The divisional commander, Chief uperintendent Jepson, had made an appearance to greet Sergeant Kotsev.

‘I’ve emailed Captain Pirinski to thank him for loaning your services, Sergeant. It shows a very positive attitude on the part of the Bulgarian authorities.’

Kotsev shook his hand. ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘I’m very glad you came. It’s so useful to have a translator; not to mention your experience in the field of cross-border organized crime.’

‘I’m pleased to help.’

The Chief Super took DCI Kessen aside and put a hand on his shoulder.

‘Special Branch and C Division are taking the Zhivko bombing – it’s their pigeon, after all. But they’ll liaise with us on any connections to Rose Shepherd or Simon Nichols.’

‘Very good, sir.’

‘It’s the best way, Oliver.’

‘Yes, I know.’

When he took the floor at the briefing, Kotsev turned out to be an excellent speaker, showing no signs of nervousness. He’d obviously had practice at presentations, and his almost perfect English and smart appearance commanded attention, even from this jaded bunch.

‘First a little background,’ he said. ‘Your colleague Sergeant Fry assures me that not all of you are experts on Bulgarian history.’

Behind him, the chief superintendent chuckled, and almost seemed about to nudge Kessen to share the joke.

‘In the last fifteen years, organized crime has thrived in Bulgaria, its influence reaching all parts of our society. Sadly, the state apparatus has been too weak to deal with this problem. Too corrupt also, you might say. But no longer. Now, anti-corruption is a byword in our ministries.’

Kotsev paused and looked around the room. Fry wondered if he’d made another joke. But even the chief super didn’t get it this time.

‘You’re talking about a kind of Mafia, Sergeant?’ prompted someone.

‘A kind of Mafia, yes. However, our organized crime groups are becoming more sophisticated, and they are developing their own areas of expertise. In addition to trafficking women into the international sex trade, Bulgarian criminals are skilled at counterfeiting currencies, forging credit cards and identity documents. Their enterprises are said to account for a third of the Bulgarian economy. They control tourism on the Black Sea coast, the ports, construction, agriculture. They seek power, and their influence runs very deep. But recent efforts of our authorities have put pressure on these criminals and created competition for a shrinking market. That is why there are currently so many murders – they are struggling to keep their influence.’

Kotsev spoke for a few minutes, outlining the issues he’d explained to Fry the previous night, but in less detail, skating round the more alarming possibilities. Listening to him, Fry wasn’t sure how she should feel about having been privileged to share inside information. It was flattering in a way, perhaps. But it put her in an odd position, knowing more than her senior officers, or at least having a fuller picture.

When Kotsev paused again, a hand went up. ‘If these individuals have so much power and influence, is it difficult to mount a successful prosecution?’

‘Yes, we have a tough time making charges stick. Witnesses deny their testimony or have accidents, lawyers back out of cases, evidence disappears.’

‘You said “various counterfeiting activities” – would that include passports and identity cards?’

‘Yes. The counterfeiters’ main area of business is forging euro banknotes. However, the United Kingdom is not a market for counterfeit euros – yet. Groups operating here are more likely to be employing their skills in the production of false identity documents.’

‘What about the couple who were killed in their car? Were they involved in organized crime?’

‘Yes, we believe this was the case, based on the known associations of Dimitar Iliev and the nature of the assassination. But there are also ethnic problems in Bulgaria, and Piya Yotova was a Romani woman. We do not know for certain who pulled the trigger, but Iliev and Yotova were shot with a Kalashnikov automatic rifle.’ Kotsev smiled sadly. ‘Kalashnikovs are causing some embarrassment. These weapons have been illegally exported to many war zones, and are therefore damaging our international image.’

‘And Simon Nichols? How was he connected?’

‘Simcho Nikolov? We are convinced from our intelligence sources that he was a major participant in counterfeiting operations. That was his particular area of expertise. Unlike the Zhivko brothers, we do not believe he was engaged in enforcement activities.’

There was a moment of silence when Kotsev had finished. Hitchens stood up to take over.

‘It might be worth mentioning a bit of news at this point,’ he said. ‘The firearms examiners have identified the weapon that killed Rose Shepherd.’

‘A Kalashnikov?’

‘No. Turns out it’s a fairly unusual item. This took some research on the lab’s part, so I think we owe them a favour. But they say it’s a Romanian military sniper rifle, the Pusca Semiautomata cu Luneta, or PSL. It might be considered to belong to the Kalashnikov family, but it’s different in appearance.’

‘Well, one thing’s for sure. Nobody’s going to admit to owning such a gun. There’s a mandatory five-year prison sentence for the possession of an illegal firearm.’

‘It’s probably a clean weapon anyway. It won’t be easily traced back to its origin.’

Hitchens nodded. ‘As for Simon Nichols – or Simcho Nikolov, I should call him – we haven’t yet received the full post-mortem report, but so far there is no evidence that his death was due to anything but natural causes, or an accident.’

‘So he probably isn’t a victim? In that case …?’

‘Yes,’ said Hitchens. ‘We should be regarding him as a potential suspect for the Rose Shepherd killing. We need to find some way of establishing his movements in the last few days before he died.’

After the briefing, Cooper found himself standing in the corridor with Liz Petty. Some mysterious force seemed to place them together at unexpected moments. Or perhaps that was only the way it seemed.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

‘Yes, fine. Thanks, Ben.’

When he spoke to Liz on the phone her voice always sounded so warm that it took him by surprise, almost knocked the feet from under him. Many female police officers formed a hard exterior, but not SOCOs, it seemed. He’d have to be careful not to make a nuisance of himself phoning her too often, just to hear her voice.

Petty seemed about to touch his arm, but drew back suddenly and looked past him, over his shoulder.

‘Uh-oh.’

‘I was asking Liz about the search at the caravan,’ said Cooper when he saw Fry approaching.

‘That’s OK.’

‘She just happened to be passing, and I –’

‘It’s all right,’ said Fry as she drifted by. ‘I don’t care. See you later.’

They both watched her disappear down the corridor.

‘What’s up with her?’ said Petty.

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘Perhaps she’s turning human.’

‘I’d better get on anyway,’ said Cooper uneasily. ‘There was one thing I wanted to ask you.’

‘Yes?’

‘Do you think it would be possible to find out more about this weapon that fired the shots at Bain House, the PSL sniper rifle? I know the lab have pulled out the stops for us, but could you have a word with Wayne?’

‘I’m not sure, Ben. What do you want to know?’

‘Whether there are non-military versions of it.’

‘OK,’ said Petty. ‘I’ll see what we can find out.’

Diane Fry sat at her desk and watched Georgi Kotsev talking to Hitchens and DCI Kessen. But she wasn’t thinking about Kotsev. She was thinking about Europol.

Fry hadn’t really considered it before. She’d been aware of Europol, of course, as one of the organizations continually being spawned by the integration of European Union countries. But it had never occurred to her until now that it was a possible career move.