‘Mr Ivanov is a successful businessman, the owner of the football club that I support.’
Isaac winced at Braxton’s attempt at levity. The woman asking the questions wasn’t going to be distracted by such a tactic.
Richard Goddard took hold of the microphone. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, this press conference was scheduled for twenty-five minutes. We’ve run over time, and as you can appreciate we are busy.’
A flurry of hands from the other reporters in the room; a retreat by the three police officers.
‘Disaster,’ Isaac said. ‘Was Commissioner Davies watching?’
‘He would be,’ Goddard said.
‘Then you either drop your phone out of the window or you and he will be having a conversation soon. Oscar, you shouldn’t have been there. You’ve connected Ivanov with organised crime, made it obvious that the man is of interest.’
‘I’d disagree. Cojocaru was mentioned as well. Both of them will be very nervous now.’
‘One will be. We should meet with him,’ Isaac said.
****
‘A Steyr SSG 69 PIV, Austrian, bolt-action, .308 cartridge,’ Gordon Windsor said. ‘It’s been fired.’
‘You’ve looked down the scope?’ Braxton asked. He and Isaac were back at the flat where the shot had been taken to kill Ivanov.
‘Kahles ZF84 10x magnification scope. More than accurate for the distance. It was focussed on where Ivanov had been standing.’
‘A bulky item to bring up here. Someone may have seen whoever brought it in.’
‘Too bulky to take out afterwards if you’re aiming to get away, and if Ivanov’s men had figured out where the shot had come from. There’s not much to see in the flat. It’s empty, and apart from the toilet being used, nothing to tell you.’
‘The person who fired the shot?’
‘He would have used his right shoulder against the butt.’
‘Conclusive?’
‘Yes.’
‘How long do you reckon the person was here?’
‘We’re assuming anywhere from thirty minutes to three hours. It’s cold at night, and there was no heater, no electricity either.’
‘If it was thirty minutes, the shooter must have known of Ivanov’s movements.’
‘That’s for you to find out,’ Windsor said. ‘If it were only thirty minutes, then the rifle would have had to be set up in advance, possibly another target to zero in the scope.’
‘Needle in a haystack looking for another shot. Any help on that?’
‘None. Some noise when fired, but it did have a silencer.’
‘Around here, not too many people would have been asking questions even if they heard a shot.’
Wendy took responsibility for the door-to-door interviews in the building. The rifle had been removed and was with Forensics for further testing, not necessary according to Gordon Windsor, but required nevertheless as it was vital evidence.
As expected, no one had heard anything, except for the wife of Fahad Shaikh, but as she had explained to Constable Jill Albertson and Wendy, she had not seen anyone. In the two women’s presence, she had removed the cover from her face. The two were astonished by her beauty. She looked no more than nineteen or twenty; it was found out on checking that she was twenty-two, her husband older than her at thirty-eight.
Bridget had checked out the shooter’s flat and found out that it had been sold two years previously, and up until three months before the shooting it had been rented to a family of four. Apart from that, a dead end.
‘Someone must have known that the place was empty,’ Isaac said at his early-morning meeting in the office. ‘And whoever it was may well be the breakthrough we need.’
‘It was sold to a company, they’ve purchased a few in the building and throughout the area,’ Bridget said.
‘The principals of the company?’ Larry asked.
‘I’m checking, but it seems that efforts have been made to conceal their identities.’
‘Suspicious?’
‘It could be part of a complex tax-reduction strategy, not necessarily illegal, or it could be an overseas company hiding dirty money.’
‘Criminal?’
‘It doesn’t mean they’re the murderers.’
‘We need the names of whoever they are,’ Isaac said. ‘Dirty money could mean drug money, and we’ve a few names there.’
‘I’ll keep checking,’ Bridget said. ‘It may take some time.’
‘Time is what we don’t have. And no one’s going to come forward with a description of this man.’
‘The same person as in Ireland?’
‘Whoever it was, he was capable of it, but it wasn’t a difficult shot, not if the person was trained and the scope was lined up. According to Windsor, two shots had been fired before taking the shot at Ivanov,’ Larry said. ‘Even if we found the target for zeroing, it’ll not tell us much. CCTV cameras?’
‘We’re checking, but if the man were organised, he’d only have to change his clothes. Some of the women in the building are covered, some of the men wear traditional dress.’
‘An abaya?’
‘It’s always possible, although it seems bizarre.’
‘I’ll check,’ Bridget said.
Chapter 21
Wendy Gladstone had thought that her time in Stockwell was at an end. She had conducted interviews with Sal Maynard’s family, not that they had revealed much, in as much as the family were neither articulate nor still interested in a dead family member more than a few weeks after her death. It had saddened the police sergeant on the times she had visited the house, the drunken and foul-mouthed mother, the tattooed and violent elder brother of the dead woman, the drugged younger brother vacantly staring into space.
And now, a phone call from Ralphie.
Wendy and the young man met at McDonald's, which according to Ralph Ernest Begley was the best food that money could buy. Not that Ralphie was paying. Wendy ordered a Big Mac and extra fries for each of them, as well as a milkshake.
‘What’s this all about, Ralphie? I’m not out here on a wild goose chase, am I?’
Ralphie spoke between mouthfuls. Someone else
