He caught something moving in the peripheral vision on his right side and his heart lurched into his mouth as he realised he was not alone. He jumped again as something began to touch him on the damaged side of his head.
He relaxed as he realised it was a gentle hand, before losing consciousness again.
19
“Interview room three, Thursday December thirteenth, two thousand twelve,” Edwards began, speaking into the tape recorder. Burke cringed and hoped it was noticed. He hated it when people pronounced things in an American way, clearly believing themselves to be in a film.
“Present; DI Edwards, DI Burke and Victor Andreyevich.”
He even noticed it on the news these days, MSPs referring to the Scoddish Parliament or the Scoddish Government or Scoddish independence. Whatever happened to a good old fashioned glottal stop or, heaven forbid, pronouncing your Ts properly.
The Lithuanian sat on the other side of the cheap table, seemingly trying to bore holes in Edwards’ eyes with his own. So far all communication had been of the non-verbal variety, save for his demand for a lawyer, though even then he had waived his right to delay the interview before one arrived, opting instead to get straight into the posturing contest.
The air was cold in the interview room and his breath could clearly be seen exiting via his nose in the form of steam. He looked like an angry bull. He returned his gaze to a point he’d picked on the table clearly feeling he had suitably berated Edwards for what Burke decided was likely to be bad pronunciation of his name. As he looked down his chins seemed to multiply. He looked more like a walrus now, only meaner, with a face hardened, no doubt, by seeing things no one should. He wore an expensive looking grey suit with a shirt whose main body was purple with a gold chalk stripe and collar was white. His chubby fingers swelled round various gold rings, some religious in nature, others merely expensive. His hair was almost too small in comparison like a top which could easily pop given the right amount of pressure.
“So Victor, can I call you Victor?” Edwards began in earnest.
No movement or acknowledgment was forthcoming.
Edwards raised his eyebrows in Burke’s general direction before readdressing his suspect. “I suppose you how much trouble you are in?” He continued.
Andreyevich let out a long drawn out sigh and leaned back in his chair. He folded his arms and regarded Edwards with a look of disappointed contempt and more than a hint of boredom. It was a look that said ‘I can do this all day.’
“Do you think he understands English?” Edwards asked Burke with mock sincerity.
“Enough to tell you my lawyer will be here in due course and that you’d be better advised to wait until that point.” Andreyevich answered coldly, before adding “Inspector,” as though this in itself was an insult.
“Alright, alright, you have it your way Victor. We’re only trying to help. I mean you’ve hospitalised how many? Three people?” Edwards looked at Burke conspiratorially, “Three people, possibly four, depending on your perspective. Other people might not be so kind after reviewing the CCTV footage we have, but let’s give you the benefit of the doubt, three people, hospitalised Victor, and they don’t seem to be getting out any time soon. Nope, and you know what that means don’t you?”
Victor concentrated on his finger nails which he was now more interested in than listening to Edwards. Burke couldn’t help noting that they were a bit too well manicured to require picking.
Edwards pressed on. “Should they be there for more than two days Victor, that changes things significantly.” He kept his gaze locked on the interviewee despite the lack of response. “Right now you’re looking at assault, a fairly serious one at that, but assault none the less. Maybe in this case worthy of say a year in the big house.”
Again Burke couldn’t help but notice Edwards using phrases which were clearly not his own. “But those stack up Victor. I’d say you’re looking at three years if it comes down to it.”
Andreyevich laughed at this.
“It’s not funny really, three years is a long time in there. Do you have a wife Victor?”
No response.
“A girlfriend then?”
Nothing again.
“Kids?”
At this, Andreyevich dished out an icy glare in Edwards direction before turning his attention to the palms of his hands.
“Kids eh? I’ve got kids. Have you got kids Inspector Burke?”
“No.” Burke replied. Technically he had one on the way of course, but something in him felt he didn’t want his unborn child involved in this in any way, like it was bad luck or might harm him or her. The protective instinct in him meant that he now visualised smashing Edwards’ face off the table. Not that he that would do any good. The table would probably crack and buckle if tested that way and he suspected that wasn’t one they did down at the Ikea engineering lab.
“It’s tough at the best of times,” Edwards continued, aiming his monologue at Burke. “Just working means you don’t get to see them as much as you’d like. You worry they’ll forget who you are, that you won’t perhaps be the influence or the steady hand they require in their formative years, that they might go off the rails or just start to resent you.”
Burke decided there were now two people in the room wishing Edwards would shut the fuck up.
“Of course that’s day to day life. We’re all busting a gut trying to get on, make our way in the world as it were, which I suppose is all any of us are trying to do. Only, how much harder must it be, how much of an impossibility is it all if you’re in prison in another country?”
He really was trying to string this out, milk it for all it was worth.
“Of course your children aren’t actually in another country are they Victor?”
Victor’s expression changed rapidly to one of an evolved predator about to pounce.
Even Edwards, despite his best efforts, showed the briefest hint of awkwardness, looking away towards Burke again. “No, they’re at Fettes College Jim, getting probably the best education this out of the way wee country has to offer, safely hidden away you might think, or maybe somebody did think.” He looked back to Andreyevich again, a renewed fire in his eyes. “What a coincidence eh? The day you happen to turn up in Edinburgh is the day your boys, Boris and Sacha I believe, the day their school happens to have a murder right on the doorstep a couple of hundred yards from where they sleep.”
Andreyevich regarded Burke and Edwards in turn, probably sizing them up for the kill.
“Or perhaps less obviously at first, on the day Vlad the Inhaler, aka Vladamir Petrovski, that name familiar to you Victor? On the day his head is left outside your sons’ school you happen to turn up in this fair city; coincidence? I’m not a great believer in coincidence Victor. That’s the problem I have. It’s the thing that keeps me awake at night. It’s the thing that makes me start digging around like I’m trying to scratch an itch or something and that’s how I find things out.”
Victor was now just staring straight through Edwards, like he’d picked a spot on his head and focused on that.
“That’s how I find out things like who people were in prison with.” Edwards carried on. “And we know which particular headless man you were in prison with, don’t we Victor?”
Now it was Burke’s turn to be angry. Nothing like being kept in the loop. He imagined the table smashing scenario again, only this time when the government bought tat disintegrated someone had accidentally left a big spike underneath it.
“Inspector Burke has an evil sense of humour Victor and that seems to have made him smile.”
Still no response from Andreyevich.