Drakan Mihilovich, 42, his brother Saska Mihilovich, 35, and Susan Grant, 22, were all murdered when two gunmen walked into a pub on Bow Road and opened fire on them.
The Mihilovich brothers are widely thought to be responsible for the recent murder of Adriana Drovov, wife of George Drovov, a leading member of Brasov rivals, Cernoziom. The third victim, Susan Grant, was reported to be Saska’s girlfriend.
Four others were injured during the shooting. Two are described as being in a critical condition.
I looked at Ethan’s email. Don’t worry — she’s in the third story.
MILE END VICTIM FOUND DEAD
In a bizarre twist, one of the victims of what police are dubbing ‘The Mile End Murders’ has been found brutally murdered in her hospital bed.
Jade O’Connell, 31, thought to be an innocent victim of a violent gang war in the Tower Hamlets area, was discovered by nurses yesterday, only hours after doctors had given her the all clear. Police said the victim’s head and hands had both been removed.
‘This is one of the most sickening crimes I’ve ever seen,’ Detective Chief Inspector Jamie Hart, the officer leading the hunt for the killer, said yesterday. Ms O’Connell had no surviving relatives.
Jade was dead.
Looks like she’s a goner, Ethan had written. I remember that story. I was doing a piece on Cernoziom at the time. Vicious bastards. They never found out who killed her, but everyone knew it was Cernoziom. Had to be. She must have seen one of their faces. What a way to go.
I thought about Alex, about the parallels between him and Jade. They knew each other. Maybe not well, but she’d heard of him. And now there was a further link too: they were both supposed to be dead.
I let the water run down my body. I’d been in the shower for thirty minutes, hardly blinking. When I closed my eyes, all I could see was the devil coming down the hallway to kill me.
I knew I was standing on the edge of the darkness now. If I stepped back, I’d step away from the case and from what I’d found so far. Whatever was behind me would be left there. But I still wouldn’t step away from them. They’d offered me the chance to walk and I hadn’t taken it. Maybe I’d thought they were bluffing. Or maybe the reason I had carried on was because everything Mary had said to me that first time — and everything I’d felt since — was connected to how I felt about Derryn. Deep down, perhaps I’d hoped my own answers would be waiting for me when I found out what had happened to Alex.
The good things are worth fighting for.
She’d told me that once, when she’d first been diagnosed. And now I knew, like then, the only way forward was into the darkness in front of me.
Whatever happened, there was no going back.
23
I called Spike and got him to source an address for Gerald — Jade’s fake ID contact — based on the number I had for him. It took thirty seconds for him to find out that Gerald lived on the third floor of a dilapidated four-storey townhouse in Camberwell. The police still had my BMW, so I hired a rental car and headed south of the river.
It took an hour to travel eleven miles. When I got to Camberwell, I managed to find a space straight away, right opposite the building. I turned off the engine. The road was like one long concrete storm cloud: narrow, grey-bricked terrace housing; oily sediment cascading from collapsed guttering; dark, blistered paint on the doors and windowsills. There was a big pile of bin liners right outside Gerald’s building, torn apart by animals, the contents spilling on to the pavement and across the dirty, stained snow.
After a couple of minutes I spotted a woman walking towards the house, digging around in her handbag for keys. I got out and crossed the road, catching the door just as it was about to close behind her. I let the woman disappear into the belly of the building, and then stepped inside and pushed the door shut. It smelt old, musty, as if its hallways hadn’t ever been cleaned. To my left were the stairs. I headed up, and found Gerald’s flat halfway along the third floor.
I knocked a couple of times, and waited.
‘What?’
A voice from inside the flat.
‘Gerald?’
‘What?’
‘I need to speak to you.’
‘Who are you?’
‘My name’s David. I’m a friend of Jade’s.’
‘Who’s Jade?’
‘I think you know who Jade is.’
He didn’t reply immediately. ‘I’m havin’ breakfast here.’
I looked at my watch. It was two-thirty. ‘Well, you can eat while we talk.’
A thud. His feet hit the floor on the other side of the door. He was looking through the spyhole at me. I looked back, into the eye of it.
‘Come on, it’ll be fun,’ I said. ‘We can talk about the forgery business.’
He whipped the door open on the chain. ‘Keep your fuckin’ voice down.’
He was pale and fat, about forty, his brown hair disappearing fast. He looked like he hadn’t seen daylight since he was a teenager.
‘You going to open up?’
‘What d’you want?’
‘I need to talk to you.’
‘About what?’
‘About some IDs.’
He looked me up and down. ‘I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.’
I sighed. ‘Come on, Gerald. You can save the act.’
He eyed me again, then closed the door. I listened to the chain fall from its runner and swing against the door. When he opened up again he waved me in.
The flat was a mess. Clothes were strewn across the back of chairs and sofas; packets of crisps and burger cartons dumped on the floor. Curtains had been pulled most of the way across the only window I could see, leaving a sliver of a view across the street. On one wall was a painting. On the others were shelves full of books and equipment. Towards the back of the room was a guillotine, rolls of laminate and a pile of large silver tins containing different coloured inks.
‘Nice place,’ I said.
‘Yeah, a real penthouse.’
He picked up a couple of sweaters and a pair of trousers and tossed them through the door to the bedroom.
‘I need something.’ I reached into my pocket and took out a roll of banknotes. ‘There’s a hundred here. All I want from you is some help. It’s as simple as that.’
‘Help?’
‘A few names.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘What are you, the Old Bill?’
‘No.’
‘My snitchin’ days are over, pal.’
‘I’m not a cop. I’m a friend of Jade’s.’
‘You’re a friend of Jade’s, huh?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Bollocks you are.’
‘Listen—’
‘No, you listen. This conversation is over.’
I nodded. ‘Okay. What would it take?’
‘Take?’
‘For you to lose your newly developed conscience.’
I looked at him. He was going to ask for more money. I couldn’t go back — not now — even though I only had a hundred on me. But this was the way to play him. At the end of the day, as Jade had told me, Gerald was just a crook.
He shrugged. ‘Gimme five hundred and we’ll talk.’
‘Five?’
‘You wanna talk, we talk big.’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘But you give me everything I ask for.’
He nodded. As I stepped towards him, for the first time I could feel the kitchen knife at the back of my trousers. There for emergencies.