“They say it’s to snow again.” That’s it get him talking about the weather. It’s not as if people who do talk to you can even be bothered with that Burke thought. “Of course, you’d be used to that I guess. I take it you get plenty of the white stuff out there in Vilnius? Probably deal with it more effectively than we do here too. The media do pretty well out of it though. They do pretty well out of all the different types of white stuff it would seem. My colleague, Detective Inspector Edwards, the one with the latest haircut and the taste for skiwear, you remember him, he’s the one who likes to talk a lot.”
Another movement of the eyebrows.
“Well he’s of the opinion, Victor, can I call you Victor? What the hell, I can call you Victor. We’re in a jail cell together. I suspect you’re next cell mate may be even more friendly than that. See what happens when you don’t answer? I just keep talking, anyway I’m sure you’re no stranger to being jail gay.”
Andreyevich looked at him pitifully.
“As of course your friend Oleg was. His tattoos gave that much away and I’d be willing to guess his boyfriend will give a whole lot more away when he comes in Victor.”
Victor stood up quickly, too quickly, given the fact he was holding a cup of hot coffee Burke had made extra hot by microwaving until it bubbled. The syrupy liquid doused his sleeve sticking it to his arm and he let out a yelp like a wounded animal. He tore of his shirt to reveal his own life story in pretty prison pictures and Burke paid attention, looking for specifics and finding what he needed.
Douglas looked tense on arrival in the interview with brief in tow, tense in the way that suggested he’d spent time on his own getting wound up about this. His eyes implied he may also have tried to do counter the effects with whatever chemicals his occupation granted him access to. The bags underneath were grey in contrast with the eyeballs themselves which had pinkened since their last meeting. His skin was an off white, a shade Rachel would doubtless be able to name at a glance. She’d spent time considering the colours most conducive to the calmness and safe emotional and mental development of their soon to be sprogg. But Burke doubted this was one she’d ever choose to paint a nursery, certainly not with the infusion of veins as sported here. In the end she’d settled for buttermilk, a shade of off white he suspected Douglas’s eyes might soon turn if he insisted on self-medicating for any length of time.
Burke presented the pair with coffees extracted from a nasty vending machine this time, rather than the Starbucks diabetes in a cup he’d used to undress Andreyevich. Douglas looked grateful in a despondent sort of way and Burke caught a whiff of what he knew through hard won experience was vodka. Of course, the choice of the drinker who didn’t want anyone to know he’d been drinking.
He set up the tape and sat back Campbell accompanied him on this occasion. He’d have preferred Jones if he was honest, more sympathetic perhaps. A woman’s more attuned soft skills might be the order of the day when dealing with such delicate matters. She’d gone AWOL for some reason. He’d catch up with her later but for now he was stuck with the second choice of minion who was doubtless busy sneering at the man on the other side of the table. Not that it mattered. They were here to get information, regardless of hurting anyone’s feelings.
“So?” He asked. The ultimate open question.
Douglas looked at his brief for some kind of reassurance and got a look in return that seemed to say get on with it. The lawyer knew he could phone this one in. It wasn’t as if they were really going to do Douglas for drug taking and the use of prostitutes, not in a city where the former happened everyday much as it did everywhere else and the latter was unofficially condoned by the city council in the form of saunas or massage parlours.
“Well,” Douglas began fitfully, “I, well that is, we,” he looked at the brief again who urged him on. “I take it we can come to some kind of deal?”
The brief gave him another prod with his eyes, causing Douglas to look more stressed, obviously feeling that he was taking the heat from two sides now.
Burke looked at him without saying anything. Really he should give Dr Carr some kind of commission for upping his interrogation game with minimal effort, not that it earned him much in the way of results, or actual money.
“What my client wants to know is,” the lawyer began, hesitating slightly, “you’re not likely to charge him with anything are you? He is of course fully prepared to cooperate with this investigation but he is also very concerned about his reputation as a professional. I have advised him he is under no obligation to say anything.”
“Of course. And I am not concerned with the fact that he clearly likes to indulge in cocaine and rent boys.”
Douglas’s head fell at this.
“However, I am rather concerned with the fact he is clearly not being forthcoming. He is hindering a police investigation. Also, I must ask myself questions in relation to just how deeply your client was involved with Mr Karpov, concerning his business activities, particularly with respect to his involvement in serious organised crime. How involved are you with the Russian Mafia Dr Douglas?”
Douglas’s eyes widened briefly and he looked as though he might throw up on the table. His face disappeared behind his hands as he tried to rub away the stress from his brow. He at least had access to Botox, Burke thought.
The lawyer looked at Douglas pitifully, like he wanted to wash his hands of the whole affair. Clearly this wasn’t his bag at all. Give him a drink driver or a sleazy divorce case and he would be as happy as a pig in someone else’s mud but this was not looking good for his client all of a sudden. Not that Burke believed for one minute that Douglas was guilty of anything other than being a twat with a spine that didn’t seem to be doing its job properly. He put Burke in mind of a kid at school who’d been caught keying someone’s car or something equally juvenile and denied it when it came to court, which would have been fine if he hadn’t actually been standing next to an officer of the law when he’d done it. Too spineless to stand up and admit to something even when he’d been caught fair and square, far too keen on pleading mitigating circumstances. While Douglas hadn’t been caught doing anything wrong and had admitted to other things, he knew things that could be valuable and yet was unwilling to help unless he was saving his own skin.
For a minute Burke thought he may have overplayed it. Maybe his threats or implied ones had actually caused the surgeon to clam up and sent him further towards the catatonic state he seemed destined for.
“I don’t know anything about that Inspector,” he eventually said. “We never discussed work. I told you that. It wasn’t like I actually could talk about what I did. Doctor patient privilege you know. I’m not allowed to discuss anything, legally.
Burke had the urge to tell him he wasn’t allowed to do quite a lot of the things they did together legally, but managed to suppress it.
“I mean there are some names, you know, none I can mention, but local celebrities certainly, who require a certain amount of discretion. I mean, take the example of a former TV presenter, now a respected local businessman who’s had certain procedures done to lessen the subcutaneous fat from his middle and pump up the girth elsewhere shall we say. If that got out I’d be in trouble.”
“Indeed,” Burke replied, thinking it kind of just had but that it would be unlikely to injure James Lindsay’s career after the sex scandal of the previous year had killed it stone dead.