you have to do is tell us what you know about Pavel Bolotnikov.’
‘I dunno, John,’ he threw Martin a defiant look. ‘These Russians don’t like people poking about in their business. It’s dangerous, like. Know what I mean?’
‘Baz, we can do this two ways,’ said John. ‘We can take you in for questioning, which will no doubt mean word will get out that you’ve been singing or we can do it nice and discreetly here, where no one gets to know.’
Baz eyed John and then Martin. ‘I don’t have much choice, do I?’
‘I’m not asking much’ said John. ‘Just tell me if Pavel Bolotnikov is in the UK and where.’
A bead of sweat traced its way down the side of Baz’s temple. He wiped at it with a paper serviette.
‘You didn’t hear from me. Got that?’ conceded Baz after a few moments.
‘When have we ever heard it from you?’ said John. ‘You know we will look after you.’
Baz cleared his throat, looking around the café once more. John bit down the impatient breath that was threatening to escape,
‘Pavel is not in London any more. I don’t know exactly where he was staying, but I do know he’s gone.’
‘How did he get into London?’
‘Flew.’
‘From where and when?’
‘Two weeks ago yesterday. I don’t know where from. I’m not his travel agent.’
‘And where is he now?’
‘Like I said, I don’t know.’ Baz wiped at the newly formed sweat on his forehead. ‘Come on, John, give us a break. I’ve said too much already.’
John exchanged a look with Martin before both men looked back at their informant. After a few moments’ silence, John prompted him. ‘Tell us where he is now and we’re done.’
Baz went to protest, but must have thought better of it. He cursed quietly. ‘I swear, John, this is all I know.’ He leaned in and spoke in a hushed voice. ‘Word has it, Pavel’s gone to the seaside.’
‘Seeing as the UK is an island, that gives a lot of scope as to where he could be,’ snapped Martin.
‘Okay, okay.’ Baz held up his hands. ‘West Sussex.’
‘A lot of coastline in West Sussex,’ replied John.
‘Littlehampton. He’s gone to Littlehampton.’ Baz let out a sigh. ‘Now that’s got to be worth something.’ He pointed towards the pocket that housed John’s wallet.
John obliged and drew out a crisp twenty-pound note. He placed it slowly on the table before repeating the process with another one.
As Baz went to scoop the notes up, John laid his hand flat over them. ‘Was he alone?’
Baz shrugged. ‘Dunno.’ He looked at John and then Martin. ‘And that’s straight up, I’m not his secretary.’ He looked at the notes.
John lifted his hand and watched as Baz greedily shoved his earnings into his trouser pocket. ‘If that’s all, gentlemen, I’ll be on my way.’
As Baz went to leave, John stuck out his hand and caught the man’s arm. ‘Keep your ear to the ground and let me know if you hear anything. Anything at all. Got it?’
‘Yeah, course,’ muttered Baz before scurrying into the back of the café.
‘You reckon he knows anything else?’ queried Martin.
John shook his head. ‘Don’t think so.’ He took a slurp of his tea before pushing it away. ‘Jesus, that’s disgusting. Come on.’ He stood up. ‘We can pin the facial recognition down to a date now. I want to see if Pavel came in alone or not.’
‘Do you know something I don’t?’ asked Martin following John out of the café.
‘Just a hunch. I want to see the CCTV first, though.’
John and Martin arrived back at the office to find Adam looking rather pleased with himself.
‘I take it that’s your good-news face,’ said John.
‘We’ve got a match for the dead Russian,’ said Adam, tapping at the keys on his computer. The victim’s face appeared on the screen next to his personal details. Adam gave a summary. ‘Ivan Gromov. Porboski gang member. Lives in Russia. Was a regular visitor to the UK up until about five years ago. Not known to
‘I dunno, John,’ he threw Martin a defiant look. ‘These Russians don’t like people poking about in their business. It’s dangerous, like. Know what I mean?’
‘Baz, we can do this two ways,’ said John. ‘We can take you in for questioning, which will no doubt mean word will get out that you’ve been singing or we can do it nice and discreetly here, where no one gets to know.’
Baz eyed John and then Martin. ‘I don’t have much choice, do I?’
‘I’m not asking much’ said John. ‘Just tell me if Pavel Bolotnikov is in the UK and where.’
A bead of sweat traced its way down the side of Baz’s temple. He wiped at it with a paper serviette.
‘You didn’t hear from me. Got that?’ conceded Baz after a few moments.
‘When have we ever heard it from you?’ said John. ‘You know we will look after you.’
Baz cleared his throat, looking around the café once more. John bit down the impatient breath that was threatening to escape,
‘Pavel is not in London any more. I don’t know exactly where he was staying, but I do know he’s gone.’
‘How did he get into London?’
‘Flew.’
‘From where and when?’
‘Two weeks ago yesterday. I don’t know where from. I’m not his travel agent.’
‘And where is he now?’
‘Like I said, I don’t know.’ Baz wiped at the newly formed sweat on his forehead. ‘Come on, John, give us a break. I’ve said too much already.’
John exchanged a look with Martin before both men looked back at their informant. After a few moments’ silence, John prompted him. ‘Tell us where he is now and we’re done.’
Baz went to protest, but must have thought better of it. He cursed quietly. ‘I swear, John, this is all I know.’ He leaned in and spoke in a hushed voice. ‘Word has it, Pavel’s gone to the seaside.’
‘Seeing as the UK is an island, that gives a lot of scope as to where he could be,’ snapped Martin.
‘Okay, okay.’ Baz held up his hands. ‘West Sussex.’
‘A lot of coastline in West Sussex,’ replied John.
‘Littlehampton. He’s gone to Littlehampton.’ Baz let out a sigh. ‘Now that’s got to be worth something.’ He pointed towards the pocket that housed John’s wallet.
John obliged and drew out a crisp twenty-pound note. He placed it slowly on the table before repeating the process with another one.
As Baz went to scoop the notes up, John laid his hand flat over them. ‘Was he alone?’
Baz shrugged. ‘Dunno.’ He looked at John and then Martin. ‘And that’s straight up, I’m not his secretary.’ He looked at the notes.
John lifted his hand and watched as Baz greedily shoved his earnings into his trouser pocket. ‘If that’s all, gentlemen, I’ll be on my way.’
As Baz went to leave, John stuck out his hand and caught the man’s arm. ‘Keep your ear to the ground and let me know if you hear anything. Anything at all. Got it?’
‘Yeah, course,’ muttered Baz before scurrying into the back of the café.
‘You reckon he knows anything else?’ queried Martin.
John shook his head. ‘Don’t think so.’ He took a slurp of his tea before pushing it away. ‘Jesus, that’s disgusting. Come on.’ He stood up. ‘We can pin the facial recognition down to a date now. I want to see if Pavel came in alone or not.’
‘Do you know something I don’t?’ asked Martin following John out of the café.
‘Just a hunch. I want to see the CCTV first, though.’
John and Martin arrived back at the office to find Adam looking rather pleased with himself.
‘I take it that’s your good-news face,’ said John.
‘We’ve got a match for the dead Russian,’ said Adam, tapping at the keys on his computer. The victim’s face appeared on the screen next to his personal details. Adam gave a summary. ‘Ivan Gromov. Porboski gang member. Lives in Russia. Was a regular visitor to the UK up until about five years ago. Not known to
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