Roskov book 7, p.29
Roskov, Book 7,
p.29
‘Jury found him guilty, he’ll be sentenced in about six weeks, and he’s facing twelve years. But he’s spent half his life inside; it’s no stranger to him.’
‘I’ll do a radio show soon, maybe tomorrow night.’
‘I’m available,’ he insisted.
‘Then I’m off to Denmark, a celebration of the Jews escaping.’
‘I love history like that, wish I could attend,’ he told me. ‘But we have her horrid relatives visiting.’
I hid my grin, badly. ‘We all have relatives, and I found a few new ones recently – but not people to be avoided.’
‘It was in the papers, yes. Are you well now?’
‘Just the twinges up my spine, I can walk OK, but I’ll avoid fighting - so don’t let anyone attack you tonight, eh.’
He cocked an indignant eyebrow at me. ‘I’ll try to avoid them, yes.’
Oleysa started her set as I stood where she could see me, the audience of music geeks loving it, a few new pieces played, and she received a loud applause when she took the first break, Trish arriving with the Athena model; they had enjoyed a meal nearby first.
She reported that Bob Turnball, the British media company boss, has been on, and that he had some work for me, which flew in the face of my desire to get off the public stage for a while.
Pete Granton in the States had also been in touch, and he had offers for me that were rising by the day. I would look at them soon since I had promised Jenny that I would visit New York.
We managed to get through the evening without punches thrown, at me or at the judge, and at 11pm I led a drunk Oleysa up with Trev – who could now have a pint after I had retired to my room and locked the door, chair up against it.
In the room, Trev thanked and sent off for a pint with some cash in his hand, I locked the door and checked the room carefully, helping Oleysa into bed after undressing her, and she was asleep in seconds, not someone that could handle the booze.
Making sure that she was in the recovery position and breathing OK, I made a cup of tea and sat quietly, thinking about visiting the States.
Not the hand of God
In the morning, I woke her with a cup of tea, and when she was finally awake and with it I led her to the shower. Washed and clean, I sat on the toilet and eased her onto my cock, and we soon needed another shower, my lady partner red in the face again.
Another cup of tea, some biscuits, and Kurt knocked at the door; they had a plane to catch. Disguise on, Oleysa looking sexy in glasses, and I said goodbye downstairs just before I checked-out myself, Trev admitting to having a few beers last night with his buddy.
Back up in Leicester we headed first to the units, and I sat down with Lucas and the traffic jam software team, plans to make for half an hour.
Leaving the unit after a chat to Bonza and his brother, time slowed as two loud shots rang out, my face suddenly covered in blood, and I could taste it as Trev hit the floor like a dead body. I could see the man running away, that man appearing terrified as I focused on Trev, and I knelt.
He had been hit in the temple, the blood pumping out, his eyes fixed and glassy.
Bonza’s shout didn’t move me from the body, but his giant hands did move me, and I was thrown inside as the shouts, the screams, and images around me were blurred.
‘The body!’ I finally shouted. ‘Check the body, he could still be alive!’
I knew there was no chance of that, but Bonza and his brother checked that the coast was clear and they dragged Trev’s body inside, a huge bloodstain left behind, our sales girl screaming.
“Shots fired, Roskov Computers, Harden Road Industrial Estate, police officer reported shot. Suspect is a white male, blue hoody, dark blue jeans, black trainers, running south down Harden Road towards Cooper Street, suspect is armed and dangerous.”
Finally, I knelt down next to Trev’s limp body as our frantic sales girl was rudely shoved upstairs out the way, and I knew that Trev had died quickly. I also knew that if Carter was still active it would be him lying there.
A chill went through me, and the anger came like a train hitting me; in that instant I wanted to find the shooter and kill him myself. I wanted to run after him.
Standing, I stared down at the body as a first aid kit was brought over by Chris, a pad placed on the head wound – for all the good it would do. ‘He’s dead,’ I flatly stated, Bonza’s blue overalls now covered in blood.
Moving into the back room, I called Biggs. With no energy in my voice, I began, ‘It’s Roskov, and your man, Trevor, he … was just shot dead at my computer company. Get the wheels turning.’
Call ended, and I faced a distraught Lucas, a family man that most definitely did not want any danger in his life. ‘That man wanted to kill me, not my bodyguard.’
He stared back for several seconds. ‘The sex ring people?’
‘Maybe, or just someone that’s jealous of me, and there are a few of those.’
Sirens wailed two minutes later, Bonza and his brother guarding the door, armed police officers soon seen through the windows staring down at the huge pool of blood. The police finally stepped in, the body checked, additional cars arriving, finally an ambulance, medics in green checking Trev then removing the body as I cleaned my face of dried blood.
I made everyone cups of tea, even the police, and I tried to reassure the staff that the man was after me, and that I did not visit often – and could visit less. Finally, I called my parents, to reassure then that I was alive and not to worry.
Unfortunately, Trev had been living at the house whilst I was in Italy, and my mum had bonded with him.
The Chief Constable himself stepped in ten minutes later. ‘We got the man, he dropped the pistol and ran and was stopped a mile away. He has a clean record, family man, or at least he was a family man.
‘His wife kicked him out, divorce started, house up for sale quickly on account of the fact that the man enjoyed regular golfing holidays to Portugal.’
‘So he was mad at me for investigating, or … mad because he was innocent and got caught up in it all,’ I suggested.
‘His wife thought him guilty,’ the Chief Constable pointed out. ‘But we’ll check anyhow, maybe she knew something.’
Stepping away, I called Trish, for her yet again to tell everyone that I was alive, then I called Rolf, shocking him. He would update the twins, and he would worry, and they would worry, and I would worry for them as I cursed the idiot that had shot at me.
Carter called a few minutes later. ‘They called me, and … Trev was shot?’
‘Shot dead. And … if you had been active … that would have been you in the morgue.’
‘Fuck,’ he hissed out. ‘Glad I’m out of it, I need a fucking holiday - I’m using up my nine lives here.’
‘How much more medical shit do you need to go through?’
‘It’s done for now they said.’
‘So take a holiday, spend some money, enjoy life - while you can.’
‘Be on a fucking plane soon,’ he threatened.
“This is Radio Leicester, and we’re getting news that Ricky Roskov’s police bodyguard has just been shot dead here in Leicester. Ricky is reported to be alive and unharmed, police are at the scene now.”
The police drove me home, and Biggs would send a two-man team very soon, but this was seemingly a domestic issue and not terrorist related. In the house, I reassured my tearful mother, but there was no way to deny that it was a near miss for me, my mother in a terrible state at the loss of Trev.
An hour later and Biggs was back on, the shooter linked to Roger Pearson in a small way. The man had played golf with Roger, but there had also been a financial link, and this guy had been to Faro in Portugal sixteen times. In my eyes that meant he was guilty.
Sat with my worried parents, we discussed the sex ring, ten armed officers seen patrolling outside. I figured that my neighbours would be pissed off with me by now, but one was a senior police officer anyhow.
The twins called at 8pm, pissed off, saddened, angered and frustrated all at the same time, Oleysa reportedly crying again. I did my bit to reassure them, but that was just not coming across as truthful.
After the call I spoke to the contessa and Maria, both worried for me, then Henrick and Elsa, Jenny in New York for ten minutes, and finally I spoke with Michelle in Corsica.
In the morning, the Prime Minister called. ‘I’m getting flak from various countries, for our inability to keep you safe. Even had the Vatican send a message, a first time for that, and we had rude messages from Denmark, Sweden and Italy.’
‘Sorry about that, but I am popular in some of those countries. But I can’t live in a bunker and … I’ll make that clear to them, and to the BBC news.’
‘Good of you, because it’s cheeky when they criticise us like this – we can’t hide you nor stick you in a cave.’
‘No, I have things to do, so I won’t be hiding away. Don’t worry, I’ll push back on their criticism of you.’
‘You’ll have a two-man team, at least for a while, but we can’t keep them with you for the rest of your life.’
‘Then maybe I can appease the taxpayers and pay towards my own security,’ I told him.
‘That would be unprecedented, but it would shut a few people up, yes. You’ll attend the celebrations?’
‘Yes, and Denmark is a very safe place. Do you know where this man got the gun?’
‘His grandfather’s old revolver, they said – it’s an antique!’
‘Antique guns still kill,’ I sighed out.
Call ended, and I made a choice, a flight booked to Denmark with my parents. I told Rolf, he would update the Danish authorities, and he would head to the house in Copenhagen.
I told him, ‘I’ll lay low a few days, see if my public profile diminishes.’
‘Don’t bet on it, the shooting is on every TV news channel in Europe. They even interviewed Luka and Cardinal Armani in Italy. The Italians are all praying for you, the hand of God.’
‘Hand of God? Bullshit! There was no hand of God at work today!’ I growled.
The final thing to do was to arrange some money for Trev’s daughter, whether she liked him as a father or not. The ungrateful ex-wife would accept the money, or I’d shove it down her damn throat.
Geoff Wolak, Roskov, Book 7
