Tom Callaghan - A Killing Winter

‘So she’s Ms Big, the power behind the throne, right?’

The Chief winked and shook his head.

‘Of course not, there are bigger people behind this. People we couldn’t touch even if we found them with a severed head in one hand and a machete in the other. People you read about in the newspapers, watch on TV. But we bite off what we can chew, and we only chew what we can swallow. And in this case, that’s your Ms Umarova.’

He opened his mouth and bared his teeth, snapping his jaw shut.

‘Case closed,’ he smiled and emptied his glass.

Then the smile left his face, and I saw the power that lay behind; it was a face used to having orders obeyed.

‘Closed just like your mouth, Inspector. I hope we’re clear on that? And while I remember, your case notes, let me have them, all of them.’ The smile returned, ‘Just for the record.’

‘I still have a few questions.’

‘I’ll let you have a look at the transcript of the confession.’

‘Edited highlights, I suppose?’

The smile widened.

‘You know us too well.’

I sat back in the chair, tapped the end of my unlit cigarette against the desk to tamp down any loose tobacco.

‘The two shitheads at Fatboys, Tyulev and Lubashov, the hit that went wrong. What was that all about?’

‘Umarova wanted you dead; she knew you were our best Murder Squad. A high-level killing like the Minister’s daughter, no way we couldn’t put our top man on it. And you used to be smart enough to be a real risk to her plans. Tyulev was sent to distract you so Lubashov could comb your hair from the inside.’

I nodded.

‘And Gasparian? The Armenian high-dive-on-to-concrete champion?’

‘A coincidence. He’s not the only man to have fucked a whore in this town.’

‘So why the jump?’

The Chief poured yet more vodka for himself, raised an eyebrow at my still-full glass.

‘You taken a vow of abstinence or something? You should celebrate, not worry about why some low-life loser dies trying to escape.’

I nodded in agreement, raised the glass to my mouth, didn’t drink.

‘You’re right, Chief, it all ties together. Destabilise Osh, capture it in the name of international law and order, own the most fertile part of our country.’

I smelt the harsh metal scent of the vodka. He was drinking Rasputin, the 70 ° proof stuff, like gasoline, with lit-match chasers.

‘What about the dead Russian woman, Chief? Where does she fit into the Uzbek master plan?’

His face flushed from the vodka, the slightest slurring and hesitation in his words, the Chief frowned with the effort of marshalling his thoughts.

‘I think her boyfriend did her, made it look copycat, so we wouldn’t look too closely at him. Not that we could, even if we wanted. Russian military, law unto themselves. You know he’s got a wife and two kids back in Ufa? A sweet little half-brother or -sister to Boris and Anastasia isn’t going to go down well at the dacha back home.’

‘Sounds like you’ve got all the pieces in place. All you need now is that confession.’

The Chief raised a hand, in modest objection to my praise.

‘Of course, we’ll stick to our existing story as far as the public are concerned. No need to inflame public opinion. But we’ll let the Uzbeks know we know. And we can always produce your girlfriend as evidence if there’s a problem.’

I stood up, and stretched. I was tired, and the temptation of the vodka was nagging at me like a sore tooth.

‘Giving you my notes can wait until morning?’

The Chief was magnanimous in victory.

‘Sure, get your head down, take a couple of days off.’

I tapped the desk with the knuckles of my good hand, the sound like distant shots from a silenced weapon.

‘That public-minded citizen, the one who gave you the tip-off?’

‘Yes?’

I jerked my thumb at the door to the Chief’s private bathroom.

‘Why don’t you ask my old friend Kursan Alymbayev to join us, then I’ll explain why everything you’ve just told me is complete bullshit.’

The bathroom door opened, and a grim-faced Kursan emerged.

I pointed to the ashtray.

‘He doesn’t pay you enough to give up the papiroshi ? Betrayal must come cheap these days,’ I said. ‘I could smell them from halfway down the corridor. Might as well have painted a sign.’

Kursan shrugged and sat down, no sign now of the carefree bold smuggler. I stared at him without speaking for a moment. My dead wife’s uncle, the man who’d danced at our wedding, who’d emptied vodka bottles with us until dawn, who could always be relied on to help out with food and tea when things were scarce.

Knowing I was right didn’t make my sense of his complete betrayal any easier. Everything I’d ever considered sacred, family as something honest and intact outside the fogs and mists of deceit in which I lived, all of that had fallen apart when Kursan had walked through the door.

‘I always said my niece had married a smart man, Akyl. Maybe too smart,’ Kursan said, lighting up the inevitable papirosh .

‘You found the hotel; no one knew we were staying at the Grand, so it had to be you who organised the snatch. What I didn’t know was whose side you were on, who you were betraying us for. Then the ment told me about the police car leaving the scene, and I figured it was bringing Saltanat here –’

‘As I told you, Inspector, a concerned citizen doing his civic duty,’ the Chief interrupted.

‘On the side of the angels?’ I asked. ‘So, of course, you handed the million- som holdall of drugs over to the proper authorities?’

Kursan looked hesitant for a second, then the Chief intervened.

‘Inspector, everything’s under control, accounted for. I suggest you go home.’

‘It’s just that when I checked in the custody book, there was no mention of Saltanat or the drugs,’ I lied. ‘As far as the record’s concerned, a fender-bender out in Tyngush was the evening’s only incident.’

The Chief spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

‘These things take time. Surely it’s more important to interview the prisoner than to spend time scribbling down details?’

‘And much more convenient if the interview starts at the top of some stairs and gets signed off at the bottom.’

The Chief scowled, and topped up his glass.

‘I understand you’re stressed, but don’t push me too far.’

I didn’t look too terrified, and that didn’t please him either. I finally lit my cigarette, letting the smoke cascade towards the ceiling and join the blue cloud already there. I didn’t offer the pack around.

‘The problem with this case has always been motive. Lots of connected events, but seemingly too separate to be connected. Unless someone big is pulling the strings.’

The Chief stared at me, unblinking. Kursan was looking at his hands, careful not to catch anyone’s eye.

‘The pakhan told me the motive. “Terror and confusion,” he said.’

‘Go on,’ the Chief growled.

He started to top up my glass, but I shook my head and he put the bottle down.

‘To do something this big, all the murders, here and in Uzbekistan, takes real money. The sort of money a government has. Or the people behind a government.’

The Chief sipped from his glass.

‘Like I told you, Inspector, it’s the Uzbeks.’

I gave him the unblinking eye right back.

‘No, it isn’t.’

The silence in the room stank of anticipation, of men working up the courage to reach for their guns and turn the quiet into mayhem.

When the Chief spoke, it was in a very calm, measured voice.