Алистер Маклин - Time of the Assassins

‘I don’t know,’ Kolchinsky replied.

‘You don’t know?’ Whitlock retorted sharply. ‘Why are you being so damn evasive?’

Kolchinsky sighed deeply down the line. ‘A T-shirt with her name on it was found in a flat in the Murray Hill district. Three bodies were also found in the flat. Two of them were policemen. But Rosie wasn’t there. That’s all I know at the moment. I’m on my way down there now.’

‘Whose flat was it?’

‘We don’t know, not yet,’ Kolchinsky replied. ‘I’ll see you there, C.W. And don’t say anything to her parents until we’ve established what really happened.’

‘Sure,’ Whitlock muttered then replaced the receiver and looked up at Carmen who had been standing in the doorway for the duration of the call. ‘I’ve got to go out.’

‘It’s Rosie, isn’t it?’

Whitlock nodded then got to his feet.

‘What’s happened to her?’

‘That’s what I’m hoping to find out,’ Whitlock replied then squeezed her arm reassuringly before walking into the bedroom.

The whole street had been cordoned off by the police by the time Whitlock arrived. The driver pulled up next to Kolchinsky who was standing a few yards away from the growing crowd of onlookers struggling behind the police tape to get a better view of the entrance to the apartment block. Word had already spread among them of at least three murders inside the building, and all they wanted to see now were the bodies being brought out to the two ambulances parked close to the steps leading up into the foyer.

Kolchinsky opened the back door and Whitlock climbed out. The driver, who had already been told by Kolchinsky to wait for Whitlock, drove away in search of a parking space. Whitlock held his injured arm close to his chest as he followed Kolchinsky to the front of the crowd. A patrolman, who had already been told by a superior to give Kolchinsky authorized access to the area, immediately pulled up the tape to allow the two men through.

Whitlock grabbed Kolchinsky’s arm once they were out of earshot of the crowd. ‘I want some answers before we go in there. Firstly, how did the police know to get in touch with you about Rosie?’

‘We have files on the relatives of all UNACO personnel, both here and abroad. A list of those names is in the hands of Interpol, the FBI and the NYPD. We can’t afford to take any chances, C.W.’

‘That’s a violation of their civil rights,’ Whitlock shot back as they continued to walk towards the building.

‘Spare the lecture, C.W. It’s in their interests as much as ours. If they get into trouble with the law, we need to know about it to prevent the possibility of the organization being compromised in the ensuing investigation. And in certain cases, we can pull strings to have the charges dropped for the same reason.’

‘And who has access to these files?’

‘Jacques Rust at our headquarters in Zürich, the Colonel and myself. They’re completely confidential; that’s why we’ve never told any of the staff about them. But you’re an exception. You’ll have access to them when you join the management team at the end of the year. You need to know about them.’

‘And what if I wasn’t joining the management team at the end of the year?’ Whitlock countered.

Kolchinsky smiled faintly. ‘Then you wouldn’t be here, would you?’

‘Are these relatives ever tailed?’

‘If we feel it’s necessary, yes.’

‘And Rosie?’

‘No,’ Kolchinsky replied softly as they mounted the steps.

A policeman opened one of the glass doors for them and they stepped into the foyer.

Kolchinsky pressed the button for the lift. ‘In retrospect, I should have had her tailed. Who knows, perhaps this could have been averted. Truth is, I didn’t even know she had violated her bail restrictions until tonight. I thought she was still in the custody of her parents.’

They got into the lift and Kolchinsky pressed the button for the third floor.

‘Did you know she was here?’ Kolchinsky asked suddenly.

‘No, but I knew she wasn’t at home. She walked out the day she was released into her parents’ custody. She had an argument with her father. He and I went looking for her in Times Square, that’s where she usually hangs out, but we couldn’t find her. If we’d called in the police she’d have been done for bail violation, and that would almost certainly have made the difference between a suspended sentence and a jail sentence.’

‘I’d already had a word with the commissioner. The charges were to have been dropped, even with a bail violation. But that was before this. It’s out of my hands now, C.W. I’m sorry.’

Whitlock nodded grimly but said nothing. The lift stopped at the third floor and Kolchinsky identified himself to a uniformed policeman who told him where the deputy police commissioner was waiting for them. Kolchinsky thanked him and led the way into the flat.

Whitlock stopped in the entrance and looked down at the two dead policemen before following Kolchinsky into the lounge. The man seated in the armchair was in his early fifties with fine brown hair and a rugged, leathery face.

‘Sergei, how are you?’ the man asked in a surprisingly gentle voice.

Kolchinsky shook the extended hand. ‘C.W. Whitlock, Deputy Commissioner Sean Hagen. C.W. works for us. He’s also Rosie’s uncle.’

‘Pleased to meet you, sir,’ Whitlock said, also shaking the extended hand.

‘Sit down, won’t you?’ Hagen said, indicating the sofa opposite him.

‘What happened, Sean?’ Kolchinsky asked, taking the proffered seat.

Hagen rubbed his hands over his face then explained about the note Doyle had left with his friend which had been forwarded on to the police after Doyle had failed to keep a rendezvous that afternoon.

‘And the two patrolmen came here looking for Doyle?’ Kolchinsky said.

Hagen nodded. ‘They were shot in cold blood, Sergei. Neither of them even had time to draw his weapon. Both were married with kids.’ His eyes instinctively flickered towards Whitlock. ‘I want their killer brought to book, and I’ll leave no stone unturned in doing it.’

‘You think Rosie shot them?’ Whitlock fired back in amazement. ‘A sixteen-year-old kid? She’s never picked up a gun in her life.’

‘C.W., that’s enough,’ Kolchinsky said softly, but firmly, and put a hand lightly on Whitlock’s arm.

‘No, I don’t think your niece shot them, Mr Whitlock,’ Hagen said at length. ‘All three murders were professional hits.’

‘Who was the third victim?’ Kolchinsky asked. ‘Doyle?’

‘Yes. He was shot several hours before the two patrolmen. He was killed in the hall then taken into the bedroom and put under the bed. We found bloodstains on the carpet in the hall.’

‘What about fingerprints?’ Whitlock asked.

‘We’ve already lifted several sets. The only ones to be positively identified so far are your niece’s. I’ve got a team working around the clock trying to match the other sets.’

‘If you need any help–’

‘No,’ Hagen cut across Kolchinsky’s words. He sighed deeply. ‘But thank you anyway. We’ll trace them ourselves.’

‘And no other clues?’ Whitlock asked.

‘Only that a neighbour saw your niece leave here with a tall man about five o’clock this afternoon. She couldn’t describe him because he was wearing dark glasses, a fedora and a leather jacket with the lapels up. But apart from that, nothing. Which only strengthens my belief that this was a professional job. It could have been the work of a hitman from one of the drug cartels, who knows? Your niece was mixed up in that scene, wasn’t she?’

‘She smoked a bit of pot, that’s all. Christ, you make it sound as if she was a mule or a pusher for one of the cartels.’