is who, as well as photos. We’ll be monitoring the airports in case anyone comes in. But Ivanov is not a criminal in his own country, no one would risk saying anything to the contrary, and it’s not likely to change. He’s got those who could change his status in his pocket, and he visits England on a regular basis. He’s got a house, more like a mansion, close to the River Thames in Richmond, a place in Bayswater. His wife comes for the shopping, he comes for Ascot and the football, but most of the time she’s at one place, he’s at the other indulging in what crime bosses do.’
‘What’s that?’
‘High-quality women. Sometimes he brings them with him, sometimes he sources locally.’
‘No crimes against him in England?’
‘None, and if Cojocaru is right and Ivanov is planning something here, it’s a frightening development.’
‘Cojocaru only mentioned the name.’
‘He must be scared if he’s talking to you.’
‘He’s still dangerous.’
‘He’ll double-cross you or anyone else if it helps him,’ Braxton said. ‘Keep in contact, and be careful.’
‘I will,’ Isaac said. He needed to get back to Challis Street. Larry was back from Ireland, and he had to be debriefed, and the additional information disseminated amongst the team.
Chapter 12
Wendy continued with her investigations into the others that had been in the salon that day, placing emphasis on the four whose bodies still remained in the mortuary. She discounted Waverton, the banker, soon enough. The man had no criminal record, no known associates, and although he was financially sharp, there had never been any suggestion of anything untoward. With him out of the way, her focus turned to Sal Maynard, once again travelling out to where she had lived.
Time had moved on for the Maynards, not a close family, in that though it was only a few weeks since the daughter had been shot, there was a raucous party in full swing at the depressing flat in Stockwell. Wendy parked her car, careful not to leave anything inside that suggested it was a police issue, and walked up to the tenement, pushing past a group of youths attempting to look menacing, but looking stupid instead. Wendy took the lift to the ninth floor where it stopped with a shudder.
At the flat, Sal’s heavily-tattooed older brother opened the door to Wendy’s knock. ‘Bad time? Wendy said.
‘It depends, doesn’t it?’
‘On what?’ Wendy took two steps back as she didn’t want to get too close to the man, who was clearly drunk.
‘Are you here to party or to cause trouble?’
‘I’m here conducting further investigations into the death of your sister.’
‘Not partying, a shame. I like older women, more experienced.’
Wendy retreated from the door and back to the relative safety of her car parked on the street below. A teenage boy riding a bicycle, his shirt hanging out and a cigarette in his mouth, approached her.
‘Are you here about Sal?’ he said.
‘Yes. What do you know about her?’
‘Knowing too much around here only causes you problems.’
‘It’ll cost, is that what you’re saying?’ Wendy said.
‘A man has got to make a living somehow, and you look as though you’ve got plenty.’
‘Man? You should be in school.’
‘What’s the point? All they want to do is to teach us about other places, and how to spell and write and to add up. What use is that to me?’
‘It’ll get you a job.’
‘Not me. I make enough.’
Wendy’s two sons were a credit to her, both married with children and holding down good jobs, but the individual in front of her, no more than sixteen, was unlikely to make thirty, she thought, if he continued the way he was. His future, she decided, was either drugs or prison or both. Regardless, she needed to know what he was referring to.
‘How much?’
‘A good feed first, McDonald's will do. And five hundred pounds.’
‘For what? To tell me that Sal Maynard didn’t do much and the Maynards are criminals. Is that it? Or are you going to tell me that they robbed the local newsagents? I’m investigating Sal’s murder, not chasing petty criminals.’
‘It’s more than that.’
‘Very well. Fifty pounds and another ten for McDonald's. You can go on your own afterwards.’
‘It’s a deal. There’s a park not far from here, down the end of the road, the second turn on the right. I’ll meet you there.’
‘If this is a trick…’
‘It’s not. It’s good, you can trust me, and Sal, she wasn’t such a bad sort. A bit stupid, but she would always talk to me, sometimes buy me a drink.’
‘You’re underage.’
‘The publican doesn’t worry too much, and besides, I go around the back. Sal deals with him, you know what I mean?’
‘I’m not sure that I do. What’s your name?’
‘Ralph, although everyone calls me Ralphie.’
‘Okay, Ralphie, you need to earn your money. The park or down at the local police station.’
‘No deal. They know me down there.’
‘And what will they tell me when I check with them?’
‘They’ll tell you I’m a liar and can’t be trusted. But what do they know, stuck in that station of theirs? It’s tough, and the police don’t like it up here, and they don’t like the Maynards, and they don’t like me.’
Wendy could understand why. ‘What’s your surname?’
‘I don’t want to give it,’ the youth said.
‘Don’t be stupid. You’ve told me your name is Ralph, and that you prefer to be called Ralphie. You ride a bike,
