The Cronin Mementos

By Vic Nikitin

Dark secrets plague Sergeant Frank Cronin as he is forced to team up with a new partner. Selina Patterson quickly proves his equal as the pair go undercover to investigate a vicious crime syndicate that will stop at nothing.

Just as they secure a witness to testify, his world is blown away by shooters. He loses an arm, career, and confidence while his partner disappears. Unable to accept his fate, he exacts revenge against his assailants.

Years later, Selina arrives at his office with an explanation and a request for help. Plunging into a new maelstrom, he realises his ex-partner has weaved a complex web of lies and deceit and that he has, once again, become the victim.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vic Nikitin
• Release date: Jun 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005990107

Vic Nikitin

Vic Nikitin was born in the UK. He moved to London in the 1980s, to Johannesburg in 1992, and now lives in New Zealand. On this journey, he acquired an Honours degree in Modern Languages, a Teacher’s Diploma, and an MBA. He lectured extensively at the Tertiary level and consulted with corporations in South Africa.Vic is married, has two adult children, and combines teaching Digital Technology at secondary level with a passion for writing.While living in South Africa, he wrote his first novel, "Victim versus Villains." He has also published two short story anthologies, "Seventeen Deadly Sins" and "Seventeen-not-so-Deadly Sins", two police crime novels set in New Zealand, "There or not there" and "The Cronin Mementos." A second crime thriller "Some you win, some you lose" was published in 2022 and is now available.

Book preview

Prologue

A dozen figures in Kevlar vests and riot helmets pressed their backs against the warehouse’s outer wall. Each flicked off the safety catch on his weapon. The first in line clutched a mini battering ram and grunted to indicate his readiness. Behind him, the team leader glanced upward. He was relieved at the absence of first-floor windows that could hide a sniper.

Turning his head, he raised a hand with four spread fingers. The back of the line disappeared around the side of the building. A second similar gesture sent a second cluster in the opposite direction. Then, after patting his inside pocket to check on the search warrant, he gripped his Remington and took a slow breath.

‘Teams Alpha and Bravo,’ he said into his mic, ‘on my mark, go.’

The sounds of bolt cutters and a battering ram resounded in his earpiece. A metal canister clanged on the concrete a second later and spewed waves of noise and smoke in every direction.

The leader did not need to direct his team because everyone knew to peel off and search specific areas to their left and right. His responsibility was to secure the central office furthest away. He knew it was a glass-windowed cubicle with a second exit into a walled refuse area.

With rifle pointing down at forty-five degrees, he set off at a dead run. His senses tuned into the environment as he listened for noise or movement that could mean the difference between life and death. Fear and doubt assailed him as he realised dangerous people with itchy trigger fingers could be waiting. They would not hesitate to shoot.

With adrenaline pumping, he stopped outside the frosted glass door but had no view of the inside. Sheets of newspaper covered every window. Exhaling, he shredded the flimsy lock with a kick and peeked inside. His pulse spiked. It was the moment he was most exposed. He flicked on his safety catch and stepped into the silent room.

He ignored the replica Louis XV desk, worn director’s chair and battered filing cabinets. Instead, he focused on a hand-woven rug that did not entirely cover a trap door. Without hesitation, he kicked it away before jumping up and down on it. A faint metallic clang was a sign that the room’s recent occupants had escaped. Unfortunately, there would be no witnesses to his subsequent actions. With a deep breath, he glanced at the open gym bag on the desk and a rectangular case propped against the wall.

Whistling at its bulging contents, he zipped it, wrenched open the fire exit and lobbed it into a nearby skip. It landed with a muffled thud. After closing the door, he jammed the gun case behind a filing cabinet. He manoeuvred the second until both were aligned. Stepping back, he realised it would be hard to spot in the gloom. Less than thirty seconds had elapsed since his arrival.

‘Clear,’ he yelled into his mic. Bellows and the crash of boots filled his ears. He smiled. He had his mementoes.

PART 1

Chapter 1

‘Morning, Frank,’ said Superintendent Gerry Frost as he entered with a grin. ‘Your new partner’s in reception. She’ll be up in a minute.’

Swivelling in his seat, Senior Sergeant Frank Cronin spat an expletive and threw his pen down. He rubbed at the horizontal scar on his chin, a souvenir from an accident and broken stitches. It seemed to glow white-hot when he became agitated.

‘Come on, sir. The last thing I need is another rookie partner. The job’s hard enough as it is, without the babysitting.’

Frost’s expression grew serious as he perched on his desk. He leaned forward with one fist on the solid surface. His bulky frame blocked out the office’s entrance.

‘We’ve had this discussion twice,’ he replied harshly.

‘The last one puked everywhere on his second day,’ retorted Frank. ‘With all due respect, sir, I don’t do cry-babies. I work best with my regular team.’

‘You’re the only officer without backup, Frank. We make the Organised Crime and Drug Squad rules for a reason. Everyone works in pairs all the time. It’s standard procedure, no exceptions.’

‘Backup is fine, but I don’t need another partner,’ he continued, digging in his heels. ‘My arrest rate is double the next man.’

Pushing back his chair, he locked his fingers behind his head.

‘I need some slack on this one, sir.’

Frost could not fault him on his record but had doubts about his methods. They were suspect, maybe, but there was no hard evidence. He talked it over with his superiors, and they decided to bring in a fresh pair of eyes. His new partner, Selina Patterson, was that someone.

Dismissing thoughts of rumour and gossip, Frost took a deep breath. His bosses had ordered him to force Senior Sergeant Frank Cronin to toe the line. Since conflict soured relationships, he hated such tasks because they compromised relationships.

‘The choice is simple, Sergeant,’ he continued, hoping to derail the fast-escalating conflict. ‘It’s a new partner or a desk job. The order comes from the top and is non-negotiable.’

‘Fair enough,’ he retorted with a snort, ‘but when he starts vomiting over a corpse or turns on the waterworks, it’s over.’

‘That wouldn’t be very professional, sir?’ said Selina Patterson. Both turned to the new arrival. Clutching a department manual, she gave them a sunny smile. The razor-sharp lines of her uniform, a regulation hat jauntily askew on her bronze curls and a friendly expression sucked the tension out of the air. Both stared as she took a step forward.

‘Senior Constable Patterson, sir, reporting for duty.’

Standing up, Frost looked back and forth with a smug look.

‘Selina, this is Sergeant Frank Cronin, your new partner.’

‘Pleased to meet you, sir,’ she said to Frank while offering a hand.

He shook it without disguising his disdain.

‘Sorry, sir, I need to be at an induction session.’

Confirming his agreement, she ignored the hostility and hurried off. Getting into the lift, she knew that he was still the squad’s best detective despite his arrogance and conceit. However, putting up with these traits would be a challenge.

On the plus side, she was impressed at his clean-shaven appearance, fresh haircut, Lacoste polo shirt and designer jeans. At least his appearance compensated for his poor attitude, she concluded. She exited the lift and slid into the last available chair as the session began.

Selina spent the evening poring over Frank Cronin’s file with a chilled bottle of Chablis for company. She had no regrets calling in a favour. Her friend in Admin was happy with an invite to lunch and a catch-up on the latest gossip. She quickly summarised details of his significant arrests and two unsolved cases. She stuck to her habit of making cryptic notes as reminders. Diligence would help her gain his trust and study his methods. She was confident this approach would uncover unethical behaviour.

She was surprised that an Assistant Commissioner conducted her interview. Even more surprising was his candid manner. He offered her the job, a promotion, a fast-track future and a choice of assignments afterwards. In return, she agreed to report irregularities. It was a simple exchange with nothing to think about.

It was clear from their first encounter that he would be a hard nut to crack. He was like a prickly hedgehog, get too close, and the spines would pop out. Glancing at her empty wine bottle, she imagined she was a badger, a creature that preyed on them. Then, laughing at the thought of devouring his carcass, she emptied her glass and went to bed.

‘Morning, sir,’ said Selena with an enthusiastic smile.

She stayed at the entrance.

‘Good morning.’ replied Frank with disinterest. ‘This is your office too, you know. You can come in and sit down.’

Accepting his invitation, she liked his formal collar and tie. She thought it was different from yesterday’s casual look but just as expensive and well-cut.

‘You can call me Frank. It’s Sergeant in public, OK?’

‘Sure, Frank.’

‘Your desk’s right there,’ he added, gesturing with his pen. Shifting her attention, she realised that only a computer monitor separated them. She was hoping for a little more distance, maybe a partition. Dismissing the thought, she stared at the stack of bulging manila folders. Then, avoiding a reaction, she knew what was coming next.

‘Those are our current investigations,’ he said. ‘Start with the top three, and I’ll bring you up to speed when I get back.’

The morning passed in a blur. Frank rushed off to a court appearance while she read and took notes. He returned late afternoon, minus his tie, looking tired but still insisted on quizzing her. Grabbing a pizza on her way home, she ate and nodded off during her favourite programme.

‘Love the pink highlights,’ said Selina as she placed her bag on the table. Fenella Marchant, her best friend, smiled and tugged at a loose strand.

‘Thanks, I had them done at Frisson.’

‘They go well with your top. Is that also new?’

‘Yeah, I decided to spoil myself. I also got a couple of skirts from Sergio’s.’

Selina sat at the round table, dismissing that she owned nothing so extravagant. Instead, she scanned the crowded venue to see if anyone had noticed the passion of their greeting kiss.

‘You took ages to answer my text the other day,’ said Fenella after a hug.

‘Yeah, sorry, I was in a meeting, and it went on all morning.’

‘It’s OK. How’s the new job?’

‘Let’s order first,’ she replied, looking for a waiter. ‘I’m starving.’

Fenella pouted and tossed her hair with a petulant gesture.

‘You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?’ she said.

‘No, I’m not. First, I need sustenance, and then we can do detail.’

She reached under the table with a smile and stroked her friend’s thigh.

‘And don’t forget Frank Cronin. The girls in Admin think he’s a hunk.’

‘Alright, let’s order first. The food will be a while.’

They settled under an umbrella that shaded them from the afternoon sun. Their mobiles rested on the chequered tablecloth, ready for instant use. Every other table on the pavement café buzzed with exciting conversations and friendly arguments. Patrons ignored passing traffic and the occasional jumbo. Their conversation only began after a waiter scribbled down their order and disappeared.

‘Right,’ said Fenella after pouring water, ‘let’s have the low down and don’t leave anything out.’

‘Well,’ replied Selina,’ there’s not much to tell.’

‘Come on, girl. You walked the beat for two years, got a promotion to the Organised Crime and Drugs Squad and then decide it’s no big deal. Come on.’

‘Up to now, it’s been about sitting in stuffy rooms listening to presentations and induction speeches. They get dull after a while.’

‘Have you worked on any cases yet? Maybe catch a drug lord or a criminal on Interpol’s most wanted list.’

‘You should watch less TV. It’s not like that. I spent hours working through files, and then my boss grilled me. That’s about it, so far.’

A knowing wink replaced a disappointed expression. Selina knew what was coming next.

‘And what did you make of the delectable Frank Cronin?’ asked Fenella.

‘Darling,’ she replied, ‘he’s my boss. I’m not looking for a partner.’

‘He’s still hot, though, isn’t he?’

‘I can’t say I’ve noticed.’

‘Have you seen the way he dresses and how neat he is? I reckon he spends more time at a manicurist than we do.’

The arrival of quiche and salad saved further denials. She collected her thoughts as they ate. Then, after a sip of water, she leaned forward with a conspiratorial look.

‘To tell you the truth,’ she said in a faint voice, ‘I think he’s an arrogant prick, good-looking, but full of himself.’

‘I knew it. The girls in the office reckon butter wouldn’t melt. Those shoulders, brown eyes and tight butt are too much.’

‘It wasn’t something I noticed on my first day. He threw a wobbly with his Super about a new partner. I tell you, it burst my bubble.’

‘He can’t be all bad, can he?’ asked Fenella.

‘Well, no. He helped me settle in, but I’m sure he’s waiting for me to mess up. I reckon he needs a reason to complain to his boss.’

‘Don’t give him one.’

‘You can bet your ass I won’t. He puts on this smug look when he gets his way. I won’t let it bother me, end of story.’

‘The cheesecake here is to die for,’ replied Fenella, her curiosity satisfied. ‘Do you want to share a slice?’

‘Guys,’ said Frank as he pointed, ‘I’d like you to welcome Selina Patterson, our newest team member. Selina, meet Fran, Tony, Dom and Trev.’

‘Hello,’ she said to each in turn. Fran, the only female, returned a warm smile. The other three nodded without interest and looked to Frank for direction.

‘Come on, guys,’ he continued, ‘do you need me to hold your hand?’

‘No, boss.’

‘I need an update on our Romanian friends by the end of the day.’

Their smiles disappeared as they scattered.

‘Let’s use the conference room,’ he added as he strode away. She followed, clutching the thickest of the manila folders.

‘What can you tell me about Mihai Popescu?’ he continued after settling into a leather armchair.

Sitting, she opened the file and pulled out a sheet of bullet point notes.

‘He’s thirty-eight, born in Bucharest, and his parents died in a car crash when he was three. He grew up in state-run orphanages. He escaped when he was fifteen and worked on the streets. He started by selling cigarettes and running errands for small-time drug dealers.’

‘That’s a good start,’ he interrupted. ‘What then?’

‘Well, nothing else until he entered New Zealand in ninety-nine.’

‘So, there’s a gap, is there?’

Smiling inwardly, she felt a warm glow at predicting his next question. Then, poker-faced, she took a deep breath.

‘Yes, there is, but I took the liberty of checking the Interpol database.’

‘Did you really?’

She ignored his mocking tone.

‘I found a breakdown of his criminal activities from eighteen to when he entered the country.’

‘Did you really?’

Dredging every ounce of self-control, she continued.

‘He engaged in many illegal activities, gambling, drugs, racketeering, prostitution, etc.’

‘And?’

‘We’ve never arrested him, never mind pressed charges. Instead, he uses teams of flunkies to do his dirty work and stays clear of anything illegal. His orders go through his second in command, Gheorghi Dragan. The pair grew up together, so they’re rock solid.’

‘That Interpol report,’ he added, ‘is it the same as this one?’

He slid a document across the polished walnut table with a smug look. Selina placed it next to hers. They were identical.

‘I’m impressed,’ he said. ‘You’re the first one.’

Usually, she would have blown a fuse. But, instead, after a dagger-like stare, she slid them into the file. The uncomfortable silence grew.

‘Alright,’ he said, raising his palms, ‘I won’t pull that one again.’

‘Do you promise?’

‘Scout’s honour.’

‘With all due respect, Frank, you were never in the Scouts.’

‘Yes, I was.’

‘I bet you got thrown out.’

He burst out laughing, a mixture of relief and realisation. He shelved his curiosity, concluding it was a guess. Then, he relaxed his expression, deciding respect would be a better way forward.

‘Have you been reading my file?’

Selina stared back poker-faced. The technique would serve her well in the future.

‘No more tricks,’ he said. ‘I promise.’

Offering a tight smile, she sat back and crossed her arms. She noticed his eyes roam over her uplifted breasts.

‘You said something about bringing me up to speed.’

‘You’re right, I did,’ he said, seemingly caught off guard.

After a shuffle of the documents, he extracted the ones he wanted.

‘Popescu and his mate Dragan arrived in late two thousand and nine. They got investor’s visas.’

‘How does that work?’

‘You transfer money to a local bank and undertake to buy a business as a goodwill gesture. That and agreeing to employ locals gets you permanent residency.’

‘How much did he invest?’

‘Five million dollars. He bought Global, the nightclub on Queen Street.’

‘Nice way to set up a new operation.’

‘That’s exactly what happened,’ he replied, impressed at her insight. ‘Within a year, he invested in a top-end gentleman’s club and a car rental agency.’

‘That would replicate his business in Romania, wouldn’t it?’

‘That’s exactly it. He also brings girls in from Eastern Europe. His people have been pimping them out for a while now.’

‘And he uses his car rental agency to ferry them to clients.’

‘You’re on the money there.’

‘And he sources clients at his club.’

‘That’s right.’

‘And he’s untouchable, right?’

Pushing away from the table, he yawned while rubbing the bridge of his nose.

‘We got lucky a while back. One of his girls did a runner. She gave us some pretty gruesome stuff. Then, unfortunately, a lawyer arrived, and she clammed up. They were gone in a flash.’

‘What did she say? I couldn’t find anything in the file.’

‘We couldn’t record it because the bloody video camera was playing up.’

‘That’s a real pity.’

‘The way they break them in was not nice. It’s not something I would normally share.’

‘You’re going to tell me regardless, aren’t you?’

‘I need you to understand what you’re dealing with.’

She crossed her arms, relaxed her shoulders and waited for him to continue.

‘Popescu and Dragan tag-team every girl when they arrive.’

‘I hope that doesn’t mean what I think it does,’ she interrupted with distaste.

‘It’s exactly that and more.’

He paused a moment, wanting to see her reaction.

‘They beat them, strip them, and have sex with them. She said they threatened to kill her if she spoke to the cops. Also, Dragan likes to stick his Browning into his victim’s mouth and pull the trigger. The victims have no idea it’s not loaded.’

‘Ouch, nasty.’

She wished she had found something better to say.

‘I bet Dragan runs the day-to-day stuff, doesn’t he?’ she added with distaste.

‘As I said, Popescu stays far away from it.’

‘I suppose he plays the role of smiling nightclub owner, patron of the rich and famous.’

‘He has lots of them, and we’ve struggled to find evidence of anything illegal.’

Chapter 2

Frank took his customary seat in the conference room and looked at his team. He noticed Fran Drexler shooting glances at her colleagues. She was hoping someone would see her new hairstyle. Blouses, skirts and light makeup instead of jeans and baggy tops were her attempt to soften her appearance and deflect comments about her sexuality. It was still the nineteenth century, in some ways, he thought.

He also spotted Tony Costa staring at Fran’s cleavage while pretending to make notes. Recently divorced, he was again in the market. Frank thought about taking him on a night out he’d never forget.

Accepting a report from Dom Benson, he noticed a stain on his tie. His mother was away, he concluded, with an inward laugh. She’d never allowed him to go to work looking like that. He was invaluable as Frank’s research and IT specialist. He ignored his faded chinos and unshaven look, focusing on his contribution. The door opened, and Selina walked in. Her calm demeanour and confident face contrasted with her first week.

‘Sorry, sir,’ she said. ‘I was with Superintendent Frost.’

‘No problem,’ he replied. ‘We’re about to begin.’

Sharp eyes caught Trev’s disapproving look. He’d not yet worked out why but had an idea. His second in command felt threatened by a younger and more intelligent colleague. He thought about bolstering his confidence with more authority but decided he needed to grow up.

‘Morning, everyone,’ he began.

He expected the muted replies.

‘Let’s get the latest on Mihai Popescu, and then we can decide what’s next. Dom, you’re first.’

‘Well, boss,’ he began, moving his head from side to side. ‘I’ve finally received a criminal activity file from the Romanian police. So I’m working on a translation.’

‘That’s a step forward,’ he replied. ‘Let me have a copy when it’s finished, please.’

‘Will do, boss,’ he replied with a satisfied look.

Feigning a cheerful smile, he knew Dom’s work would not help them arrest and convict Popescu. He needed evidence of criminal activity in the country, not overseas, something that would convince a jury.

‘So, Tony,’ he continued. ‘How was your evening out?’

He’d sent him to Popescu’s nightclub on the proviso he took a date. He was disappointed that he was sitting alone in a corner when he turned up.

‘Yeah, it’s a cool place. Saw a few celebs, some of the Shortland Street cast and a newsreader. Unfortunately, I can’t remember his name. He does a radio talk show, I think.’

‘Did you see either of them?’

Dragan, no, but Popescu was around. He mixed with the VIPs, smiled a lot and behaved like the perfect host.’

‘Anything else?’ he asked with growing frustration.

‘Well, there was one thing. He had a girl with him, maybe nineteen or twenty. She was a stunner, tall, brunette, designer outfit. She looked miserable but said nothing. She hung onto his arm most of the time.’

‘Did you talk to her?’

‘Not a chance. She had a minder with her.’

‘Fair enough.’

He pretended to scribble a note as he cringed at the wasted resources.

‘Fran, you’re next.’

‘Thanks, Frank.’

There was no malice in her voice.

‘I talked to some of the waitresses, and they said Dragan’s always looking to hire. Staff turnover is through the roof.’

‘Did anyone mention why?’

‘It looks like he never leaves them alone. He sometimes gets physical and is always harassing them about supplying personal services. One of the girls I spoke to told him she would think about it, but he insisted on an immediate interview. He also mentioned his expectations. They were crude. Anyway, she was scared and wanted to quit.’

‘That’s interesting. Excellent work.’

Fran’s report added little to what they already knew. Imported girls were coerced into prostitution, just like local employees. His frustration grew. He felt