BLOOD DRAGON by Freddie Peters (books to get back into reading .TXT) 📕

“I raised that point with the bank and they are coming back to me with an answer.” Andy crunched a couple of jellybeans between his teeth.

“Sooner rather than later would be good, otherwise I might be tempted to speak to the financial authorities about this lapse in judgement.”

“I’ll relay the message.” Andy chuckled. “Firing on all cylinders this morning, Gov.”

Pole couldn’t help but smile … his new means of transportation seemed to be inspiring his team of late.

“It’s very convenient don’t you think … suddenly, questionable transactions start showing up in Wilson’s account, fed by what is almost certainly dirty money.”

“Perhaps he was made an offer he could not resist?”

“Perhaps …” Pole extended his arm quickly to reveal his watch. “I’ll give Yvonne a call … We need to know what drugs were used on Wilson, and whether we’ve made inroads with the identity of the guy lying on the mortuary slab.”

“He’s almost certainly Russian.” Andy pulled a knowing face.

Pole cocked his head surprised.

“Because the tattoo on his neck … the only one we can still make out the shape of, has a knife through it.”

“One of those mafia tattoos that tells you about the con who wears it?”

“That’s right, and apparently it means the man has killed in prison and is available for hire.”

“May I ask where you got that information from … a reputable source I presume?”

“Ms Wu has a reputation.”

“I’m aware.” Pole grumbled. He appreciated the fact that Andy had not qualified which way that reputation was going.

Pole left his DS’s desk and went into his office. He navigated his way through the piles of files that he had rearranged the day before. He stood in front of one of them and extracted the folder he was looking for from a dangerously high tower of papers. He dialled Yvonne’s number from his landline, removing his jacket and loosening the tie he had knotted awkwardly for his meeting with Marsh.

“Pole … what’s up?”

“You tell me. I hear we’ve made progress on the ID of our John Doe.”

“Da … that’s the extent of my Russian. But yes, I’ve photographed the wound left by the tattoo removal procedure again and I’m convinced it is a knife or dagger that goes through his neck. The tattoo was pretty intricate and its removal tricky, which was helpful for us.”

“Anything else?”

“I’ve asked the team to find out from the list of the most wanted on Europol and Interpol whether we have a match. I ran his fingerprints through AFIS and there’s nothing there.”

“Are we dealing with one of those ghosts that the old KGB produced?”

“Quite possibly. On second examination, I noticed his fingerprints had been damaged, probably using some caustic substance like acid. It’s a well-known technique.”

“Is he old enough to be KGB?”

“A man in his mid-40s, so yes. He would have been young but he could have been KGB, then FSB … and then recruited by the mafia.”

“You seem to know quite a lot about that.”

“I know a lot about many things, Inspector Pole. I have seen dead bodies from all walks of life on the slab of this mortuary and spies are no exception.”

Pole did not welcome the news … Harris was going to want to know more if he was to provide him with the information he needed, and Marsh was likely to start easing himself into what might become a high profile case.

“What about the drugs injected into Wilson?”

“I was coming to that … patience.” Yvonne was moving around her lab. “Right … heroin produced from poppy seeds grown in Afghanistan.”

“Anything else about how the drug was produced that could help us identify the people who administered it?”

“Good quality. It’s the amount that was given that caused the damage, not the way it was produced.”

“Any trace of that batch in the UK?”

“Nothing I have previously identified, but I’m asking other labs for a comparison check. And you may want to speak to the NARCS. They will be able to tell you whether they’ve encountered the same batch or quality in one of their raids.”

Pole thanked Yvonne and hung up. Harris had mentioned Ollie’s past involvement with drugs. It had almost cost him his PhD. Harris did not buy the connection and on balance neither did he, but he could not fight the evidence. A Russian connection in the biotech world … why not?

* * *

“Thank you.” Jack took his time to get out of the car. The Station Chief had sent a car to drive Jack back to his accommodation. His face was now turning an unhealthy shade of yellow and blue, and his limping completed the picture of a man who had had a rough night. The receptionist who had welcomed him a day earlier opened her eyes wide, and left her desk to check he was alright.

“I’m fine,” he managed to say through a sore jaw.

“I hope you don’t mind my saying Sir, but you don’t look it … is there anything we can do?”

Jack appreciated the thought but said he could manage.

“I’ll send some ice packs up.” She was not taking no for an answer.

The driver had accompanied him inside and left a number for him to call in case of need. Jack hobbled towards the lift with as much dignity as he could muster. A couple of other guests emerged from the opening doors and took a surprised look at him.

A few moments later Jack entered the small cosy lounge that was adjacent to his bedroom and looked around. The room had been cleaned and the bed made. It was tidy and welcoming but he would no longer have time to relax in it. He turned towards the safe and retrieved his laptop. He checked on the arrangement of objects he had positioned to detect whether the safe had been opened. They indicated that no one had tampered with it in his absence.

He went back to the lounge, laid the laptop on the coffee table and