Interview Room 1 was made ready, fresh tapes inserted. ‘You can read him his rights, the caution, all that stuff, when he’s brought in,’ Diamond told Gledhill in a show of altruism. The reality was that he always relied on others to go through the formalities. ‘Andriy, we’ll have you seated opposite us, next to the prisoner, to do your interpreting. Are you still okay?’
‘Thirsty.’
‘There’s water in front of you,’ Gledhill said.
‘I can wait,’ Andriy said, rolling his eyes.
‘We’re in shape, then. Let’s have him in.’
The custody sergeant brought in the unnamed prisoner, a shorter man than he’d appeared in the cell, with some swelling to his face and left eye. Everything about his demeanour suggested he wouldn’t co-operate. He slumped in the chair he was offered and stared at the ceiling.
Gledhill spoke the words for the tape and gave the official caution. Then the focus shifted to Andriy, who appeared as uninterested as the prisoner, probably because he was suffering from alcohol deprivation.
‘Over to you,’ Gledhill said.
‘Andriy,’ Diamond said in a sharp tone. He would have kicked him under the table if the space hadn’t been boarded in.
It dawned on Andriy finally that he was supposed to do something to earn his next drink. He blinked and turned towards the prisoner. Then he started laughing. He shook with amusement. ‘I know this man,’ he said. ‘What, are you playing a trick on me? Very funny. He’s no more Ukrainian than you are. He’s English and his name is Jim Jenkins.’
‘Is this a fact?’
The prisoner reacted with a quick nod. He looked alarmed to be unmasked.
‘English? We went to all the trouble and expense of getting an interpreter and it turns out you’re English?’
And now the Englishman Jim Jenkins found his voice. ‘I didn’t say I was a foreigner.’
‘You didn’t say diddley-squat.’ Diamond turned to Andriy. ‘What can you tell us about him?’
Andriy was looking pensive, with some caginess mixed in. ‘Hold on. You hired me to be an interpreter. Two bottles, right? Now you’re asking me to be an informer.’
‘But you haven’t done any interpreting.’
‘For informing, the fee goes up. Four bottles.’
DCI Gledhill gave a twitch and said, ‘What’s this about bottles? I don’t understand.’
‘It’s how he measures his worth,’ Diamond said. ‘All right, Andriy. Four bottles it is.’
Gledhill was outraged. ‘You’ve no right to make him offers of any sort.’
‘I was speaking for you,’ Diamond said.
‘What? I can’t authorise payments off the cuff. There’s a procedure.’
‘The Met pays two million a year to snouts. We’re not going to quibble over two extra bottles.’
‘Bottles of what?’ the beleaguered Gledhill demanded.
‘Never mind. Do you want to talk here, Andriy, or in private?’
‘Better in private, I think.’
At this, Jenkins decided to wade in. ‘That’s out of order. You can’t let him make up stuff about me without telling me what it is. I have some legal rights here.’
‘Shut your face, Jenkins. I’ll tell you every bad thing he says,’ Diamond said. ‘We’ll stop the tape here and adjourn for a bit unless you want to make a full confession. Take him down, sergeant.’
Loudly protesting, Jenkins was removed.
‘Now, Andriy,’ Diamond said. ‘Give us the dirt on that man.’
‘James Jenkins? He is a whoremaster, a pimp. You must know this. He is on your files, right?’
Diamond turned to Gledhill with eyebrows raised, and was told, ‘I don’t personally know every piece of scum in west London. If what you say is true, we probably have him on file, yes.’
‘He runs a whorehouse in Barnes,’ Andriy went on. ‘Before that, for six or seven years, it was managed by a Ukrainian guy called Sergey.’
‘Do you know the address?’
‘Marchant Street. I can’t tell you the number. For myself, I have no need to visit brothels. The madam there is Vikki, former call girl, excellent at her job, never made trouble for Sergey or anyone else. Respected by the girls and the clients. Keeps the house beautiful. Clean bedding and towels, aerosols everywhere, flowers in the rooms.’ As an afterthought, he said, ‘I know all this from friends, not from experience.’
‘Go on.’
‘Some time last year, Vikki started going out with an English guy, this Jenkins. Smart, always wore a suit. Sergey didn’t object, even when Jenkins started visiting Marchant Street, hanging around the house to chat up Vikki. Then last year in July, when all Ukrainians celebrated Ivana Kupala, the midsummer festival, Vikki married Jenkins. Overnight, Sergey was called to a meeting with the godfather who owns the house and many others and was told he had to move to a low-down backstreet knocking shop in Fulham. No warning, no appeal. He had to go, and he went.’
‘And Jenkins was installed there?’
‘Do I have to tell you what the Ukrainians thought about it, an all-Ukrainian house taken over by an Englishman? He is not popular in our community. No one can touch him, because he has the blessing of the high-ups. They don’t want to lose Vikki, get me? So he lives like a good Ukrainian, goes to church on Sundays, eats our food, tries to speak the language. We think he is using Vikki.’
‘That’s a dangerous game if he is. Does he carry a gun?’
‘He’d be a fool if he didn’t.’
‘But you say he’s untouchable.’
Andriy inclined his head slightly to one side, the Ukrainian equivalent of the Gallic shrug.
Diamond had the picture now, or enough of it to put the screws on Jenkins. The information had been well worth four bottles. With Gledhill’s grudging consent, Andriy was driven back to the Crimea on the understanding that the car would call at an off-licence to pick up his payment.
‘Cheap at the price,’ Diamond said and got only a glare for his economy.
Jenkins was brought back and the questioning started over again. The untouchable pimp was plainly worried over what may have been said while he was back in the cell.
‘What am I charged with?’
‘Nothing yet,’ Diamond said. ‘You’re being questioned on sus -picion of discharging a firearm with intent to kill.’
‘That’s wrong.’
‘Yes, it could be if Inspector Halliwell doesn’t get through the night. He’s in a critical condition. You’d better pray that he survives.’
His eyes stretched wide in alarm. ‘I didn’t know the man was a cop.’
‘You live and learn. Give us your version of what happened.’
He drew his arms across his body as if he’d suddenly woken up on a Carpathian mountain with a north wind blowing.
‘We’re waiting,’ Diamond said.
A heavy sigh. ‘I’d better explain my difficulty. I’m just a businessman, good at my job, reliable. I work for Ukrainians and with Ukrainians. I’m married to a Ukrainian and Vikki is in the business too. But there’s hostility towards me because I’m not one of them. It’s not just me being paranoid. Vikki notices it, too. I have to watch my back all the time.’
‘Is this why you armed yourself?’
‘You bet I did.’ He paused as if regretting what he’d said and trying to think of a way of qualifying it. ‘By “armed”, I mean being on my guard.’
‘But you own a hand gun?’
‘Er, yes.’
‘Go on.’
‘Today is a bank day. I’m supposed to collect the proceeds from the business, count them, pay the staff and get the surplus to the bank. It’s a responsibility I take seriously. Like a lot of businesses we deal in cash and it can amount to a seriously large sum.’
‘That I believe,’ Gledhill said.
Jenkins rubbed his arms, still apparently feeling the chill. ‘I was in the office with my wife Vikki getting the money sorted when there was a caller. We have an entry-phone system for the front door, and CCTV. You have to be secure in these times. There was something iffy about this guy. How would I know he was one of yours? He didn’t say.’