There it was, the familiar feeling of euphoria when he made a breakthrough on a case. And this was one hell of a breakthrough. Enough to bring in Fleischmann at the very least, even if all else failed. But what he really wanted now was Barsukov as well and although he was still just out of reach, he was tantalisingly close. Biting back the temptation to grin, Max swung the small yellow jiffy bag in its clear protective evidence bag by his side as he entered the station in search of Eddie.
"Stay here," he'd urged Millie. "They all need you."
"No they don't," had been her glum reply.
"Come on. You know that's not true. And you wouldn't want a stranger in there would you? I mean it's going to be bad enough, what Georgie has admitted to."
"It's going to come out anyway. I feel like such a fool. I always looked up to him, loved him, even when Carly was being a bitch," Millie stopped, as if already speaking ill of the dead. Who knew if that was simply a matter of time, or if it was already too late.
"Well, if you really want-"
"No, I'll stay. I know you're right, I just wish I could do something useful, make a difference. It's so frustrating being here, making tea for everyone."
"I know. Look, I'm going to head back. There's a lot to do and that lot are probably bickering or making eyes at each other by now. Somebody needs to crack the whip."
"And you're just the man," she'd smiled warmly, for the first time that day. "Doesn't sound like your two from SOCA are being particularly useful," she'd quietly commented while picking one of her long hairs from his shirt and flicking it away.
"Er, well, they're okay. Just er, need some direction I guess. I'll call you later."
He could have told her the truth then and there, that Manson was in the building because he had the same desire to bring down Fleischmann, the one that had got always got away unscathed while underlings took the rap. Hauling in links further up the chain as well, starting with Barsukov would make the careers of all involved and there was no way Max was about to miss out on that. But he could no more tell the truth now than on every other opportunity he'd had. There were always excuses, that her reaction would get in the way of the investigation, that he didn't have any concrete connection between Fleischmann, Barsukov and Antonov, that he didn't have anything other than the suspicion that there was something bigger going on than Carly's abduction. Each reason ran into the other and none of it looked good.
The subterfuge should have weighed more heavily on his mind than it did. But, deftly pushing aside guilt for that, he was already forming a plan by the time he had reached the end of Georgie's road.
-oo-
"Where's Eddie?" Max barked at Jo. He wanted the CSE to get on with this immediately and the man's absence was an irritating delay. It also took the edge off his high, and that was particularly annoying.
"If he's not in his lab, I don't know. I'm not his keeper."
"Well somebody bloody ought to be."
Jo raised her eyebrows. "If I see him, I'll say you're looking for him will I?" she kept her tone sweet, knowing that it wouldn't fool him for a second and earning herself a glare for her trouble. Her smile didn't falter. After all, it was always fun to rile Max Carter, whether he was a DS or a DI, the derived gratification remained ever the same and often the highlight of her day, especially when, like today, it was her turn to be stuck behind the custody desk. "Oh, as if by magic ... Eddie? DI Carter would like a word."
Max spun round, Jo's presence immediately forgotten, and pressed the bag into Eddie's hands. "Fleischmann case. Fingers. Get them photographed and sent to Tommy now. And I mean now. Not in ten minutes. Not after lunch. Now."
"Yeah, yeah. Alright, alright. I get it," but Max had already moved on. "Jeez!" he looked at Jo, "that guy really needs to relax."
"Never gonna happen, Eddie," she replied with a sigh. "Never gonna happen."
-oo-
Grace looked up from the long list of premises owned by Drobyshev Holdings as the door opposite her desk was flung open, the handle hitting the wall noisily. She knew who it was from that alone.
"Thanks for your message Grace. I was already on my way," he eyed her with a look of derision. "But, seeing as how messages are your thing today, perhaps you'd like to find DCI Manson and ask him to grace us with his presence. Briefing room, ten minutes. Think you can manage that?"
If Grace had been the violent type, she would have landed her knee directly into his groin. And laughed. Except she wasn't violent, and she probably wouldn't laugh either. She pulled together what was left of her self-esteem and rose, determined not to show him an ounce of mortification at his public taunting. Yet what really hurt was that by the time she had got to her feet, Max had already turned away and forgotten she was there at all.
"Tommy, Eddie is sending you some photographs, get them printed and pinned on the wall. I'll be over in a few moments."
-oo-
"Okay people. You've probably heard by now, that these," he pointed to the photograph of Carly's fingertips, "used to belong to Carly Fleischmann and were delivered to her father this morning by the same method as her hair yesterday." While in a matter of minutes, the news of the severed fingers had spread throughout the station, the photographs showing the full gruesome detail elicited a ripple of 'euw's and 'oh God's from the assembled team. Max waited for the murmurs to abate, enjoying the theatrics of the situation. Looking down to his left he caught a glimpse of Grace, her top lip curled with disgust at his obvious enjoyment.
"Alright that's enough," piped up Neil, "we've all seen worse. Max, go on."
"So, it's taken these to arrive via courier but Fleischmann has finally coughed. For over a year, quite possibly closer to two years, he has been used as the UK arm of a smuggling ring, mainly dealing in works of art, and cultural and historical artefacts from Eastern Europe. This man, Kiril Barsukov, is behind it, orchestrating the supply and generating the demand from wealthy UK and mainland Europe based Russian expatriates, keen to acquire items from Mother Russia. It seems Fleischmann hasn't had to do much. Provide the storage, entertain the purchasers in the club and clean up any dirty cash through the betting shops. But for that, he's been raking in about twenty per cent of the profits. Easy money and a lot of it."
"So what's changed?" asked Suzie.
"I'm getting to that. It was all going well as far as Fleischmann was concerned. A nice little earner for looking after some boxes and pouring some drinks, but then a couple of months ago it started to get messy. Barsukov began to bring in more muscle to look after the gear without giving any explanation and more or less taking over the Parisa Bar. He told Fleischmann to stay out of it and keep to the rules, no questions but he wasn't having any of it and after poking around found that one of the crates contained a couple of guns. When he tried to confront Barsukov he was threatened by one of the bodyguards and told to back off. That's when Fleischmann realised he was way out of his depth and out of control. Then when word got around that he was looking for a way out, things turned nasty. Barsukov demanded half a million to move on to pastures new but Georgie couldn't come up with the cash quickly enough which resulted in Carly," he tapped at her photograph pinned on the wall, "going missing and the price rising to three million in a note that came with these," he pointed back to the butchered fingertips.
"Bloody hell," muttered Mickey. "Why didn't Fleischmann come clean in the first place?"
"Because regardless of what happens to Carly," explained Max slowly, "Georgie Fleischmann is about to lose everything he has. Money, status, friends."
"And he's willing to sacrifice his daughter for that?"
"So it seems. Not everybody shares your moral standards, Mickey."
"But Lesley, she's his bar manager," he explained to the rest of the room, "said he's a great guy. Adores Carly, looks after the staff. She hasn't got a bad word to say about him."
"It's all part of the act. Georgie Fleischman is only interested in living the high life and playing the role of benefactor. Underneath that though, is greed, pure and simple," finished Max, thinking back to Charlie Hammond's description of the man just two days before.
"What do you suggest next?" asked Neil. "Do you want to bring in Barsukov?"
Max shook his head. "Nah. He'll only deny every word and we'll only have Fleischmann's confession to go on. Any decent brief will have that discredited in seconds. Grace, you've got the list of Barsukov's properties?"
"Yes. All in the name of Drobyshev Holdings. The report from Companies House names Barsukov as Managing Director, the Company Secretary is a local solicitor but I've never dealt with him. "
"Right, well, let's start with the properties. We need to find Carly. When we find her, we'll be able to link her abduction back to Barsukov and from there we can challenge him on teh smuggling."
"But there are over eighty of them!"
"Better get on with it then, Grace. Rule out anything to start with that's a legitimate tenanted business or otherwise high profile. Barsukov isn't likely to want to arouse suspicion by holing her up on Canley High Street. He'll be using somewhere out of the way but with reasonable access and big enough for at least two people. As Austin hasn't shown up, we have to assume that he is still with Carly. So, any warehouses, empty offices, residential properties. Inspector Smith has agreed to let us have some of uniform to help with narrowing the search once we come up with a shortlist. We keep this quiet to begin with, so no search warrants yet. I don't want Barsukov to get wind that we're on to him and then be forced to move her out of the area."
"You think she's still in Canley?" asked Suzie.
"No reason to think otherwise. This is where he operates, it's where he knows. Grace you need to split the list with Tommy and Mickey. Between you, figure out which are the most likely and we'll take it from there."
-oo-
"You didn't bring up Antonov with Fleischmann then?" asked Neil blandly after everyone else had left the room.
"No, it wasn't the right time. Richard and Sondra Brown were there and I don't want to drag them into this if there's no connection."
"But you think there is?"
Max mulled over his response, keeping his fears to himself didn't seem to make much sense now the Barsukov trail was hotting up. "Barsukov's boat."
"What about it?"
"It's the same name as Millie's mother."
"Co-incidence?"
"Her name is Sondra. How many 'Sondra's do you know? And with Richard's involvement, or lack of, when Georgie was convicted, it doesn't feel right. But if I'm wrong ..."
"You will have got them worried for nothing," Neil finished for him. "I assume Millie doesn't know any of this either?"
"No."
"Don't you think she should?"
"She's got enough to cope with. I'll tell her when and if I need to."
-ooOoo-
Millie found herself sitting apart from the older generation, almost as if a barrier hard been erected between them. They were closing rank that much was clear. She wasn't of their era, she didn't share their history, and she wasn't sure that she really understood any of them anymore. Millie sighed inwardly, there was no point her being here anymore. Max had taken his opportunity and he always would, regardless of who was involved, whether family albeit in the wider sense, or not. A weakness had presented itself and he had seized the chance. At least she understood him, perhaps too well. She'd certainly known that working together wasn't healthy or was it their entire relationship that wasn't healthy. Was she only papering over the cracks by selectively ignoring traits that she knew existed within his character to suit a constructed rose-tinted view? She shook her head sharply, physically shrugging off the doubts, telling herself that it was the strain bringing on these thoughts. Of course he was difficult, and insensitive, but he was driven and that was all there was to it. At times she loved and loathed in equal measures. Today had brought nothing new, it was just rather more publicly revealing than she would have liked.
"Mum?" Millie called gently securing Sondra's attention. "I think ..." her mother rose and made her way over.
"Yes darling?"
"I think I should go back to Sun Hill. I can't see what else I can do here. He," she nodded at Georgie, "every time he looks at me, I feel so wretched. I'm sure I'll be more useful at the station and I can call you with news as we get it."
"If that's what you think is best." Sondra took a deep breath. "It brings everything back, from when you ..." Sondra broke off with a frown. In all the drama of the last twenty four hours, caring for Georgie and maintaining what little spirit was left in him, she had managed to suppress the memory of her own daughter's abduction.
"That was different, Mum. Those guys never intended to hurt me. Well, one was quite unstable, but I just got in their way and they panicked. This time, with Carly, it's not the same. Whoever has her always intended to harm her. You shouldn't think of it as being the same, I didn't go through what Carly must be going through. " Millie chewed her lip, not sure whether her mother would find any comfort in her words.
"I suppose so. Oh, Georgie, poor poor Georgie," she turned back to look at the two men in the conservatory, "what have you done?"
Millie placed a hand on her mother's arm. "I need a ride back to the flat, to get my car. Max and I assumed I'd probably be here all day so I didn't bring it."
"Yes of course. It'll give me the opportunity to get a few things, more supplies. I expect we'll be here a while longer. Oh and we mustn't forget the lasagne in the freezer. If you leave it out, it should defrost by this evening. You'll both need something substantial later." Millie smiled, even in the face of such extraordinary circumstances her practicality was unwaveringly reassuring.