The Eyewitness (27 page)

A striking brunette looked up at him from a computer terminal. She apologised when she saw the crutch and plaster cast.

“If I'd have known I'd have come down for you,” she said.

“I can walk, it's just a bit awkward,” he said.

“Skiing accident?”

“I fell out of a third-floor window,” said Solomon.

Before she could respond, a door opened and a gangly man in his late twenties strode out, pushing a pair of square-framed spectacles higher up his nose. He was wearing a blue denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and khaki pants with pockets above the knees.

“Alex Knight,” said the man.

“Jack?”

They shook hands.

“Come on through,” said Knight. He led the way and held open the door as Solomon limped through. The office was about twenty feet square and lined with metal shelving, which was piled high with technical equipment. Knight sat down behind a large metal desk on which there were three computer terminals.

Solomon passed over the sheet of paper Duggan had given him. He explained who Anna Gregson was and why he wanted her followed.

“Assuming I find where she works, what then?” asked Knight.

“I want to know who runs the agency.”

“Because?”

“Why do you need to know?”

Knight picked up a paperknife in the shape of a miniature sword and toyed with it.

“You're not on some revenge kick, are you?”

“What makes you say that?”

“You've obviously been in the wars. I wouldn't want to lead you to someone for you to beat him to a pulp or worse. Reflects badly on me.”

“This isn't about revenge.”

“So, what is it about?”

Solomon considered. There was no simple answer: it was just something he knew he had to do. But Knight was expecting more than that. He wanted an explanation. Solomon leaned back in his chair and pulled a knitting needle out of his cast. He jiggled it in and out, trying to reach an itch just behind his knee. As he scratched himself he told Knight the whole story.

“So you're hoping that the owner of the agency will tell you where this Nicole has gone?”

“Hopefully,” said Solomon.

“The Gregson woman has spoken to the police and denied all knowledge of Nicole. I might get a different story from her boss. But first I have to know who he is.”

“Okay,” said Knight.

“I can do that. Is there any reason for her to think she'll be under surveillance?”

Solomon shook his head.

“I'll put a car and a bike on it, just to be on the safe side.”

“How much will it cost?” asked Solomon.

“If we get lucky on the first day, five hundred should cover it. It depends. She might go straight to the office, in which case Robert's your mother's brother. If we find the office we can run a check on the landlord and find out who he's leased it to. If it looks more complicated than that, I'll let you know. The thing is, what do you do then? If you want him looked at, that's going to cost more.”

“I can probably get a CRO check done.”

“I'm sure you can. But what if he doesn't have a criminal record? Do you want a home address? Do you want to know what bank accounts he has? Where he spends his money? It all costs.”

Solomon finished scratching and left the knitting needle inside the cast.

“Let's get an ID first. Then take it from there.”

Knight put down the paperknife.

“I'll need a cheque for five hundred.”

Solomon wrote one, and gave Knight the number of his mobile phone.

Two days later Knight phoned.

“Your man's name is Sergei Goncharov,” he said.

“He's Russian, but he's here on a one-year business visa issued by the British embassy in St. Petersburg. Date of birth the fifteenth of August 1949. The agency's office is in Earl's Court. Have you got a pen?”

Solomon was in Diane's study and she had a dozen pens in a Snoopy mug. He wrote down the address. An office building in Warwick Road.

“Have you got a photograph of him?” Solomon asked.

“I could get one, but that's going to be another day.”

“Another five hundred?”

“Assuming we get him first go.”

“Do you have a home address for him?”

“I could get one, but again .. .”

“Another five hundred?”

“It depends. He might be listed in the phone book. Or I might have to put a team on him. It's pretty much open-ended, as I explained in the office. The more you're prepared to pay, the more I can find out.”

Solomon scratched his nose. He couldn't see any other way of getting the information he needed.

“Okay, Alex. Get me a photograph and his home address. Then I'll see where I want to go from there.”

He cut the connection. That was the big question, he realised. Once he knew what Goncharov looked like and where he lived, what then? The man was a Russian pimp who'd sent two assassins to kill him. He'd hardly be likely to start talking simply because Solomon turned up on his doorstep. If he was going to stand a chance of getting Goncharov to talk, he'd need help. Serious help.

Solomon carried his coffee mug to a table by the window. He eased himself down into the armchair and watched the traffic cruising down Wardour Street. He opened a copy of the Daily Telegraph but he'd barely scanned the front page when he saw Sasha walking down the road.

The man was wearing a knee-length black-leather coat and a black polo-neck sweater; his eyes were hidden behind metal-framed sunglasses even though the sky was overcast. Two big men walked two paces behind him. Sasha pushed his way into Starbucks and looked around the two heavies stayed on the pavement outside. He saw Solomon and walked across to his table.

“It wasn't my men, if that's why you wanted to see me,” he said.

“Is that what Inga told you, that I thought you'd put me in hospital?”

Sasha pulled a face.

“She said you wanted to meet me, that's all. If I'd wanted to do you any harm. I would have done it in my house, in the basement.”

“I know that.”

“So what do you want?”

“You said you lost family members in Kosovo?”

“So?”

“Didn't you want justice? Or revenge?”

“I got both.”

“How?”

“I went back eighteen months ago. Serbs had moved into the houses where my brother and his family used to live. I killed them and burned down the houses.”

That wasn't the answer Solomon had expected.

“You look disappointed,” said Sasha. He took out a packet of small cigars and lit one with a gold lighter.

“I don't think you can smoke here,” said Solomon.

“If they want me to put it out, they can ask,” said Sasha. Two young brunettes at the next table turned to glare at him. One coughed pointedly. Sasha continued to stare at them until they looked away. He raised his sunglasses so that they rested on top of his head, and looked at Solomon coldly.

“What do you want from me?” he asked.

“Your help,” said Solomon.

“Why should I help you?”

“I was going to offer you the chance of getting revenge on the Serbs, but I guess I'm too late for that.” He leaned across the table. He tapped his plaster cast with his right forefinger.

“The guy who did this is a Russian who runs an Internet escort agency. I know who he is and where he lives.”

Sasha shook his head.

“You want me to fight your battles for you?”

“Just hear me out. Remember the girl I was looking for? Nicole?”

Sasha nodded.

“She worked for him. His name's Sergei Goncharov and his office is in Earl's Court. He has an agency called Legal Escorts with girls all over London. I saw Nicole on his website and went to see her. A few hours later two guys were in my flat trying to kill me. Now Nicole's vanished from the website and some woman representing the agency says they've never heard of her. The cops aren't going to take it any further.”

“But you are?”

“The girl was on the website. This guy Goncharov has either had her killed or sent her somewhere else. I want to find out which. If he's killed her, I want to put the cops on to him. If she's working somewhere else, I want to talk to her.”

“After what happened? Are you stubborn or stupid?”

“I'm not giving up, Sasha. I'm not going to let him win.”

“You think it's a game, with a winner and a loser?”

“No, but I can't let them scare me off. Twenty-six people were murdered in Kosovo, men, women and children. There was nothing Nicole could do to save them and there's nothing I can do that'll bring them back, but I can find the men responsible and bring them to justice.”

“And then what? A few years in prison?”

“The War Crimes Tribunal has been handing down major sentences for atrocities in the Balkans. This was mass murder. If we can put together a case, they'll get life.”

Sasha dropped his cigar on to the wooden floor and ground it out with his shoe. He stood up and Solomon thought that he was going to leave, but he said, “Do you want another coffee?”

Solomon asked for a cappuccino. He watched Sasha walk over to the counter he had a confident walk, almost a swagger, and Solomon noticed several women, including the two brunettes who'd objected to his smoking, turn to look at him as he picked up the coffee and walked back. He put down the mugs and pulled his seat to the side so that he could see the entrance while he talked to Solomon.

“What are you proposing?”

“You're in the walk-up business,” said Solomon, keeping his voice low so that he couldn't be overheard.

“Goncharov is in the Internet escort-agency business. He's the future and, with respect, you're in the past. That's why the Maltese are so happy for you to take over their flats. They've already moved their girls on-line.”

Sasha scowled.

“We're doing fine.”

“Maybe you are. But how much better could you be doing if you took over Goncharov's business?”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Because you'd jump straight into the big league. I know where his office is. We can get hold of his records, his computers. We can find out where all his girls are, where he puts his money. You can put him out of business and get his girls working for you.”

Sasha chuckled.

“How naive are you, Solomon?”

It wasn't the reaction Solomon had expected.

“Girls are easy to get. I could bring in another fifty tomorrow, if I wanted. And why do you think that the Russian's girls would work for me? I don't have any hold on them. If we put him out of business, there's a hundred other agencies they could work for. And do you think the Russian would just let me take his business away from him? What do you think I'd do if someone tried to move in on me?” Sasha leaned across the table.

“There'd be a gang war. And the Russian would react in the same way. I don't need that. There's enough business to go round.”

Solomon stared at his coffee.

When Sasha spoke next, his voice was a husky whisper.

“This girl, who killed her family?”

“We don't know. She's the only one who saw what happened.”

“Who do you think killed them?”

“I think it was well planned and well executed, so I'd guess the military. There was a tidiness about it. If it had been local, I'd have expected more of them to have been shot. Also, no one took over the farm. When locals were behind the atrocities they usually took over the homes and the land.”

“When did it happen?”

“The summer of 1999. There were a lot of troops in the area then, massacring civilians as they headed back to Serbia. Regular troops and special forces. If they were soldiers and Nicole saw their insignia, we'd have a good chance of identifying them.”

“But they'll be back in Serbia now.”

“The Serbs are handing people over to the War Crimes Tribunal. They're scared of sanctions. And they'll be looking for EC membership eventually, so they know they have to cooperate.”

Sasha stirred his coffee but made no move to drink it.

“Why don't the Tribunal launch their own investigation?”

“No witnesses, just the girl. If she'd gone to them in the first place, I'm sure they'd have been on the case.”

Sasha continued to stir his coffee.

“Why didn't the girl talk to you when you confronted her?”

“Maybe she was scared.”

“Maybe she had another reason for not wanting to talk to you.”

“Like what?”

“Who knows? But you might be wasting your time. What is it you English say? A wild-goose chase?”

“I think she was just scared. And it looks like with good reason, because she's disappeared.”

“Because of you, you think?”

“It's a hell of a coincidence if she left the agency for any other reason. I'm sure Goncharov got rid of her.”

“If that's the case, she might be dead.”

“I know.”

Sasha tapped his spoon on the top of his mug. He looked out of the window but his mind was obviously elsewhere. Solomon sat in silence.

“Okay,” said Sasha, eventually.

“I'll help you find the girl. But no one is to know. If this Russian finds out I'm involved, there'll be a gang war. You might be happy getting shot on this quest of yours, but I'm not.”

“Okay,” said Solomon.

“Give me his address and any other details you have. Then leave it to me.”

“Okay. And thanks.”

Sasha fixed Solomon with his pale grey eyes.

“You don't have to thank me. I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing this because I don't want the bastard Serbs to get away with it.”

“Understood,” said Solomon. He handed Sasha a piece of paper on which he'd written down the information Alex Knight had given him.

“I should have a photograph and a home address for Goncharov tomorrow.”

Sasha put the piece of paper in his jacket pocket, then stood up.

“When you've got the photograph, call Inga. I don't want to be seen with you in case he decides he wants to finish what he started -I wouldn't want to get caught in the crossfire.” He walked out of the coffee shop and along Wardour Street, the two heavies in tow.

Solomon pulled out the knitting needle and scratched his leg thoughtfully. Sasha hadn't said how he'd persuade Goncharov to tell him where Nicole had gone, and Solomon hadn't wanted to ask. It was probably best that he didn't know.