‘What do you suspect?’
‘It’s possible that Becali was involved. Possibly used her as a decoy. The woman was susceptible to the man’s charm, saw it as love. He could have spun her a story about robbing the place. We don’t have proof of anything, and it may be nothing, but we need to know if there was any more to it.’
‘Becali hedging his bets, playing both sides?’
‘Find out what you can and let me know. I’ll protect you the best I can, but once the threat’s been removed, I’ll be after you for the crimes you’ve committed.’
‘I’m not admitting to any.’
***
Two in the morning, Inspector Oscar Braxton phoned. Isaac took the phone call. ‘Not too late for you, is it?’ Braxton said.
‘That’s fine. I’ve not heard from you for a while,’ Isaac said as he got out of bed, not wanting to disturb his girlfriend, and went into the other room. Instinctively he put the kettle on to make himself a cup of tea, knowing full well that a phone call at such an hour meant only one thing – developments.
‘I’ll do it,’ Jenny said as she came into the room. Isaac had had problems with other romances, when the hours he worked, the midnight phone calls, had been something they said they could deal with, but none had, not until Jenny. She understood and he was grateful.
Isaac looked out of the window of the flat, saw a few lights in the other flats in the building, a couple arm-in-arm on the street, a drunk slowly making his way home. It was remarkable, he thought, that one of the world’s major cities could be so quiet.
‘Are you still there?’ Braxton said.
‘Yes. Just waking up.’
‘Easy life at Challis Street, nine to five.’
‘I wish.’
‘Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone you’ve got a cushy number.’
Isaac remembered the light-hearted repartee of the man from when they had first met years before. He took Braxton’s comments in the spirit they were given.
‘We followed up on Cojocaru in France. Disturbing news.’
‘Give me the details.’
‘Stanislav Ivanov.’
‘I gave you the name,’ Isaac reminded him. ‘Cojocaru gave it to us, told me that he’d contact me in a couple of days, but never did.’
‘Cojocaru and Antonescu were picked up at the airport in Marseilles and transported to a villa along the coast.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘Our counterparts in France keep a watch out for anyone of concern.’
‘Cojocaru?’
‘Not him. Ivanov has a villa down there. Surveillance picked up one of his cars at the airport and took a photo of the two men getting into it. It didn’t ring a bell at the time, not a big one anyway. After we contacted them, passed on the details, they checked further. The car entered through the gates of the villa twenty-five minutes after leaving the airport.’
‘Ivanov inside the villa?’
‘He was, and some of his men. The French know he’s got weapons in there, not that they can do much about it.’
‘Why?’
‘Model resident. He doesn’t break any laws down there, uses it as his primary residence. Too hot, not the climate, in Russia, and he’s always under threat of assassination. Makes sense if you’re Bratva to keep out of the country.’
‘Listening devices?’
‘Not in the villa, and the area’s been swept by Ivanov’s men. Anywhere that could have been used to eavesdrop has been removed, including a couple of houses where the residents were obliged to sell.’
‘Or else?’
‘That’s it. Anyway, Cojocaru leaves the villa after fifteen hours. He’s on his own, and the same car drops him off at the airport. That’s all we know.’
‘Antonescu?’
‘He’s not been seen since.’
‘Larry Hill’s been told that he’s dead.’
‘A reliable source?’
‘Not one hundred per cent, and there’s no way whoever told Larry would have been in that villa.’
‘Unless Antonescu appears we’ll assume that he is,’ Braxton said. ‘The ball’s in your court. Find out what’s going on. And one other thing, a shipment of weapons was intercepted in France.’
‘Forwarding address?’
‘Cojocaru, not that it was on the manifest documents, but we know of a few aliases and how they get the drugs in.’
‘Which means there’s another shipment that you’ve missed.’
‘The quantities indicate something major. You’d better get extra people on the street.’
‘We’re working on it.’
‘Okay. I’ll let you get back to sleep,’ Braxton said.
‘Not much chance of that now.’
***
Inspector Annie O’Carroll continued with the investigation into the deaths of Seamus Gaffney and Inspector Ryan Buckley. Forensics had given a ninety per cent probability that the two men had not been murdered by the same person. No gun had been found at either location, even after dredging the local waterways and scouring through the usual places where they could have been dumped.
Feeling the effects of being a woman in a male enclave, the eyes of others on her performance, she phoned Larry in London.
‘Any chance of you coming back here?’ she said. ‘Ryan Buckley’s death is professional, and we’ve no leads. Seamus Gaffney’s is probably local.’
‘What about the car that followed Gaffney from the airport?’
‘Kathleen Pearse from the rental company has proven to be an unreliable witness. We found the driver here. He had dropped the car back at the airport but didn’t catch a flight. He’s in custody for a burglary he committed four years ago. We had him on our radar, that’s why the false driving licence, the bogus address.’
‘The reason for him hurrying off?’
‘His mother was on her deathbed. He got there five minutes too late. Still, once we caught up with him, we had to arrest him. No doubt he’ll be allowed to attend the funeral.’
‘Which means Seamus Gaffney
