No Way Home Page 10

‘See,’ said Jane. ‘Like Ben said – subtle as a brick.’

  *

  ‘How’s it going, Bob?’ Pete leaned his elbows on the high-topped counter of the custody desk in the basement of the station.

  ‘Quiet, for now. Don’t tell me – you’re about to spoil all that. Bloody typical.’ Bob shook his head, his bald scalp gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

  ‘I don’t know where you get that idea from,’ Pete said defensively. ‘I was just going to ask you to have a play on that computer in front of you, that’s all. What’s so hard about that?’

  ‘Depends what you want me to play.’

  ‘Hunt the drug gang.’

  ‘I thought that was your job?’

  ‘Yeah, but I need to know if we’ve done it as thoroughly as we ought.’

  Bob nodded, ‘Which gang?’

  ‘The Armenian’s. Gagik Petrosyan’s.’

  Bob sucked air through his teeth. ‘I hope so, for your sake, mate. If you’ve left any of them out there… They can be some nasty buggers, from what I hear.’

  ‘Which is why I was asking you to check.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Somebody’s cottoned on to where I live. The wife’s not happy.’

  ‘And you suspect Petrosyan? If it was him, I’m betting you’d know for sure. You’d have had a firebomb through the letterbox or something.’

  ‘I was hoping to nip it in the bud before it comes to anything like that.’

  Bob grunted. ‘OK. I’ll have a shufty through the records.’ He turned to his computer and began to jab at the keys with two fat forefingers.

  Pete kept his expression even and his mouth shut – Bob was doing him a favour, after all – but this was going to take some time.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘There.’ Bob slid a piece of paper across the desk to him. ‘I’ve got five other arrests related to Gagik Petrosyan. Two of them are currently out on bail, the other three are on remand, along with the man himself.’

  In Exeter prison, Pete thought. Good. Get them acclimatised to it before they’re sentenced. They’ll know what they’ve got to look forward to while they’re standing in the dock. ‘Thanks, Bob.’ He picked up the sheet and looked down at the list of names. One of them jumped out at him straight away. He glanced up at Bob. There was a ‘B’ next to the name, indicating bail. Davit Achabahian, resident of Exwick, was one of the few people in the world Petrosyan trusted.

  ‘Have you got access to the prison database from here?’

  Bob shook his head. ‘No. They run an isolated system over there.’

  ‘What, no Internet access? There must be, surely.’

  ‘Yes, but not from any of the computers they keep their records on.’

  Pete grunted. ‘OK. I’ll have to go over there again.’

  ‘Something there, then?’ Bob nodded to the sheet he’d just finished compiling.

  ‘Possibly. Davit Achabaihan. It’d be useful to know if he’s been in touch with Petrosyan since he’s been inside.’

  ‘Well, that don’t take a visit. I can call them and ask.’

  ‘Now, why didn’t I think of that?’

  ‘Wrong mindset, mate. You’ve got to think simple and lazy. Like the hare and the tortoise.’ Bob picked up the phone and dialled a number from memory. ‘Hello. Kev? Yeah. How’s it going over there? Keeping you busy enough, are we?’ He laughed. ‘Yeah, I need a quick favour. Could you have a look in your visitor log and see if Gagik Petrosyan’s had any visitors, other than his brief?’ He paused. ‘OK.’ Looking up at Pete, he gave a quick nod. Then he concentrated on the phone again. ‘Yes? Ah. That’s interesting. Thanks, mate. I’ll see you tomorrow night.’

  He put the phone down. ‘Mate of mine. I play skittles with him at the Hope and Anchor.’

  Pete nodded. ‘And what did he have for us?’

  ‘Petrosyan’s had just the one visitor since he’s been in there. Regularly, once a fortnight.’ Bob paused, stringing it out.

  ‘Well, it ain’t bloody conjugal,’ Pete said. ‘So, who’s the lucky winner?’

  ‘Davit Achabaihan.’

  ‘Yes!’ Pete punched the air. ‘Thanks, Bob. So, I will be going out, after all. To see what he’s been up to while he’s been out on bail.’

  ‘I might be seeing you later then.’

  Pete gave him a wink. ‘You never know, buddy.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s the trouble with you lately,’ Bob grumbled. ‘Keep giving me more and more bloody work.’

  Pete laughed. ‘Don’t go filling the place up while I’m gone, eh?’ he said with a slap of his open hand on the counter.

  Bob grunted and Pete gave him a wave as he headed back into the station. Before he could go and talk to Achabaihan, he needed to find out where he was.

  *

  ‘Oh, my God! Tommy!’

  Louise ran forward and gathered him up into her arms, crushing him to her in a smothering hug while Annie stood one step back, waiting her turn.

  ‘My beautiful boy,’ Louise crooned. ‘Thank God you’re safe. I’ve been worried sick about you. We all have. But none of that matters now. You’ll soon be home.’

  Annie knew what those hugs felt like, how she reacted to them, and she saw no such reaction from Tommy. Her brother accepted the embrace, but Annie could see his face. His eyes didn’t close like hers would have and, when he saw her watching, rather than pretend, he scowled at her.

  She frowned. What was wrong with him?

  She could see the bruises on his face and her heart went out to him, but this was their mother he was holding. And he wasn’t reacting in the way Annie would have expected at all. ‘What’s wrong?’ she mouthed silently.

  Now he closed his eyes – but not to sink into the intensity of emotion. Instead, to avoid answering her.

  Louise was still murmuring to him. One of the staff was standing in the corner of the room, hands behind his back, watching. They had both been patted down as they entered the facility, but she supposed the staff had to be sure they hadn’t missed anything. That she or her mother hadn’t managed to sneak anything in for Tommy. Parents, especially, must do some desperate things in places like this, she imagined. And yet… were all the kids in here like Tommy? As shut off and distant?

  Louise stepped back, extending an arm to bring Annie in. Annie hesitated just an instant, then stepped forward. But she could tell as she wrapped her arms around her brother that he had noticed that tiny pause. She hugged him all the same, but he felt almost rigid in her arms. He didn’t squeeze her back as he normally would have.

  ‘It’s so great to see you, Tommy,’ she said. ‘We thought we’d lost you. Where’ve you been?’ She stood back, holding him at arm’s length. ‘We’ve heard bits of stuff about you now and then, but nothing for ages. Are you coming home soon?’

  She turned to Louise. ‘Mum? Is he?’

  Louise smiled down at her, reaching out to stroke her hair while her other hand rested on Tommy’s shoulder. ‘Yes, love. It won’t be long now. Then we’ll all be a family again. Just get this trial thing over, I expect…’

  ‘So, where’s Dad?’ Tommy spoke for the first time.

  ‘He couldn’t come today,’ Louise told him. ‘He’s not allowed – not until after Mr Burton’s trial.’

  Tommy grunted. ‘Yeah, right. Too busy working, eh? As usual.’

  ‘No, Tommy,’ Annie said. ‘Mum’s right. It’s the rules. He’s not allowed because it’s his case that you’ve got to go to court about. He could tell you what to say and stuff.’

  ‘Of course he could – with a warder looking over my shoulder all the time.’ Tommy glanced at the man in jeans and polo shirt standing in the corner of the room.

  Annie caught the tightening of the man’s lips and the frown that flashed across her mother’s face at the use of the term ‘warder’. They had been told on entry that the staff tried to downplay any association with the prison service – which they were entirely separate from – as much as possible. With the exce
ption of the registered manager and the unit’s psychologist and psychiatrist, they were referred to simply as staff rather than any other title or description.

  ‘Well, that’s what the rules are, anyway. And it’s not for long. Just until Mr Burton’s convicted. Then you can come home. Can’t he, Mum?’

  ‘That’s right, hun.’ Louise looked from one child to the other. Annie could see the love shining in her eyes. She looked back at Tommy. All she could see on his face was pent-up anger and resentment. But she had no idea what to do about it. She desperately wanted him to be happy. To be pleased to see both her and their mother. To love them as deeply and obviously as they loved him. But something was stopping him, getting in the way.

  She stepped forward again, wrapped her arms around him.

  ‘Come back to us, big bruv,’ she whispered. ‘We need you.’

  *

  ‘Davit?’ the woman on the other end of the line said. ‘He’s…’ Pete heard the clicking of a keyboard. ‘…At the airport. Dropped a fair there a few minutes ago. He’ll probably be there for another fifteen, twenty minutes, depending on arrival times and baggage claim, then he’s got a pickup from there to Exmouth. He’s working eight to four today, so that’ll probably be his last of the day.’

  ‘And does he come back to the office at the end of his shift?’

  ‘No. He uses his own car, so there’s no need.’

  And no saying for sure that he’ll go straight home after, Pete thought.

  ‘So, can you tell me where he’s going in Exmouth, so I can meet him there?’

  ‘Umm… well, I’m not sure I should, but… You want to speak to Davit rather than his fare, so…’ Taxi and private hire firms tended to want to keep the police sweet as much as possible. There was no telling when it might be useful and Pete was relying on that now. ‘He’s going to 37 Albert Drive.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Pete put the phone down before she could ask any more and checked his watch. It was mid-afternoon. Achabaihan would probably get to Exmouth in about an hour from now, which gave him a few minutes. He stood up and glanced around his team. ‘Who wants a coffee?’

  *

  ‘Right. I’m off out for a bit,’ he said a short time later. ‘While I’m gone I need someone to look into the whereabouts, background, criminal history and known associates – in other words, everything we can find – on one Apkar Sarkissian.’

  ‘Bless you,’ said Jane.

  ‘What’s one of them?’ asked Dave.

  ‘It’s not a what. It’s a who. And it’s a close personal friend of our old buddy Gagik Petrosyan. In fact, it’s one of the five other people who were arrested in connection with him and one of the two of those who’s currently out on bail. The other one being Davit Achabaihan.’

  *

  Albert Drive in Exmouth was a street of pastel-painted Georgian townhouses with basements protected by black iron railings. It was one street back from the coast and had yellow lines painted along one side and cars parked nose to tail along the other – mostly expensive ones, Pete noted, as he cruised slowly, looking for somewhere to park his silver Ford saloon.

  Number 37 was a pale blue house of three storeys above ground level with white-painted window frames and a high-gloss, dark-blue door. He found a gap in the row of cars and four-by-fours a few doors down and pulled in. Checking his watch, he found he was just four minutes early. He stepped out of the car and locked it, strolled back down towards the house where Davit was due to drop his fare, and leaned on the spike-topped railing, arms folded across his chest.

  It was just a couple of minutes later that he heard a car turning into the end of the road. He glanced that way, recognised Davit’s Skoda from their last meeting a few months ago, and turned his head away. Keeping a relaxed appearance, he gazed down the street until he heard the car come to a stop a few feet away. He heard the door open and looked around. Saw the recognition on Achabaihan’s face and smiled as he unfolded his arms and stepped forward.

  Nodding to the passenger, who gave him a look before stepping away, he leaned down to look through the side window, focusing on the driver. ‘Hello, Davit. How’s it going?’

  ‘Detective.’

  ‘Good thing I ran into you,’ Pete said. ‘I need to ask you about something.’

  The Armenian’s expression said he didn’t believe for a second that this was a chance meeting. ‘What?’

  Behind him, Pete heard a house door open and close. They were alone. He dropped the light and easy act. ‘Where were you last night between 11.00 p.m. and 6.00 a.m.?’

  Achabaihan shrugged. ‘Here and there. In bed, mostly.’

  ‘Alone?’

  Pete knew he wasn’t married from their previous encounter, when Davit had been caught aiding and abetting the fugitive Gagik Petrosyan.

  ‘Of course not. I had three students with me. What you think?’

  ‘I think it’s highly unlikely, Davit. But if it’s true, I’ll need their names.’

  Achabaihan shrugged. ‘I lose track, you know? So many girls. So many names.’

  Pete nodded. ‘I see where you’re coming from. Trouble is, you start to lose your memory like that, you’ll end up taking wrong turns, overcharging passengers. Could lose your licence. And, now that Petrosyan’s out of the picture, where would that leave you?’

  The Armenian’s eyes narrowed.

  Pete met his gaze, relaxed and in control. Held it for a long moment until Davit finally spoke.

  ‘I work until midnight, go home to bed. Alone. No witness.’

  Pete nodded. ‘There. That wasn’t so hard, was it? Of course, I will check.’

  ‘Is that it? I have place to be.’

  ‘Almost.’

  Pete stood upright, wandered towards the back of the car. As he moved around it, he reached down and popped the boot open. ‘Whoops. Sorry about that,’ he said as he looked inside.

  ‘Hey! What are you doing?’

  Pete looked around the raised boot lid. ‘Hand slipped. You’d best close it before you move off.’

  He heard Achabaihan mutter something under his breath, then the car door opened and he stomped towards where Pete stood back to give him room. He reached up and slammed the boot lid. ‘You see what you want?’

  ‘Don’t know what you mean, Mr Achabaihan. Have a good evening.’

  Davit grunted sourly and turned away.

  Pete stepped back onto the pavement. No point tempting the guy. In fact, he hadn’t seen what he’d thought he might. The boot was clear and clean, as you’d expect from a taxi driver. He’d hoped to see a bag in there, perhaps containing spray cans and a knife of some kind.

  The car door slammed and Achabaihan roared off down the street as Pete took out his phone and made a call.

  ‘Ben?’ he said when it was picked up. ‘A quick job for you. Check on Davit Achabaihan’s mobile phone records, will you?’

  ‘What’s he been up to, boss?’

  ‘That’s what I want to find out.’

  *

  ‘Looks like he was telling you the truth, boss.’

  Pete stopped, about to pull his chair out, having just got back to the squad room. ‘Ben?’

  ‘Davit Achabaihan. We know he’s been visiting Petrosyan, but there’s no evidence in his mobile call logs that he’s been passing on any messages from him. And he was at home from about twenty past twelve last night.’

  ‘OK. And what about the other one? Sissi-what-not.’

  ‘Again, no evidence that he’s been involved in anything unfriendly. One conversation with Achabaihan ten days ago, but that’s it. Nothing on their social media pages either.’

  Pete nodded. Could he discount the pair of them, then? If so, where did that leave him?

  About the same place with this as with the cabbie killer, he thought. Nowhere.

  He looked around at his team, who were all watching him. ‘Has anyone got any good news?’ He focused on Dave, giving him a firm stare. This was not the time for levity.

 
; ‘Jane said something about you meeting up with Darren Westley. I checked up on him. Seems like he’s been seeing that barmaid for a few months now. They’re in regular touch by all the usual methods and he goes over to her place regularly.’

  ‘Is he in touch with anyone else we should know about?’ Pete asked, sitting down.

  ‘Not that I could see.’

  Pete grunted. ‘Maybe she’s cleaning him up then. We’ll give him the benefit of the doubt for now. What else?’

  ‘We got nowhere on Shafiq Ahmed, boss,’ Dick put in. ‘He seems to be clean. The wife let Jill and I check his computer, even search the place to see if there was another one. Which there wasn’t.’

  ‘OK. We’ll have a chat with the man himself, though, just to be thorough.’

  Dave set his elbows on his desk, fingers entwining in front of his face. ‘Every lead we follow on this seems to dry up after a bit.’

  ‘Then we’re following the wrong leads, Dave. Come on. We’ve got a killer out there somewhere. We’ve got someone targeting my house. Has anyone checked if any other officers have had the same treatment?’

  ‘Yes, boss,’ said Jill. ‘It’s just you.’

  ‘Then there’s nobody better placed than us to figure out who’s doing it,’ he said firmly. ‘Come on, people. Let’s make some progress, can we? Anybody got Ahmed’s licence plate or cab number?’

  ‘Yeah, both.’ Dave wrote quickly on a Post-it and passed it over. ‘The phone number there’s for City Cars, who he drives for.’

  ‘Cheers.’

  Pete grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and headed out. He would talk to the taxi driver, then, all being well, head across the river. There wasn’t time to mess about with catalogues and he remembered seeing a place that sold security cameras and so on in one of the small arcades of local shops in the residential area of Redhills. He wanted the cameras in his hands and preferably installed tonight.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Pete made the call as he descended the central stairs. A young-sounding woman picked up before he reached the ground floor. ‘Good afternoon. City Cars. How can I help?’

  ‘Hello. This is DS Gayle, Exeter CID. Can you give me a current location on one of your drivers, please?’