"Bartolomej Petrović."
Richard Clayworth slapped the file onto her desk.
"What about him?" Ros asked, picking it up and flicking through the pages with little interest. "Looks like your regular Croatian citizen."
"Except we believe that he's been behind the recent bout of murders in Dubrovnik," replied Richard, perching on her desk. Her boss was about ten years her senior but rather easy to work with – not too jovial or too cold but a happy medium. Today, however, he looked stressed.
Ros cocked an eyebrow. "We?"
"We've had tabs on his because he withdrew 600,000 Kuna from a bank account in his name which was set up three weeks ago. Since then, five people have been found dead in the Old Town of Dubrovnik."
"Blackmail money?" Ros suggested.
"Perhaps. He hasn't used it to splash out on expensive weaponry – all of the weapons he used seemed to be stolen from the Old Town. A smashed glass, a knife, et cetera."
"Maybe he's just been doing some pricey purchasing on Ebay," Ros suggested drily, cocking an eyebrow. "The victims?"
"All male, all Croatian citizens. Interestingly, all on record for petty things – excessive gambling, speeding points, handbag theft. Nothing that seems to link the five of them other than their slight stumbles in moral laxity, and certainly nothing substantial enough to warrant their own murder."
"Hm," Ros muttered to herself. "Both parents killed, no siblings, devout Catholic. Acting out of grief? Or religious purposes?"
Richard's brow wrinkled. "Hard to say so soon. And two of the victims were also Catholic, so I don't see why he'd kill his own."
"Why were you so suspicious about the money? asked Ros, flicking through his bank records. "Just looks like he's been saving up."
"He lives a simple life – why suddenly make a massive withdrawal like that? Anyway, you'll find out soon enough."
"How's that?" Ros asked, although she was already fully aware of the answer.
"Fancy a trip to Dubrovnik?"
The smattering of CCTV that they had managed to conjure up showed that Petrović had left his house every night for the past three weeks to head to the Old Town of Dubrovnik. With high walls and darkened alleys it was the perfect place for a sly murder and getaway.
Finding Petrović, however, would be an altogether more difficult task.
It was her first trip to Croatia and Ros hadn't faced any proper difficulties so far because of the relaxed atmosphere and the fact that most shop owners and restaurant workers could speak good English. However, navigating around the Old Town was proving a little more difficult than she had first anticipated. It consisted of one wide street made of stone that had been worn smooth by countless feet with small streets branching off from either side. She had arrived just after six to give herself plenty of time to familiarise herself with the place before it got really busy. Also, all of the bodies had been discovered around midnight each time so Ros assumed that Bartolomej wouldn't strike for a good few hours, if he even chose tonight for another spot of murdering.
She had been rather reluctant to accept this mission at first, suggesting calmly to Richard that it was a matter for the Croatian police and that it was quite frankly a bloody waste of Six's time, but he had been rather insistent for her to be the one to investigate Bartolomej's little killing spree. Maybe it was a test to check her operational abilities. Good: she'd be sure to pass with flying colours. There was nothing Ros Myers hated more than being underestimated and this was her chance to prove her worth beyond a shadow of a doubt.
Once Ros reached the far edge of the town which consisted of a harbour with several expensive-looking yachts and the wide expanse of glittering blue sea, she retraced her steps and explored a few side streets, map still glued in hand but becoming more familiar with where she was. At around seven she returned to the entrance of the town and sat on the edge of a round water fountain, watching the tourists begin to pile in. Just opposite her she saw the last of the day's visitors clamber down from the steep stone steps that led up to the city walls. Ros had memorised this from her travel brochure – The walls that circle most of the old city are almost 25 metres high at their tallest point and just less than 2,000 metres in length. The bulk of the existing walls were constructed in the 15th century with continual extensions to ensure their strength added until around the 17th century.
Ros decided to indulge in a little people-watching in order to kill time. A man in a red cap was offering pizza vouchers enthusiastically. A group of friends strolled lazily, cradling cones stacked with different coloured scoops of dripping ice-cream. An old lady was fumbling in her purse to give a child some change for the sweet shop. A young woman was smiling as her male friend slipped his jacket around her shoulders.
Ugh. Ros went back to the travel brochure.
Restaurant Klarisa is located in the heart of the Old Town of Dubrovnik, near the Great Onofrio fountain.
Ros got to her feet, moving down the stone steps of that very fountain on which she had been sitting to locate the source of the delicious scents of fresh seafood. The restaurant didn't look too expensive and there were very few people there so early, making it a tempting place to dine, but then a large group of loud couples barrelled past and made a beeline to the front of the queue. Ros almost flinched at the thought of hearing their loud conversations for the duration of her evening and mooched away, switching her mind back to the mission and Richard's instructions: Observe from a distance. Is he panicked, nervous? Or unfazed? Follow him – see where he takes you. Maintain a good distance; make sure he doesn't see you. If you see him gain access to a weapon, stop him killing again by whatever means necessary.
Her orders were easy enough whenever she actually managed to locate Bartolomej, but for the meantime Ros bought an ice-cream and sat on the steps of a towering marble church. Ice-cream eating was rather a childish indulgence and it was overpriced in such a thriving tourist environment but every third person was eating one and it was paramount for her to blend in; especially as the man on the bus, Tom, had already noticed her sticking out like a sore thumb in the crowd of tanned and relaxed locals and tourists.
Tom the stranger. The slight shudder had nothing to do with the sudden coldness of the ice-cream or the fact she'd forgotten to pack a light jacket. He'd looked at her like she was exactly who she was: an intelligence officer. Maybe he was Six too; back-up from Richard. That thought made her jaw clench – she was more than capable of carrying out this operation.
Someone walking up the stairs brushed past her and she was about to say something rude at their lack of acknowledgement of her presence before biting her tongue: it was Petrović.
Feeling it inappropriate and plain odd to be chomping on strawberry gelato in church, Ros threw the ice-cream in the bin and moved silently into the towering, majestic building. A couple of Japanese tourists took a photo a second of every inch of the place but for once Ros couldn't be too scathing at their enthusiasm as the building was rather beautiful, with a high ceiling and majestic paintings and statues. And there, hunched over in one of the pews towards the front, was Petrović. Ros took a seat at the back and glanced around the room before pulling out a camera of her own and blending into the typical tourist disguise, snapping brief pictures of the walls and the paintings. When Petrović clambered to his feet and headed to the door, Ros took a final picture and then began reading the leaflet in her lap which she had picked up by the door on the way in. His gaze barely passed over her but if he had clocked Ros' presence his judgement was likely to be exactly what she wanted – she was just a tourist.
She couldn't afford to leave a long time gap between their exits from the church in case of losing him again and so after a mere ten seconds Ros stood up silently and moved back outside, feet drumming down the stone steps and back onto the street. After a few seconds of successfully tailing him, her peace was shattered by the sound of her mobile ringing. Still walking and swearing a little under her breath (she never remembered to put the damn thing on silent mode) Ros snapped open her phone with an irritated "Yes?"
"Ros, it's Richard. We've found something else; something vital."
"Go on," she said, keeping a steely eye on the back of Petrović's head.
"His real name isn't Bartolomej Petrović, it's Bartolomej Vujović. He changed his surname as to not be associated with his parents, the notorious Anto and Agneza Vujović.
"He's the son of the Croatian version of Bonnie and Clyde?" Ros asked incredulously. Murders aside, he seemed like a quiet, innocuous man, nothing like his flamboyant and reckless parents who had put their home town of Split in constant danger and suspicion until they were finally and thankfully killed in a car crash a couple of years ago.
"He is. These murders could be in their name."
"But if he didn't want to be associated with them to the point that he changed his name, why is he acting like them now?" questioned Ros.
"That's the million Kuna question: ask him. And there's something else."
"What?" snapped Ros, not caring one bit for Richard's tendency to dramatically drag out bad news.
"Of the 600,000 Kuna he withdrew from the bank, 500,000 has been split into 5 lots of 100,000 and distributed to five families: the families of his victims."
"That doesn't make any sense," Ros almost hissed, keeping her pace steady despite her desire to sprint up behind Bartolomej and demand answers.
"My guess is that he's trying to cancel out the bad of the murder with the good of financial support for the family in such a troubled time."
"And my guess is that he's psychological impaired," Ros replied.
"Whatever he is, he's dangerous. Tread carefully, Ros." Richard ended the call in his typically abrupt manner, leaving Ros to contemplate what the hell was going on amongst the bustling crowds as night descended upon the city. The crowds parted and within a second Bartolomej had slipped away. Ros swore under her breath and kept walking.
A sudden realisation hit her like a tonne of bricks: 100,000 to each family and 600,000 Kuna in total, but only 5 victims so far...
He was going to kill again - and she'd just lost him.
"Need a hand?"