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Patient Lounge
Hammersmith Hospital, Acton
Hagen shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Patient lounges in hospitals always seemed to be outfitted to discourage you from relaxing there, and this one was certainly no exception to the norm. The tall chairs were about as comfortable as a church pew, and the rather putrid green color of the upholstery, mirrored in the wall trim around the room, was beginning to give Hagen an uncharacteristic case of nausea. He swallowed hard, searching through his pockets for a tin of spearmints. Finding them, he quickly popped two in his mouth, then held the tin out to the man sitting across from him. “Would you like one?”
Detective Sergeant Heath Marshall smiled weakly, and shook his head. “No, thank you, sir.” Hagen nodded, turned toward his own sergeant, who was currently leaning against the wall a few feet away. Pierce shook his head before Hagen could even ask the question, so Hagen proceeded to pocket the tin again. He enjoyed the mints for a moment, watching Marshall’s movements and mannerisms. This was the first opportunity they had had to talk to the surviving police officer, and Hagen was trying his best to be as calm as possible when all he really wanted to do was grab the lad, shake him soundly, and ask him what the hell happened. His instincts about the entire situation were on full alert and, while he would never want to look for evidence to fit his conclusions, Hagen’s feeling that something about the entire situation wasn’t right simply would not go away.
“Alright, then,” Hagen began. “We only have a few questions for now. We can talk in greater depth once you’re out of hospital.”
Marshall nodded. “Shouldn’t be long. The wounds are healing up nicely. The doctor said I can start physical therapies soon. Should be able to ride a desk in a couple of weeks.”
Hagen chuckled. “Don’t be in a rush. Enjoy your leave while you have it. Heal.” Hagen took a deep breath. There was a great deal he would like to know. When you had a witnessed that was ill or injured and, he sensed, had the potential to become silent or even hostile at any moment, the key was to ask the right question that would yield the greatest amount of information in its answer. “We spoke to Superintendent Wilcox, and he gave us a general idea of what the meeting was about, and why. But I’d like to hear it from you, in your own words.”
Marshall cleared his throat. “Sure. Of course.” He took a sip from the ice water sitting beside him, then another sip, cleared his throat again.
“Are you alright to talk?” Hagen asked, a concerned frown furrowing his brow.
“Yeah, yeah.” Marshall seemed a bit exasperated by the words. Probably was hearing them a lot from family and friends alike. “What would you like to know, sir?”
“Just... start from the beginning. Tell us what happened.”
“We’d set up the meeting a week ago. Corbett and I have been running the op for a while now, Stefan Roca was our contact... He’d arrange the meetings to pick up product or money, and he’d give us information about people within the organization. We were getting very close to shutting down a conduit of drugs coming into the city via business travelers flying between Heathrow and Sarajevo.
“Then, suddenly, two weeks ago, Roca phones Corbett, says he wants to meet at the estates. And we’re all off kilter, ‘cause the deliveries and pick-ups were like clockwork. This was way off. But we got him talking, and he finally said that it was his boss wanted to speak to us... Specifically, he wanted to talk to Sergeant Newcastle. Well, Robbie and I are all, what the fuck is this about? How did he know the names of people not in the operation?
“So, we went to Wilcox and told him what was what, and what the request was. He got in touch with Newcastle, got him pulled over for the operation. When Newcastle was in, we set up the meeting at the estates, Robbie got in touch with Roca to let him know it was set.” Marshall swallowed hard.
“Do you need a minute?” Hagen asked, gesturing toward Marshall’s glass of ice water.
“No, I’m fine.” Marshall took a quick sip and continued. “When I arrived that night, met up with Robbie and Newcastle... That’s when I heard about Sergeant Pierce being there. Newcastle said he was only there to observe, but I’ll admit to you, I didn’t like it. If someone had caught wind of him sitting in the car across the street, watching, it could have been a disaster. This guy we were supposed to meet isn’t exactly a nice bloke.” A scraping screech of a sound interrupted, causing Marshall to startle visibly. Hagen turned to look for the source.
Pierce adjusted the chair that had moved, causing the harsh sound. “Sorry, sir.” Hagen could see the tension building in his sergeant’s frame, in his movements. He still didn’t understand Pierce’s involvement with Newcastle, but the conversation was clearly beginning to agitate him.
Hagen pursed his lips and turned back to Marshall. “This...guy... who is he?”
“His name is Rado Boskovic.” Marshall replied, his face taking on a look of disdain. “He served as an auxiliary during the War in Yugoslavia, translation and guide work. Now, he runs a travel agency with offices in Zagreb and Dubrovnik.”
“Did Detective Sergeant Newcastle tell you how he knew Mister Boskovic?”
Marshall glanced at Pierce briefly before he replied. “He said he knew him from the Balkans, when he was in the SAS.” Marshall shook his head, exasperation verging on actual anger apparent in his now-abrupt movements and irritated tone. “He wasn’t even supposed to be there. This was a preliminary meeting and—”
“Wait,” Pierce began, stepping up beside Hagen and leaning in toward Marshall, his faces inches from the wounded detectives face. “He was there? You saw him there?”
“No, I didn’t see him.” Marshall replied, leaning away from Pierce, his voice taking on a whining note as he spoke. “Roca said he was there, said he was waiting in the lobby to see Newcastle, and he wouldn’t see the rest of us until he had seen him and spoken to him.” Marshall snorted. “The whole thing reeked. Frankly, I don’t think this Boskovic was in the lobby watching us. I think the bastard was on that balcony shooting us... Killing Robbie and Newcastle in cold blood. Maybe it was revenge for some Balkan things, or he’s just a low-life, double-crossing—”
“Sonofa –”
“Sergeant Pierce!” Hagen’s posture changed as quickly as the tone of his voice, and his pointed to the door as he glared at his sergeant. “Out! Now!”
Pierce tried not to let the surprise he felt register on his face. Granted, Hagen wanted to prevent any future issues with IPCC and lawyers, but his response was a bit extreme. Nevertheless, Pierce exited quickly and without looking back. He’d ridden with Hagen in the BMW, so he could wait by the car until Hagen came out and brave any questions or comments that the detective superintendent might have for him... or he could grab a taxi and go somewhere else for a while.
The decision was made for him, however, as Hagen emerged from the hospital and made a beeline for the vehicle. Without a word, he unlocked the car and got into the driver’s seat. Pierce hesitated a moment, wondering if he really should make his excuses and wander off into the city alone, but the moment of anxiety had passed quickly, and he got in the vehicle.
The drive back to the Met was a silent one, with neither detective willing to break the silence, the uncertainty of what direction the conversation would take overwhelming the curiosity of both gentlemen. The silence continued after they arrived. Hagen parked his car in the ramp, and the two men took the elevator up. When they entered Murder Squad, Owens looked up, mouth open ready to speak, but thought better of it when he saw their faces. Hagen disappeared into his office, shutting the door firmly, and Pierce retreated to his own desk and turned his focus on the paperwork piled there.
Twenty minutes later, and Pierce had barely progressed two pages into the first file. He glanced at Hagen’s office door. Loathe as he was to discuss his personal life, Pierce knew he needed to tell Hagen the truth about Newcastle, Bosko, the Balkans... He exhaled slowly, a whoosh of air, and looked at Hagen’s door again.
*****
THE KNOCK AT THE DOOR interrupted Hagen mid-sip. His chai was at the perfect temperature, and he had to really fight the urge to tell whoever the hell it was to come back later. But... Hagen set the cup down and banished any unpleasantness that might have appeared on his face before he spoke.
“Come in.”
The door opened, and Pierce looked in. Ah, here we go, Hagen thought as he took in the expression on his sergeant’s face. He had worked with Pierce for long enough to know him well, even if he didn’t know the particulars of the young man’s life beyond what Pierce was willing to reveal. The expression on Pierce’s face told Hagen that the young man was ready to talk.
“Sir? Do you have a minute?”
Hagen gestured to the chair across from him in reply. Pierce entered, closing the door carefully behind him, and seeming to take his time crossing the space between the door and the chair. Perhaps he was not as eager to talk as Hagen had surmised. He waited until Pierce sat down before he spoke.
“What’s on your mind, Rick?”
“Rado Boskovic,” Pierce replied. “We have...history.”
Hagen nodded slowly. “I see. Well... tell me what I need to know.” He held Pierce’s gaze for a moment, hoping the younger man caught the import of what he was saying.
Pierce nodded once, and took a deep breath. “Newcastle and I knew Bosko... Boskovic... when we were stationed in the Balkans. Like Marshall said, he worked as a translator and guide for us. He knew the area well. We... survived several incidents because of him.
“Have you had any contact with him since your tour ended?” Hagen could see the tension in Pierce’s back and shoulders peak at the question. Hagen already had a notion about the contact, and the reason for it, but he waited patiently for Pierce to give him what answer he felt he could give.
“Some, but... not at all since I stopped... I put all of that behind me, and Bosko respected that.” Pierce took a deep breath and stood. “Bosko has his faults, but he wouldn’t harm anyone.”
“Even if provoked?”
“Provoked? Possibly.” Pierce allowed himself a small smile, perhaps at some memory that the words had triggered. “But... the man went through hell during that war, physically and mentally, and he never harmed a soul, though most people would have. And in this case?” Pierce shook his head vehemently. “He would never have harmed Newcastle, and he never would have had someone else harm him either. Trust me on this, sir.”
“I do.” Hagen smiled solemnly. “Thank you for telling me, Rick.” He reached for his tea – still warm even now- but refrained from taking a sip. “One question?”
“Of course, sir.”
Hagen leaned back in the chair, holding the cup with both hands as he leaned back in the chair. “Are the things you’re not telling me going to be a problem?” He noticed a bit of color draining from Pierce’s complexion, though he retained his stoic composure.
“They shouldn’t be, sir.”
Hagen nodded slowly. “Good. But, let me just say now... Don’t volunteer anything to IPCC, or anyone else. However, if asked direct questions, answer truthfully. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Hagen smiled broadly. “Have a good night, Rick.” Pierce’s lips twitched in a smile, and he exited the office. Hagen watched the door for a few moments after his sergeant left, sending a little prayer Heavenward that for once IPCC would be too busy to go looking for ways to hurt Pierce. Hagen knew that the likelihood of that happening was slim-to-none, and that silently preparing their defenses would probably be a good idea. He made a note to himself to speak with Clive Reynolds about it. The crown prosecutor had some knowledge of Pierce’s troubles with IPCC – hell, Hagen was certain that Reynolds’ own second chair, Jerome Wilkinson, had actually facilitated some of the “attacks” in the past – but this could potentially be big if they got wind of it. And with two cops dead, and a third injured when Pierce was within range of the crime scene... Hagen sighed and reached for his desk phone... The likelihood of IPCC finding out was not a matter of if, but when.
“Paul?” Hagen had always thought it ridiculous to watch men phone out to their officers when they could easily walk, but situations like this certainly merited it.
“Yes, sir?” To Owens’ credit, Hagen could hear the no-nonsense shift the minute he heard his Superintendent’s voice on the line. Owens knew something was up, and knew how to behave accordingly.
“Is Sergeant Pierce still there?”
“No, sir, he just left. He said he was taking some paperwork to Lambeth, then heading home.”
Hagen smiled. Lambeth... that wasn’t surprising. “Right, that’s fine. See if you can get Reynolds for me, please, Paul. Only Reynolds. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Hagen hung up, satisfied that he’d set the wheels in motion to hopefully protect his men and the integrity of the case. He took a sip of his tea and winced.
It was cold.