‘Messy pig,’ Carlyle fussed, sweeping the crumbs on to the floor.
Dropping the magazine story on Carlyle’s desk, Joe pointed the remainder of his doughnut at the image on his boss’s computer screen of a blonde bimbo in a tiny powder-blue bikini pouting for the camera. The tattoos covered so much of her body that it was impossible to work out exactly what they were supposed to represent. ‘I see that you’re broadening your taste in pornography then,’ he joked.
‘I’m not sure if I go for the excessively inky look,’ Carlyle pondered.
‘No need to be coy, Inspector.’ Sticking the remainder of the doughnut in his mouth, Joe flopped into a nearby chair.
‘Really?’ huffed Carlyle. ‘Would you go for something like that?’
‘Who is she, anyway?’
‘Don’t you keep up with current affairs?’ Carlyle laughed. He then explained the situation with the tattoo model, happy to be talking about something other than his Swiss adventure.
Joe chewed thoughtfully. ‘There’s no accounting for taste.’
‘I guess not.’
‘Speaking of which, did you hear that they’ve closed down Dolan’s investment company?’
‘United 14?’
‘Yeah. Apparently it had assets of more than twenty million quid.’
Carlyle let out a low whistle. ‘Not bad. Not exactly in Her Majesty’s league, but not to be sniffed at.’
‘And they think there might be more of it, stashed away in various companies in the Caymans and the British Virgin Islands. There were loads of documents in Dolan’s garage — the finance guys are still going through them.’
‘Mm.’
‘He had a Porsche and a Range Rover there, too — almost a hundred grand’s worth of motors. Plus, he had almost twenty grand in cash under his bed.’
‘A real business big-shot,’ Carlyle snorted.
‘United 14 had almost thirty SO14 or former SO14 guys as its investors,’ Joe continued. ‘Of those still working, six have already resigned. .’
‘Including that little shit Charlie Adam?’
‘Yeah,’ Joe nodded, ‘he was one of them.’
Carlyle thought about that for a second. ‘So maybe he did rather more than just look the other way?’
‘Another two have been suspended,’ Joe carried on, ‘pending a formal investigation. The ones that had already retired have had their police pensions frozen.’
‘What about the connection to Falkirk?’ Carlyle asked.
‘Falkirk’s company, Black Prince Elite, was also an investor in United 14.’
‘What will happen to the cash?’
‘It will either be confiscated or squandered on legal fees if they try and fight it in the courts.’
‘Result!’ Carlyle punched the air in triumph. ‘With a bit of luck, those bent bastards will lose all their cash and run up big legal fees as well.’
‘Yeah,’ Joe laughed.
‘And end up living in cardboard boxes under Charing Cross arches. Sleeping in their own piss and getting arse-raped for their last can of Special Brew.’
‘You are a right vindictive bastard,’ Joe said admiringly, ‘aren’t you?’
‘Someone’s got to be,’ said Carlyle humbly.
‘There’s more,’ said Joe, grinning. ‘The chief financial officer at Black Prince was identified as the guy who was in that pod at the London Eye with the underage girl. He was picked up a couple of hours ago. CEOP are questioning him right now.’
‘Fuck me sideways,’ said Carlyle, grinning himself now. ‘I didn’t realise that it was bloody Christmas!’ He grabbed the mobile from his desk. ‘I’d better give Rose a call.’
Joe had sloped off again, presumably in search of another doughnut. He’s putting on too much timber, Carlyle thought. The fitness levels required of policemen these days was abysmal but, even so, there were limits. Joe didn’t look like he could run ten yards without suffering a coronary.
His mobile started vibrating on the desk. Helen? Or Rose? He answered it cautiously. ‘Hello?’
‘Hello, Inspector. .’
The accent was familiar, but for a second he was thrown. ‘This is Carlyle,’ he said, sticking to what he knew.
‘And this is Olga!’
Olga? Olga! Carlyle struggled to remember her real name. Alexandra. . Alexandra something. This was not a call that he had ever expected to receive. Sifting one-handed through a pile of papers on his desk, he tried to concentrate. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Nice to speak to you too,’ Alex Gazizulin replied tartly.
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m here in London,’ she said, her tone bright. ‘Why else would I call you?’
Carlyle had long since given up trying to work out what was going on in this woman’s head. Deciding to go with the flow, he tried relaxing into the conversation. ‘I don’t know why you would bother calling me,’ he laughed, ‘other than to show off, since you are always one step ahead.’
‘Very true, Inspector,’ she teased, ‘but at least you are smart enough to understand that. That makes you much smarter than most men.’
It was a compliment of sorts. ‘So? What can I do for you?’
‘I have brought you a present.’
‘Yes?’
‘I have found the girl’s mother,’ Alex said, sounding highly pleased with herself. ‘Alzbetha Tishtenko’s mother. And I have brought her from the Ukraine to London.’
‘Mm.’ Carlyle thought of the small urn still sitting on top of the microwave in his kitchen at home.
‘What’s the matter?’ Alex asked. ‘Has the cat got your tongue? I thought you wanted to find her.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Carlyle hastily. ‘You have done a good thing. Thank you.’
‘You are very welcome,’ said Alex, sounding somewhat mollified.
‘What about the father?’
‘The father?’ Alex laughed. ‘Who knows? The mother certainly doesn’t. Anyway, who cares?’
Carlyle grunted something that could have been considered assent. Getting to the bottom of his pile of papers, he still couldn’t find what he was looking for. Cursing under his breath, he started again from the top, going through each sheet more carefully this time.
‘Men,’ Alex mused, ‘are basically useless.’
‘Yes.’ Carlyle was familiar with this line of argument, from Helen’s frequent lectures on the subject.
‘This one,’ Alex continued, warming to her theme, ‘is a typical example. He abandoned his child and the mother of his child. Not an uncommon scenario where I come from.’
‘Not an uncommon scenario anywhere,’ Carlyle interjected.
‘He probably drank himself to death years ago. At least, I hope so.’
‘We need to meet up,’ Carlyle said, thinking it through. ‘I’ve had an idea for Alzbetha’s ashes.’ He explained his plan.
‘Inspector Carlyle,’ she purred, ‘you are a very thoughtful man. Maybe a bit sentimental also, but that is good. Make the arrangements. I will call you back later.’
‘What about you?’ Carlyle asked swiftly. He had finally found the piece of paper he was looking for. Tossing everything else on to the floor, he placed the arrest warrant for Alexandra Gazizulin right in front of him.
‘This will be my last trip to London for a while,’ Alex said. ‘We are pulling out of the UK. I have decided it’s not worth trying to rebuild our operations here.’
‘Now that Falkirk is dead?’
‘That wasn’t really the major consideration,’ she said carefully, ‘but it was a factor.’
‘Thank you for saving my life, by the way,’ Carlyle told her. ‘Ihor turned up at just the right moment.’
‘My pleasure, Inspector.’ He could hear genuine warmth in her voice. ‘I am glad that Ihor actually managed to
