Chapter 9

"Andrei," Dmitri called as they rifled through Tara Prutton's house. She had screamed when she saw them but a swift fist in the mouth from the oversized henchman had stopped her and Andrei came over to his boss.

"What?"

Dmitri passed a USB memory stick in the top of Oliver's drawer and told him "to load it up." Tara watched them, her eyes bulging as Andrei roughly retrieved her laptop and plugged in the memory stick.

"Careful," she muttered and Andrei glared at her, as Dmitri rifled through Oliver's drawers, spilling objects over the floor.

"It's just porn boss," he told him and then looked at a subfolder. "And some plans."

Dmitri strode over and glanced at the filenames. "He do job," Dmitri said gruffly and turned to the sobbing woman in the corner of the room. Andrei threw the laptop onto the bed so that it bounced up and hit the wall and Tara barked at them.

"Careful. It cost me a lot of money," she told them firmly and Andrei picked up the machine and threw it onto the floor as Tara's eyes flew open.

"Where are they?"

"I don't know," Tara cried. "I just don't know. They went out and never came home. Next thing the Police are here." Tara burst into tears and Dmitri looked at Andrei; her tears looked genuine but Dmitri wanted to know everything. "I want friends. Name of friends."

Tara sniffed and wiped her eyes. "Oliver. Some girl he worked with. He liked her. He liked some girl at College ages ago. He knew some guys down the road, but that's it. He loved reading."

"What girl?"

"Oh I don't know. He liked 'er. Some girl on reception or owt. I dunno."

Dmitri and Andrei looked at each other. "And Jamie?"

Tara wiped her eyes. "He um just got out. There's Emma, Sean, Ian, Freddie but he ain't seen any of 'em for years. He's been at job centre and with a new girl. He was talkin' 'bout her?"

"What girl?"

"'Oney or somethin'. I dunno. He tells me nothin'."

"Vatt about Prison?" Andrei asked.

Tara sniffed. "Ah some guy called Ian. They shared a cell but that's it. They good mates. Like brothers."

"Ian who?" Andrei asked and Tara shrugged.

"I don't know," she spat. "He never told me."

"Where's 'e live?"

Tara looked at the floor and stared into the carpet; she knew, Jamie had told her, and she had never heard of it before. "Tel-something."

"Tel-Aviv?" Andrei suggested and Dmitri scowled at him.

Tara shook her head. "I dunno. It was a long time ago."

Dmitri took a deep breath and held out his hands, cracking his fingers together. "Telham?"

"Telford?"

"That's it, Telfard," Tara mispronounced. "Is it far away, like?"

"Fuckin' miles," Dmitri complained and picked up his mobile phone, dialling a preset number. "Ya better not be fuckin' with us," Tara was warned.

"I'm not," she added. "But I ain't seen them. I told the little cunt to go straight."

Dmitri was ignoring her and jabbed at his phone. "Paul," Dmitri asked the moment the phone was answered. "Ya near the Midlands?"

"Stoke. We had a lead but it's shit," the young man replied.

"Get to Telford. Your lookin for guy called Ian. Old cell mate of Jamie."

"What's surname?"

Dmitri looked at Tara and shook his head. "No idea," he muttered.

"OK we'll be there in thirty," Paul announced and Dmitri put the phone away.

"We'll be in touch," Dmitri promised and Tara looked at him.

"Why, I know jack shit."

"Maybe," Dmitri said. "But your boys have a big debt with Mr Doszak and he wants it payin'"

Tara yelped as they passed. "Ya can fuck off if ya think..."

Andrei didn't let the middle-aged woman complete the sentence smacking her in the mouth for a second time and watching her collapse against the cupboards, blood trailing down her mouth and the furniture. "Fuckin' bitch," he moaned at Dmitri. "Needs a good slap."

Dmitri nodded towards him and started walking down the stairs towards the front door.

The angry woman looked up from the sofa as Inspector Richard Williamson wearily opened the door to his lounge and clapped eyes on his wife. "Sorry love."

"That's all I ever get," she said, her brown eyes boring into her husband and scowling at his presence. "Sorry I missed this, sorry I am late, sorry I couldn't be there."

"I know," the Inspector muttered and his wife got up from the chair, to her full height of 5'8". The main lights were turned off in the silent room and she was silhouetted by the wall lights, her pose aggressive and waved her fingers in front of her at him.

"It was our 15th anniversary," she told him. "I'll be back for five, promise, is what you said."

"Yes, I know," the Inspector replied meekly.

"And you even ignored my phone call," she shouted. "I don't ask for much." A tear left her eyes and rolled down her cheek and she wiped it away.

"I didn't hear it," he told her truthfully. "I never check my phone. I got caught up in a press conference I was told to attend, I came as soon as I could. We do have a major Police investigation on."

He offered his wife a card and some flowers, but she shook her head and pushed past him in the doorway. "Don't bother coming to bed," she said with a firmness. "You can sleep on the sofa."

The Inspector slowly shook his head and went to speak but his wife pushed a finger in front of her and told him that she didn't want to hear it. He sank down in the chair and closed his eyes; it was gone 9pm but he was in the Police force and she knew he was working on a major investigation that was being reported in the National news.

He pulled out a couple of witness statements from his bag and opened them; if he was going to be left alone then he might as well do something useful.

"No Mum, it's fine. I won't be home for tea as I am at work but I will find something to eat." Mikael scoffed at his partner; he was trying to locate three hardened criminals and then kill them and his partner was talking to his Mum about eating enough vegetables. Frankly, it was embarrassing.

"No Mum, I've got enough clean underpants." Mikael snatched the phone from Paul and threw it onto the back seat.

"We watch not we talk on the phone," he snapped at his protégé in his Scandinavian accent. "We watch."

The young Paul grunted. "She rings and she mithers," he moaned. "And she always wants to know where I am."

Mikael gave a snort and cocked his head towards the house they were watching. They saw a young guy in his mid-twenties walk up the street in a black tracksuit and then walk up the small steps to the property. He unlocked his front door, and Mikael turned to Paul. "That's him."

Mikael picked up a black hold-all from the back seat of their car and got out of the vehicle, taking a look around the street to make sure he was not being watched. "Now remember. Just do as I say. Nothing more," he warned his young charge and they knocked stoutly on the front door.

Mikael and Paul were smart; they were both wearing immaculate black trench-coats and smart trousers but Ian barely saw their clothing as the moment he opened the door he was propelled onto his back by the fist of the Danish henchman.

"Where's Jamie?" Paul asked.

"Jamie who?" Ian shouted nasally, his hand clamped to his nose and feeling a rush of blood fall through his fingers. "And you can't come in here."

"We fucking can," Paul said with a swagger and closed the door behind him. "I ask again. I ask one more time. And then I play. Where's Jamie?"

"Jamie. He not fuckin' here."