A book

A book.







Vengeance is Mine.







Scenario:







A leading underworld figure is found shot dead. It is a perfect hit in his



home with no sign of a struggle. His right hand man was found the



same day and had exited life in a similar way. The dead men were



completely evil and no one would mourn their passing.







Both murders were carried out in West London.







Chapter one.



Friday 2nd May







Detective inspector Frank Farren looked an unlikely figure as he sped



down the Portobello Road in Nottinghill weaving through tourists and



shoppers on a bright, clear as a bell, March morning. Neatly uniformed



children, being dragged to school by busy business mothers or Polish au



pair girls sleepy eyed from another late night, a lot different from when



Frank first moved here. Then greasy spoon cafes full of builders, now all



café latte, espresso and Hugh Grant sound a likes. Too many follicles,



too much wavy hair, all style and little substance, no body short of food







1

or trying to find Rackman‟s rent, just a race for the latest aid to being



so cool in this coolest of places.







However if you looked closely there was still the odd twitchy character,



fallen by the wayside, looking for that first fix. Then there were the



faces of the disappointed discovering that acquisition never lives up to



that desired. All manor of life was here on the edge of the tide of



gentrification that was working its way north along the Portobello Road.







At six foot three and weighing 19 stones the bike he rode appeared in



imminent danger of collapse as he cycled with a passion weaving



through the people on his decent of Portobello Road. A strange site



indeed as Frank made no concessions to the usual fashion donned by



the modern cyclist. No Lycra shorts or safety helmet. Frank wore the



same style of clothes every day for work. He had seven suits all the



same charcoal grey mohair and many ivory coloured silk shirts, his



shoes were black Nike leather trainers and he had only one tie that was



in his pocket and worn only when convention really left no option. It was



of course black.







Frank believed in being comfortable and as the suits and shirts were



tailor made in Sayville Row . He looked right and at ease as people



often do when they care much more about being comfortable than



fashionable.







2

Although 47 years of age Frank was a very fit, having enjoyed taking



part in sport most of his life. Now he did not play but attended a gym



and relaxed in the sauna as often as he could to keep trim without



worrying about what he ate and drank.







No one needed to worry that the bike may collapse as it was his usual



form of transport when he was working close to home. The light weight



city bike was purchased in Belgium with reinforced wheels and all bells



and whistles, making cycling in London as easy as it could be.



Frank chose to use his bike on this case as he lived at Palace Gate just



across the park, Kensington Gardens, from Notting Hill he knew it would



be faster than his car and the exercise would blow away the cobwebs of



the usual late night.







His destination was the town house of Stefan Rodenski. Frank thought



he should be happy as it was a sunny day and he had just heard that



Rodenski had been found with a bullet in his head, however he felt



robbed. He had wanted to get Rodenski for a long time and he knew



that he would have had him soon.







For the past year he had been sure that Rodenski was responsible for



the death of Sally Gray, a one time art student, who had been sucked



into his web of drugs and prostitution. Sally had been a beautiful naive



girl at the start of her life. Too beautiful to be allowed to survive,







3

Rodenski had to have her, humiliate, desecrate and then finally destroy.



He was so good at doing it, slowly changing the victim‟s perception of



reality until they had left behind any certainties from their past,



believing that the environment Rodenski had created for them was all



that existed and all they deserved. Rodenski should have ended in a jail



rotting away for thirty years, he had got off light.







Frank arrived at Rodenski‟s home, a six bedroom mansion in Kensington



Park Gardens. Rodenski lived in this multi-million pound villa on his



own, apart from a house keeper a lady who looked like one of those



Russian dolls. The large painted black front door with its obligatory



brass furnishings was open with a young constable standing guard in



the marbled pillared porch.



Frank parked his bike in the front garden, pulled out a paper suit and



shoes then ran up the stairs to enter. “Look after my bike son, not all



the thieves has been shot. Where is he?” Frank asked as he donned the



paper suit and shoes coverings so as not to contaminate the crime



scene.



“The bodies in the room at the back, on this floor, over looking the



garden sir” answered the young police officer looking a bit green around



the gills having come face to face with his first murder victim. “Are you



OK? You look a bit queasy” inquired Frank. “It‟s my first one. I guess I



will get used to it.” “ No you won‟t, not if you want to be a good cop,



murder must never become normal. It‟s the passion and anger that







4

keeps us motivated.” Frank had a reputation for being approachable and



fair, young cops wanted to work with him and go that extra yard to be



in his team. One of the reasons he had the best clear up rate in the Met.



The room was immaculately furnished with large French windows



overlooking a garden that would not be out of place at the Chelsea



Flower Show



The room looked as though it came straight from of a Knightsbridge



showroom, every thing including ultra modern porcelain figures, clocks



and mirrors seemed to be white, black or grey. The only contrasts



seemed to be the colour from the magazines on a coffee table, arranged



to be looked at rather than read. Every thing ordered and in its right



place all individuality expunged from the room.



Rodenski sat slumped back in a pale grey leather chair, mouth and eyes



wide open in an expression of complete terror with a small red mark



between his eyes, another point of contrast that did not seem out of



place. Standing back Frank looked at the whole scene thinking it was



almost like a piece of modern sculpture from some one like Tracy Emin,



an obsessive compulsion for order, then death. There was very little



blood as a head shot will stop the heart pumping blood at once, it



looked like a .22 calibre weapon that they would be looking for. This



was often the choice of the professional who was sure of his shooting



abilities. In a head shot a more powerful missile might pass straight



through the victim and leave them alive to tell the tail. A bullet from a



.22 would ricochet around the brain causing critical damage especially if







5

the bullet was hollow tipped. Frank stared into Rodenski‟s pale blue eyes



and wondered what their final image had been, if there was any justice



in this world, he would have seen the doors of damnation opening for



him and all the fear and pain he had inflicted on others as his eternal



future.







Every thing in the room and the clothes Rodenski wore reflected the



persona he wanted to portray, expensive and stylish all chosen for value



and cache. A man who was blind to all but profit. Franks dealing with



him had shown Rodenski only valued objects or people by their worth in



cash or influence, just an entry in a ledger. No merit was given to



beauty, wit or charm, unless they could be used to make a profit.



Normally the characteristics of a shallow person, but you could never



call some one who had plumbed the depths of depravity, as Rodenski



had, shallow.







Frank felt a flash of rage and lifted his fist to punch the dead body but



let his hand fall to his side and said with a sigh. “I wish I could bring you



back to life and boil you in oil.”



“I thought you were keeping off the fry ups” DS Van Delft had arrived



looking as she had just walked off the catwalk even in the paper



clothing. Strong sunlight from the window behind caused a hallo like



effect around her hair, a scene from some renaissance religious









6

painting, so incongruous here. Ilse smiled enigmatically and Frank



dropped his gaze from this Mona Lisa like image.







DS Ilse Van Delft was Frank‟s partner at work and some thought in



other ways to. They were known by their colleagues as beauty and the



beast.



Frank had a face of character, moulded from years of playing rugby and



boxing for the police. Long arms, wide shoulders and a barrel chest



gave him a gorilla like poise. He looked dangerous and this demeanour



was very useful in keeping the local yobs quite. Others might think that



it would be easy to pull the wool over the eyes of some one who looked



a lot like the missing link, they would however be sadly mistaken.



Nobodies fool, Frank was quite happy to allow others think him short on



brain cells if it gave him an advantage, their realization that they had



badly underestimated his ability was a nice bonus.



His governor new that Frank could have made superintendent or even



higher if he had been so minded. He also knew that he was a man oft



misunderstood who although quite able to take part in the light banter



of office and pub. Frank would follow all sorts of lines of thought and



was just about impossible to put in a category, this along with a passion



for fair play and willingness to be responsible, helped to make Frank a



brilliant detective









7

DS Ilse Van Delft also was often misread. An epitome of femininity, she



was tall, long haired with a head turning figure, the face of an angel, voice



of a seductress and then, to the surprise of those who had pushed their



luck to far, the kick of a mule. Kick boxing was Ilse‟s hobby.







Her biggest talents was her ability to get people to open up to what



appeared to be a child like curiosity, the most unwilling would be singing



like a bird after just a few minutes of her company.







Because people so often do not realize that some do operate outside of



the envelope of their appearance, dismissing them as beauty and the



beast, helped the pair to become a formidable murder investigation



team.







“From what‟s not here tells us some thing. There will be many that



would have happily pulled the trigger but not many would have these



professional skills and got this close” Frank proposed. “He must have



known his executioner and felt safe with them otherwise he would have



his minder present.”



“There is no rage here. Judged, sentenced and executed.”



“ A pity he was not given a little time to ponder his demise ” Ilse replied



wondering if Frank was going to put a lot of effort into this investigation,



considering his loathing of the victim, knowing him as she did made her



dismiss this thought at once.







8

Frank did not like unsolved mysteries, the mystery of life was the only



one he was prepared to put up with and that left him rather anxious. “I



have a feeling forensics will have a hard time Frank ,she always called



him, Boss or Guv in front of colleagues, refusing to confirm or deny their



relationship to others. It‟s a strange room it looks almost sterile, like a



picture from a top design studio where nobody lives.” “I reckon not



much forensic then, but the bullet will tell a story.” Frank replied and



went on to say.



“He must have been at ease with his killer, he had so many enemies his



paranoia was well justified, any one he was unsure of would never get



this close.” Frank pulled on a surgical glove and tried to move one of the



corpse‟s arms. It was in full rigor mortis. “At a guess I would say he has



been dead about twelve hours meaning he was shot some time last



night.”



“Do you know who called it in?”



“His house keeper called the police at about 8.30 am when she returned



from visiting friends. The PC told me that she is downstairs with a WPC



where she has a separate apartment”



“We better go and have a chat with her. This floor and the upstairs



rooms we better let SOCO (Scene of crimes officer) have a look at this



floor and upstairs before we go tramping all over the place. Do you



know who SOCO is today?” “Your old pal Stats” replied Ilse. “Good,



good” said Frank rubbing his bunch of banana hands together and looks



slowly around slightly sniffing the air like a hunting animal. Frank was







9

on the case. “Lead on Ilse, let‟s talk to the Matryoshka.” They had both



been to the house before interviewing Rodenski and Matryoshka was the



nickname they had given to the house keeper after the Russian nested



wooden dolls that she looked like. “Can you remember her real name



Ilse?”



“I have it written down somewhere in this note book, it was pretty hard



for me to pronounce” Ilse was a language expert, speaking her native



Dutch, Spanish, French, German, Russian with a good bit of Mandarin.



The language skills were becoming more important in the multicultural



London of today.



“The attempt you made of saying her name on our last visit was very



close to the Russian word for prostitute, judging from the expression on



her face and you will know doubt pronounce the name wrong again. So



I better do the introductions” “Nobody likes a smart arse Frank



whispered playfully” with a grin .” “Do not worry Frank, you will never



be accused of being one” parried Ilse.



Most detectives working on murder cases would take part in some



banter that would surprise and shock the layman. It is a shield, to dwell



on the dead and the consequences of the murder upon family and friend



is not helpful in solving the crime and can cause severe problems with



the mental health of the investigators. You would have to be devoid of



feelings not to be effected by the murders that most investigators deal



with and all bear some mental scars including Frank and Ilse.









10

Dead bodies every day desensitise. In the day they must be just a



problem to solve, in the small hours their faces come back to remind of



the humanity once shared.



The house keeper‟s apartment was in the basement. The door was open



and Ilse called. “Hello”. A rotund lady dressed all in black with black



shawl appeared clutching a gold framed icon of the Madonna. On



sighting Ilse she wailed a cried saying something in Russian and



throwing her arms around her.



“Well people cried at Stalin‟s death.” Frank said ready to jump back in



case he was given the same treatment as Ilse tried to untie herself from



the grips of this formidable woman.



“I bet she built tractors in Russia and is worried she might have to go



back there.”



WPC Wood, stood uncomfortably in the background she was of the new



school, a politically correct university graduate who was on the fast



track to run the Met. She regarded Frank as dinosaurs were as she was



still young enough to know it all and believed that community policing



and inclusion was the answer. A new order with new forms a new



dogma, policing politically, where ticking the right boxes and spinning



crime figures to match objectives given was more important that



catching criminals. She had already made a complaint about the familiar



way Frank addressed her. This complaint had made her very unpopular



with her peers, whom she thought would be soon left behind as she rose









11

through the ranks, but popular with one or two officers climbing the



slippery pole of promotions.



Frank had never sought popularity and realised that some people will



never like you, he did not make an effort to change their opinion.



“Make yourself useful dear and make me and DS Van Delft a nice cup of



tea, both no sugars and a little milk. Off you go then Woodentop.” Ilse



gave Frank a frown and shook her head, not wishing to see Frank make



unnecessary enemies knowing he regarded that as one of his little



amusements.



Frank edged pass the wailing woman and Ilse and went into the living



room that was furnished as well as upstairs and had French windows to



the back garden. On expensive looking casual tables framed black and



white photographs of stern looking men and women glared out from a



harder time. More Russian tourist trinkets of poor quality stood on an



Adam marble mantelpiece above the fire place. Had they been given to



her or had she bought them herself?



“Ilse, ask her for her passport.” From the almost hidden reaction of the



women it was clear to Frank that she understood what she had just



said. The eyes that seemed to lack the expected tears were now not



those of a grieving old lady but more that of a cunning fox.



Frank also had the impression that this stout simple peasant of field or



factories was not what she appeared. Other photographs around the



room showed her looking much more modern and cosmopolitan. A



letter was on the casual table that seemed to be in the process of being







12

read, it was in English, addressed to Rodenski and was a letter from his



solicitor discussing his will.



Frank picked up the letter and waved it at the woman. “Look, you know



I think we can cut all this, we are all so sad crap out, as neither of us is



as stupid as we may look.”



Her demeanour quickly changed from the caring to the grasping. “He



promised me, he owes me. I just wanted to see what he had left me, I



am old lady I do not want to go back to the slums of Moscow.”



“Have you read all of this?” Frank asked. The woman declined to



answer. “Shall I call immigration Boss? If she is not going to cooperate



we might as well get her back to Russia.” “No, No, I can tell you things.”



“I bet you can” replied Frank. “Let me tell you how this is going to work.



I am going to ask you questions. You are going to answer and believe



me I will know if you are lying, I will know if you have left any thing out



and I will know if you are trying to hide something. If you get one



question wrong I will send you straight to immigration control. I have



friends there, Polish friends who hate Russians. You will be back in



Russia by the morning with just the clothes you stand in. Understand!?”



“Please! Please, you would not do that to an old lady, you are a kind



man.” “No, I am a complete Bastard and you are an evil old hag, who I



would happily burn at the stake and warm my toes on your ashes.”



So question number one. Your chance to stay in the UK or is it back to



the good old USSR?”



“Have you read the letter?”







13

“I only read the first page.”



“Correct, give the lady a chair.” Ilse ushered her to a comfortable chair



as Frank found a table chair that he placed right in front of her so he



could stare down at her.



“Look at me. I want to see your face if you look away you fail.



Understand?”



“Yes I understand.”



“Where is your passport?”



“It is in the top left hand draw of the tall boy over there” dropping any



pretence that she did not understand English.



“Can you get it please” he said looking at Ilse, who retrieved the



passport from an antique chest of draws.



“Frank looked long and hard at the passport, a dark red cover embossed



with the gold double headed eagle motif of Russia and Cyrillic script, it



was quite impressive. Frank did not have a clue to whether it was false



or not and as he knew that Rodenski would be able to get the genuine



article it would surprise him if it was false. Frank new that the longer he



looked at the passport the more uncomfortable the subject would



become. Frank always advised his junior colleagues that you have one



mouth and two ears because you should listen two times more than you



question and a suspect always feared silence, they would start to



imagine that you knew something that would hurt them.







“Is your name Lara Khavansky?”







14

“Yes it is.” She replied. Frank looked hard at her and hard at the



passport photograph, noticed that her age was only 57. The appearance



of age was due to her demeanour and clothes. Why the act?



“How did you get to know your boss?”



“I worked for him in St. Petersburg as his house keeper.” She said with



knees together, hands clasped trying to look the injured innocent.



“You had the will here reading it, because you expected something to



your benefit. Am I right?”



“Yes, I was curious to see if I was remembered in his will.”



“Nothing wrong with that” replied Frank with a smile that would change



his whole demeanour from that of dangerous aggressor to loving uncle.



“Let me satisfy your curiosity and mine too.”



Frank opened the letter that was from his solicitor Harry Keppel, whom



Frank considered, a total slime ball that made Uriah Heap look like a



model lawyer. The letter consisted of just six sheets of paper. It was



three sheets of a photo copy of Rodenski‟s signed will, an accompanying



letter, invoice and statement. The will had been drawn up only a few



days previously.



Frank read it slowly mouthing the words silently adding another layer of



anxiety to the suspect‟s already nervous disposition. The invoice and



statement from the solicitor told more than the will. The statement



listed invoices presented over the previous months for what appeared to



be for work in the sale of property and leases. Frank gave a chuckle as









15

the bill outstanding was for many thousands and with Rodenski dead



hard to collect.



According to the will Rodenski‟s fortune consisting of some modest cash



deposits the house they sat in along with all its furniture and objects



d‟art. Frank wondered where had all the cash gone from the sale of the



property, drugs and other activities that did not have the paper trails



left by normal business activity?



On his death the solicitor was to sell up all and give the house keeper,



Lara Khavansky, 20% of the proceeds and the rest to his friend Alex



Pasternak, who lived in St. Petersburg. Rodenski had no friends. Frank



guessed that the housekeeper was going to pick up half a million at



least. “Perhaps the housekeeper was laundering more than his clothes.”



Frank thought, time to add a little heat to the occasion.



“He has left you 10 grand!” Frank lied. “That‟s not bad is it.”



The house keeper‟s face fell like a stone, and then anger flashed in her



eyes as she snarled “The bastard he promised me!”



“Why would he promise you more? 10 grand‟s a lot to leave a



housekeeper or perhaps your duties included laundering a lot more than



his shirts.”



With a look of distrust she realized that she had given more away than



she meant to. “Let me look at the will please.”



“Sorry no can do police evidence now, part of a murder investigation. If



you thought a lot of money was coming your way that makes you a









16

suspect.” Pausing Frank pointed his index finger. “Your might have



murdered Rodenski. Yes you”.



Her hands shot to her face and covered a gasp of horror. ”No not me,



you are wrong”



“Let me put you in the picture. We do not put the flags to half mast



when a bit of mafia scum like your boss gets shot. We will be out



tonight having a drink celebrating his death. The only problem is I have



to find the murderer, clear up rates all the boxes have to be ticked.” “It



would be very convenient if you were the murderer. Then I could get



this all cleared up in one day.”



“What do you think Sergeant, can we fit her up?”



“Please, you can‟t do that. I am innocent.”



“Why not, she fits fine, just plant a bit of her DNA on the body. The will



gives motive and she had the opportunity. She has obviously been up to



no good with Rodenski. I am all for it, I want to go out tonight. Why



should we care what happens to her. If we are quick I can go and get



my nails done the afternoon. Frank it‟s the best way. ” Ilse came close



in and staring at the women said. “Do not think the same rules of



normal justice apply to you, every one wants to get rid of the Russian



mafia and we have become very pragmatic in the way we do that.”



“What Ilse means is that we own you.”



Frank was now happy that he had reduced the house keeper to a



nervous wreck who would do what ever asked of to save her self.









17

“This can end in one of three ways. We can get you convicted of pre-



meditated murder. 15 years in Holloway and then deported to Russia at



73 years of age. We would also ask the Russian police to have a very



close look at you; we would give them all the help we could.”



The housekeeper seemed to visibly shrink as she imagined the future.



“Or you could tell us every thing you know about Rodenski and I mean



every thing, leaving nothing out. We know a lot already you and he



have been under surveillance for a long time. You have seen those men



working down the road and then those guys on the house up the road?”



She imagined that she had and they were there, but only repairing the



phone lines and painting a house but Frank new that paranoia was



always part of a criminal‟s make up.



“So what‟s it going to be?”



“Help us, walk free. Keep quite and go to jail?”



Ilse playing her part with perfection said. “Charge her Frank; she knows



how he made his living, so if she killed him or not, she is guilty as hell.



Let‟s get a bit of natural justice for those this witch helped to destroy.”



“No please, I will help I know lots I will tell you all.”



“Ok. But remember this there was a third option. If you tell one lie or



omit anything you will have the third way.”



“What is the third way, please I will tell all.”



Frank ignored her question and turned to Ilse.



“We will get Stats to get a statement off her, he knows as much about



Rodenski as you or I.”







18

“You are under house arrest. You will not leave these premises unless



instructed by a police officer. If you did not kill Rodenski and you know



as much as you say you could be next on the killers list.



WPC Wood will stay with you until she is relieved.”



WPC Wood had been listening open mouthed as Frank had cast his spell



over the house keeper.



“Before I go I see that you have done quite a bit of travelling. I see that



you have been to Russia three and Switzerland four times in the last



twelve months.” “I guess you took quite a lot of cash out on each trip.



Am I right?” She nodded her head in agreement. “Make sure you give



all the bank details in your statement. Do you know any one called Alex



Pasternak?”



“It was the name on the account I put the money into in Russia, I think



he was a friend of my Boss”.



“Did you ever meet him?”



“No.”



Ilse looked at Frank with a look of “Do you think what I am thinking.”



Frank nodded.



“OK WPC Wood. Stay with the lady until you are relieved. DS Andrews



will be here soon and will take a formal statement.”



Frank and Ilse left the apartment with WPC Wood hot on their heels.



When out of ear shot she said. “Sir, there is no such thing as house



arrest and what was all that about fitting her up.”



“Tell her sergeant, we are here to educate as well.”







19

“It‟s simple my dear little Woodentop, if it is ever decided that you have



the intelligence to become a detective you will be issued with a licence



to lie to criminals. Not an official one, not some thing that would be



thought proper in the Ivory Towers of Hendon training college. I know it



may go against all those ideals so loved in your English culture, like fair



play and a level playing field, but if you want to put criminals behind



bars you use every tool at your disposal. Nothing that the DI did or said



in that room was ilegal and it got results. There are some people who



would like to tie a hand behind the backs of Detectives, in my view they



are more dangerous than the criminals. Unfortunately some of these



people wear uniforms. You are going to have to decide what side you



are on, think about why you joined.”



They left leaving WPC Wood with much to consider.



“I think we agree there is a chance that this Alex Pasternak is an alias of



Rodenski, perhaps he was about to do a runner or at least trying to



disperse his assets.”



“It certainly looks a strong possibility and talking about aliases Stats is



here.”



Outside they found Stats a.k.a. DS. Stephen Theodor Andrew Thatcher



called Stats by name and stats by nature. His memory for detail was



phenomenal and his ability to combine this with computer wizardry



made him a legend throughout the met. No one would have thought him



to be a police officer, including his colleagues. He was tall and thin and



could have been any age from 21 to 55, he was in fact 42.







20

He was also unusual as he was qualified to be a scene of crime officer a



position most often held by a civilian who was qualified in that field.



Stats had taken the course in his off time and had the relevant degree.



He dressed in a tweed jacket with elbow patches and corduroy trousers



and this with his horned rim glasses and unruly wavy hair gave the



appearance of an absent minded teacher of one of the sciences. In fact



he was very forgetful of all those things that he deemed to be



unimportant. That‟s why he arrived at the scene of crime rather later



than expected. He had forgotten his warrant card and the probationary



PC at the police cordon would not let him through until a colleague had



verified his identity.







“Hi Stats so glad you could join us. Ils thought you may have gone to



Nottingham by mistake” Stats mumbled some sort of an apology. Frank



would not press the matter. Stats is an invaluable part of the team,



putting in the cement to join up the inspirational ideas of Frank and Ilse,



often showing where the boundaries of possibility lay.



They went back to the body.



“Tell me have you seen any thing like this before?” Stats looked closely



at the deceased, blew out his cheeks and looked at the ceiling as if



looking for divine inspiration. “Yes but not first hand, I recall seeing a



report of an assassination in Belfast around about „72” with a similar



M.O. However a bullet in the head is not unique. When we see the bullet



we should know more.







21

“So far we know two things, he knew the murderer and the murderer



knew how to use a gun in a very professional way.”



Every one wanted Stats on their quiz team.







“Ok I want you to get what you can here. Pay attention to the name



Alex Pasternak if you find it any where let me know. I will call base and



get the usual kicked off with some uniforms to conduct a local house to



house to check if there is any one who saw anything. I guess there is



local CTV. I will get that called in to.” “Ilse, who can we trust to look at



hours of mind numbing CTV footage without nodding off?”



“I don‟t know. Anyone with a mind goes into a coma after about 5



minutes. I would choose some one you don‟t like at the moment and is



also a bit scared of you.” “That‟s a long list.”



“When we have set that up we will go and chase down the missing link.”



“Is that Mr Billy Macleod Boss? I was wondering where Rodenski‟s



shadow was, I presume that‟s who you mean.







Chapter 2.







Billy Macleod had come to the notice of Rodenski in the 70‟s. Macleod



had come to London on the advice of fellow activists in the embryonic



Ulster Red Hand League an organisation formed to counter the



increasing murderous activities of PIRA ( Provisional Irish Republican









22

Army) They were competing as to whom could commit the most



senseless atrocities.



PIRA where winning at this time but the URHL where catching up with



their own acts of barbarism. Like all of these organisations they were



the happy hunting grounds of psychopaths who could excuse there



atrocities buy the overriding importance of “The Cause”. True to form



Billy Macleod was happy satisfying his blood lust for any cause what



ever the philosophy behind it. If the Woman‟s Institute had had a



militant arm that gave him an excuse to batter or blow a few people to



there deaths he would have changed sex and joined up for their cause,



fully believing the propaganda within minutes.







Macleod had been told to come to London after turning the stomachs of



even the hardest Loyalists. They realised that the unforgiving slaughter



of innocents by Macleod did not make good press. The fire bombing of a



catholic home resulting in the death of a whole family of seven very well



liked people from both sides of the divide had been the catalyst that



moved this murder machine from Ulster to London.







Having heard of his deeds you would expect him to be the usual “Billy



Boy” loyalists with the skin head hair cut and regulation tattoos saying



“no surrender” with the red hand of Ulster. But no McLeod was much



more dangerous than that. Here was a psychopath with a brain. Macleod



was a psychopath with the imagination to prescribe the most horrific of







23

deaths, the intelligence to carry them out and the detachment to never



be moved by his victim‟s circumstances, a very dangerous man. By



giving Macleod the motivation to act by justifying his deeds Rodenski



had the weapon of mass destruction to make him king of crime in



London.







Ilse drove her Volvo estate car with Frank‟s bike in the back. You may



wonder how a Ilse could afford a new top of the range Volvo on



Detective Sergeants pay. Frank gave it her. Frank had the nickname



“lucky” as he was an extremely rich man due mostly to luck and his



generosity to a friend. After finishing his training at Hendon Frank



moved in to a flat share in Tavistock Road just off the Portobello Road,



this was way before the area became gentrified. He shared this flat with



Michael Lyons from county Mayo in Ireland. Michael Lyons was



intelligent and hard working making his living in the building trade. He



worked hard all day and went to night school to train as an architect.



Frank recognised that Michael was a success waiting to happen and



realized how much England had benefited from the Irish immigration.



They became the best of friends. Michael even introduced Frank to his



future wife. Frank always said this was his revenge for Oliver Cromwell‟s



invasion of Ireland.







Michael told Frank that he was starting his own business and planned to



buy some derelict land for development. Michael did not have much







24

capitol and knew that Frank had inherited money from his Grandfather



and that it was sitting in the building society gathering dust. Michael



proposed that Frank invest in his company in return for shares. Frank



was sure that he would not lose his investment and jumped at the idea



and became a sleeping partner.



After the second year of trading Frank received a yearly profits share



that soon exceeded his own salary. In Frank‟s fortieth year Michael



floated his company on the stock market and suggested that Frank sell



his shares as he was going to do the same. Frank made 13 million



pounds after tax.









Frank and Ils arrived outside Macleod‟s home just off Scrubs lane. The



houses here had been built by the council in the 30‟s in the “Garden



City” style, solid large brick constructions built to last and be nurtured



by the occupants. Now with “right to buy” the whole area had changed



from a working class estate to a middle class area. A vast area of open



green common land was to the north making the place even more



desirable; however there was the drawback of Wormwood Scrubs Prison



adjacent to the estate. The prison is a massive Victorian construction,



based on Sing Sing in the US, housing 1250 male prisoners. Macleod‟s



garden backed right on to the prisons boundary. Frank was looking



forward to having this man incarcerated on the other side of these



walls. The home was a fitting symbol to the paranoia that went a long







25

with Macleod‟s psychopathic personality. Movement activated lights in



the garden along with two CTV cameras. The windows had bars and the



glass was no doubt bullet proof, the front door looked like something off



a bank vault, all at odds with the wonderful Wisteria twisting its way up



the wall and under the eaves. The houses either side where empty the



late residents happy to take the low cash offer to sell up and move. Who



wants to live next door to a mad dog that does rather more than bark.







Frank had interviewed one of the neighbours when trying to get



evidence against Macleod. Winston Blair was regarded as a hard man in



his own right having been a successful boxer in the light heavy weight



division. Winston had at first stood up to the intimidation but he had a



young family to precious to risk.







First family pets went missing delivered back mutilated and tortured. “I



new that man was capable of any thing. You look into his eyes and you



felt the man was chewing on your soul, asking how my daughter was



doing at school.” “What could I do? You could never make any thing



stick. We all know what he is. He is winning Mr Farren we all know



that.”







Frank had raged against the impotency of the law when dealing with



characters like Macleod. He had to keep to all the rules whilst Macleod



could dance rings around the law laughing, using smart arse lawyers







26

who knew every technicality but had forgotten the principle of justice.



Frank however was a pragmatist and although he new he had to be



careful to make sure evidence stood up in court and not give the



lawyers any chance to find incorrect procedures, allowing a murderer to



walk free, he would do anything he could do to get these bastards



behind bars. Macleod and his ilk were truly “beyond the Pale” they



deserved no protection from the law. The rule book had been suspended



for the duration.







The steel door had an intercom with camera by its side. Frank looked at



Ilse and rang the bell. No answer. He rang again with the same result.



Macleod‟s car a black Range Rover was on the concrete hard pad that



had once been a garden. “He has to be in as he would never go any



where on foot around here.” “Let‟s try the back” The sides and back of



the house was protected by fencing of solid alloy sheets topped with



razor wire. Only a small wicket gate provided access this was bolted



from the inside.



Frank bashed on the door and shouted “Police we have a warrant. We



know you are in there. Do you want us to smash the door down?”



“Looks like you may have to get a real warrant Boss.”



“I have a feeling about this one Ilse.” “I am sure I can smell gas.”



“That‟s the curry we had last night”



“I think I saw Macleod at the window with a gun”









27

“Now you are clutching at straws. Frank there is no way you can get in



there without a lot of tools. Let‟s get a warrant and call a team in to get



the door off. ”



“Do it at the same time and we should have the warrant at about the



time we go in. That way we will not spend hours with the Supper



explaining our actions.”



He knew she was right her voice of reason was always keeping Frank



out of hot water.



“OK you win. Let‟s go to the office and set up the murder board and



start to pull what we know together, then come back here when they



have the door off.”







Macleod was lying in a steamer chair in his back garden. The garden



had incorporated the gardens of the vacated homes either side giving a



space that had been transformed into a vista that would have won a



medal at the Chelsea flower show; A piece of paradise created by a



person just as capable of creating hell. How could both capabilities exist



in the same man? There was the delicious smell of white jasmine. The



garden was a feast of flowers and shrubs. Butterflies hovered around



the Lilac and damsel flies darted about the water garden that boasted



large pink water lily flowers. This is strange oasis of tranquillity that



seemed at odds with the back drop of Wormwood Scrubs prison.









28

Macleod did not stir as a blue bottle landed on the small red dot scarcely



weeping blood in the centre of his forehead.







Chapter 3.







The office that the murder squad used was on the third floor of the



Ladbroke Road police station. In charge was Chief inspector Dooley an



import from the RUC. Dooley had two Detective inspectors under his



command, several detective sergeants and many DC‟s.







Dooley was a tall man with a large blue veined nose and a grey face. He



was 55 looking 65 and looking forward to his retirement. Frank and



Dooley got on well together. Dooley knew that Frank would get the job



done and he let him get on with it. Frank was useless at office politics



but 20 years in the RUC had made Dooley a political master, he was



also a fine administrator and knew how to delegate to get the best from



his men. Dooley was also a great believer in progress and had a lot of



understanding of new technology that would frighten most men of his



age.







He had just come back from a fishing holiday in Ireland and He wished



he was back there when the news of Rodenskie‟s death came in.









29

When he was on his fishing holiday he had met an old school chum



fishing off the rocks on Antrim Bay for bass. In their conversation



Dooley pointed out that he was thinking of retiring there and spending



the rest of his life fishing. He also told his friend about his long career in



the Police force and how hard work and ambition now enabled him to



afford to retire, live in the area and indulge his hobby. His pal who lived



overlooking the bay in a house built on his parents land was a postmen



and was about to retire. His total lack of ambition had enabled him to



fish when ever he wanted. Dooley wondered if the long convoluting road



that he had taken to arrive at the same spot made him a more fulfilled



man. His friend seemed happy, still married, with many children and



grandchildren. His job, as it had too many, taken a lot out of him and



he wondered if he had made a difference for the good. He looked back



to the days when he first joined the force feeling that enthusiasm and



optimism of youth. Had it been worth it? All those murderers locked up



only to be released on pardon for the “good of the peace agreement”. A



sell out to the bombers for a sham of peace?









Dooley‟s office looked on to an open plan layout with many desks and



computer terminals. The case wall had been started by Stats with a



picture of Rudenski taking centre stage.









30

Frank and Ilse entered the office exchanged some words with Stats and



headed for Dooley‟s office.



“How was the fishing?”



“Not bad caught a few, lost more” “Well Frank It looks as though some



one has caught your big fish” “Any ideas?”



“We are trying to locate his lieutenant, Macleod. I have applied for a



warrant to search his home. We are going back there in an hour. Stats



is putting together all known acquaintances and I am going to get some



legs out to do a door to door and check to see if there is any local CTV.”



“How about you DS Van Delft are you managing to keep your boss‟s



eye on the ball whilst you do your famous lateral thinking?”



“Doing my best Sir. It is early days. There are a lot of people who would



be very happy to see Rodenski dead, could be a turf war or revenge.”







They walked to the case wall and Frank called to order the assembled



officers.



“Rodenski is dead” “Does this mean the King is dead long live the King?



If so we can look forward to a serious turf war” “But lets not assume



anything and lets look at the facts we are sure of”



One, Rodenski new his killer and was happy for them to be there and



felt safe.



Two, The killer appears to be a very good shot and have the complete



trust of Rodenski.









31

Three, Forensics tell us that bullet 22mm, hollow tipped with a mercury



centre. That means that it was most likely made by the shooter as you



can not buy them. So this is what you would call a ruthless professional



murderer that wanted to be sure to kill his target.



4, The first indications from forensics are that Rodenski met his maker



around 9pm last night.



This brings to my mind his side kick Macleod. We are waiting for a



search warrant for his place now. I am thinking has he decided to take



the crown or was Rodenski‟s visitor so trusted that he felt safe without



his presence? ”







“DC. Roberts, I want you to organise a house to house with some



uniforms. Do the door to door between 7pm and 11pm to coincide with



time of death on previous day, before that you can check the area for



CTV.







“Unless told otherwise we meet back here 8am sharp tomorrow morning



to see what we have. As you get info feed it to Stats here who will hold



the fort and start to paint the story on the case wall”







“Just so you know. I am not glad that Rodenski is dead. It was all too



easy for him. He has cheated justice.”







“Get to it”







32

“DI. Brian Wills of vice is on the phone for you guv” and Ilse handed him



the phone.







“Hello Frank, I hear that you are getting a warrant to search Macleod‟s



house”



Brian Wills seemed to sound much more of the Brumie he was when on



the phone. A lot of people associate a Birmingham accent with being



slow, that was not the case with DI. Wills who had a fine analytic mind,



just what was needed in vice where motives did not always come down



to profit.



“Can I come along as we have an interest in him.”



“Always a pleasure to have you a long Brian. What‟s your interest in



him, other than the general?” “We believe that he and Rodenski have



started to get involved in people smuggling and may be targeting young



girls from Eastern Europe to work in his massage parlours.”



“Who ever topped Rodenski has buried a lot of information and has not



done us any favours as we were building a strong case against him.



Hopefully we can get some info out of Macleod when we bag him.”







Frank wondered how Brian kept his sanity doing his job. Murder was



easy in comparison. Most murders where committed in the home by



some one related or who knew the victim well and the act was rarely



premeditated. Some could be very distressing especially when children







33

where involved. The rest like the present case where on the whole the



most interesting and required the best of detection skills. However being



honest to himself, he new this job fucked you up and that after seeing



death on a daily basis in the most tragic of ways you could never return



to “normal”. There were those that knew and then everyone else lived



on the moon.







Vice was often the route to murder. People involved in a spiral



downwards who would do any thing to satisfy the dark sides of their



minds and organised criminals who are happy to supply. Whatever was



supplied only counted as merchandise whether it be drugs or a child.



Think of the worst you can imagine and then realise that worse is



happening, now, even when the sun shines and the birds sing. Those



who work in vice see this pit of depravity every day along with the



depths people will sink and the suffering caused.







DI Brian Wills kept his sanity by knowing his job did make a difference



and it was people like himself and his colleagues that stopped London



becoming a hell hole of depravity and corruption. It was never enough



but he felt that they were turning the tide. Always an optimist and that



optimism his main motivation







“We are going to hit Macleod‟s in about 45mins I will see you there.”









34

Chapter 3.



Antanasia Brasov looked at her surroundings. The bed and room was



comfortable. There was a television and this was helping her to pick up



the English language that was so different from her native Romanian.



There was an on suite bathroom that was the height of luxury in her



eyes. There was even a refrigerator stocked with drinks of all sorts, with



a small amount of food. However there are no windows and the main



door was locked.







Antanasia looked younger than her 13 years. She was from a small



village called Rucar a beautiful alpine like place in the heart of Dracula



country. She had four sisters and one brother. Her father had become



disabled in a building accident. There was very little money. Her elder



sister and mother cleaned for wealthier people who came to the area for



holidays. It was the families dream to send the only boy, Paul, to a good



school so he could become someone and lift the family out of the abject



poverty they endured.







When working in one of the local hotels Antanasia‟s mother met a rich



lady from Bucharest, Helena. She had met Antanasia when she was



helping her mother and elder sister. She was such a kind lady giving



them presents of soap and food, she told them all about the glamorous



life she led in the capitol. Grand balls, foreign travel and expensive









35

meals. She touched all their hearts with her story of losing her daughter



in child birth and her husband soon afterwards.



She was a spinner of dreams that kept them all fascinated. Antanasia



seemed to be a particular favourite and it was suggested that she would



accompany Helena back to Bucharest and become her maid and



companion. Helena would treat Antanasia like a daughter and the



money she sent back would allow them to send Paul to a good school.



Antanasia was full of excitement that was tinged with sadness and



apprehension as she had never been away from home before on the



days she was due to leave. There were tears in the eyes of all the family



as they waved goodbye, seeing that small delicate hand waving from



the back window of a large Mercedes disappear from view. Helena had



insisted in giving Antanasia‟s first quarter‟s wages to her father in



advance. It was about 1% of what she expected to sell her for.







Chapter 4.







The roads had been cordoned off with armed officers in position ready



for action and no doubt some wishing for the chance to pull the trigger.







Frank felt that this was all a bit over the top but knew that the rituals



would have to be gone through with lots of shouted orders and broken



glass. “I think he‟s dead or not there” “What odds will you give me Ils?









36

They better be good as I think you could be right. There should have



been a reaction of some kind by now”







The door was smashed in by two burley officers using a king size



battering ram. Shouts of “armed police” and “clear” could be heard from



the house, then just the murmur of men talking and cat calls from the



windows of cells indistinct twisted faces shouting with rage.







An armed inspector came over to Frank and company; he looked more



like Robo Cop than the stereo type image of your normal London Bobby.



“The house is clear and safe. But you have a little present in the



garden, look like some one has beaten you to it”



“OK, get your men out and let‟s see if we can work this out”



As the Armed cops moved out the investigating team moved in. Filing



towards the open door like a strange religious sect, all dressed in white



paper suits, with hair and boot covering to match, so as not to



contaminate the crime scene that had already been contaminated by the



big boots of the armed police. As Frank and Ilse had guessed they had



been a waist of time and money.







“It seems bizarre and blasphemous that he, of all people, should die on



this beautiful day in this lovely garden that was obviously his pride and



joy”.









37

“What amazes me is that such a person like McLeod would want and



create such a place” Ilse replied.



They had often talked about how their constant exposure to the harsh



realities of working on murder investigation had thrown a veil over any



aspect of beauty making them always wonder where the catch was.



What was the price to pay for a glance at enchantment?







“I Guess the personality of people like McLeod and Rodenski must be



split and they just operate in one part of the brain at a time, they



disassociate the two halve of their lives or they would have cracked up



long ago”.



“Well that‟s my view Ilse, but what do I know?”



“More than most, those like you and me, who see the whole picture and



try to clear up the havoc they have created, know this sort of



personality well. The problem is that we suspect every one of having the



capability of going that way.”







They looked at McLeod who lay back in the steamer chair with eyes wide



open with a look of amazement on his face. A small spider had made a



web in his open mouth. A fine epitaph for this departed soul.







The red spot in the centre of the forehead lead them to suspect that



they were only looking for one killer today.









38

“Looks like a .22 calibre again, but how did he get in? The whole place



was secured from the inside. The garden backs straight on to the outer



prison wall and those Leander trees block the view from the prison



windows.”







Stats watched the soco experts take photographs of the body. He



moved to just behind the head of the deceased and lined his own up



adjacently.



“Boss, there is a little gap in the foliage and through it I can see a



window in the prison.”







“Can you soco boys work out the angle of projection of the bullet that



hit our stiff here?”







“We can give you a good idea” answered an anonymous white figure.







Ilse and Frank moved cautiously towards the Leander looking at where



they were treading. They stopped a few feet away and they could see



that a small piece of branch had been removed, just enough to give a



view of McLeod‟s patio area and his chair.







“Stats keep on top of SOCO. No stone unturned here, any sign of



anything that could be a lead I want to know, not just the obvious.” “I



also want a good idea on how long ago that the branch was cut and the







39

time of death of McLeod is going to be important.” “Find out if he had a



gardener. I can‟t see him doing all this work.”







DI Wills walked towards Frank a cigarette in the corner of his mouth as



usual staining yellow the lock of grey blond hair that hung across his



forehead. The cigarette was only removed for eating, drinking,



replacing, sleeping and sometimes speaking.



“Do you shower with that fag in your mouth Brian?” Frank said



jealously, having given up cigarettes fifteen years previously and



wanting one every day. In fact he was looking forward to being seventy-



five the age he said he was going to start smoking forty a day again.



Brian coughed and looking worried removed the cigarette.



“He would get himself killed now. I have been keeping McLeod under



close surveillance. The bean counters are going to go nuts when they



see the overtime bill, especially now the murderer may have screwed up



any chance I had of getting the result I wanted.”



“Why? What‟s the story?



“In Manchester after a raid on a massage parlour we discovered a



couple of girls from Romania who had been tricked into the business.



Usual story come to London work in a club as a dancer, loads of money,



streets paved with gold blah, blah.



I won‟t go in to detail but these girls had been through hell. They had



been here about five years and so junked up that they were coming to



the end of their useful life. Only in their twenties but looking about







40

forty, having been kept smacked up for the last five years, turning



twenty tricks a day. They had started off in London, then sold on to



some Albanians in Birmingham who then traded them in Manchester. I



guess we got to them just about in time.







“Will they ever get over what they have been through? If they were



English they would get all sorts of support. Being Romanian they will be



just sent home, junkies with scrambled brains, not much of a rescue is



it”?







“They are getting help now via social services as we want them in the



country to give evidence, but for how long I don‟t know.”







“The smack they where using had been cut to be just about enough to



stop them going nuts. They were on the way out. They would have then



be found in bed sits around Moss Side over the next few months having



died of overdoses as they would be given a pure dose of uncut heroin,



death by misadventure caused by overdose of a controlled substance.



Self administered and only themselves to blame, how would you prove



otherwise?”







The way pimps get rid of a junkie prostitute past any use was to keep



cutting the strength of her fix and then give her a full hit of uncut 100%









41

heroin. They would then overdose killing them selves and who could



prove otherwise.







“It‟s worse than murder” Ilse interjected “Saving them gives them a



chance, but you would have to be a real gutsy character to survive that



abuse with out a lot of screws coming lose”







“And our body over there was involved.” Suggested Frank as DI Brian



Wills searched his pockets looking for a light for yet another cigarette.



“It would appear he and Rodenski were providing capitol and safe



houses but no direct contact.” The girls are telling us all they can. One



is particularly helpful as she speaks good English but never let her



captors know this. She thinks she saw Rodenski and McLeod in London



and they apparently were looking at photographs of girls for sale.



Rodenski said that he was going to buy one just for his own use.



Apparently very young and innocent”



“That sounds like the bastard” “Not going to happen now though is it”?



“That‟s all OK Frank but we think she is in the country, but where?”



“I was hoping McLeod was going to lead us to her”







Frank‟s mobile rang, his ring tone imitated a real phone no sweet tunes



for our Frank. “Yes guv, No, Yes. I think he may have been shot from



the prison. Well if that‟s what you want however I think this may be









42

just the start of something and we should not let events get to far



ahead of us” “See you Monday enjoy your weekend”



“Well the powers that be don‟t want a big over time bill for this one”



“Looks as though we have the weekend off, I think we may regret this



but nobody is keen on busting the budget for a couple of gangsters”



“What about you Brian? You must feel that you‟re at a dead end?”



Brian looked with contempt at the body and said “I guess so; I think I



will go to Manchester to see if I can get any more out of the girls up



there and maybe I can get their minders to sing a little now they know



they will not have to answer to Rodenski or McLeod.”







“Ilse can you get back to the station and see if you can get us into the



Scrubbs on Monday with someone with a brain from forensics. I would



love to do it tomorrow but the bean counters have a computer that says



“No.” “Ill get my bike out your car and take a slow ride to the Talavera.



If you fancy a drink and bite I will be there.”









Chapter 5,



Behind the police cordon around McLeod‟s house a woman of



indeterminable age looked towards his home. She appeared to be very



agitated. A police office patrolling the cordon looked at the woman. He



was in two minds, the whole of the two minds amounted to very little,







43

you could be sure that nothing constructive would be about to happen.



He was 45 looking forward to a pint after the shift and worked very hard



at doing as little as possible. He could have changed a lot of future



events, but he decided to do nothing. If the very distressed woman had



been observed by a younger officer, who either wanted to get on or



knew that an inquisitive mind was necessary for effective policing, he



would have approached the woman and the contact would have



changed everything.



The woman, who was called Alice Partridge, also decided to do nothing.



She had been trying to contact McLeod all day. He should have met her



last night and give her instructions. She had been dead scared about



coming out to his house as she had always been told “Not to think, just



do as your told”. She had plenty of scag and did not need to see



McLeod. No one ever wanted to see McLeod. He always scared Alice and



she guessed the best thing for Alice to do was nothing. If she did



nothing surely she would do nothing wrong and McLeod would not hurt



her. She would go home now. “Yes that was the best thing. Go home



have a fix, drink some wine and wait until he contacts.



She shuddered as though a cold shadow had passed over her. She felt



that she had been watched on turning she noticed a man standing in the



shadow of a tree, tall, with a hat and long coat to far away to be able to



make out facial details. She turned away then looked back and he was



gone. She felt uneasy but there again she felt that way most of the









44

time, especially when needing a fix. “Got to get a hit before the spiders



start crawling all over me” she thought. Nothing else mattered now.



---------------------------------------------------------------







Antanasia was getting scared she had not seen any one for about 48



hours, She had some food and plenty of water, but she just wanted to



see some one, hear a voice that was not from the TV. She wanted to



shout but she was scared what a shout might bring.







Chapter 6. Friday Night.



Frank was thoughtful as he peddled the last few hundred yards to his



favourite pub “The Talavera” a free house in a small cul de sac off the



Portobello Rd.







He had decided that he was going to enjoy the weekend and do what he



wanted to for a change. His sons, who had taken up most of his



weekend time for all the years he was divorced, were now 18 and 21.



They still spent time together that was most often very enjoyable but



they also had their own lives to live and Frank knew he had to keep a



few paces back now. They always called him on a Sunday, even when



they did not want money.







The case was in his view worth working the weekend but the bean



counters had said “no overtime” and he was not going to ask his team







45

to work for free to find the killer of a couple of shits every one was



happy to see put out of business. So enjoy! However Frank had been



brought up in a family that had been vigorous in the pursuit of the work



ethic and he felt a tinge of guilt that he was having a weekend off when



he knew there was work to be done, paid or unpaid. There was



something in the back of his mind that said that this was not quite right.







The pub was unusual as it brewed its own beer on the premises. Built in



early Victorian times very little had been changed. From the pub sign



showing a red coated soldier holding a large union jack, his boot on the



a pile of bodies of beaten troops at the victory at Talavera over the



Napoleonic forces in Peninsula campaign.



The whole pub would have been a good location for any film of the



early 20th century with every thing originally from that time. Fine oak



panelled rooms, a bar of mahogany that was liked polished coal,



engraved mirrors, in fact all the way to the chain flushes in the gents



with the ceramic pull handles was original Edwardian.







The bar was rectangular in the centre of the buildings ground floor, this



was then sectioned to give four areas, divided by swing doors the like



that you see in the bars of old cowboy films. There was no juke box or



slot machines. The only food that was served was on a black board in



the section called the dinning room. Home made soup, 2 dish‟s of the



day, pudding of the day and a selection of sandwiches all made to order.







46

Frank chained his bike to an outside drain pipe and headed for the bar.



His old pal Mike was already on his favourite stool and Frank pulled one



up to sit beside him. He glanced around and took in the solid mahogany



bar shining like a treacle pool, then at the engraved mirrors that



surrounded the central island behind the optics and shelves of glasses



filled with strange brews that may be the elixir of life. The part stained



glass and engraved windows spilled rainbow lights from a setting sun.



“They don‟t make them like this any more. Do they Mike.”







“Well Frank they try to. We have just got a contract to refurbish about



20 brewery pubs. The want an “Edwardian” theme. Most of these pubs



where Victorian or Edwardian to begin with vandalised several times to



fit in with the latest fashion and now they are going back to what they



originally were only with all mock fittings as the original fittings ended



up on skips.” All to have stupid names like the Slug and Lettuce.”



“I expect if you asked most people today what the name Talavera



signified they would say a beach in Ibiza.”







Not much had changed in the Talavera since Mike and Frank first started



to drink there 20 years ago. The land lord was the same, one Johan



Rubens his grandfather having bought the place in 1914. Johan‟s



grandfather, Peter, was an exile from Gent in Belgium fleeing in the



First World War but able to bring the family gold to London. Peter







47

Rubens had been a brewer in Gent and he decided to use that skill to



produce a very popular selection of beers for the Talavera.







The pub had played a large part in both the lives of Frank and Mike. It



was where they had first met as a pair of newcomers to London. Mike



had introduced Frank to his wife here. Johan had led indirectly to Ilse



van Delft becoming his colleague in the Force.







Johan liked the presence of Frank because although known by all as a



copper he was off duty in the pub. The crooks and toms that came in



also knew that they had to be off duty for this status quo to continue.



The Talavera was known by the locals as “neutral ground” where all



could enjoy a drink and have fun with no trouble.







“Is Ilse coming in?” asked Johan as he pulled a foaming pint of dark ale,



sort of a cross between a Mackisons and Guinness, Frank‟s favourite.



“I told her I was coming but I do not know if that will be a big enough



attraction, she sees me all day.”



“Poor Girl” Mike jibes.



“She has been seen I understand in that new wine bar in Elgin Crescent”



Johan informs.



“With any one” says Frank trying not to show too much interest.



“You‟re the detective Frankie boy, my informant did not supply that



info”







48

“You need to train your informers better. Why she wants to go into



those wine bars I do not know. Full of people wining and winging, all



pretending to be Hugh Grant.”



“Should be a law against it, stone them I would.” as Mike shows his



tolerant side. Any way you don‟t get too many of the bastards in here.”







As if summoned to the court of Friday drinking pals Ilse walked in and



the ritual of the continental greeting of friends went ahead with kisses



all around. Frank always found this an awkward moment and wished



that the Anglo Saxon hand shake would prevail, however with Celts in



the predominance he would go with the flow and managed to plant a



kiss without standing on her feet or knocking over a beer. Frank a big



man was not naturally clumsy, in fact relaxed most of the time other



than when going through this continental and luvy London ritual. He



also found the work relationship and private relationship he had with



Ilse sometimes difficult to reconcile in public. Mike of course would be



full of Irish charm and Johan came from behind the bar to add hugs to



kisses as though Ilse had just arrived from a trip to the moon.







You did get a great variety of people in the Talavera, people who



enjoyed the cut and thrust of good conversation, understanding that wit



was spontaneous and not mimicking the latest popular comedian. They



came from all walks of life, actors, plumbers, politicians, the local



antique dealers and undertakers.







49

Oliver Dunn, of Dunn and Fragett the local undertakers would like to be



known as a funeral director. He was born for the part, with a long,



lugubrious face and a voice always hushed and reverent. He could have



walked straight off the page of a Dickens novel. This along with his



black, black sense of humour made him an ideal regular for the



Talavera. He had held the bar door open for Ilse.



“Good Evening and felicitations to you all”



“Farren, Miss van Delft, how fitting to see you smiling at this joyous



time.”



He called every one by their surname.



“I assume that this jubilant mood has been brought on by the demise of



those two perpetrators of misery Messer‟s Rodenski and McLeod. I too



will benefit from this kismet as do all that had the misfortune to cross



their paths. Their falling shadow blighted many a life”



“How do you know this and why are you so happy?” Frank asked Oliver.



“Every one knows they had copped it.” Mike interjected and those



around shook their heads in agreement.



“Well the jungle drums have been busy. I only knew about both by



around four o‟clock this afternoon.”



“Well a lot of people may be dancing on the street as the news spreads.



They were about as popular as the Taliban in Israel.”







“Why does it benefit you Oliver?” asked Mike.







50

“Rodenski visited me about three months ago. He wanted to arrange his



funeral. I can tell you I was most surprised and not pleasantly. I rather



thought that the mortal remains of Rodenski would end up as part of the



foundations of some large building project or in an unmarked grave



used by Her Majesty‟s prison service.”







“The whole meeting was totally bizarre. He arrived at my office, by



appointment, one morning just a few weeks in to the New Year. He had



his subordinate with him, McLeod. I had heard of Rodenski as his



notoriety is difficult to miss and I expected a rather overbearing



and threatening sort of character. He was however quite the opposite in



fact he seemed nervous and almost meek.”



“Well perhaps he wanted to inherit the earth” interrupted Mike earning a



withering glance from Oliver.



“His side kick looked positively embarrassed by the whole affair.



After the preliminary, how do you does, he came straight to the point



that he wanted to arrange the funeral for a dead friend and pre arrange



his funeral as he was not an atheist, although I had not asked, and was



a regular congregant of the Russian Orthodox Cathedral at Ennismore



Gardens in Knightsbridge. He had heard, quite correctly, that we



arrange funerals regularly for the Russian expatriate community.



He also insisted that he would pre arrange the funeral of McLeod‟s.”



“Did he give you a date” said Mike raising a good laugh all around.



“Did you not ask why?” questioned Ilse.







51

“Certainly not Miss Delft, that would be totally unethical. The way a man



meets his maker is between him and The Almighty and no business of



us mere mortals. I can only assume that he had at last found God and



was trying to balance his account with Saint Peter.”



“Or perhaps he knew that his time was up. Do you fancy a visit to



church on Sunday Ilse? You never know we might see the light or at



least get to know what was in Rodenski‟s mind” said Frank.







The evening carried on in the way as many had before. Beer flowing fast



for the men and various cocktails for the ladies except Brenda a big girl



who was a sculptor that she subsidised by being a painter and decorator



who would only have pints of cider.



At about 8.30 when the bar was beginning to heave Frank, Ilse, Mike



and Brenda decided to eat in the Dinning area.







To get there they passed through the snug where two characters sat as



they did many times. Holding court, they appeared to be off the set of



an Edwardian melodrama. This reminded him of how many people had



come from Russia in the years following the revolution and many more



now since the fall of the iron curtain. They must have been small



children when they came but they had been locked into a time, that



although was never going to come again, had been imprinted on their



minds as their birth right by their parents. A brother and sister count



and countess of some obscure Russian area. Sipping their Saperavi, a







52

heavy red wine from Russia kept in for them. They each gave a slight



imperialist nod of their heads towards Frank. Not an invitation to stay



more of a tolerance of their passage through their majestic court in



temporary residence in the snug of the Talavera, just another two



characters fitting well into the rich and varied tapestry that is the



cliental of this interesting establishment.







Johan like his father and grandfather before him kept a simple menu of



a couple of starters, main courses and sweets, all cooked to perfection.



They changed as the supply from the market changed; the Portobello



Market is not all antiques, fresh produce being sold at the northern end



six days a week.



There was a strong influence from the Flemish part of Belgium on the



menu. You could drink wine with your meal or a specialist beer that



would be recommended for each course.



Ilse would be the last to decide what to have as most continentals



eating was an experience of great importance not to be rushed and not



just a refuelling process. She asked Johan questions about the dishes on



offer and after what seemed to be ages to Frank and Mike who where so



hungry that they had started on a bag of crisps. A contemptuous glance



from Johan and Ilse made them realise that they where the barbarians



at this table.



Ilse chose a volovant filled with brown shrimps in a caper source



followed by eels in parsley sauce with a half bottle of Sancerre Rose.







53

The rest all had the same, starting with a fresh water fish soup



accompanied by a bottler each of Hogarden Imperial white beer brewed



to 9% and a hot roll of home made bread. This they followed with a beef



stew made with shallots and Abbey Ale. To accompany this they drank



the famous beer from the monks of



Saint Sixtes Monastery in Westvleteren, Flanders. Johan did not sell



this beer but gave it to his special friends a real treat. You can only buy



the beer by appointment from the monastery on the promise that you



will not resell it. They drank the 8 brewed to 8º by volume a brown beer



that is thought by those who care about such things as the best beer in



the world.







They all finished with home made cherry cheesecake, nothing like that



sugar ridden frozen bilge. With this they drank Kriek a naturally



fermented lambic beer that uses cherries in the fermenting process.







They felt like royalty and had ascended to that plain when one has had



the right amount of alcohol and good food that is only fit for super



humans. They can now solve all the world problems. They each knew



that if this quartet ruled the world there would be an end to poverty



famine and war.







Whiskey was called for toasts were made and then taxis called.









54

·····







Antanasia turned the television off and ate the last of the crisps that she



had. She drifted in and out of sleep dreaming of home her mother



beckoning to her.







······







Alice Partridge lay in a drug and alcohol induced sort of sleep. She knew



McLeod was dead and her only concern in the morning would be her



next fix.







Chapter 7. Saturday







Frank awoke with relief, glad that he had not stayed at the Talavera for



more, he knew that if he and Mike had got going they would drink till



dawn and the weekend would be wasted to a misery of recovery. As it



was he realized that he could not take it like he used to and would be



having an alcohol free day.







After a breakfast of toast and honey and four cups of tea from a big



brown pot Frank had a shower and dressed in his old rugby shirt and



joggers. He had not shaved as rugby players never do on a Saturday,



although he had played his last season, no shave Saturday was a ritual







55

he would keep. Frank had decided to jog to the pub to pick up his bike.



He found his trainers outside on the sundeck as the cleaner always put



them there holding them with fore finger and thumb as though they



were about to explode.







Frank lived in the Penthouse of his block and had great views over



Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park. He knew he was a lucky man as far



as money was concerned and that it was just a freak of circumstance



that had made him so rich; however he enjoyed the wealth and was



never tight with it. Frank also liked where he lived, it was anonymous,



nobody knew what he did for a living and at arms length is where he



wanted to keep his neighbours.







Looking north he could see Kensington Palace and to the east the Albert



Hall and Albert Memorial. He spent a lot of time on the roof and it had



been laid out as a garden with comfortable, park like, wooden benches



and large shrubs in hand painted terracotta pots. This had all been put



together by a landscape gardener, a friend of Ils, the watering was



automated and it was kept in good health by the gardener. This along



with a cleaner that came in three times a week meant that Frank only



had to concentrate on his work and life and work these days was most



of his life so the state got good value for money , paying him a wage



that only just covered the council tax for his home.









56

Sliding doors from his kitchen, lounge and bedroom gave him direct



access to the garden, it was a good place to be alone and organise ones



thoughts or just become mellow with a bottle of wine.







Frank sat on a bench to put on his trainers and let his mind drift over



the events of yesterday. It was all well and good every one being



cheerful about the death of two very ugly men but it was only like



cutting one of Hydra‟s heads there would be plenty more to take their



place. The monster was what needed to be killed. The man made



monster of drugs. Frank wondered if the politicians would ever have the



courage to face up to the problem and deal with it realistically. Most of



the murders he covered had some connection. A good deal of the crime



that Bernard dealt with in vice was generated from the need for drugs



and almost all petty crime had a link. How many lives and how much



wealth would be saved if they could put the drug monster back in the



bottle. Frank decided he would go into the office after picking up his



bike it was just around the corner off Ladbroke Road. He wanted to get



the team off to a flying start on Monday, have a plan of action for all



and be sure on the direction he was heading in.







Ilse, dressed as though she had been jogging, was at her desk looking



rosy cheeked, bright and focussed, this did not surprise Frank. Wanting



to know the answer was the second biggest motivational force a copper



felt. The biggest motivator was getting the evidence to prove a case







57

when you knew who did it. This is what made Frank and Ilse both such



a good team they where like hounds after a fox. Nothing else mattered



until it was dead. Every thing else became excluded. It started slowly



but when they had the scent friends, family, food and sleep became



superfluous. Not easy people to know, almost impossible to live with



unless you are part of the pack.







“Morning service is at 10.30am the church is at Ennismore Gardens,



that‟s about a ten minute walk from your house. So I will be outside



waiting for you at 10.15am and we can walk together like a couple of



good Christians.”



“Do we need to be at the service?” queried Frank who always felt



uncomfortable within a church as most agnostics do, not wishing to



offend the congregation but feeling that religion was the worlds biggest



lie.



“I just think we should try and get the feel of the place, see if we



recognize any one we can link to either victim. Victim, I don‟t like saying



that would in connection with these two, so I will refer to them as the



deceased from now on. Rodenski was either up to some sort of con or



he had an experience equivalent to St. Paul on the road to Damascus.”



“I say con myself as I just can‟t see Rodenski and McLeod becoming



born again any thing except slugs in a Buddhist system. Any way your



right we will do the whole show and have a chat with God‟s agent in









58

Knightsbridge after and see what he knows about this member of his



flock.”



“What I want to do today as we can‟t get into the Scrubs is go and visit



one of his massage parlours and that slimy club of his on Greek Street.”



They had visited both these establishments when investigating the



death of Sally Gray. The drug squad had the club under observation as



they thought it was a major admin centre for drugs distribution, where



minor dealers would get their instruction for pick up and make



payments. Bernie Wills reckoned that the massage parlour could be the



gateway to more serious vice and trafficking of girls.



They checked with vice and drugs to see if they have got anything



flagged as we do not want to upset any ongoing operations by barging



in at the wrong time.



“Have you got your car” asked Frank.



“No, I am on my bike as well, we will be quicker than if we had the car



and the last of your hang over will soon be sweated out. We can skip



lunch and then you can buy me dinner in China town”



“Yes, Mam” Frank saluted Ilse and they hastened to their bikes.







Ilse‟s bike was a stripped down racer drop handle bars, with a cross bar,



weighing little more than a bag of sugar. Ilse had it specially built in



Belgium where cycling is a passion for the majority of people.









59

Frank knew it would be a race and flew along about six inches off Ilse‟s



back wheel. They weaved in and out of the Saturday traffic along the



Bayswater Road. Lancaster Gate was negotiated like two Kamikaze



warriors, leaving cursing taxi drivers in their wake.







Marble Arch approached fast and Ilse was in the lead by a good twenty



meters. Frank knew when you hit a maul in Rugby you never slowed



down if you wanted to win the ball. Ilse who had a better instinct for



survival and not handicapped by male ego slowed slightly. Frank in a



complete red mist speeded up and aimed for an impossible cap between



a taxi and bus. Frank struck the bus a glancing blow, the taxi slammed



on his breaks and somehow Frank kept his balance. He screamed



around the Arch and headed down Park Lane leaving curses and Ilse in



his wake taking a left and a right he has outside their first stop.



Ilse pulled up a few seconds later with fire in her eyes. “You bloody fool



Frank what are you trying to prove. Why do you have to win



everything? You nearly got yourself killed then. What for?”







“A little danger now and again is good for you. It clarifies your vision.”







“Well the vision I had was seeing you squashed flat by a bus. I would



not like that. A lot of people rely on you Frank. Ilse showed an anger



that told a lot.









60

Little Park Street a road that ran parallel with Park Lane was the last



place you would expect a house of ill repute to be. Most of the buildings



had brass plates by the front doors proclaiming to be the offices for a



member of one profession or the other. One side of the road was full of



expensive cars some with chauffeurs waiting.







They entered a large double mahogany door into a reception area



decorated in a sumptuous manor, deep pile carpets, large leather arm



chairs and a coffee table with magazines. On the wall two rather risqué



French late 19th century sepia prints of girls in evocative poses were the



only clue that all was not as first perceived. Behind baize covered



mahogany desk of huge proportions sat a woman in the sort of white



uniform you equate with dentist and others in the medical profession.



Some, who knew, would say that this woman was no lady. Although not



proven Ms. Trudy Bolton alias Tiffany Lace was the madam of this



establishment.



On first glance you would say that Miss Bolton was a good looking



woman in her late 20‟s. She is tall and has a curvaceous figure that is



accentuated by her uniform that appears to be rather tight and cut low



and short. Her hair was platinum blonde, most likely out of a bottle but



very professionally applied. Her skin colouring is that of a Californian



beach girl. Her facial make up appeared to be applied by a professional.



However the eyes gave it all away. Red veins, from late nights in smoke









61

filled rooms, dissected the whites and their constant motion in sequence



with fidgeting fingers betrayed her anxiety.







The Brass door plate said Physiotherapy and Massage. Behind the



veneer portrayed by the frontage and reception lay every sexual



perversion that you could think of and hopefully some you can‟t.



According to Bernard Wills her days were numbered as Vice put



together an unbeatable case.







A smile disappeared as she recognized Frank and Ilse in there cycling



clothes.



“Can‟t the Met afford cars for you, or perhaps you have been demoted?”



“No need to worry about us Ms Bolton, let‟s just say we always need



some fresh air after being here and I like to take my exercise in the



vertical position” Ilse parried.



“How‟s your boss, Rodenski”? Frank asked.



“Rodenski is not my boss inspector he is my landlord”







Rodenski ran a company called Potex Holdings Ltd that owned several



buildings scattered over the country. They were all leased out to various



nefarious establishments in a totally business like way with rents being



paid at the high end of market value. On the surface of course this



appeared to be the only connection, all legitimate with squeaky clean



books. However; those holding the leases were Rodenski‟s employees







62

and in the world they occupied all payments were in cash, employment



contracts the whim of Rodenski and your P45 a bullet in the head. No



one talked, no one dared. “Managers” took the raps if they got raided



and prosecutions followed. They did their time still being paid. Keep



quite do the time and take the money was the Rodenski company



motto. So much better than an interview with McLeod followed by try to



swim with concrete boots in the waters of the Thames estuary.







“And I am the angel Gabriel” replied Frank “So you have not heard



then?”



“Heard what?” was the reply, given with eyes straight forward and no



hands moving to the face. Frank realized she did not know.



“Your free Ms Bolton, Rodenski is dead and so is McLeod.”



Ms Bolton looked genuinely shocked and just repeated “Dead?” “Yes as



dead as dead can be and hopefully slowly roasting in hell”



“Who normally collects the cash Ms Bolton, McLeod?







Ms Bolton‟s previous attempts to look composed had now totally broken



down. Caged for years as a key player in the Rodenski regime did not



mean that the open door now being shown did not have its terrors.







“We are conducting a murder inquiry. What you do here has no interest



to us and we will not be running to Vice with any information we gather,









63

but if you don‟t start talking we will have to arrest you and talk down at



the station. You will be there all week end”. Ilse said.







Ilse had lied about passing information to Vice. This game allowed



detectives to lie to murderers, pimps, madams, drug dealers and any



other criminal suspect in pursuit of the big truth and Ilse was very good



at it.







Ms Bolton, her quick mind weighing up the consequences of the



received information, was looking for life lines. How could she make this



work to her advantage? She would have about 20k in cash on the



premises by the end of the weekend. Credit cards were accepted for



“normal” therapy but extras had to be paid in cash.







“McLeod would visit every Monday morning and collect any cash on the



premises.”



“What time did he normally come and did he phone before?”



“He would arrive at 11 am and he would phone if that was going to be



different”



“McLeod can only contact you via a medium now but I want to know if



any one else starts to show an interest in your establishment.



Ms Bolton you may be seen as an asset or a liability in a take over



battle and who ever calls may want a change of management. If that is



the case I don‟t think you will be getting a golden handshake and a







64

happy retirement in Devon. Believe me there is no such thing as a good



looking corpse” Ilse handed her one of her cards.







“When was the last time you saw Rodenski.” Frank asked as he opened



draws in the large desk. “Think carefully, the answer may be the



difference between, sleeping in your own bed or should I say the bed of



your choice or the cells at Notting Hill, very noisy and smelly on a



Saturday night.”







Ms. Bolton looked thoughtful she realized that she did not have to worry



about protecting Rodenski‟s neck, even he could not make a come back



now. Giving Farren a bit of help now may get them off her back and



earn a few brownie points.







“I saw Rodenski last Wednesday he came around here with one of his



“mothers” pimping new girls from some photos



“Name and description of the “mother” He snapped “and no fairy tails, if



I get inkling that you are leading me up the garden path I am going to



make your life hell. I will make sure you do time and when you get out



all your old colleagues will think you grassed them up.” Franks



threatening features where an inch from her face.”



“Name”



“The minder is called Alice. I did not want her here lowered the tone, a



worn out junkie tart.”







65

“What was the purpose of his visit?”



“He left some photographs of the girls asked me to show them to some



of our more selective clients”



“Let‟s have the photo‟s” Ilse said.



“I don‟t have them.”



Frank smashed his fist down on the table. “Don‟t waste my time” he



hissed through clenched teeth. “Get them now or I go through to the



back and drag out all your clients that are here now and throw them



naked into the paddy wagon I am about to call.”







Ilse started to pull draws out of the desk and empty the contents on the



floor as Frank picked up the chair to use to smash the inner door down.







“OK,OK, I will get them, just calm down please. There here”



Bolton pressed a concealed button on the wooden panel wall to reveal



an alcove containing a desk, chair and shelves. The shelves had three



small screens on top of videos that where attached with wireless



technology to hidden web cams. You could see the entrance and two



rooms furnished with beds and various implements of sexual



gratification. One room was empty but the other had a man in his



forties dressed in a school boys uniform being caned by a woman naked



but for a gown and mortar.









66

“I suppose this all just for security, nothing to do with blackmail. Give



me the photographs.”







Miss Bolton unlocked a small safe under the desk and removed an A5



manila envelope and handed it to Frank. Frank opened it and pulled out



five photo graphs, observed the content, and then handed them to Ils.



The photographs where of a very young girl lying on a bed in what



looked like a hotel room with no windows. She was partly clothed and



forcing a smile although you could see tears welling in her eyes. Her



wrists were loosely tied with rope as an obvious metaphor.







Ilse swore an oath in Flemish under her breath. Frank‟s face had turned



as ugly as red thunder.







“Stay where you are Ms Bolton I have an issue to discuss with my



colleague.”







Ilse and Frank walked towards the entrance out of ear shot.







“This is a dilemma. I want to arrest her now and have her burnt at the



stake along with the entire bunch of weirdo‟s who use the place. But if



we do that are we going to lose a possible contact site for are killer.”



“We could put some one in undercover playing madam sin over there”



Ilse stared daggers at Ms Bolton.







67

“We would have to keep her out of circulation for a few days. No I think



finding this kid is the priority. The killer may come here looking for



another target but we do not know for sure and weighing the kid‟s life



against any of the pond life in here would not be a hard choice. Let‟s



close her down. Do you agree?”



Ilse nodded “Yes we have to make the girl our priority for the moment.



Shall I read the bitch her rights or do you want me to call the station for



a paddy wagon?” “I think we need to see how many people are on the



premises first. Then you can do the arrest and I will ring for the wagon



and let Bernard know what we are doing.”







Flight or fight these were the options that Ms Bolton was considering as



Frank asked the question she knew that they would arrest her when



they saw the picture of the girl who looked well underage. She had a



minder on the premises who kept out of the way in the back rooms,



there keeping order and making shore every one knew their place and



what was expected of them. She had a panic button by her desk that



would bring him out on the run looking for trouble. Well, he kept telling



her how tough he was. If he could cause enough of a diversion she



could get out with the cash and do a bunk, spend some time in the sun,



she deserved a break.







Ms Bolton managed to press the button with out discovery and after a



few seconds the door to the back was flung open by a man who seemed







68

almost to big to get through the gap. Ms Bolton picked up a paper



weight and smashed it at the side of Ilse‟s head. Ilse managed to get



her arm up to block some of the force but she went down, however



rolling away so that she could spring to her feet. As Ms Bolton ran to the



door Ilse leapt through the air one leg straight heel extended she made



contact, just as intended, on the outside of Bolton‟s leg just above the



knee at exactly the time she had most weight upon it. There was a



sickening crack and a scream of agony as she hit the floor. Ilse followed



up with another kick into the solar plexus knocking all the air out of the



totally defeated body. Ilse would have liked to have followed up with a



little instant justice but knew that you had to draw the line just this side



of what you could get away with. In fact Ilse was rather glad that she



had blood weeping from a cut on the side of her head to justify her



actions.







Whilst that was going on the hulk filling the doorway raced towards



Frank swinging a baseball bat. Frank closed the distance and got inside



the arc of the descending bat smashing his massive forehead in to the



bridge of the hulks nose, at the same time he bit hard on the lips of his



assailant and swung his head like a pit bull. His assailant screamed with



pain and rage spraying blood and saliva all around. Frank believed that,



if attacked, you must assume that the attacker is trying to kill you; if he



succeeds he will then kill all your family, friends and then wipe out



civilisation as you know it.







69

Frank would love to put some of those lawyers, magistrates and idiots



who believed that you can negotiate and reason at these times into this



position and say “get out of this one by quoting Freud”. How can you



decide between reasonable force and enough force to remain alive in



this sort of situation? If you procrastinated now your brains would be



on the floor.



Frank followed through with a punch to the kidneys like the kick of a



horse but the hulk managed to get a good whack on Frank‟s thigh



making his leg feel like jelly. Frank pushed his foe to the wall and



smashed his head again against his nose again. He also brought his fist



hard up in between his legs and then grabbed squeezed and twisted.



The scream could have been heard at Speakers Corner. Frank did not let



go as he swung the hulk around who was in so much pain he could only



respond with more screams. He then swung him with a hip throw to the



floor pushed him face down and landed with his knees on his back with



all his weight bringing the hulks arms around to be hand cuffed.







“Get an ambulance for these two also we want the police surgeon



a.s.a.p to take a photo of our injuries otherwise the politically correct



box tickers upstairs will be crying police brutality and feeding us to the



reptiles.” Frank had clear dislike for political policemen that hid behind



desks and paper and saw their job more as a career than a vocation.



Frank was lucky as his wealth made him rather immune to the sanction



of losing his job. Also those who swam with the school of political







70

correctness had a fear of the power that wealth brings so had a natural



wariness of Franks influence and contacts.







“I thought you two were off this weekend.” DI Simon D‟arcy said as he



came through the door batten raised followed by PC‟s in uniform.



“God Frank you look as you have just slaughtered a pig, you‟re covered



in blood.” He looked at the hulk on the floor. “I take that back you have



slaughtered a gorilla. Green Peace will want to know. Let‟s have him



shackled. Get the cuffs on him constable before he does a King Kong



and starts climbing up the Post Office tower.” He gingerly stepped aside.



D‟arcy was perhaps the best dressed cop in London and always looked



as though he had just stepped off a Hollywood set with his “Robert



Redford” looks and quite charm. Even after the worst dust ups he would



appear not to have a hair out of place.



Underneath the old English charm, that was natural to him, was a quick



brained dedicated cop.



“Rodenski‟s death has made a lot of ripples; this place was on the cards



for a shakedown and looks as though your shake here has brought



down a lot of bad apples. I can‟t understand why Bernard had not hit it



earlier”



“Cautious is our Bernard, when his cases come to court he likes to make



sure none of the evidence unravels. Rodenski was good at making



witnesses disappear or have a sudden attack of amnesia.









71

Bernard had a “theory of every thing” that linked the brothels, clubs,



drugs and extortion. He was hoping to wrap it all up along with



Rodenski and his whole evil empire before our gunman stepped in. The



gunman, an avenging angel may be, but he may have made the matter



a whole lot worse”



D‟arcy looked at the videos in the hidden room. “Yes as empires fall



dogs will eat dogs and the innocents perish.” The entire world was a



stage for D‟arcy. “As evil as his empire was, not being able to wrap it all



up in one sweep is going to have every Rodenski wanabe make a grab



for his vacant throne. Lead is going to fly”.







Ilse was looking at the photograph of the young girl and realizing upon



hearing Darcy‟s analysis that she was one of the innocents. Where is



she and what was the best way to find her?



“We need to go to the hospital and get Bolton to tell us more. She said



something about the girl having a minder. We get her we should find



the girl.”







Shortly after sirens ceased green coated medics entered. As often



happened they assumed the good guys were on the floor and the bad



guys were the police. They quickly started to apply oxygen and



bandages. One of the paramedics sarcastically said



“Resisting arrest were they?”



Frank said.







72

“Perhaps you could look at my sergeant‟s head.” Ilse had a swelling on



the side of head that wept blood.



The paramedic grudgingly inspected the wound. Whilst doing this he



noticed the picture of the young girl. D‟arcy put a hand on his shoulder.



“This is what these two call fresh merchandise to be sold to the highest



bidder. That‟s what they do for a living” Indicating towards the groaning



bodies on the floor.



“This could be any ones daughter, perhaps yours. My colleagues have to



trawl through this kind of stuff every day. See the baseball bat on the



floor and the glass paper weight? Who would you prefer to be on the



floor?”







“Sorry, I jumped to a conclusion.” A chastised paramedic muttered



turning red.







“That‟s something we try avoid. Stereo typing people leads to all sorts



of misconceptions, easy to do as it‟s requires little effort and allows you



to fit in with the mob, not that you would think in that way.” Ilse gave



the medic a smile that made him go even redder as he realized the idiot



he had made of himself.







The room was beginning to be filled with three indignant clients who had



obviously dressed in a rush with shoe laces untied and shirts hanging









73

out. They were closely followed by three girls all in white medical type



uniforms.







The clients all had the appearance of professional business men.



One straightened himself saying “Look here who‟s in charge?”



“I am” Frank replied.



“I, as I am sure these other gentlemen are, here for physiotherapy. I



must protest and I will be talking to your superior. I often have lunch



with the Commissioner.”



“Next time you have lunch with him perhaps you can discuss your



physio. I know he suffers from a terrible back.” Frank escorted the client



to the small hidden room where he started the video. “Tell me is this a



new sort of physio? What part does the cane play? You must have an



arse like wicker work.”







The client turned grey and visible slumped as he realized that his life



was on the cusp of a massive dive.



Frank gritting his teeth pushed his face to within an inch of the client



and whispered. “You and your friends are part of a murder and kidnap



enquiry. I do not give a toss who you are, who you know or who you



lunch with, however if you and your mates do not cooperate in full these



tapes will be used in evidence and will end up on the editors desk of the



News of the World. Understand?” he shouted. The other clients were









74

shown in turn how they had become video stars who reacted with total



dismay.



“If the meek inherit the earth this lot would let them have it without a



fight.” Said D‟Arcy looking at the defeated expressions of the punters. “I



have a feeling that we are going to get complete cooperation here with



out the usual requests for lawyers present.”







The offenders were led away to a paddy wagon; a uniformed chauffeur



looked on and was soon on his mobile phone.



The ambulance followed by a couple of squad cars hurried away just



leaving the trio of detectives and some uniformed men.



“You two look done in, do you want me to finish off here. I can put a



guard on the two in hospital and make sure every one knows they are in



custody to go up before the magistrates on Monday, if fit enough.”



Ils was looking at her bruised and cut cheek in a make up mirror that



she had found in the desk draw. She had refused to go to hospital but



had decided that after looking at Frank‟s facial bruises caused by his



head butting that dinning out together for a few days would invite too



much curiosity. Frank looked at her and gave a tired wink the asked



Simon



“Simon, I feel shattered and I think Ilse does to. You know, post fight



blues.”



“Can you interview these lovelies? I will square it with Dooley”.









75

Simon D‟arcy was good at squeezing truth out of the most reluctant.



When kids where involved he, as most decent cops, would bend any



thing to get answers. “Yes give it me. I have a lovely bedside manor. I



will let the hospital staffs know we are looking at trafficking children for



sex and that a young girl is missing. That should stop any one bleating



about human rights and lawyers present.”



“Promise them deals, inject them with scopolamine, put them on the



wrack if they can lead us to that kid it‟s worth it.” Frank said with



feeling. “You better let Bernard Wills know what‟s happening. I guess he



will want to ask them a lot of questions” A wearier Frank added.







“There is a kid out there some where, most likely going through hell,



she needs are help. The truth is I can either go back to my nice clean



home, turn the music up, hide in a bottle, forget about her or I can try



to find her”.



“You can‟t do it all Frank. You should concentrate on finding your killer.



Let me and Bernard look after this bit. We will get extra men on it, more



eyes, more heads, and means more chances to find her” Simon assured



him.



“Simon‟s right, we need to keep focused on finding the killer and the



mystery girl may turn up when we are on that line”. Ilse agreed.



The sun was lowering in a sky, patched with cobalt grey silver lined rain



clouds that had decided not to spoil the day, as they slowly rode



towards Frank‟s house through Hyde Park. New leaves on beach trees







76

flashed neon green, ripples off the Serpentine sent sunbeams dancing.



People holding hands, kids screaming with laughter running and playing,



older folk sitting on park benches a canvas for any painter, but it did not



lift the gloom that had settled over Frank and Ils.



Ils often slept at Frank‟s, had her own room there compete with a



wardrobe of suitable clothes. This arrangement was not hidden or



advertised it was nobodies business but theirs. They had decided for a



quite night together and an early morning walk to the Russian Orthodox



Cathedral at Ennismore Gardens, to have a word with the clergy there.



They had also decided to miss the service as they would see the



congregation coming out and any known faces.



Frank looked down from his privileged position at the view towards



Kensington Gardens along Palace Gate. Ilse was showering and he had



too then changed into what he called “slob wear” used for lounging



about the house in. He felt like “the keeper of the keys” looking down,



but did they lock him in or others out? An unhappy marriage behind him



had left Frank very reluctant to make new relationships. He had just



about thought it impossible with his kind of work to be close to anyone



who was not “job”.



His ex wife, whom he had been introduced to by his old friend Mike



Lyons, had said that she had always wanted to share in his day. She



would tell him about how the school run had been, what sort of trouble



Alex, his eldest son, had got in to that day and what neighbour had



done what unto whom. What should he say? “Found a young girl







77

battered to death by her father. Nice family. What‟s for dinner?” How



could you switch off from images of such horror had been etched on to



your mind? How could you explain it to anyone who was not part of the



process? You find a murdered person you have never known and you



work backward through their last movements from time of death to find



the killer, really caring and thinking of little else. How much thought had



been given to the victim before their final exit?



Then he come home and was expected to fit into and play a part in a



scene of family bliss. Frank had always felt that he was like a member



of the audience watching a play with a missing character that because



of his profession could never be him. He became the stranger who was



sometimes there; no wonder his wife left him.



Frank‟s thoughts were interrupted by Ile standing by him taking in the



view. A towel wrapped around her hair in turban style and a face that



seemed to draw the fading light, reminiscent of a Vermeer‟s style



painting, more beautiful to Frank than the Girl with Pearl Earring. Why



does one word, love, have so many meanings? Do not dwell there, he



thought, say nothing to ruin what they had.



“Shall I order a Chinese to be delivered.” Ils said as she held out the



menu to him knowing that food was almost a sure way to cheer Frank



up.



“I do not know if I can eat a whole China man but I will give it a try”



……………………..









78

Antanasia had no food. She had known hunger before and imagined her



mother‟s kitchen. The table spread with plates, a basket of bread and a



large steaming hot pot centre table sending smells of cooked onions and



bacon through the heavens to her prison bed.







Chapter 8 Sunday Morning.







Outside it had turned back to winter to remind mortals that the plans



and wishes of mice and men meant little to the weather Gods.



Winds thrashed the early leaves and daffodils of Kensington Gardens



bent in obedience to the greater force. Rain lashed at morning joggers



of the hardy sort as they pounded the reflecting puddles.



“What time does the service finish at this church we are going to?”



Frank said with a feeling of apprehension. Frank regarded religion as the



original corruption, divine ideas bent to the will of men wanting power.



Centuries of deference to the church by men who should know better



had left him wary of the whole process and made him uncomfortable.



Denying God or at least the God described in the Great Religions,



seemed in a way rather rude. His mother had been religious and so had



his aunts and they were all lovely people. He imagined himself being



looked down upon by the disproving face of his mother and many aunts.



Denying God; what next saying bugger to the Queen? Definitely not the



actions of a well bought Englishman. They had missed the point, he did









79

not deny a divine presence, just man‟s manipulation of it to further



political ends.



“Oh thank God I am an atheist” Ils said “What the bucket load of guilt



you middle class English men seem to carry with you when ever the



church is mentioned. If we get there around 1pm the morning service



should have just ended. We can see the leaving congregation. I phoned



and made an appointment to meet a priest whilst you where still



snoring” Don‟t worry you will not get struck down by lightening as you



enter the place.”



“I know. I know. I just find the whole thing unnerving that basically



decent people believe all this tosh. Happily following religious leaders



who come from organisations that have hacked each other to bits for



centuries playing the “My gods better than yours” All done with a



supercilious smile as though we are the loonies for not believing in the



„Virgin Birth‟ or the parting of the Red sea. There are now born again



Christians who deny the Theory of evolution. They are all to



fundamentalist, even the born again atheists – along with the so sure



communists and fascists. They all seem so certain nobody doubts and



when you ask for a bit of proof they all come up with the word “Faith.”



Sorry it‟s all a cop out for those who can not accept that there are



things that we just do not know.” Ranted Frank with passion.



“OK Frank that‟s enough of a sermon, you gave that one a good airing



Friday night, you do not want to become a bore my dear. You do know



that you are preaching to the converted and you will never change the







80

others, they are hooked, they need their crutch to face life. Any way



don‟t think it‟s a bit cruel to take that faith away from some people and



leave them with nothing?” With a smile Ilse studied the frown across



the large brow of her friend. A lot went on in that head always



questioning the accepted values; nothing was what it seemed to Frank.



“Yes, I guess you are right there. I sometimes do envy them there



obvious comfort that they get from certain belief and you right it is cruel



to deny people that, if that belief is all they have. I will have to find



another subject to bore you with, Frank said feeling slightly hurt.”



After toast and honey for Ils with her strange tisane of fruit tea and



Frank with his full, only on a Sunday, English Breakfast of bacon, eggs,



black pudding, mushrooms, tomatoes, fried bread, toast and marmalade



swilled down with about two pints of coffee. Frank seemed ready to face



the inquisition of the Russian Orthodox Church.



Frank decided to call his local cab company, where he held an account,



as the weather made a walk out of the question and although he had a



good car in the basement garage he seldom used it unless travelling out



of Town.



As they waited for the cab they both adjusted their attire in a full length



mirror on the front door, put there at Ilse‟s insistence. Frank had added



a trilby hat to his normal attire and they looked, with their bruises from



the night before, a bit like two thirties style detectives off on the hunt.



Rather Spencer Tracy and Audrey Hepburn, well if you squinted a bit.









81

The rain lashed as though it was a winter‟s day. Black, grey and



reflections, cars driving on headlights although it was day. The drive



only took a couple of minutes as the church was only about a mile from



Frank‟s home.



As they drew up and leapt out of the car raising one big black umbrella



between them, Frank looked up at the building. “That‟s not what I



expected to see I assumed onion domes, a whiff of Moscow.” Instead he



saw a building that would not have looked out of place in Florence. A



front with twisting pillars, a square tower with a rose window. “They



moved to this church in 1959 formerly the Anglican parish church of All



Saints, a daughter church of St Margaret‟s, Westminster. It was built in



1849 by Lewis Vulliamy, it is modelled on the eleventh century basilica



of San Zeno Maggiore in Verona.” Ilse said in her best tourist guide



voice. “You never cease to amaze me, five languages a 1st class degree



and now knowledge of weird London churches. This girl will go far” says



Frank mockingly. “I looked it up on the Web this morning” Ilse



admitted. “Well I am glad as no one likes a smart arse” Frank jibed. Ilse



gave him a shove so he stepped into a deep puddle that he immediately



splashed on her. They carried on arm in arm rather wet adding laughter



to the sound of the congregation leaving the church. They both studied



those leaving and apart from the Russian ambassador to the UK the



couple did not recognise any one.



This incongruous couple, both showing purple facial bruises, laughing



arrived at the solid oak door of the church. The door opened for them







82

from the inside and standing before them was the tall figure of a priest



made even taller by his tall square veiled head gear called a Kamilavka,



the veil signified that he was a monk as well as a priest.



The pair pulled themselves together embarrassedly, like school children



who had been caught trying a first kiss behind the bike shed.



Ilse spoke first. “Hello I am looking for a priest.” “Well you have come



to the right place this is a church, you might find one here. Will I do?”



he said with a hint of a smile and a twinkle in his eye. “Actually I am



looking for a priest called Michael Mitrofanov, I rang earlier. I am DS



Ilse Van Delft and this is DI Frank Farren my Boss.” Said Ilse, trying to



regain her composure. “Your Boss?” Replied the priest quizzically as he



slowly appraised Frank. “Is that what he is?”



“You better come in I am Michael Mitrofanov, the man you spoke to



earlier.”



His deep voice had a pleasant eastern European lilt to it. You could see



that he was tall but his robes disguised build, as they came to the floor,



he seemed to glide as he moved, making Frank think of Chess and how



priests always move diagonally. Was that a comment by who ever



invented Chess? His facial features were also difficult to make out as



with all orthodox priests he did not cut his thick black hair and black



beard with not a hint of grey. That along with his black eyebrows that



would have made several squirrels tails meant there were only two



distinguishing features left, his eyes and nose. The eyes were at first a



disappointment as you would expect with the hair colouring very dark







83

brown or blue, however they were green with brown flecks and rather



hooded in an Asiatic sort of way. His nose that seemed to have been



modelled on that of an eagle overall what could be see was a face that



would not seem out of place in Mongolia but with some European



influence.



On entering the church Frank noticed that there were no pews and a



very Russian influence prevailed with icons large and small all over the



walls ceilings an almost all available spaces. The priest led them to a



vestry, a dark room with a simple desk and chairs that looked as they



had come from a school.



The priest invited them to sit and said “How can I help you?”



“Do you know a man called Stefan Rodenski?” asked Ilse as Frank



always liked her to start any interviews, so he could observe the



interviewee, looking for eye and hand movements that could indicate a



lie. Frank liked eyes that moved up to the right as this indicated



someone trying to remember, looking up to the left meant that the



interviewee was constructing events in their mind. The eye movements



coupled with other body language would most often give the suspect



away, unless of course they knew what you were looking for.



“Yes.” answered the priest.



“How do you know him?”



“I know the man in many ways.”



“Can you please be a little more specific, how long you have known

him?”









84

“Волк Человек.”



“What did you say?”



“Bolk Chelobek, Wolf Man or should I say boy when I first met him in

about 1975 when he was around 15 or 16 years old. He was one of the

“Besprizoniki” or wild children like packs of feral wolves, the children of

the Gulags who had escaped or just let out to fend for them selves.”



“It is important that we know as much about this man as you can tell

me.”



“I can tell you he has seen more evil than you can imagine. He was born

in hell and lived in a way that most in the west could never imagine.

What I can tell you may take some time. Can you please tell me why

you want to know?”



“He was murdered on Friday night.”



The priest did not look at all surprised.



“Can you tell me how he died?”



“Does that matter?”



“Why would you want to know that?”



“Just curious, it is not important. I knew he was a man of violence. Shall

I tell you all I know about this man you call Rodenski?”





“Yes please, carry on please do not miss anything out” invited Ilse.



“ I hope you have plenty of time it‟s a long story that has only recently

become clear to me.”



“I am from Siberia a part of Russia that is bigger than Canada or the

USA. I am an Evenk, which is a tribe rather like the tribes you find in

northern America, in fact we are just about the same race. You see we

discovered America, not you westerners.”



Frank carefully looked at his watch, interested but wondering how much

was going to be a history lesson and if any thing relevant would come to

light. He remained optimistic.



“We made are living from herding reindeer, hunting and gathering, a

nomadic existence following the best pastures. We had plenty of room.”







85

“Siberia to a westerner, by that I mean anyone from west of the Urals,

was a barren place, with winter temperatures of minus 70º and a

summer lasting just a couple of months, a death trap for civilized

people. To us Siberia with the vast taiga, forests and lakes stretching

forever, it was a garden, the larder, food wherever we looked, because

we could see it. Life was hard but we survived and in the most we were

left alone.”



“The Muscovites have always used Siberia as a place to dump people,

any one who did not fit into the establishment way of thinking at the

time. Stalin came along and he made the Gulags.

Millions entered the Gulags few came out of them, those that did had

very little of their humanity left.”

“Have you read One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, by Alexander

Solzhenitsyn?” the priest asked. Frank replied yes, remembering that it

was a wet Sunday and he had no need for urgency, Ilse shook her head

no. “Everybody should read that book, first it describes the camps well

and second it shows that some people can survive without losing their

soul.”



“Rodenski, as you call him was born in one of these camps in the late

1950‟s.” That is a miracle in its self. Women who went into the camps

were most often the first to die. Used by the guards and prisoners alike

and made to work as hard as the men very few survived. Women were

outnumbered more than 100 to 1 and age was no protection. Although a

lot of the prisoners were political the majority came from the petty

criminal classes of the large cities of Russia. A large segment had come

straight from the German POW camps into the Gulags. Surrendering to

the Germans in the Great Patriotic War was regarded as treason. These

different groups formed themselves into gangs to protect themselves.



To keep prisoners from escaping, a unique system was used. Prisoners

where half starved to death and forced to work till they dropped. All day

and every day they would work, even in winter when temperatures

where as low as minus 60 degrees. The gulags were also located in

remote areas of Siberia where the closest villages or cities were

hundreds of miles away. The only law was that of nature and those with

the biggest sticks.



Rodenski‟s mother survived because a captain of the guard fancied her.

As a boss he had first pick and any guard that questioned him would

end up a prisoner.



This relationship lasted almost ten years and in that time Rodenski was

born. The first few years of his life would have been one of privilege

compared to the other inmates. Other children born in the camps were

most often separated from their mothers at three years old, in that rare







86

circumstance of them surviving and given to “good” Russians looking to

adopt.



Ten years was massive long time in Siberia in those days. Rodenski‟s

father was then recalled to Moscow, what happened to him then I do

not know, but he did not return. When this was realized by the guards

the status of Rodenski and his mother rapidly changed. They had no

allies. Rodenski witnessed the rape and beating to death of his mother

by various guards and inmates. He was beaten and sexually abused.

However even at his tender age he understood what he had to do to

survive and when he was twelve he managed to escape. As his birth

was not recorded officially he did not exist, if the camp had lost a

prisoner on the records that would be trouble but a “nobody” going

meant more food for all.”



“When Rodenski left that camp he had no idea of what right and wrong,

no understanding of others pain and feeling all he understood was that

to survive any action was permissible.

You have to understand that values like, bravery, honour, honesty and

loyalty would get you killed in the Gulags. A completely different set of

rules applied.”



“You sound as though you are defending his actions” queered Frank.

“Not at all, I am saying that to expect this man to behave in a normal

civalised way is like asking the cat not to catch the mouse. It is his

nature and instinct. Now the wolf had been put among the sheep.”



“On escaping he joined a band of Besprizoniki who lived in the Taiga.

Like most predatory packs they would chose the easiest ways to

survive, foraging and hunting, stealing and killing.



Rodenski, after a few years, became the leader of his pack. He gave

them what they wanted food and protection. He was a tactical master

never taking on any task if he was not sure of the outcome. Other packs

either joined him or were eliminated with no mercy.



They became more and more powerful and stole weapons including

rifles. The bigger they became the more they needed and this is when

they started to attack homes. Rape, murder and even cannibalism were

all one could hope for if you were attacked. Any appeals to their

compassion were a waste of breath as they did not have any to give.

They attacked at night with fire guns and killer dogs no one was to be

spared, so no one could tell the tale. Wolves and other animals would

soon disperse the bodies. The unluckiest were those who where taken

as slaves.









87

The people did not realize this was happening, for most of the time we

lived in family groups miles from each other only meeting up when the

reindeer where rounded up.



My home was attacked when my brother and I were away tending the

stock. It happened in the depth of winter the ground covered with

several feet of snow. I suppose they were desperate to find supplies and

food. We were several miles away when we noticed a glow in the clear

cold night. We guessed what was happening. By the time we arrived

back at our camp it was all over. I found my mother and father hacked

to pieces, hardly recognizable. My grand parents were burned beyond

recognition. There was also the body of what I must assume to be one

of the attackers, just a boy, several dogs, theirs and ours. The most

alarming discovery was that my two sister‟s bodies could not be found.”



Up until now the priest had given this account in a grey, flat monotone,

as bleak as the Siberian tundra. The listening pair had become almost

spell bound by its hypnotic progression and becoming increasingly

appalled by the unfolding tragedy. The priest took in a sudden gasp of

air as the vision of his memories replayed in his mind.



“Would you like to stop for a while” Ilse inquired.

“No, I will be all right; the following events have been in my mind every

day since they happened.”



“My brother and I howled with anger so hard the wolves howled back,

sorrow and the desire for revenge filled us. Although only in our early

teens our intimacy with the land made us kings compared to the

Besprizoniki. We had rifles, we would track them retrieve our sisters

and” He paused for several seconds. “Kill the Besprizoniki.”



“The trail they left could have been followed by any one. There was

about twenty of them. They had some ponies, but they were slow in

the heavy snow. We had snow shoes, able to run on the surface, and

were driven by a yearning to reach our sisters before they had……….”

His voice trailed away. “In winter at those latitudes the day is short and

they did not know that we were on their trail. After just a few hours

they had decided to camp as night fell. They were noisy and sounds in

the Taiga travelled far on cold frozen nights. We knew how to be quite

and travel across the ground in silence. There camp site was in a hollow

down wind of us, this meant we had to circle around the camp so that

the dogs would not pick up our scent and raise the alarm. Every second

seemed like an hour as we knew our poor sister would become centre of

their attention. After an age we found our selves in a slightly elevated

position looking down at there camp. At 100 metres out we could pick

them off with ease, my brother and I being excellent shots, and still be

sure to be able to recognize our sisters.”







88

The two detectives glanced at each other realizing the priest was

becoming the perfect suspect, motive and ability seemingly there.



“We hoped that we could take out most of them before they understood

what was happening to them. We had good military rifles called Mosin –

Nagents, with a five shot bolt action, presents from our father on

becoming thirteen. It was a cold night and we could see that almost all

of the gang gathered around the fire. My brother was to start shooting

those to the left of the fire and I those to the right. Within a few

seconds we had shot at least six and other stood up looking towards us

their backs to the fire making perfect targets. There was complete panic

within the camp. Some started to run we shot at them as they fled,

dogs ran towards us, we shot them. We were concealed they made easy

targets against a backdrop of snow and we blazed away with an

unquenchable rage. We then advanced towards them as fast as we

could still firing in the confusion one boy on a pony came back to assist

his comrade, he held out his arm to bring the boy on to the saddle. In

his hand the boy had a pistol and he shot the rider, even from a

distance of 50 paces I could see the look of total bewilderment on the

riders face as he fell and the one he came to help jumped up to take his

place astride the pony. The rider looked at me with angry defiance and

fired he missed as I knelt on one knee to take careful aim I had his back

in my sights as he fled. I pulled the trigger and this action was

answered by the sound of the pin falling on an empty chamber. The

rider of the pony was the man you know as Stefan Rodenski.”



“How do you know that, this was thirty plus years ago?” queried Ilse.



“I would never forget that face. The events of that night, every face,

and every noise, every thing will stay with me for life, as they are

engraved on my memory, action by action, as clear as the icons in this

church.” The priest seemed to physically slump and shrink as the

retelling of the ordeal had taken some thing physically from him.

Un-goaded the priest carried on with his account.



“My sisters were alive, but they had suffered badly. My brother was still

in rage as I was myself. We wanted to carry on after the escape but we

could not leave our sisters. Those left felt the brunt of our revenge we

threw the bodies of the dead and the dying on to the camp fire. Those

slightly injured we forced to strip and threw their clothes on to the fire.

We left them with nothing to die of cold and remain as frozen epitaphs

to their folly.



Our family was destroyed, a cosmic shift from a loving environment, full

of laughter and happiness to bleak desolation. We tried to carry on but

there was no enthusiasm. Other members of our tribe tried to consol us

but we had seen too much. My sisters went to live with an aunt. I was







89

glad I could not look at them with out feelings of impotent rage, they

used to laugh with eyes alive and sparkling, they never laughed now

and there eyes seemed dull and fearful.



My brother and I took half of the heard and joined with another uncle

and cousins. Before it was always a joy to be with them, but now we

were different, tainted, people glanced away embarrassed, not knowing

what to say. We said very little. My brother a little older than I started

to drink, would not work and one day took his pony and rifle and left.

He told me that he did not want to see anything that reminded him of

what happened. I ended up by joining the church and that is why I am

here.



I saw Rodenski once more before I came here. The boy had become a

man and he was in St. Petersburg. He was of course part of the local

mafia. He had grown in to that kind of villain that has charisma having

perfected the ability to fake sincerity, rather like your Kray twins.”



“I always wonder why people seem to think they gain kudos by knowing

and associating with gangsters, but they do and from all layers of

society. I guess it‟s the thrill of being close to danger, like looking at the

tiger in the zoo.” interjected Frank.



“The devil does have his admires and followers.” The priest said

continuing his recollections.”

“My life had led me to the church and he was trying to ingratiate himself

in these quarters to try and gain some respectability. I realized who he

was as soon as I saw him.”

“When Putin came to power he had the measure of the likes of

Rodenski.” “Rodenski obviously could see what was on the cards and

fled to here with the immense wealth that he had created. Why you let

him is beyond me. To most of us, who have been born outside of the

western world, England is a kind of heaven. Your immigration authority

has let a camel through the eye of the needle that really is a Tiger.

Perhaps they thought a man who had such wealth would just want to

retire and enjoy the culture. They do not understand the nature of this

type of man it would be like asking a spider to stop eating flies.”



“I thought your church believed in redemption?” Ilse interrupted.



“Yes we do, however we do recognize that some men are fixated on the

side of evil and the salvation of their soul may not be possible. Believe

me Rodenski will be stocking the fire of hell for an eternity.”



“When he joined this congregation and I had heard his confession I

knew that deliverance was going to be near impossible”.









90

“Why what did he tell you?” Ilse asked.



“It was what he did not tell me. He with held mortal sins and he lied.” I

believe that he was using the church to fulfil his own evil agenda. I was

on the verge of confronting him with this fact.”



“Before you say any more, can you tell me where you were between

Thursday between 6pm and midnight?”



“No it was not me inspector. I try to save souls; I had not yet given up

on him. I was in Kings Lynn with colleagues discussing forthcoming

events and celebrating the ordination of a new priest into the church

there. I drove up and back with father Val, we got back last night. We

met a lot of people there. On Thursday evening we discussed the annual

summer camp we have and talked until around 11.30pm. I will give you

the names and phone numbers so you can check.”



“Yes, we will check” replied Frank. “Like you father I do not like to give

up on a soul.”





“Did he have any acquaintances when he came here, people he would

speak to and spend time with and did he just turn up or was he

introduced?” asked Ilse in quizzical way whilst taking notes in her native

tongue, Dutch or Vlams as people from the Flemish speaking side of

Belgium say.



“Yes he just turned up last October, and thinking about it I assume that

there was an ulterior motive, I do not think his eternal soul and the

possibility of damnation seemed to be a primary concern.” The priest

looked towards the ceiling as though to gain divine inspiration and

continued, stretching his vowels, giving his speech a sermonic quality.

At the same moment the sun came out and a beam of light illuminated

the priest and Ilse rather like a religious painting in the style of

Caravaggio. “He did know some one who attended, a very old man in

his 90‟s, Viktor Yedimenko a Ukrainian who attended the church all the

time I was here until his death in January. He paid Viktor a lot of

attention picking him up from home in bad weather and buying him the

occasional meal. But what would he want from Viktor? He was a poor

man who lived in a small apartment on Ladbroke Grove, the poor end.

He must have saved his money as he had a lavish funeral.” The priest

added as an after thought.



Ilse and Frank exchanged a knowing look and Ilse asked. “Where was

he buried?”

“Back in Moscow, that is the strangeness of it all, he was a Ukrainian

from Odessa on the Black Sea. He was involved in the defence of







91

Moscow against the Nazi beast in the Great Patriotic War but Ukrainians

on the whole do have a lot of good reasons to hate Stalin, along with

millions of Russians, also he was always talking about how much he

loved Odessa.”

“Do you know who arranged the funeral? Yes I have their card; Frank

recognised the card at once to be that of Dunn and Fragett.



“I think that‟s all we need to know at the moment. If we require any

more information I will give you a call and as they say in the movies

don‟t leave town.” Frank said with a smile.

“I have no intention of going anywhere for a while and as they say in

the movies. I would like to see how this all pans out.”



On leaving the church the sun had come out and all looked clear and

bright, ambiguity gone. The two detectives felt the same about their

case as the intentions of Rodenski became clearer.



“Tomorrow after visiting The Scrubs we will go and see our friendly

funeral director. I think he may know more about life after death than

he realises.



……………………………..---------------------------……………………………………….



In a groty bedsit off the Harrow Rd Alice Partridge had started to come

to. She needed a fix and she had a bit left from yesterday, just enough

to keep her straight until she found her next hit. She quickly shot up

finding a vein before her hands started to shake too much, as the heroin

rushed through her body all the daemons and anxieties retreated from

her room. If only she could stay this way forever, but Alice knew that in

a few hours time she would be crawling up the wall. This is the normal

day of the junkie. A couple of hour‟s euphoria, a couple almost normal

and the rest of the time a search for the next fix, with the paranoia, the

sweats, shakes, involuntary bowel movements, horrific cramps, terror

attacks, increasing hour by hour. The thought of what was to come for

Alice made her very focused. Nothing else mattered any action justified

her cause, anyone‟s pain but her own.



A million miles travelled from the sweet Alice her parents and relatives

had known such a short time back.



Why was Alice a junkie? What had set her on the road to ruin? Her

biggest crime was to be a beautiful teenager, entering her teens she

had the body and looks that would make grown men go week at the

knees. Her biggest misfortune was to have a school friend who had a

brother a few years older. He was exciting; he had a car and went to all

the raves. He had a set of decks, played them sort of well and people









92

used to envy his good looks and easy charm. He also sold a bit of

cannabis a few ecstasy tablets, nothing serious.



They lived in a West Country town of little charm and although set in

beautiful country side it was a dying place. Industry dead all the brains

long since bled leaving the bitter to live up to their name as small hard

men.



Alice‟s parents where old when they had her, she had invaded their lives

when all hope of children had long passed, quite chapel going and kind,

but mystified by the generation that Alice was growing up with.



As a young girl her mother and father would take her on the local steam

train up into the forest. They would walk in the woods and she loved it

all the blue bells, dancing sun beams pierced the electric green of new

sprouted beach leaves. Pollen particles would reflect in these beams of

sun and her father said that it was fairies dust left by their flight. With

breath taking views over the Severn estuary, a massive scene with

galleons of silver lined clouds beating up the river, as a child she loved it

as a grown adult she would have loved it again, but to those

approaching adolescence it was a bore. The hormones, that say fly and

seek, seemed to be in Alice a little more than most



Like a lot of small post industrial towns there was little to do for those

who had not gained qualifications or had the enterprise to escape. There

was the Rugby Club or hanging out.



Alice soon became of interest to Mark with her fresh looks and appealing

innocence and she was over whelmed by his attention. Mark made her

feel special. He bought her clothes and started taking Alice to raves.

She always told her mother she was staying with friends and they

wanted to believe her and never pressed, if they did not know they

could never feel deceived.



Mark admired the guys who supplied him. They were so cool with their

flash cars and stories of exotic nights. They encouraged him to start

selling cocaine for them. Don‟t worry about the money your young enjoy

yourself.



They had seen what they wanted.



Mark enjoyed his new status as a supplier of cocaine and the friendship

of these shinning kings and queens of their rave scene.



Mark turned Alice on to all the drugs, she trusted him completely and he

trusted his so cool suppliers, they were great guys so cool.









93

He was a much disorganised supplier of drugs and did not always collect

money owed. He was summoned to London, in a nice way, with Alice.

Alice did not do the return journey he had betrayed her and had been

betrayed, he also knew that he was a coward and had sold the person

he loved. Mark drove his car off the local dock into the River Severn at

full tide only he knew it was suicide. The local police assumed that Alice

was with him at the time and her body washed out to sea.



Rodenski worked Alice and was forced to take crack cocaine and

repeatedly raped by special clients who paid well for their special needs.

Within a short time the constant drug use removed the personality of a

young naïve girl and was replaced with a slave mentality that worshiped

the provider of her drugs and never questioned his demands. Alice

made Rodenski a lot of money, although by the time she was twenty

three she looked forty and nobody would pay for her. She had her uses

and Rodenski was amused by the total power he had over his slave.



Alice was thinking hard and close to panic as she realized that her safe

supply had now ended. What could she sell or steal to get money for her

next hit? She then realized that she had the keys to the lock up where

the young girl was hidden, she would fetch a lot of money, and Alice

knew fellow addicts that had regularly sold their kids to paedophiles.

Kids born in brothels with unknown fathers and mothers illegally bought

into the country for the sex trade, the police and social services totally

unaware of what was happening.



The morality of this action and the fact that she had suffered in the

same way did not enter the equation.



But how was she going to make it work? She did not have the contacts

and she did not want the girl stolen from her, she had to be careful.

Who could help her? Alice then remembered “Scoucer.” They had shared

some time together as he was a small time supplier who sometimes got

his gear from south of the river, if Rodenski had known he would have

been dead. It was their little secret just something to hold on to, making

them feel that they had some options and control in their pitiful lives.

Alice had remembered that Scoucer had asked her if she knew any one

who would sell a kid as he knew a pedo who would pay top dollar for

one. She had not known of any available but filed the info away for a

rainy day, her supply of drugs was secure, for now.

To a hardened addict every object, animal, vegetable or mineral,

without exception, had an exchange value against a supply of drugs, be

it some ones wallet or your favourite son or daughter.



Alice sent a text to Scoucer hopping he had not had to hock his mobile.

She suggested that she had something good to trade. Shortly after she









94

received a text back asking her to come to his pad just a few stops

away on the tube.



Alice decided to shower and try to make her self look as good as she

could. Leaving the tube at Willesden Junction she had this vague feeling

that she was being followed. She often felt that she was being followed

or being watched. She often felt things were crawling over her skin. She

needed a hit.



Scoucer was a yellow skinned male of an undetermined age that was, in

fact, closer to 30 than the 50 he looked. He was called Scoucer as he

had effected a Liverpudlian accent to enhance his image as a “geezer” a

man who new what and where it was happening. He had been born in

Luton. His Willesden pad had none of the attributes of success, in this

imagined position, but he valued things from the prospective of the

hardened junkie. His knowledge of drugs, pharmaceuticals and how to

take them to get the best effect was encyclopaedic and that to him and

his associates was respected like a PHD in the normal world.



Alice and Scoucer discussed how and who to sell the kid to. They

thought of running her themselves getting clients to visit her at the lock

up but they realized that was a lot of work. It was decided that they

would try to sell her to a pedo or a pimp that Scoucer knew. They would

go to the lock up, take some photographs, and sell the kid to the

highest bidder.



But that could wait until later they would have a little shot up to

celebrate their prospects.



A tall man stood in shadows looking at the door Alice had entered. He

wore a trilby and a dark coat with the collar pulled up to show little of

what appeared to be a bearded face. He blended into the background

and seemed almost to be part of it; he was used to waiting, unseen.



Antanasia was becoming light headed; hunger pains could not be

appeased. The dreams of her mother‟s kitchen mocked her. She prayed

and wondered why all those she loved had abandoned her.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------



Ilse had gone home and Frank was on the roof looking to wards

Kensington Gardens, as the last rays of sun reflected rich maroon

shades, a place he often found himself in when he wanted to consider

his options. He liked to watch the people going about their business, all

individuals, most not by much, others extreme. His life would be a lot

simpler if they wore a sign say who was what.









95

Frank felt that he was beginning to understand Rodenski‟s plan but he

still had many unanswered questions and there was the added concern

of knowing that a young girl had been caught in the web of depravity

and was in grave danger. He would spend this quite time playing events

back in his mind hoping to better plan his next moves.



The one big problem was; who had a motive? What a long list that was.



Although he could not be sure Frank felt that Rodenski‟s death was

linked to his time in Russia and that his “finding religion” had flagged

him up to some one Russian or the Russian government. Rodenski must

had realized that his days in London where numbered and he was trying

to move his assets to a safe haven. The perfect way to disappear was to

die.



Chapter 9 Monday Morning.



It was 8.30 am on another bright spring day. Frank looked out across a

group of pasty faces who were working on the murder. The yawns and

stretches exaggerated, this was the first day of summer time, and the

body clocks needed to catch up with the hands of the big wall clock. It

was also true to say that every one there was glad that two of the

ugliest villains in London had been eliminated, no tears here. That

sense of urgency that would surround the murder of an innocent, the

feeling to right a wrong and administer justice was absent.



This annoyed Frank. “Right you lot pay attention. The pays just the

same who ever is dead so no slacking. If I hear anyone winging or feel

that some one is not pulling their weight I will find you something

horrible to do. DC Williams, I am sure you are up to speed with the

events of the weekend. What‟s your view of the situation? Williams

looked uncomfortable and tried to look at the typed case notes he had

been handed on arrival. “Well let me tell you boyo, whilst you were

spending your weekend looking for a welcome in the hillside that went

Bah! Bah! Others moved the case forward, and when DC Stats and DS

Van Delft go to the trouble of giving you case notes BLOODY WELL read

them.



The group could now see that the boss was annoyed. They respected

these outbursts because they always knew were they stood with him.

The Met was becoming more and more political, officers had to pick

their way through a minefield of regulation and some superiors used

these regulations to play games of political correctness. Franks

assessments of his junior officers were always made with them and few

would deny their accuracy.









96

Stats and Ilse had been working on a case wall that was three large

clear Perspex boards with notes, photographs, a time line and

interlinking lines.



“How much CTV have you got Stats for Thursday night Friday morning?”

Frank asked.

“There are three cameras that are in the vicinity. One at the bus stop on

Kensington Park Rd., another at the junction with Ladbroke Grove and

one belonging to the security that looks after the gardens, that one

covers the junction with Stanley Crescent, so all points of access to the

murder scene are covered by CTV.”



“Thanks Stats. DC Williams get your self some help from the uniforms

and go through the tapes. Your chance to redeem your earlier

transgressions, there is a good chance that you will see the murderer on

those tapes. If you spot him or her you will defiantly be in my good

books and I will make sure you are not on duty any days when Wales

are playing in the Six Nations this season.



-------------------------------------------------------------------------------





Morning for Junkies.



Alice and Scoucer lay like bodies washed in with the tide on a flotsam

mess of drug taking paraphernalia. Close examination would show that

despite complexions more associated with the morgue life was just

about recognizable.

A quite tap on the door to this tip was followed by louder, more

insistent, knocking.



“Fuck off, there‟s no one here” croaked Scoucer through dried gummed

lips.



With very little noise the door flew off its hinges. In the revealed

aperture stood a tall black man, followed by two others who appeared in

the minds of Alice and Scoucer as attendant clones of the devil, whom

they flanked. A wet patch appeared on the trousers of Scoucer and Alice

quietly wept. She instinctively knew that this would be a bad, bad, day.



The man in the centre of this trio was known as Reverend Black. He was

the leader of a gang that was just known as Black‟s Crew. The Reverend

Black kept his gang together by his manipulation of Voodoo and total

ruthlessness.



All three were dressed in a similar style with navy blue pin stripe suits,

cut in Saville Row, hand made black Oxford shoes. The two clones had







97

white shirts and navy blue silk ties to match navy blue handkerchiefs‟ in

their top breast pockets. The lining of their jackets matched the ties.

The Reverend differed by having a pale pink shirt Scarlet silk tie with

matching handkerchief and jacket lining. He also carried an ebony cane

with a gold head in the style of an African Voodoo mask. They all wore

shades.



Before the two victims could say a word the Reverends clones‟ had

placed duck tape over their mouths and tied the hands of Alice behind

her back. One of the clones then gave the Scoucer a hard whack across

the chin and sat him on a chair. Whilst this clone held him from behind

around the neck with his arm twisted up his back the other clone

produced a plastic bag a field dressing and a pair of secateurs. He then

cut the little finger off one of Scoucer‟s hands, placed the dressing on

the injured hand and tapped the plastic bag around the hand. Alice

fainted, Scoucer screamed silently behind his gag, his nose blocked with

mucus and he started to die slowly from suffocation.



The Reverend Black spoke with the voice of some one who had been

educated at a top English public school, as he had.



“Now I think I may have your undivided attention. I will have your gag

removed as I want to talk; however, you will make no other sound than

answer my questions other wise you will lose two more fingers and

when you run out of fingers we will move lower down. Do you

understand? Nod yes if you do” The Scoucer nodded yes to The

Reverends questions.



Black looked at the object before him weighing in his mind whether this

was worth the effort, but he was collecting drug money that was owed

to him and if the word got around he was getting soft every one would

delay payment. Normally he would not bother with a hands on sort of

approach preferring to stay in his own manor but he knew that the

baron of this manor was no more and he knew that he should make his

claim on it first. The weak may inherit the earth, but brute force without

mercy was the only way to win in his chosen profession.



The Reverend Black was known by this name as his father had been an

Anglican bishop with some money and had educated his son in the

manner befitting his position. Black had been a bright student and had

attended a good university. All looked fine and it was assumed that he

would soon end up as a lawyer working at the top of the British legal

system. Unfortunately, Black decided to do his rebelling rather late in

life and after a year working as junior under a top Barrister attached to

one of the best law firms in the Temple he decided that life would be

more rewarding and exciting on the other side of the law.









98

Black had also observed that saving the scum like Scoucer in front of

him was a total waste of resources, he had developed a theory that

keeping this sort of looser in the human gene pool flew straight into the

face of Darwin‟s Theory of Evolution and would bring down civilisation as

it regressed into the primeval slime.

There is trash and then there is white trash, they certainly knew how to

fall, most of them feather bedded all their lives knowing nothing of

hunger and war yet still managed to fall into a writhing heap of

despairing failure. Black tried not to be racist but God he hated this

type of white and how easily manipulated they are.



Black had seen, The Grass Label, the most powerful tool of the criminal

classes make a mockery of justice. This tool was not the threat of

violence just the threat of expelling a person from the heard of sheep

that they ran with. Who ever thought it up was a genius on the level of

Goebbels. The first commandment of the stupid classes black and white

was of course “I shall not Grass”. This stupid moronic unwritten tribal

law kept master criminals safe and it made Black despise those who saw

it as a badge of honour even more.



Black had seen a colleague try to explain to a young black lad that if he

gave up his boss that he would not serve at least ten years for position

of a class A drug with intent to supply. Although this boy knew that he

was the fall guy and that he would be forgotten by his gang boss as

soon as the case was over, he would not grass.

Hundreds of years of struggle by reformers, wars fought by fathers and

grandfathers to get a reasonable justice system, sold down the river by

fools. Also it was a great excuse to do nothing by those who are to

cowardly to get involved. Kill their parents, pimp their women do what

you liked to them and they still would not grass. Like flocks of black and

white faced sheep they bleated their mantra “I will not Grass”. So like

sheep they deserved to be shorn of what they had and in the end sent

for slaughter.



Removing his shades Black looked at Scoucer. “Have I got your

attention now?” Scoucer mumbled and whined incomprehensibly a face

of tears and mucus “Please don‟t hurt me, I‟m sorry I forgot.”

“Oh, so you know why I am here now? Don‟t answer. I will tell you

when to speak. Get the questions wrong and you lose a finger, a bit like

poker you could of course end up throwing your hand in, so think very

carefully before you answer. Normally I do not bother with the collection

of debts but as you know the situation here has rather changed as Mr.

Rodenski has gone. So I want you to tell me as much as you know

about that, I also want to know who are the other player is in the field. I

know that you got your gear from him as well as me so you might also

be working for some new entity. Also you have had products from my

organization that you should have distributed and then paid for. We







99

gave you a trusted position and you have let us down. So you owe me,

every thing you own is now mine. As I own you, unless you start

bringing me in a return I will have to have you put down, nothing

personal, just pure economics.”



After a bit of slapping about Black was convinced that Scoucer knew

nothing about any other gang trying to muscle in on the old Rodenski

patch, this did not surprise him as Scoucer was well down the food

chain, and he wondered if now was the time to get rid of Scoucer as his

worth seemed to be diminishing fast.



Getting rid of this kind of asset was as easy as recruiting them. Scoucer

was now craving a hit all he needed to do was leave him a wrap of

100% uncut heroin and he would whack in to his veins that would be

used to the usual cut 25% proof stuff and Bobs your uncle another self

inflicted death by overdose. So easy.



Black looked at Alice and sighed; they had met when she first came to

London. Then she was a head turning beauty, now with the iridescence

of her youth gone she was like a spent butterfly. Black did not have

Rodenski‟s desire to corrupt innocence he knew there was plenty of

willing recruits ready to sell their soul. Probably best to send her off with

Scoucer the same way, at least they would die doing what they like

best.



To give Scoucer a last chance, he asked, “Have you any money to pay

off your bill? You owe me 5,000.”

“There is some money under the floor in the corner”

One of the clones retrieved a wad of money and on counting it there

was just over a grand.

“Do you have any of the gear left?”

Scoucer shook his head.

“So how do you propose to make up the short fall?”

Scoucer who by now was just a twitching mass of razor armed nerve

ends screwed up his face and recalled the girl.”

“I got a girl one of Rodenski‟s. Ye.. Yes I got a girl” he stammered.”A

fresh young one not touched. It‟s in a lock up he has, we, me and Alice

where going there today to sell her on so I could pay you.”



Black looked at him, not surprised by the revelation as drugs and vice is

two sides of the same coin. He was interested in the property as quite

lock ups always had a use but he did not want to get involved in the

trafficking of underage girls for sex. The risk was too big. There were

plenty of girls and boys of all ages willing to sell them selves for sex to

finance their addiction. It was a lot safer just to sell the drugs of their

choice and let them decide how they would pay for them. He would be

happy to have any profit but only if he was not involved in the detail.







100

He looked at the white trash on the floor and considered that as they

had trafficked for years in the sale of black people of any age for any

purpose a little pay back would not hurt and he would have to get rid of

the girl if he was to take over the property. Searches of ownership on

the place would be required and when all the facts were in place he

would make a final decision.



Perhaps Scoucer had just saved his own life, for the time being.

Alice, well she was another problem.



Chapter 12







Ilse drove the short distance to Wormwood Scrubs gaol with Frank

brooding in the passenger seat wondering if this was the line of enquiry

that would lead them to the answers.

Two SOCO officers followed in a van with all their tools of trade.



The entrance to the gaol has been seen in films and on TV, being only a

few hundred yards from BBC TV, with felons leaving or starting prison

sentences going through large wooden doors. A large arch between two

towers gave more the appearance of a fort than a prison.



They had arranged to meet a senior prison officer called Davies. Davies

was a uniformed tall man with a military manner imprinted on him after

serving a full term ending as a colour sergeant in the Welsh Guards,

Every thing about him was correct, his uniform was crease free and you

could see your face reflected in the shine of his boots. He had a year to

go then retirement to his holiday home on the Algarve. No one was

going to upset his plans.



The room was tall with a small high window and was furnished by a

large grey metal table but no chairs. You were not meant to feel

comfortable



He looked at Ilse and Frank as though they had just crawled from under

a stone with the sole aim of destroying the tick tock routine of his

prison. They were the enemy, just like the Argies. How he wish to be

able to call in a round of mortars and blow them from the field.



Frank put out his hand and Davies responded by saying. “ID‟s please,

you to Miss and the others.” Frank and Ilse gave each other a knowing

look and handed over their warrant cards as did the other two. Davies

looked at each slowly turning them over removing them from their

respective wallets and placing them side by side on the table. Taking







101

out a note book and pencil from his top pocket he glanced at his watch

and made a careful note of names and numbers. Looking at the police

officers he gestured that they may now take back their warrant cards.

“Can not be to careful, all the correct procedures will be carried out on

this visit. I hope I make my self clear.” Frank‟s patient‟s was starting to

wear thin. “Can I point out that we are investigating murders and this

prison is very much involved and I expect complete cooperation,

otherwise I get a warrant and do it the hard way. I hope you are clear

on this officer Davies.”



Davies consulted his note book and said “You are saying your experts

say a shot was fired from a certain room on the third floor of the west

wing sometime within the hours of 2pm and 4pm, last Friday?”

“Yes that‟s right and we want to look at the room, as you can see from

this photograph this is the widow to that room we are talking about”.

Replied Frank.

“The whole thing is ridicules, do you think I would have not known that

a rifle had been used in this prison on my own wing. I was present that

day in that wing at that time.” “Make a note of that Detective sergeant,

“Officer Davies admits to being at the possible scene of crime. Don‟t

worry Davies I don‟t have you down as a prime suspect – yet.” Davies

started to splutter with rage.

“Look Davies, I don‟t care what you think we are investigating a double

murder and I do not want to waste my time by having to arrest you for

obstructing this investigation, so lets go to this room now.”



With a bright red face that looked in danger of exploding Davies said

“follow me”.



The walk through part of the gaol to the room caused a big stir for the

inmates. An all male prison with all male guards meant any woman was

a stirring site for most, a women like Ilse caused heads to turn on any

high street in the Scrubs it almost caused a riot.

The room was in a no go area for prisoners, that could rule out the

inmates if you assumed that they took notice of signs, not a wise

assumption when you consider why they now resided at the Scrubs.



The room itself was locked and seemed to be a storage room for

furniture awaiting repair and various objects, including what looked like

a pair of altar candle sticks . Frank asked the Soco men to go first as he

did not want to contaminate any evidence. Frank, Ilse and Davies

became spectators looking through the door. The leader of the team, a

girl named Sandy, who every one called Not as she had red hair and

freckles and had told all, well loud, in the canteen when starting that

she would swing for any one who called her ginger. So she was

christened Not (ginger) and it had stuck for the last 5 years and she

accepted it now with good grace.







102

“Not, how does it look.” Not replied in a thick Glaswegian accent that

nobody understood outside of the environs of Glasgow, but even the

most thick skinned would have translated as “sod off and wait.”



Not, firstly examined the window ledge and the wall and floor beneath

for any thing unusual. There were some hairs, just a few, about an inch

long that she bagged up. She dusted all around for prints and pulled

some off the window ledge and the window latch. Opening the window

she looked out over the back garden of Macleod‟s. Standing in the

garden was a colleague who was erecting a board with a cross on it with

axis‟s numbered. Not erected something that looked rather like a

sextant as used on a ship she lined this with a sort of laser sight. She

then turned on the sight and even though it was daylight you could see

a light shining just where the axis‟s crossed in Macleod‟s garden.



“We have a match. The bullet that killed Macleod was fired from this

room.” Not said.



Davies stood opened mouthed wondering if he was going to get his

pension and would his only view of the sea through the bars of a Park

Hurst goal on the Isle of Wight.



“We need to interview all of all those who have access to this room, all

visitors to this wing for the last seven days and all relevant CTV you

have. Quite a breach of security, hey, Officer Davies?” “You give me

your full cooperation with interviewing and all the access I need and I

will do my best to save your career.”

“I have been boomed by the IRA. Shoot on Tumble Down Mountain.

Ambushed in Bosnia and now just when the finishing line is in sight

some bastard blots my copy book. You will have all you ask for

Inspector, no stone will go unturned.”



“This is going to be a logistics nightmare. I suggest that we try to

shorten the task by running the names on the list we make through the

system to see if they have any connection with either victim and

interview them first” Ilse suggested guessing that she would be running

the show here as she had the reputation as the most skilled interviewer.







Chapter ??



The Reverend Black, was thought full feeling that events where leading

him rather than he controlling events. Curiosity had bought him out of

his office supervising actions that he was totally happy to allow his

lieutenants handle. Well he had come this far, he might as well go and

have a look at the lock up and then get back to the sanctuary of his







103

office. “Tie the Scoucer up and gag him. I don‟t want him in the car he

stinks like shit. The girl can show us the way. Can you do that my

dear?” “Can I have just a little fix to get my head straight.” “Give her a

shot – not too much I want her coherent. Give him one to – keep him

quite.”



Black indicated to his men to come over the other side of the room so

he could divulge his plan. Black had never killed any one unless them

being alive was more of a threat than them being dead as bodies had to

be investigated and these days with modern forensics Black knew that

dead bodies do tell tales. “We will have a look at this lock up, it could

come in handy if we expand into this area. I don‟t like the idea of the

kid being involved. I can‟t trust Scoucer to sell her as he not fit to tie his

own shoe laces, so I am going to have to think about that. When we get

there get this bitch to go in first and put a bag over the kids head. If

she sees us, well, she has to die.” Black paused letting what he had said

sink in. “You can then drop me off at Marble Arch and I will get a cab

back home. You can the drop her back here. Tell them we are very

pleased with them promise them a good future a give them a wrap each

of the uncut stuff. Then this side of the problem is gone as they

overdose them selves. You got all that?” The Clones nodded dutifully.



Alice felt the surge of the heroin hit course through her body – a

parched dessert flower started to blossom – eyes that had been opaque

pools of despair temporally regained some of the gleam of her youth.

Her face lost some of its grey haggardness and luminance with a slight

rose colour reappeared. The Reverend Black looked on hoping Rodenski

was burning in hell for his defilement of this girl, of course Black‟s

detachment from the street practices that earned his money ravished

through all sorts of people giving the same results. He justified it by

thinking that if he was not doing it some one else would, but he was too

intelligent to believe these voices and new that his actions had started

to rot his sole.



They approached the Ware house that contained the room that housed

Anastasia. It was on a run down industrial estate close to Paddington

Station next to the A40 fly over. The smell of diesel and the reflecting

rainbows of colour on puddles gave the whole area a look of late rainy

afternoon despair. Alice had to be helped opening the large sliding doors

that exposed the interior of broken glass, dust and gutted machinery.

The unit that housed Anastasia was clean and bright as though it had

landed from a different planet.



Alice approached the door with a little of her heroin inspired confidence

evaporating. “Put this bag over head she must not see us.” The Clone

gave Alice a black cotton bag, head sized, a must accessory that all

fixers should carry.







104

Anastasia listened to the key in the lock with relief. On seeing Alice, a

known face, she had good expectations. The black bag that Alice slipped

over Anastasia‟s head changed the feelings of relief to fear, in her

weakened state she just fell back on the bed and wept.



The Reverend Black looked over the scene, a skinny sobbing child

shaking with fear lying on a bed that would soon be her work station in

some brothel. “Bring on the Apocalypse if this is what we have come to”

he whispered to himself. “How long has she been in here?” he asked

Alice. “I don‟t know she stammered.” Black realized that if Alice and the

Scoucer had not made a connection between drugs gain and the girl she

would have been left to starve. “Go to that 24/7 store we passed a bit

back and get her some food and drinks. Sandwiches a bit of fruit and

some milk drinks should do.”



Fuck!! Black thought where was all this heading? What kind of shits deal

in kids? Knowing that the answer was now he, as he knew that there

was a profit to be made, he could make that profit, so he would. Others

would take care of the detail. Who knows she may end up with some

one that would look after her, knowing full well that would not happen.



Leaving the room Black felt a presence and noticed a large dog beyond

the sliding doors of the ware house. The wolf like dog looked at him with

yellow eyes, sniffed the air and trotted off.



After dropping a very subdued Reverend Black off at Marble Arch the

Clones and Alice returned to Scoucer‟s flat. The Clones untied Scoucer

with words of encouragement. “Your cool man, it‟s all cool the governor

likes what he sees. You‟re going to make some money out of this bro‟.

Tell him Alice.” “Yes it‟s going to be great, just cool.” She twittered

understanding nothing and just glad to be alive. Scoucer was like a

beaten dog flinching and cringing expecting pain at any time.



“We are off to see the boss and we will be back tomorrow to discuss

final arrangements. Here‟s something to keep you going so no need to

go out as we don‟t want this discussed with any one. You understand?”

a clone said injecting menace into his voice. “Yes sure we understand,

it‟s cool.” “Here.” One of the clones gave them a bag with some packs of

7/11 sandwiches a bottle of Vodka and a couple of wraps of heroin.

“See you tomorrow, enjoy yourselves.”



As they left, Alice wondered why they wore latex surgical gloves.

Heaven, their favourite breakfast lunch or dinner, good smack and

Vodka.









105

Alice felt the surge of heroine through her body – oh this was the best.

Every nerve end she had was getting a special massage, warm, now

hot. There was no need to breath any more, her vision tunnelled, a

bright light shone at the end she was watching herself with butterfly

wings a child again smiling laughing returning to true happiness. A voice

called and she looked towards the door as a body seemed to enter

without opening. The body was that of a man with only eyes of yellow

on a black background, he was not scaring she could feel his warm

breath and silken touch. “Be on your way my child you have had enough

of this you go to a much better place.” Alice returned to following her

receding figure a long the tunnel of increasing light a smile retuned to

her lips. “Mother?” Alice was no longer in this world, a butterfly broken

on the wheel by an unjust world.



Scoucer realized as soon as he had injected. Nobody had done him any

favours, but he was happy, he had had enough, every day had become

a pain full walk on egg shells, all pain. No body could hurt him now,

another poor soul retuned with out ever knowing or feeling the love of

another.



Another death by overdose recorded as; Death by misadventure.

Another statistic in one line dismissing life as casually as a drop of rain

falls to the ground.







Chapter 13



Frank, looked at what was obviously altar candles. “Davies, who do

those belong to?” “One of the priests who attend to his straying lambs

that ends up here. You would be surprised how religion comes to some

one who ends up here.

“Not, bag those alter candles and take them to your lab. Give them a

real going over – you know like CSI on the telly. Every thing you see or

do not see could close this case.” “Also this room is very important.” Not

gave him that “I know what I‟m doing” look.



“Is there any CTV on this floor that some one visiting this room would

have to pass?” Ilse asked Davies. “Only the camera that covers the

stairs but those passing may not be visiting this room, they may be

going to this landing.” “I think we need all of your recordings from last

week and we need a quick look at that visitor book now. There may be

some one we know on those pages.”



Back in the room where their visit had started four chairs had appeared.

Frank and Ilse sat in two of them cradling mugs of steaming tea

provided from Davies‟s own supply, fresh milk too and a plate of







106

digestive biscuits. Frank wondered if Davies thought he could by them

off with a few biscuits, he guessed that some of his colleagues would

have gone the extra mile for him if they had been chocolate covered.



Davies appeared carrying the book with a body attitude changed from

sergeant major to head waiter wanting a big tip.



“There we go.” On the second page for Thursday afternoon was the

signature of father Michael Mitrofanov. “Is there CTV coverage for the

area where visitors sign this book.” Davies replied. “Yes”. I think its

time we had paid a visit to church. Don‟t you D.S. Delft.



Davies photocopied the relevant page in the visitor book and provided

two still shots of a figure signing in carrying what looked like alter

candle and signing out carrying nothing.



On arrival at the church the day had brightened up, a clear blue sky

held a sun that was beginning to allow some warmth to penetrate.

Budding beech tree leaves reflected a welcoming radiance that singled

the start of a new season of regeneration. Frank and Ilse knew that one

swallow does not make a summer and although it looked like the case

was solved they had still away to go before they could close the book on

this one.



They found Father Michael standing before the altar that was bathed in

coloured shafts of light coming through stained glass windows adding

that divine touch some religious buildings have. He turned around as he

heard their echoing footsteps. His face did not show fear, surprise or

concern only a welcoming smile of recognition. This was not the normal

reaction of the guilty. No quick movements of the eyes looking for an

exit. No high speed chase through the streets of London, something that

rarely happened as, unlike on TV, cops did not shout out the name of a

suspect they wished to apprehend fifty yards away to give them a head

start.



“What brings you here on this lovely day? Have I found converts?”

“Sorry to disappoint you Father Michael, we have matters of great

importance to discuss with you.” Ilse knew that she would be doing

most of the talking as this was when Frank liked to watch.



They retired to the vestry where they had talked before and took up the

same positions seated around a small table.

Ilse started by stating. “Last time we met we asked you about your

movements between 6pm and Midnight last Thursday. You said that you

were in Kings Lynn attending a meeting. What time did you leave

London?”









107

“Father Val picked me up here at about midday. Father Val does not

drive fast a visit to Kings Lynn is rather like crossing a continent for

him. I expect that he may even have snow shoes in the trunk, just in

case.” Frank and Ilse exchanged quizzical glances.



“Is this your signature?” Father Michael glanced at the photocopy of his

signature, a rather simple and clear signature with his name printed

after it. “Yes, that looks like my signature.”

Ilse slid the video still showing a person signing the visitor‟s book, a

person that looked very much like Father Michael. “Is this you signing

the visitor‟s book at Wormwood Scrubs goal?”

“Yes, that looks like me I am a frequent visitor there.”

“If you look at the top right hand corner of this shot you can see a time

and a date.”



“Yes, well that is strange either that time is wrong or that‟s not me.”



Frank had been studying the face of the priest hard through out the

interview and for the first time he could see that he was genuinely

surprised.



“As I see it father that is either you or some one who looks exactly like

you and has your signature. What would you expect a normal open

minded person, say the member of a jury, think?”



“I see what you mean, but you will just have to believe me I was in

Kings Lynn.”

“Do you mean we should believe you because you are a priest and it‟s

impossible for you to lie or commit murder? Because if you do I think

you could be talking to the wrong people. The history books tell us that

that religious organisations are very capable of murder, even genocide.”

Frank interrupted.



“Father Michael, I want you to come down to the station with us and

take some tests, if what you say is true we can eliminate you from our

suspects list. I have to tell you that at the moment from this side of the

table, I am sure D.I. Farren would agree, you look like our prime

suspect for the murder of McLeod.”



“The priest did not look worried at all when he said. “ I am happy to do

this as I was not there and I have nothing to do with murder of a man I

do not know, McLeod, or Rodenski. This is much a mystery to me as

you, but my faith tells me that the bright light of truth will guide us to

the solution. I must make one call to get a priest around to take my

place, he is only next door.” Ilse nodded acquiescence and the priest

with drew the latest I Phone from within his robes giving a totally

incongruous image of ancient and modern almost as strange as the







108

Mona Lisa in sunglasses. A telephone conversation in Russian took place

lasting a brief amount time that even Ilse could not understand.”



The drive to the police station was longer than expected with heavy

traffic in Kensington High Street. This gave both Frank and Ilse plenty

of time to ponder their thoughts. Glances where exchanged and they

new each other well enough to know that neither of them could quite

believe that the priest was the murderer – but was this because they did

not want this symbol, of what should be honest and innocent, torn down

adding another layer of cynicism to their minds blanking out any

idealism they once had.





Chapter14



The Reverend Black was also a troubled man as he sat in his office

mentally tracking his path through life as the son of a bishop to the

highest courts in the land and now “Master Criminal” considering the

sale of a child into the sex industry. His problem seemed to be that his

ability to argue the logic of almost any action made it impossible to

make a stand on any position of morality.

He decided that he had been dealt a hand of cards that he had not

asked for and the best thing to do was get rid of the hand as fast as

possible burning all bridges behind him.



Before him his two lieutenants had the luxury of not having to make

decisions all they had to do was what they were told. Both of these

characters had so much exposure to extreme meaningless violence that

it never crossed their minds that the pain they inflicted was right or

wrong, it just did not matter.



“We have got to find a buyer for the kid, I have got to balance the

books, Scoucer owed us plenty and that kid was his only asset. We just

move her on, I want at least 5 grand for her, she must be worth that to

some pimp? But I will take three if that‟s all we can get. Try to involve

yourself as little as possible in the transaction we want no comeback.

Find a pedo with money sell her and let‟s move on fast and then it never

happened. We end up with the books balancing and a nice bit or real

estate north of the river. Get to it.” He dismissed his lieutenants.

We end this today one way or another. Anastasia had just a few hours

before she was either to be sold into hell or die.



Chapter??



“DI D‟Arcy has on the phone Sir” a WPC said just as Frank and Ilse

entered the office.









109

“Hi Simon, any news, any one singing?” Frank shook and nodded his

massive head, grunted and then put the phone down.



“Right every one listen; it appears that Rodenski has a lock up

somewhere north of Paddington Station close to the elevated section of

the A 40. I know it‟s not a lot to go on but it is a lead. Stats organize

some one to go through all the paperwork that was taken from

Rodenski‟s and Macleod‟s gaffs and get on to his lawyer. Tell him what

we are looking for remind him his clients are dead so they will not be

paying them any fees. Also remind him that we are looking for a

kidnapped child and that if he does not cooperate fully I will get a

warrant and be around there to loot the place with full press coverage

linking them to child trafficking. He is not stupid he will see there is no

profit in non cooperation.



“Stats; any thing from the CTV?”

“You have a priest down stairs and I can be certain but there is some

one seen walking to wards Rodenski‟s place that looks like a priest, then

he just seems to disappear. He is not on any other tape going away

from that last point of contact and or coming back.” Stats was watching

the tapes whilst listening to Frank, he noticed a dog rather like a wolf

cross the camera, must be German Shepherd he idly wondered, as Stats

like dogs.



“The Chief Inspector wants you Guv, urgent, he said.”



“Frank shrugged his shoulders, “Wonder what I have done wrong now.

See you down in the interview room DS Delft; hope I will not be long.

Start with out me if you want – get him relaxed.” Frank was wondering

if Orthodox priests where celibate.



CDI Dooley was flanked by two seated people. One Frank knew well

Commissioner Boyle, looking smug in his hand tailored uniform. Frank

despised the man as he ticked all the boxes as that new breed of

political copper thinking that this was the sort of man that flanked all

the dictators of the world there only to insure that the party line was

adhered to and the truth manipulated to match. The other figure Frank

recognized from the Church was a man who had been with the Russian

Ambassador.



“That‟s quick we have only had your priest here about 20 minutes. I

guess this is why I am attracting the attention of the Russian embassy?”



“OK, Frank don‟t go off at a tangent, there are some natural concerns

and Mr Borodin from the Embassy is just making general enquiries and

seeing if they can assist in any way.”









110

“We do want to help Inspector, I was happy to hear that Rodenski was

dead it will save your country and mine a lot of money. We have

intelligence that he was planning a return to Russia to develop a political

career teaming up with the far right. With his money and some of the

elements associated with the far right it could have been a massive

threat to the security of not just Russia but the whole world.”



“Mr Borodin, I shed no tears as to seeing these thugs dead. I know that

the Russia is used to using more shall I say pragmatic solutions when

faced with security threats but this is not Russia and I am employed by

the crown to find out the truth. Others can then judge what to do with

that truth. But I am not a politician. I leave that to others.” He glared at

the commissioner.”



“This priest that you are holding, do you rely think he is involved?”

Dooley asked.

“There is a lot of evidence that would have made me in other

circumstances to have charged him already, if I was playing it by the

book I would certainly be talking with the CPS.”



“You have doubts then?” asked Borodin.



“Yes, doubts. Both I and my DS believe that he is telling us the truth,

however all the CTV evidence points the other way.”



“So why have you got him here then?” asked the Commissioner in a

challenging way.



“Because he is happily helping us with our enquiries and to bring him

here was my best judgement” Frank said glowering at the

Commissioner.



“Your best judgement?” sneered the Commissioner.



“Yes, a decision I made without grace of favour to any vested interest

as I said I am not a politician on a greasy pole, unlike you.”



“That‟s enough, DI. Farren” Dooley shouted.



“I am running the case and unless Commissioner Boyle wants to remove

me I will carry on as I see fit. I am not sure how many murders the

Commissioner has solved but if he thinks he can do better please let

him take over. Just let me have the reasons in writing and I will

relinquish the case to him now.” Frank was not going to cow tow to

Boyle as he knew that he would never have the guts to actually take a

stand on any thing.









111

“No one is taking over the case. Frank. The Commissioner is here just

as a courtesy to the Russian embassy.” Dooley explained. “I am sure

that now the Commissioner has seen that all is in your safe hands and

that you are happy to keep Mr Borodin in the frame, he will leave it all

to you.”



“I will be keeping a close eye on this case Farren, I do not want any

complaints from the Russian Embassy. I have an appointment at the

home office, so I will leave it to you.” Boyle got up and shook hands

with the embassy official and Dooley, pointedly ignoring Frank.



When he left, Frank said “Please wash your hands now.” under his

breath.



“Now Frank that‟s enough of that”, directing his eyes, with a frown, to

Mr Borodin with a suggestion that dirty washing should not be washed

in public.



“Not to worry Chief Inspector. That kind of man is universal and thank

fully there will always be people like your DI here who will stand up to

them.”

“I would be happy to help you in any way as I feel the same way about

Father Michael as you do yourself. However, there are a lot of my fellow

country men over here that should be in Russian jails. Just because

some one flees Russia with a pot of gold does not automatically a

worthy case for asylum. If there is any way I can help, let me know.”

Borodin handed Frank a card and made his way to the door.



“OK Frank”. Dooley said as Borodin closed the door behind him. “You

certainly would never make the diplomatic squad would you? That

smarmy arse Boyle will have his magnifying glass on you now, so you

better not slip up.”



“To be honest I don‟t give him a thought, the job is hard enough

without bringing his feelings in to the equation. This is a tricky one all

the evidence points to an answer that I am sure is not right.”



Chapter 13



Father Michael was sitting in the interview room calmly staring ahead as

though he had not a care in the world as Frank and Ilse observed him

from the seeing side of one way glass.

“I have taken a DNA sample and fingerprints, if he was in the room at

the gaol or at Rodenski‟s house we should get a match.



“I just want to ask him a question. You ask it I will stay here and

observe from here. I can see his eyes.”







112

Ilse entered the interview room and the priest turned and smiled

slightly.

“Thank you for your cooperation father.”

“It is nothing. I want this cleared up as much as you do.”



“I have shown you your signature in the visitor‟s book at the prison also

the print from the video. You say that it is your signature and that it is

you in the video.” “You also say that this is impossible as you where

over 100 miles away in Kings Lynn. Can you explain why we have this

contradiction? How can you be in two places at once?”

The priest looked at Ilse then up to the left, „experts‟ would say that this

would indicate he was trying to construct in his mind how it could be, or

lying. He then answered. “If I was looking at it from your point of view,

you would have to conclude that either that was me or someone

pretending to be me. I therefore conclude that this must be some one

pretending to be me.”



Ilse produced a copy of Father Michael‟s signature from the visitor‟s

book. “Please look again at your signature, you told us that this was

your signature. I ask you again; is that your signature?”



The priest looks hard at the signature turning it to view from various

angles. “This looks just like my signature but I know it can not be mine

as I was not there. Before you ask, I have no idea how this has been

done. I would say that although I am a man of faith and know many

things happen that we do not understand I expect the answer to be a

terrestrial one and not some minor miracle.”



Frank entered the room. “Thanks for your help; I am going to get a car

to take you back. You talked about faith just now and I am putting a lot

of faith in what you say. IF you just looked at the hard cold facts that

we have in front of us, it seems that you had the motive and

opportunity to kill Rodenski and McLeod. Some would say that the

signature and the video prove the case. I trust my instinct; I hope I am

not badly wrong in letting you go.”



“Detective Farren you have no need to worry on that count. I have not

killed those two men. I did not even know McLeod. The truth will out

and I trust my instincts‟ that you will find that truth.”

Frank shook hands with the priest and had a feeling that some sort of

energy came from that hand shake, a good energy. This worried Frank

as facts and certainties were the tools of his trade, he always tried to

leave instincts and gut feelings out of the equation.









113

Frank noticed that Ilse had looked at her hand just after she had shaken

with the priest and he wondered. “Ilse did you feel any thing when you

shook the priests hand?”



“My wrist had been painful since our visit to Park Street, it felt very hot

and now it‟s just warm with no pain.”



They looked at each other knowing although they could not explain it

something had happened that was very real.



“Yes, but just because we do not understand it does not mean that it is

magic or divine intervention. There will be a scientific explanation –

some day.”





“There are more things in heaven and earth, Frank, than are dreamt of

in your philosophy.” Ilse quoted from Hamlet.



“Maybe true but what we need is some facts that can put this case

together and feel free to use what ever magic you like to get us to that

point.



“We had planned to go and see the funeral director again, the way

things are going we could get a raising of the dead.” Frank quipped. “I

will do this one on my own as I want you to chase up the forensics.

What‟s keeping them? They will never get on T.V. like NYCSI. Kicks

some ass Ilse” He said storming out of the room obviously building up

steam as the day wore on and the desire for meaningful answers rose.



Chapter 14.



Frank had decided to cycle on a mountain type bicycle that the police

used with good success in the places where using a car could be slower

than walking. The fresh air and blast of oxygen was, according to Frank,

helped him think.



Frank wondered if he was going to get any thing out of this trip to see

undertaker other than the smell of formaldehyde all over his clothes and

a chat with his old friend Oliver Dunn. Frank had known Oliver from the

days he was walking the beat in the area 20 years ago. Oliver and his

funeral partner seemed to be the only things that had not changed in

the area. Oliver who was the same age as Frank looked middle aged

when they first met all those years ago and still looked middle aged

now. Frank liked visiting him as he was always witty in a very droll sort

of way with observances of the human condition that others did not take

the time to see. Visiting the funeral parlour in a quite Mews of Ladbroke

Grove was like a visit back to Charles Dickens‟s London. The mews also







114

had stables for the two jet black horses that were often used pulling a

Victorian hearse.

Oliver Dunn was waiting for Frank at his ebony desk that was topped by

a black leather inlay embossed with a gold border. There was none of

the trappings associated with a modern office, no „phone, no computer

screen, just a diary a blotter and Georgian silver ink well with of writing

paraphernalia. Oliver was dressed in his usual undertakers garb of black

suit white shirt and black tie. The room was oak panelled with small

alcoves containing marble urns. The floor was thickly carpeted in a royal

blue. The subdued recessed lighting added to an atmosphere of

reverence. Oliver eyed Frank, up picturing the size of coffin he would

need when Frank‟s day came, he hoped that would be a long time in the

future as Oliver admired and liked Frank, unlike some of his clients,

dying would not make him a better man.



Surprisingly Frank was quite relaxed at the undertakers and the

morgue, perhaps because his optimistic nature thought that it could

only get better from here.



“How‟s business?” Frank asked.

“Well we are just getting over the winter rush and the flu outbreak

seams to have ended so it‟s rather quite. Most of our clients would

rather postpone the event as long as possible, if they have a say in the

matter.”

“Do many people pre–arrange their funerals with you, seems rather a

macabre thing to do?” Frank asked as he thumbed his way through a

catalogue of coffins.



“ The Americans have been doing it in a big way for years and the idea

of not burdening those left behind with the task of being „sent on‟. Also

you can have the funeral almost any way you want it. I think a lot do it

as they see it as a way of having a foot in both camps if you know what

I mean.”



“ I would like to have a piper when I go, playing outside commissioner

Boyles house at 3am.” Frank had been reminded of the commissioner‟s

smile by the brass fittings on the coffin he had been looking at.



“ I will make a note of that.” Oliver wrote in his black leather bound

dairy with his gold Parker fountain pen.



“What about repatriation to country of birth, is that common?”



“ Its very expensive, you can be talking many thousands just to the

casket to your country of choice.”



“ Did you arrange the funeral for Victor Yedimenko?”







115

“Yes, paid for by our good friend Rodenski. I thought it odd at the time

but when you get asked to furnish a funeral of that value the quality of

service is what we concentrate on.”



“Can you take me through the process of what happened to the body

from you picking it up until your last site of the coffin?”



Oliver then did something that only very few saw. He swivelled in his

chair and pressed what appeared to be a normal wood joint and two

halves of the wood panelling slid aside to reveal an alcove with a

modern computer desk and all the modern peripheries.



Oliver opened a computer program and entered the search name

Yedimenko. There were entries that

described the journey the body took from the place of death in

Hammersmith hospital to his funeral parlour, the service at the Russian

Orthodox Church and its trip to Heathrow.



“Who took the body to Heathrow.”

“One of our van drivers delivered the body to the Customs and Excise

officials. They then send it on to Russia.”

“Oliver I will need to speak to your van driver. Has he worked for you

long?”

“His name is James Ferguson and he has worked for the company just

over a year. I have to say apart from seeing him at work I do not have

any contact with him. All his references where good. Would you like to

see them?”

Oliver opened a php file on his computer that stored the references of

James Ferguson, Oliver printed a copy and handed it to Frank. “I see

that he is from Limavady in Northern Ireland. Did you checkout the

references?”

“Yes I wrote and received a phone call back praising him to the

heavens, getting staff to work in this profession is not easy, so I hired

him at once. I hope I have not been to expeditious.”



“ Can I speak to him?”

“Normally yes, but he is on a weeks holiday and what I hope is just a

coincidence he only asked for that holiday on Friday afternoon saying

his father was ill and he needed to go home to Limavady.”



“I have never trusted coincidences when crime is concerned.”



Frank fumbled for his mobile anxious to rid himself of the intruding

noise of a tractor starting in his pocket. Frank had lost and broken so

many mobiles that were totally unsuitable for his “bunch of bananas

hands” that Ilse had bought him a JCB mobile that was just the job







116

except jokers at the station kept changing the ring tone of a JCB

starting. This always turned Frank into a windmill of flapping hands as

he tried to find the pocket that held the beast. Slightly red faced he

barked “Farren” into the „phone almost loud enough to be heard back at

the station with out the use of the instrument.



Ilse, on the other end of the call was used to all sorts of replies as

although Frank was not a technophobe by any stretch of the imagination

he hated the mobile phone, even more so if he had forgotten to carry it.



“The DNA report has come back from the lab and it saddens me to say

that Father Michaels DNA is all over it. It looks as though we got him

wrong.”



Frank was stunned, although all the evidence had been pointing that

way, he still just could not believe it and Ilse felt the same way. Frank

valued Ilse‟s instinctive judgement as, if not more so, than his own. But

DNA… the fool proof solution to crimes or perhaps they had just became

bigger fools?



“Well, for once I hardly know what to say. I will see you back at the

station. I will be about half an hour. I still have some other lines of

enquires to follow up.”



Frank stood up obviously looking puzzled, Oliver was discrete enough

not to comment other that to ask if he would be sharing a pint of

embalming fluid with him on Friday night. “Most likely, most likely” said

Frank in an unconvincing way.



Chapter 16,



The two clones working for the Reverend Black made their way down a

flight of dingy steps to a basement “bookshop” in Kings Cross. On a hot

sunny day this place would be dingy and damp. Shuffling through racks

of books a couple of pasty faced customers hunched down into the

collars of their coats. Only the most brazen would want to be seen here.

Behind the counter stood a person who would have made a good Uriah

Heap in Charles Dickens‟s novel David Copperfield.



His name was Leslie Loather and every mothers nightmare. He was on

the police radar but nothing that could be used in court had been found

all being rumour and here say.

He ran the book shop more as a cover, he dealt in pornography, but of

the legal variety and there was nothing under the counter or out the

back, he was too clever for that and to obtain his „special‟ services you

had to be introduced and vetted before even a hint of anything more

unusual would be discussed.







117

He looked at the new arrivals through horned rimmed glasses that were

slightly tinted a very pale orange, that could be said to match his skin

between orange and beige. His skin bore the scars of teenage acne and

seemed prone to eczema around the hair line. The hair could be called

blond if urine was a new bottled blond colour, a wisp of hair hung across

his forehead that was nicotine stained from the constant drift of smoke

off a cigarette held in the corner of mouth with large fleshy wet lips. The

eyes that now seemed to be appraising the new arrivals could have

been transplanted from a Tamworth sow with the same sort of eye

lashes. He took the cigarette between his index and forefinger and

breathed in deeply with a sound like a Komodo dragon. “ Can I help you

gentlemen?” he said with a voice that oozed malice.

One of the clones handed Loather a card that had been ripped in half

and had no printed text, just a lotus flower. Loather turned his back and

looked into a draw where he matched the half to another exactly.



“ I have been expecting you. Let us go into my office and discuss the

details.”

In his office the he was shown digital images from a mobile of

Anastasia. Loather leered over them, the clones wished they were

somewhere else.

“Yes, I have a client who collects this type of merchandise and I know

he is in the market for another.”

The philosophy of Loather did not include any consideration that people

deserved to have equal rights. It was a simple philosophy of he being

the centre or the universe and the only sentient being, all the rest could

be divided into clients and merchandise. Loather looked at the clones

who could not hide their disgust and considered them hypocrites. They

were happy to make money out of the deal and look the other way. His

client for this piece of merchandise came from a different culture. A

culture where the sale of second daughters at a tender age was the

norm. A place where educating women was regarded as stupid and

sinful although women were loved, as much as a favourite horse, and

sometimes more.

“I will give you the money as my client picks the girl up. So some one

needs to be here and someone to meet my client. I will call him at the

meet and if he is happy I will give you the money and he can drive away

with the girl.”



The clones agreed and left happy to breath fresh air again.



Chapter 16



Confusion was again about to raise its voice at the police station. Frank

and Ilse had been discussing whether to bring in Father Michael and

charge him. Every piece of evidence pointed to him, except for his alibi







118

of being with a waddle of priests in Kings Lynn at the time. Normally

alibi against DNA and CTV camera evidence was not strong but when

those giving the alibi came from the priesthood; what would a jury

believe?



“Phone for you Guv.” a PC called. “DI. Wills.”

They exchanged greetings and then Frank said “I am going to put this

on the speaker so everyone can here.” He called for silence and asked

Wills to go ahead.



The West Midland nasal tones of DI Wills resonated around the room.

“ We have another dead Russian up here, a known associate of

Rodenski. .22 bullet in the head same M.O. and the real surprise

according to the lab the bullet was fired from the same gun that was

used in the other two murders.”



“That‟s impossible.” said one of the DC‟s setting up Ilse for a quote from

Sherlock Homes she had always wanted to give. “When you have

eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable must

be the truth.” Franks and Stats looked at her slightly annoyed as they

had both waited most of their careers to say the same.



“Elementary, DS Van Delft.” Said Stats beating Frank to the repost.



“ Well thanks Brian, we at least know some one who could not have

pulled the trigger but I think Father Michael knows more than he thinks

he knows. I think the final answer is from Russia with Malice.”





Frank on disconnecting the call looks at Ilse and say “I think we need to

see Father Michael again I am sure he has the key to the answer”.



As night fell they drove to the church looking forward to some answers.

Frank looked at the streets and saw, without taking much notice, the

banner on a newspaper vendors stand. “ Wolf Stalks London Streets.”



Chapter 18.

One of the two enforces of reverend Black waited in his black Mercedes ,

with its blacked out windows in the black shadows of the warehouse

where Anastasia was held. Shortly another black Mercedes arrived

sporting a diplomatic “CD” badge giving the occupant immunity from the

law.



The was only one source of light and that was from a floodlight on a wall

on an adjacent building. There was a window next to it.









119

The other enforcer was in the office of the Book shop belonging to

Loather in Kings cross.

Sitting on the desk was a pile of bank notes equalling 5000 pounds, one

quarter of the price that Anastasia had been sold for.



Loather looked smug and satisfied already planning expenditure on

interesting gadgets for the cellar of his home on the borders of Wales.



Anastasia was in the dark as the electricity supply had gone off about an

hour before. She was terrified a small amount of light came through a

small sky light, this only produced shadows that had shapes that in the

mind of a terrified child could only become monsters from unknown

worlds. She then heard the sounds of voices, this was a relief, not

knowing that the beasts of her imagination were nothing compared to

the beast that was about to purchase her body and then subjugate her

soul.

A man she had not seen before entered the room flashing a beam of

light on to her. This man was tall, hook nosed with a dark lined face, his

eyes appeared black. “Lie down girl so I can see you” He pushed her

down on the bed and forced her mouth open and inspected her teeth to

gage her age. He then violently ripped her clothes off leaving her naked

on the bed. When she tried to preserve her modesty he hit on the side

of her head with the torch leaving her semi conscious. The reverend

Blacks enforcer crabbed his arm and said “Stop man, do that again and

I will whack you.” The tall man looked at him with contempt despising

all that the black man and all the weak liberalism of the West stood for.

“ I am only hitting what is mine, she has to know who her master is.

Call Loather, I will take her. He took out a dog collar from his coat

pocket, the sort you see on pit bulls with spikes, and put it around

Anastasia neck and attached a lead.



“Up bitch I am looking forward to house training you.” He savagely

dragged the groggy girl up to her feet and pushed her towards the door

and made his way to the car followed by the enforcer who was speaking

into a mobile informing his clone that the deal was done.

As he switched the phone off the tall man halted stood rigidly erect with

wide staring eyes and then slowly toppled forward, dead, dragging

Anastasia with him who hit her head again leaving her almost

unconscious. Before the enforcer understood what was happening a

bullet tore through his knee cap and he hit the ground in excruciating

pain another bullet followed that hit his other knee.



The tall man emerged from the shadows and kicked and stood over the

writhing body of the Clone. The Clone reached for his shoulder holster

only to have his gun kicked out of his hand and a heel stamping down

upon the same hand smashing most of the bones.









120

“You are lucky not to be dead and you are not dead as you are going to

be a messenger. When the police arrive you are going to tell them about

the girl, Louther and your Boss. You will give evidence against all. Do

you understand?”



A person in this pain less immersed in the culture of the stupid, “You

must not Grass”, would have agreed with as much sincerity as he could

muster. But not this indoctrinated clone. He replied “ O yes sure I will

tell the pigs everything.”



He opened his eyes wide in fear and looked into the eyes of hell and

would, if he could have screamed as an immense row of teeth clasped

his face and squeezed with all the pressure of a hydraulic press as his

jaw crushed and teeth flew in all directions and his nose with

surrounding tissue was ripped from his face. Blood was flying every

where and all the pain he had inflicted on others was returned with

interest so immense that it completely paralysed him. Then the pain

stopped the Wolf was gone and the tall man stood back in its place. The

Clone felt his face and all was were it should be.



“Do you want me to demonstrate what will happen to you again if you

do not tell all?”



“ No not again please, please not again I will tell them everything.” The

Clone understood that this was a force that could arrive at any time.

The tall man had tagged him good.



“Tell them all and you will be rewarded. Your hand will heal and so will

one of your knees. You will limp on the other, with some pain, for the

rest of your life to remind you of the path you need to take.”



The tall man took the collar off Anastasia and lifted her in his arms and

walked back to her container and gently placed her upon her bed an

covering her with a quilt. “Your ordeal is almost over he said in her own

language, good people will be with you soon to look after you. Until then

my friend will look after you.”

He placed her hand upon the head of a Wolf that had laid beside her

upon the bed. Instinctively the girl knew that this animal was good

smelling and feeling warm and protective.



“I must go.”

Anastasia drifted into a deep and peaceful sleep.



Chapter 17.



Louther parked his car outside the gate to his property in the Forest of

Dean. His home was one of two ex forester detached cottages in a







121

clearing deep within this ancient wood land. The cottages had their own

high hedged gardens of about half an acre giving privacy to both

homes. What Louther did not know was that his neighbour was a keen

astronomer, and lived in the forest because it suffered less from light

pollution, a pain to all those who liked to study the night sky. The

neighbour was in his observatory in the converted attic of his cottage

and could see all of the cinder track drive that led to both of their

homes. He could also see the path from Louther‟s front gate to his front

door.



Louther was parked about 30 ft away from his gate. The wind was

gusting causing the leaves on the tall beach trees to shimmer in the

light of a full silver moon that was occasionally appearing from behind

fast full sailed galleon type clouds racing east across the night sky to do

battle with the approaching day to come.



The quite of the country is perhaps an illusion just held by townies who

would find it hard to get a good night sleep in an area such as the

Forrest of Dean so full of nocturnal life. The twisted boughs of large

ancient oaks made shadows that moved like twisted arms across the

wood land floor, ready to take you in their embrace as they whispered

in the night winds. Foxes screamed like tortured souls, deer barked and

roared challenges at unseen foes, startled wild boar crashed through

dense undergrowth. A cacophony that would not be out of place as the

background track to any Hammer Horror film. Then there is the unseen,

wild boar sighted by many had been dismissed with a sneer by the

establishment until just recently, many say they have seen puma‟s and

panthers. With many caves on steep cliffs in vast areas very difficult to

access and an abundance of wild deer and sheep perhaps a reality.

What of the other sightings of mysterious beings, the imagined or

perhaps real for those who had open minds capable of seeing?



As Louther approached his gate the moonlight was extinguished by a cat

black passing cloud. The absence of any light allowed the spirit of the

night touch his face, the hairs went up on the back of his neck. Devils of

his own making made pictures in his mind, he experienced a flash of

breath crushing fear. The moonlight appeared and cast a strong light

along the cinder track, his eyes followed the travelling beam. On the

track stood a large sable coated wolf. Its eyes shone green and its open

mouth was an phosphorescent red with massive white saliva dripping

fangs. Louther was transfixed to the spot knowing that his own evil was

turning against him. The wolf ran growling gathering speed and jumped.



Chapter 19.

The pair of detectives had commandeered a squad car driven by a

young PC.

Frank and Ilse were met at the door of the church by an agitated priest.







122

“I am so glad you are here I have just had the most unusual phone

call.”

“What was the nature of the call?” asked Ilse.

“The voice said I should contact the police and direct you to an address

on an industrial site near north of Paddington station where you will find

an executed man, a freed child, an injured man and an explanation as

the end of his quest was near.”

“Did you recognise the voice.” Frank asked.

“ He was Russian.” Father Michael answered looking even more

perplexed.

“ Lets see the address. Ilse get back up and an ambulance and lets get

there fast.



They ran to the car and Frank gave the driver the address as Ilse called

in for back up on her mobile. They roared to the scene with blues and

tunes blazing away. Frank who had good reason for not liking been

driven fast, three times he had been in car crashes as a passenger, held

on for grim death.



They arrived at a strange tableau. The dilapidated warehouse was filthy

and industrial, were as the bright modern shinning cars, brand new

portacabin well tailored bodies seamed to have been beamed down from

another existence.



Frank first checked the body for signs of life, as he turned him over he

was not surprised to see the all to familiar bullet wound to the forehead.



Ilse entered the portacabin to find Anastasia still sleeping peacefully,

she let her stay that way for the time being.



Frank then turned his attention to the figure of the Reverend Black‟s

lieutenant sitting in the seat of his Mercedes with the door open and his

legs outside. He was clutching his knee and had blood oozing through

his fingers. His hair was almost completely white.



“OK, there is an ambulance on its way for you. Can you tell me what

happened? Frank asked.

“What happened man, I‟m not sure, but it did.”

“Take your time, just start at the beginning from when you got here.

First what‟s your name?”



“Walter. Walter Winters.”



“Ok Walter that‟s a start. Now tell me what happened here.”



Walter felt a bit of his courage return and as he had been taught from

child hood that you never spoke to the police he stayed silent. A split







123

second later he saw the image of a slathering wolfs mouth in front of

eyes he could smell and feel its damp breath upon his face. He started

to talk with a torrent of words.



Frank was amazed by the sudden change in Walter from a man in pain

to a man terrified.



“ Yes I will tell you all. The dead dude over there was one bad ass he

wanted to buy the kid in the cabin. I wanted nothing to do with it, none

of us did. We inherited her , but we had to get our money back. This

guy Louther arranged it all. I just had to hand her over and get the

money.

I got shot and the bad dude got it to. Then this devil man came on the

scene a Ju Ju man I should say. A tall dude with a wolf dog. He shot me

in the other knee too but that got cleared up, magic. I tell you he was a

Ju Ju man my mammy told me about them back in J‟maca. Is your

name Frank Farren?”



“Yes it is.” Frank wondering what the hell was going on.

“He gave me a message for you.” He said “Just one to go and then it

ends.” He wants Louther and he knows where he is. I know Louther has

a place down in the country near Wales. My boss did some kind of

search on him and found he owned some place in the woods. My Boss

wanted me to go down there tonight and get back our money – he‟s a

real sick dude.”

“Of course you‟re the an angel of mercy, you were willing to sell a kid in

to hell, maybe he should have shot you a bit more. Give me the address

of Louther.”



The address was written down on a pad in the car. Frank had spent

some time in the Forest of Dean with his kids on holidays and knew

where this place was, in woodlands on a valley with steep cliffs

overlooking the river Wye.



“We better contact the local plod and tell them to get a team out there

as fast as possible. Lets get to my place and get the Jag we can get

there in an hour and a half if I get my foot down and can manage a

blues and tunes escort”.



Frank‟s Jag was no ordinary saloon car. Although Frank had no wish to

drive in the big cities with all their traffic he did like to get on the open

road and get his foot down. Frank did not like flying and after buying a

holiday home in the South of France he wanted a motorway eater to get

him there quick. He had been twice to the place in the last 3 years and

most of the time it was used by his ex wife colleagues and friends. The

truth was holidays to Frank opened up spaces of time to fill and after a

couple of days he was bored.







124

The Jag was a lightweight version XJ most or the panels and doors being

in aluminium. The engine was a V12 bored out to 6 litres and completely

rebuilt for maximum performance including twin turbo charges. The

drive had been up rated to all wheel drive and with the latest electronic

aids giving traction control trough a six speed gear beef upped gear

box. Needless to say brakes where ceramic and the wheels wider than

normal this along with a an automatically adjustable back wing gave the

look of a car that would be at home in the Le Mans 24 hr race. The

engine was rated at the wheels to give 1000bhp at peek revs and the

top speed was estimated to be around 210 mph.



The inside of the car had all the usual luxury common to Jaguars.



With the police informed in The Forest of Dean and motorway patrols

alerted to the high speed convey about to hit the M4. Frank with Ilse

and two armed police in the back started to gather speed as they past

Heathrow. They had highly tuned police BMW-s to the front and rear, all

lights blazing and tunes blasting out at any one daring to occupy the

outside lane.



This was one of those times that nearly all serving offices live for, the

excitement of the chase, fear and joy mixed as the baser instincts kick

in.



Chapter 20,



Louther‟s neighbour in the forest could not believe his eyes. Louther was

screaming in pain and being flung about like a rag doll, blood was flying

every where. The neighbour was transfixed, being an ex soldier he was

no stranger to blood and guts, what was fixing him to the spot was not

what he could see, but what he could not.

He could not see the wolf. Only Louther‟s body being shaken like a rag

doll, blood flying upwards in fountains and the faintest translucent out

lines of something truly horrific.



The neighbour shook himself into action and dialled 999 this call was

routed to the local police station just 2 miles away in Coleford, however

as some one from Bream had decided to date a girl from Coleford and

actually have the cheek to flaunt this relationship in a local pub, the

usual faction fight had started. A regular occurrence in an area where

the place that you stood in a bar could be critical and marriage to some

one with a different surname was frowned upon. The out come was that

Frank and his escort arrived on the scene first only 2 minutes after the

call.









125

Frank found the ashen neighbour looking down at the body of Louther.

The face had an expression of contorted fear but the only mark on his

body was a small red bullet hole between his eyes. The neighbour knew

what he had scene and he also knew that if he retold what he had scene

there would soon be men with white coats and straight jackets taking

him away, so he kept stum.



“To late.”

“That could be debatable.” Frank muttered.



“I did not see the shot, I just saw him fall and a man make off into the

woods.”

“Was he carrying a rifle?” Frank asked as a Police dog handler arrived

on the scene.

“Right lets get after him. Pistols in their holsters I don‟t want any bullets

flying about until we are certain that we have the right target. This is

just the situation that can lead to a bullet up your arse through friendly

fire.”



Powerful hand held torches where given out and a very enthusiastic

German Shepherd led the way followed by the whole troop crashing and

barging down a forest path.



The moon was now high and full with fast clouds turning its radiance on

and off. The strong wind waved the branches of trees making shadows

dance. Animals disturbed in their nocturnal world crashed through

tangled bracken. Deer, fox, badger, wild boar and some say puma

occupied this forest along with monsters of the imagination. Soon

fitness began to tell, the dog handler was leading the group as most

nights he was running after his dog who just loved his job, he was

followed by a young constable from the fire arm squad, then Ilse who

was not even breathing hard, followed by Frank who was crashing

through the under growth like a charging rhino determined to be in at

the kill. The rest mainly locals with perhaps more sense where well

behind. There caution was justified as if Frank and the rest had known

that this path was taking them to a cliff overlooking the river Wye he

would have trod with a bit more care.



The aroma of a damp forest floor mixed with fox added to a sense of

time shift in this ancient forest as they turned into a path that led to the

river gorge. The path was arched by Yew trees that had see Druids and

Romans pass beneath, with knurled roots on the banks and branches

above like wringing hands reached out to the advancing party.



Suddenly the dog stopped its hackles rose as he emitted a deep

rumbling growl. The dog handler had never known his dog stop when in

pursuit. The handler followed the dogs direction of sight, a tongue of







126

river mist slowly snaked towards them in a menacing fashion as the

dogs fear was transmitted to the handler. Within the mist the silhouette

of a huge wolf could be seen eyes glowing flame yellow and a huge red

phosphorescent mouth with over large, saliva dripping, white canine

teeth.



The rest of the group all came to a sudden halt almost running in to the

back of the dumb struck handler and his cowed dog. They looked along

the path and only saw mist. Almost at once the moon came out from

behind a cloud and seemed to shine its light directly towards them from

the direction of their chosen path. The mist began to thin and shapes

and shadows deceived the eye. They saw what a thousand years of

civilisation had programmed them to see. The retreating wolf was just

a trick of the shadow and distant lights. The mist revealed a semi

circular wall of stone that made a viewing platform. On the wall stood a

man in a long black coat opened giving the impression of a cape. The

moon was almost directly behind him giving a luminescent edge to his

form. In one of his outstretched arms he held a rifle.



“Drop the gun.” shouted the armed police officer. Frank drew his gun

from his shoulder holster hoping that he did not have to fire it. “Drop

your weapon or we will fire.” Frank shouted.



The figure laughed into the cold night air leaving clouds of exhaled

breath as he moved his rifle into the firing position.



Frank instinctively moved in front of Ilse and raised his 9mm Smith and

Wesson pistol. “ Drop your weapon now or I will fire.”



The rifle was pointing directly at the group as Frank and the other

firearms officer opened fire each sending three bullets one after the

other towards the figure.



The bullets tore into the figure and by rights should have knocked him

backwards as though he had been hit by a bus. Frank was just about to

fire again as the man lifted his arms laughed allowed and dived

backwards as though he was going from the high board.



Frank and the others rushed to the wall and looked over a shear drop of

about 300ft to the river Wye below.



“Well nobody is going to survive that.” said the dog handler. His dog still

seemed uneasy, holding his head high, and sniffing the breeze as

though he knew something different.



Chapter 21.









127

Frank sipped from some hot liquid in a polystyrene cup that may have

been, coffee it was so awful that he could not decide what it was and

put it down fearing poison. He feared poison as Commander Boyle sat in

a chair alongside Frank‟s boss, Chief Inspector Dooley, with an

expression of someone who had just about to inflict righteous revenge.

He was speaking but Frank was not listening as he was wondering if the

commander had the biggest hairiest nostrils in the Met and wondered if

he ever cleaned his teeth as his breath could be described as a weapon

of mass destruction.

“Farren, I am talking to you, Are you listening?”

“No, I was not, do you know your breath really smells it absolutely

makes it impossible to concentrate on what you are saying.”

Dooley, put his hand over his eyes and groaned.

Commander Boyle started to turn purple and looked as though his head

was going to explode. Before he chance to say any think Frank

interjected with “ Yes, I was talking to the Commissioner about it last

night. He asked me to have a quite word with you about it as it‟s the

talk of Scotland Yard”.

“You where talking to the Commissioner about my bad breath?” He

spluttered.

“ Yes at a small dinner party the Ambassador of Belgium had last night

for a few of his friends. The Home Secretary was there along with DS

Van Delft.”

“ You know the Belgium Ambassador?”

“Yes he lives just around the corner from me and is DS Van Delft God

father.”

“And you where discussing my bad breath?”

“Not over the dinner table you understand, that would have been awful.

The Commissioner and Home Secretary pulled me aside afterwards and

had a quite word. They thought I should be the man to let you know as

they know the regard I hold you in. I suggest that you buy yourself a

good electronic toothbrush and an alcohol free mouth wash and brush

twice a day. If that dose not work go to your doctor.”

Commissioner Boyle leapt to his feet spluttering with indignation and

charged out of the room slamming the door so hard the glass almost fell

out.



“Oh Frank, thank God you never took up diplomacy for this country we

would be constantly at war. It‟s a good job you have one of the best

clear up rates in the country as well as friends in high places. So what‟s

your conclusion on the Rodenski murder. Can we close the file?”



“I think we can say we found the murderer but we did not find his body.

The body must have gone into the River Wye with six bullets in him and

after a 300ft fall. No person can survive that.” Frank paused and

decided that he would not reveal his doubts as he did not fully

understand what had happened in that forest. “ The divers say the river







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is full of caves and tunnels that go right out to sea, so we may never

find the body.”

“We did find DNA evidence at the scene of Louthers murder that linked

to the room where the bullet that was fired in the Scrubs and where we

found the little girl. So we know it‟s the same man.”



“ You say that the DNA means that the man is the brother of the

Russian priest?” Dooley queered.



“ Yes, and this is where it all gets rather bizarre as the priest says that

he has not seen his brother for years and believes him to be some

where in Siberia. He did have a massive motive to kill Rodenski and I

guess he felt justified in killing the others, Who would be sorry to see

them dead. There are no records of any one matching his description

ever coming into the country. The Russian Embassy has drawn a blank

too.”



“ On the plus side two of the meanest gangsters to have ever walked

London streets are dead. The girl has been rescued from a fate worse

than death and on her way back to her parents. She has led D‟arcy‟s

team to a roll up of a child smuggling ring from here to Rumania. On top

of that the guy, Black, who was most likely to fill Rodenski‟s shoes is

under lock and key with one of his lieutenants singing like a bird. So the

drinks are on me at the Tavelara tonight as I think it‟s a pretty good

result for the good guys.”









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130

Jimi Hendrix‟s All a long the Watchtower hammered from massive Leak



speakers into a raging wind as Ilse and Frank raised glass‟s to wards



The Russian Orthodox Church. “Here‟s to the triumph of good over evil”



Frank yelled. Knowing for well that this was just a small win in a large



war.









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