Reports indicated that whereas Ivanov was a man with some charisma and education, Koch could not be tagged with the same attributes.
According to Oscar Braxton, the man who had bought into one of the best streets in London was known for his savagery, a man who had personally murdered and tortured back in Russia, a man who had ascended up through the hierarchy of the Tverskoyskaya Bratva, a man who frightened many.
In Isaac’s office at Challis Street, the team assembled, as well as Braxton.
‘Ivanov’s condition has improved,’ Isaac said.
‘Any signs of retribution for his shooting?’ Braxton asked.
‘Not yet. He’s in for a long period of convalescence, whatever happens.’
‘And in the meantime, we wait,’ Larry said.
‘Any better ideas?’ Isaac said.
‘Bateman’s worried. The Russians are becoming too visible.’
‘We’re keeping a watch on them,’ Braxton said.
‘And doing what?’
‘As long as they don’t break the law, and they’ve no crimes against them back in Russia, it’s difficult to refuse them a visa.’
‘And with enough money, no one’s looking too hard.’
‘Can’t we pre-empt the situation?’ Isaac said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Ivanov’s the key. No one is going to act decisively while the man’s life hangs in the balance. What if we issue a bogus report on his condition, and then watch what happens.’
‘Are you suggesting that you’re willing to allow an upturn in violence while the Bratva fight it out amongst themselves in Russia, and Cojocaru and Becali attempt to quell the local villains?’
‘Can we control it?’
‘It would require senior management to buy into it. If it goes wrong, it’s on our heads.’
‘And the lives of a few villains, and possibly a few innocent bystanders.’
‘You’ve been on the streets, what about the cut-price heroin out there? Neatly packaged and brought in from Afghanistan, a stamp of quality marked on the outside.’ Larry said. ‘Do we have an option?’
Isaac made a phone call; Detective Chief Superintendent Goddard appeared within three minutes.
‘Davies suggested something similar. You’ll never get permission,’ Goddard said.
‘What are the options?’ Isaac said. ‘The streets are being flooded with low-cost heroin, and the police are only making a dent in it. We’ll not win on this one, and everyone knows it. We could handle the West Indian gangsters, barely contain the Romanians, but the Russians have the muscle and the money to ride over us.’
‘DCI Braxton, put it to your boss, and then I’ll want a joint report from both our departments as to what is proposed, the risks, the rewards, the collateral damage.’
‘And then?’ Isaac asked.
‘I’ll take it to Commissioner Davies, get his input.’
‘What are the chances?’
‘It depends on your report. Davies doesn’t want the street flowing with Russian gangsters and cheap heroin. What will happen after they’ve flooded the market, increased the number of drug addicts?’
‘The price goes up, and so does the crime rate.’
‘Get me the report, and we’ll see. In the meantime, what are you doing?’
‘Continuing with the investigations into the murders of Marcus Hearne and Ryan Buckley and the deaths at Briganti’s.’
‘Buckley’s death is a matter for the Irish Garda,’ Goddard said.
‘His murderer could still be in England.’
‘Very well. Just keep busy and arrest someone. I don’t like what you’re suggesting. Too many variables, too many opportunities for a mistake.’
Chapter 23
Wendy Gladstone had confronted death many times, and the sight of a body hanging from a beam, or with a bullet in it, did not bring her to tears. But the body lying on the ground did. A cord was tied around its neck, the bike that the man had been riding was off to one side, propped up against a tree. It was a bike that she knew; it was the bike of Ralph Ernest Begley, or Ralphie as he preferred to be called.
In the times she had spent with the young man, she had seen a decent soul wanting to make a difference, unable to break the cycle that condemned him. And now he was dead, and Gordon Windsor was with the body.
‘You knew him?’ Windsor said.
‘Ralph Ernest Begley,’ Wendy said.
‘Who found the body?’
‘I received a phone call from him ninety minutes ago. I came out here to meet him.’
‘Here?’
‘We used to meet nearby, and then I’d pay for a feed at McDonald’s for him. It was how he liked it.’
‘And when you got here, he was dead?’
‘He said it was important.’
‘You’re not sure if it was?’
‘With Ralphie, you could never be certain. He may have just wanted a feed and some money.’
‘He was killed for a reason,’ Windsor said as he stood up. ‘The others in my team can complete the investigation.’
‘Strangulation?’
‘A neat job, no signs of resistance from Begley.’
‘Which means that whoever killed him, knew him, or they were in conversation.’
‘A local?’
‘Not from around here,’ Wendy said. ‘The area is full of minor villains and layabouts, but not murderers. What else can you tell me about the death?’
‘Whoever did it was strong.’
‘Anything more?’
‘Not at this time. The investigators will go over the area. You’ll have an updated report later in the day. Next of kin?’
‘The local police have informed them. I’ll talk to them after here, but I don’t expect much from them.’
‘Someone that’s killed before, I’d say.’
Wendy left Windsor and headed for the Begleys’. No time like the present, she thought.
The front door was opened on the second knock by a young woman. ‘What do you want?’ she said.
Wendy looked at the woman; assessed her to be in her teens. She was wearing a tee-shirt two sizes too small, a pair of faded jeans and her feet were bare. On both arms, tattoos were visible, and she had
