‘Can’t say that I do. Why?’
‘He’s involved in trafficking girls and women for sex. I suspect your management company facilitate it. Be easy for you to hide them among genuine asylum seekers so that they remain undocumented. Never appearing on any official register. What I don’t understand is why. Why would you do it? It’s such a high-risk operation. Money? How much do you make? Is it per girl or per the hour?’
Russell lifted the phone on his desk.
‘Don’t bother ringing my boss. He knows I’m here,’ Lottie said.
Russell’s finger hovered over the keypad.
‘Lipjan.’ Lottie pounced. ‘What does it mean to you?’
Tilting his chair back, Russell rested his hands behind his head. She could see grey hair poking out where his shirt stretched across his abdomen. His thin moustache wobbled on his upper lip as he laughed.
‘What’s so funny, Mr Russell?’
‘You are. You’ve researched it, so you know Lipjan is a town in Kosovo where peacekeeping troops were based under the NATO flag. The camp was built beside an old chicken farm. Your husband was based there. Not far from Pristina.’
‘You’re right. I have researched it. Wasn’t it in Pristina where a doctor illegally harvested human organs?’ She thought of her late night on the computer. ‘More like barbaric butchery. And let me tell you, Mr Russell, it had nothing to do with Adam Parker.’ She threw him a meaningful look. ‘But the fact that you insinuated he was involved leads me to believe you had something to do with it.’ She had no evidence if he had or not, but she needed to see his reaction.
‘How do you reach that conclusion? Your detective skills? Don’t make me laugh again.’ His face remained neutral.
Lottie paced for a moment before stopping behind him. She fought an urge to upend his chair. Leaning so close to his ear she could see hair sprouting inside, she whispered, ‘Gjon Jashari.’
The effect of her words was instant. Russell pulled his hands out from behind his head, almost hitting her, and leapt up. She jumped back against the wall.
He turned and pressed his face close to hers. ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about.’
Spittle landed on her face. Lottie edged sideways, threw a glance to Boyd telling him to stay where he was and faced Russell.
‘Gjon Jashari,’ she repeated. ‘He lived and worked in Pristina during and after the war, at the time of your tour duties. Interesting, don’t you think?’
Russell opened and shut his mouth. Boyd did likewise. Lottie forced a weak smile. Hopefully she’d soon have a reply to the email she’d dispatched in the early hours. Until then, everything was speculation.
‘Get out! Get out of my office,’ Russell commanded, pointing to the door. His moustache now drooped with sweat and spit. His sleek hair fell across his forehead. He looked demented.
‘Frank Phillips told me he knows you.’ Keep going while you’re ahead, Lottie thought.
‘That bastard.’
‘So you do know him?’
‘Know of him.’ Russell backed down. ‘Before you accuse me, I read about his missing daughter and it has nothing to do with me.’
‘Interesting.’ Lottie moved away, ignoring Boyd’s questioning eyes. She gazed along the line of photographs for the second time since she’d arrived. ‘Is he in any of these?’
‘Phillips was never in the army.’ Russell folded his arms.
‘Not Phillips. Your friend. The one with the crooked teeth.’
‘You’re insane. Fishing expedition, that’s what you’re on.’
Nail on the head, but she wasn’t about to admit it. Continue catching him off balance, hoping he slipped up. ‘I have murder victims with severe bite marks. This Fatjon has crooked teeth. We can match up the bites with forensics. Tell me about him.’
‘I’m telling you to get out. Now.’ This time, when he lifted the phone, he punched in a number.
‘Let’s go, DS Boyd. I’ve got what I need for now.’
‘You got nothing from me,’ Russell sneered.
Lottie hoisted her bag up her shoulder and walked to the door. ‘That’s what you think. Don’t leave town. I’ll be back for you.’
Keeping his hand around the dog’s mouth to stop him from yelping, the man melted into the shadows at the side of the cookhouse. He watched the two detectives walk quickly out of Block A, down the path and out the gate.
He looked up at the window on the first floor. Dan Russell stood there, staring out, holding a phone in his hand. What had he told the detectives? Time to find out.
He bent over the dog.
‘Sorry about this, mutt,’ he said. With a jerk of his hand, he broke the dog’s neck. He laughed. The dog had been a prop, helping him blend into normality. The time for blending in was now past.
Releasing the small furry body, he unfastened the lead and wrapped it around his hand. He kicked the dog into the gully beside a vermin trap and headed across the square to Block A.
‘I could do with a cigarette,’ Lottie said, pausing on the footbridge. The sun blazed down from the morning sky. The cherry blossom trees were all but bare, their petals drowning in the turbid waters of the canal. Unlike her mind, which at last was beginning to clear.
Boyd lit two cigarettes and handed her one in silence.
She dragged hard on it and puffed out a curl of smoke. ‘I need to speak with Andri Petrovci.’
Boyd said nothing.
‘I have to find out how he fits into all this. And we need to find Maeve Phillips.’
‘Being practical, I’d say she’s dead.’
‘Never give up. Never lose hope, Boyd. Otherwise you may as well hand in your badge.’
‘I was only saying.’
‘Well, don’t. I’m going to speak with Petrovci. After that debacle with Russell I now suspect Petrovci’s the Lipjan character on Twitter, so he must know something about Maeve.’
‘Corrigan will have a field day if he finds out about all this. I suppose you think Petrovci is involved in smuggling human organs too.’
‘He was only a boy when the war was raging in Kosovo. He couldn’t have been involved then, could he? I don’t know about now.’ She flipped her cigarette into the water below. ‘Are you coming?’
‘I suppose I am.’ He sighed.
‘Knew I could count on you.’
* * *
They cut down by the canal towpath and on to Main Street, where the warm air was clogged with dust and the noise of diggers. Traffic shuffled along like a little old lady.
‘After we released him on Saturday night, we put a tail on Petrovci,’ Boyd said.
‘I know. Find out if he’s at work now.’
Skirting round the corner of the Malloca Café, Lottie marched down Columb Street. The remnants of crime-scene tape trailed from lamp posts, but SOCOs had moved on to the old pump house. Bob Weir’s gates were open and it seemed business was returning to normal. A sheet of metal covered the crater in the ground where the second body had been found. Cars avoiding the congestion on Main Street passed over it, oblivious.
Boyd talked animatedly into his phone as he walked. He ended the call and Lottie looked over at him without breaking stride.
‘They lost him?’ she said.