there, and I think we can get Yulia enrolled on one of those.’
‘Great.’
She punched him gently on the arm. ‘It
‘Mm.’
Rose didn’t let his cynicism interrupt her flow ‘. . which tries to help social orphans to understand and exercise their rights.’
‘You’re right,’ said Carlyle, actually impressed, ‘it’s a real start. Well done.’
Rose blushed ever so slightly. ‘Let’s see what happens,’ she said, smiling. ‘In the meantime, she has been very cooperative.’
‘Isn’t that unusual?’
‘Very. But the traffickers have no real leverage over her.’
‘Because she’s an orphan? With no family for them to threaten?’
‘Because she’s a smart kid who realises that she will have to fight for everything she gets in this life. And because we can offer her a decent alternative.’
Carlyle held out a hand, and Yulia shook it politely. He nodded towards Rose, who smiled brightly. ‘Thank you for talking to us.’
‘No problem,’ the girl said quietly, her eyes lowering to focus on the pages of her magazine.
‘Yulia. .’ Rose placed a gentle hand on the girl’s forearm, causing her to look up again. ‘This is the policeman I told you about. Inspector Carlyle.’
The young girl glanced at Carlyle and nodded.
‘It would be great,’ Rose continued, ‘if you could tell him what you already told me — so that he can understand how you came to England.’
‘Okay.’ She took a deep breath and launched into a short monologue that had obviously been perfected during various conversations with Rose: ‘I spent the last four years at the Sandokan International Children’s Camp. Three times I run away. This time, the Director tells me to go with the Englishman who comes to our camp. His name was Gordon.’
Carlyle looked at Rose. ‘Falkirk?’
Rose nodded. ‘She identified him from a photograph yesterday. We now have a full statement, signed in the presence of a lawyer.’
‘Did you speak to this man?’ Carlyle asked the girl.
‘No.’ The girl toyed with a page of her magazine. ‘He was too important to speak to any of us. Anyway, he didn’t know that I understood English.’
‘What happened next?’
‘They took us to a hotel.’
The girl’s composure was slipping. Carlyle wondered how hard he should push. ‘How many girls?’
‘There were four of us. They split us up. I was given my tickets and told to meet the man at the airport.’
‘And the others?’
Yulia’s eyes glistened with tears. ‘I don’t know.’
Carlyle looked over at Rose, who just shrugged. He stood up and said, ‘Thank you, Yulia. You have done very well talking to us. We are very grateful.’
The girl smiled shakily. Carlyle had one more question for her, but he wanted to let the child regain her composure. Turning to Rose, he asked: ‘Have we spoken to the Ukrainian authorities?’
‘I spoke to someone in the Ministry of Internal Affairs. Apparently there is a big investigation going on into the children’s camp being run by the Kiev Deputy Prosecutor — some general or other.’
‘A general?’ Carlyle laughed. ‘We could do with some of that over here — I mean the smack of firm leadership.’
Rose flicked through the pages of her notebook, looking for the name. ‘General Dmy-tro Gaziz. . ulin.’
‘General Gazizulin is a big man in Ukraine,’ Yulia chipped in.
‘Yes.’ Rose nodded. ‘I spoke to one of his assistant assistants or something. They are sending me over some files.’
‘Are they investigating Falkirk?’
‘I didn’t ask.’
‘Let’s find out.’ He turned back to the girl. ‘Is it okay if I ask you one final question?’
The girl nodded.
‘Do you know a girl called Alzbetha? She is maybe eight or nine years old. I think she may have been at the same camp as you.’
Yulia thought about it for a second, before making a face. ‘No, I don’t think so. I am older than that and they kept the younger children separate.’
‘Fine. Thank you again for talking to me.’ Carlyle stuck a hand in his pocket and pulled out a?10 note and some change. He placed the money on the desk next to the girl. ‘Get yourself something to read on the flight home.’
The girl flashed him a small smile. ‘Thank you.’
He was saved from a feeling of utter uselessness by the mobile phone vibrating in his pocket.
‘Carlyle.’ He smiled weakly at the girl and fled the room.
‘Inspector, this is Alex the concierge from the Garden Hotel.’
‘Yes?’ said Carlyle warily, expecting that he was about to be asked a favour.
‘The girl’s back.’
‘Eh?’ Relief at being out of the interview room was now mingled with irritation at the concierge’s cryptic statement.
‘The girl you were with last time,’ Miles explained. ‘She’s booked the penthouse suite. Paid for it this time, as well.’
Fuck. He was about fifteen minutes away by foot; maybe something less than that if he jumped in a taxi. Or maybe not. ‘Is she there now?’
‘She went up about ten minutes ago,’ Miles replied with the enthusiasm of a man making a big inroad into his debt at the Bank of J. Carlyle.
‘Alone?’
‘As far as I know.’
Carlyle thought for a second. ‘Okay, get me her booking details, including the credit card she used. And call me if she makes a move. I’ll be there in ten minutes.’
‘Ah, Inspector. I was wondering when you would manage to get here.’
Standing in the doorway of the hotel’s penthouse suite, feeling rather sweaty and dishevelled after jogging across Soho, Carlyle looked Olga up and down as he caught his breath. She wore a white dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, over a pair of expensive-looking jeans. Barefoot, sipping from a small bottle of Evian, she was looking good. More than good, just like an expensive hooker should.
‘I didn’t think we’d see you again,’ he said, once he was confident that he could open his mouth without his tongue falling to the floor.
‘Why not?’ A look of mock surprise moved carefully across her face. ‘Because the unfortunate Mr Ihor Chepoyak happened to go a little bit crazy?’
Carlyle sat himself on the bed. The lady clearly had an agenda, and he might as well hear it sitting down. ‘I thought you worked for him?’
‘Are you responsible for the actions of
Carlyle smiled. He was more than capable of answering a question with a question himself. ‘Do you know where he is?’
‘Not any more.’ She sipped her water and grinned, enjoying the game.
‘So what are we talking about?’ Carlyle asked.
