‘It depends on how he progresses. Anywhere from a few hours up to two weeks.’
‘Ivanov wore body armour under his jacket, that’s why the shot was to the head.’
‘I only know the man from the media reports,’ Forsythe said. Isaac could see that he was anxious to get away.
‘What you’ve read is only part of the story,’ Oscar Braxton said. ‘I’m from Serious and Organised Crime Command, DCI Cook is from Homicide. The man is not what he seems.’
‘He’s still a patient. But what I can tell you is that even if he regains consciousness, he may not remember anything that has happened. And there is a possibility that he may be in a vegetative state for a long time.’
‘Are you able to quantify the possibility?’
‘Not at this time. We will issue a bulletin that our patient is receiving the best medical care and his chance of survival is good.’
‘Stanislav Ivanov, whether he lives or not, will be the signal for a power play in Russia, a call to arms for organised crime in this country.’
‘That I cannot help you with. Now, if you will excuse me, it was a difficult operation, and I have others to see,’ Forsythe said.
***
Apart from one, Ivanov’s bodyguards had vanished, not unexpected as questions would be asked as to who they were and what they knew of the assassination attempt, as well as why they had been carrying weapons. The one remaining was at Challis Street, voluntarily.
Wendy returned to the police station to work with Bridget. Isaac, Larry and Braxton went to the crime scene.
‘What can you tell us?’ Isaac said to Gordon Windsor.
‘Here, not a lot.’
‘Why?’
‘Where the shot came from is more important.’
Windsor stood from where he had been kneeling. ‘Up there is a possibility,’ he said, pointing to a towering nondescript block of sixties’ architecture, one of several in the area that had been built for the working class, and rented out, although some of the flats had been purchased under the government’s Right to Buy policy that was introduced in 1980. Isaac knew this, as he had contemplated the purchase of such a flat before buying in Willesden.
‘Have we people up there?’ Isaac asked.
‘We do, although it’s a slow job. Not everyone is keen to see the police marching through, and some of the flats are empty or bolted shut. It’s got to be on the top floors, twentieth and above.’
‘I need to meet with Claude Bateman,’ Larry said.
Isaac and Braxton drove the short distance to the block of flats. Outside, on the street, the obligatory crowd of onlookers, some hostile about the excessive police presence.
‘Never here when we need you, are you?’ one of the crowd shouted.
‘If you’re rich, it’s a different law for them,’ another screamed.
‘Take no notice,’ Isaac said to Braxton. ‘It’s not the first time in this building for us, not the last.’
‘A lot of crime?’
‘No more than other parts of London. The building’s occupied by disparate people, some good, some bad. It’s just that they’re hemmed in, unable to get out.’
‘There are plenty of other places.’
‘If you’ve got money. The gang members, not Cojocaru’s, like these places. Easy to hide.’
‘Why would someone shoot from here?’
‘Why not? It’s some distance, but Ivanov was hit in the head.’
‘We need to know if it’s the same person who killed Buckley and carried out the attack on Briganti’s.’
‘Sal Maynard is still involved somewhere in all of this.’
‘We keep coming back to Becali, but it wasn’t him.’
‘Not at Briganti’s, but who knows. No one had a clear view of the man. That’s the problem, the man on the street is not trained to observe.’
‘We’d better follow through on what they find here,’ Braxton said.
The two men entered through the front door of the building, a uniform checking their warrant cards before letting them through.
‘He’s keen.’
‘New in the station.’
On the twentieth floor, two officers from Challis Street were working their way methodically through, flat to flat. ‘We’re getting a warrant to open up the flats if no one’s at home.’
‘How long?’
‘Bridget Halloran is working on it for us.’
‘Not long,’ Isaac said. ‘No luck yet?’
‘Not yet. We’ve got others on the floors above. Gordon Windsor reckoned the bullet was fired from up high.’
‘I’ll take his word,’ Isaac said as another flat door opened, a woman hiding in one room, covered head to foot in black.
‘You can’t come in here,’ a man with a full beard said. He was dressed in the traditional clothing of Pakistan.
‘We believe someone has used one of the flats to shoot at someone down on the ground.’
‘I’m just home from work, and my wife won’t let anyone in when she’s on her own.’
Isaac, sensitive to the situation, phoned for a female police officer to come up to the flat.
After five minutes, Constable Jill Albertson reported for duty. ‘Pleased to help. The crowds down below are restless. Some want to get home, and we’re not letting them.’
‘We’ll need to set up a mobile canteen, toilets.’
‘There’s a church hall nearby, and the locals are helping out. But it’s not the same, is it?’
‘No.’
‘Constable Albertson will check your flat, is that acceptable?’ Isaac said to the man, now identified as Fahad Shaikh, a recent arrival in the country with his wife and three children.
‘We are a law-abiding family. And yes, the constable can come in. Thank you for your understanding.’
Jill Albertson entered the flat, checking each and every room, placing emphasis on the windows looking out and over to Ivanov’s house. She returned, thanking the Pakistani for his assistance and wishing him well.
‘The flat on the corner,’ she said to the police officers.
‘You saw something?’
‘It juts out from the other flats. It must
