Read Vendetta for Free Online

need to find out who you are.’
    ‘Probably a prostitute,’ another voice added. ‘It’s that kind of place.’
    Both Charlie and Rio turned to find another officer standing in the doorway. Detective Jamie Martin. He was a good five years younger than Rio’s thirty-three, with neat, formal sandy hair and grey eyes that darted around like he was trying to store every detail around him. He was also the newest member of her squad, one of those fast-trackers, which really pissed her off. But she couldn’t show her irritation in public because she’d been tasked with ‘easing him’ into the team. He had just completed his first year and his performance review was due any day now.
    ‘The hotel’s a favourite haunt for ladies of the night to take their Johns,’ Martin carried on, his voice fast with the eagerness of a young man wanting to do a good job. ‘It’s not the first time our lot have been called here.’
    Rio swept her gaze over the victim again. The right arm rested at an angle across the woman’s torso with the hand laid against the stomach. Had the murderer posed the victim like that? And that’s when Rio noticed something else. Something on the right arm . . . She peered closer, just above the wrist. A tattoo. Small with a red star and yellow border. It wasn’t a tattoo she recognised as a stamp of allegiance for any of the gangs she knew. Mind you, everyone and their dog was sporting tats these days. There was some type of lettering above and below it in a foreign script.
    С волка?ми жить
    по-во?лчьи выть.
    ‘It’s Russian,’ Martin supplied. Rio hadn’t even been aware he’d come to stand beside her. ‘Cyrillic script.’
    ‘Any idea what it says?’ When Martin shook his head she added, ‘Make sure someone takes close-up shots of the tattoo. Any witnesses?’ She eased to her feet.
    ‘Apart from the woman who flagged things up, guests in the neighbouring rooms are saying that they heard nothing and the hotel manager claims he ‘can’t remember’ who he let the room to. There’s nothing in the hotel register to say who booked the room – for which the manager is blaming the young kid who was on duty at reception last night who is “new” and “hasn’t got the hang of things yet” . . .’
    ‘Is the manager known to us?’
    ‘Of course – he wouldn’t be running a hotel round here if he wasn’t. Nothing too serious, though – mostly handling and receiving stolen goods from years back. Claims he doesn’t know a thing about last night.’
    ‘Pick him up – run him in, and bring the other staff who were on duty with him. I’ll talk to them later. Have you found out anything about the victim?’
    ‘No ID around. Judging by her tattoo, she’s East European. Russian, probably. Given this place’s clientele, she was most likely a prostitute or petty criminal – maybe she got into a row with a punter about money?’
    Rio shook her head. ‘Not unless her John was a professional gunman, she didn’t. Even your narkiest John doesn’t normally resort to firearms. It’s savage beatings usually. Perhaps it was something else. And, given the damage, he didn’t want a quick identification either.’
    ‘You think this was a hit?’ Martin asked.
    ‘Can’t say that yet,’ Rio answered. ‘All we can say is that the killer is handy with a gun.’
    They moved, with Charlie, to the other major scene of evidence – the bed in the main room. As they left the bathroom, Martin caught the arm of his superior, delaying her.
    ‘Sorry about that business outside.’
    Rio didn’t respond. It wasn’t the first time one of her own had fingered her for something else because of the colour of her skin. She’d known that being a black, female cop in The Met wouldn’t always be easy, but she was a woman heading for the top and sticks and stones and racists weren’t going to stand in her way.
    ‘Go and chat some more to the manager,’ Rio told him as she