by Nick Louth
Gillard was still smiling and led his team out into the main atrium so that they stood right under the giant dagger of rock, the length of three cricket pitches. He pointed up five feet above his outstretched arm to the steel keel which was bolted into the limestone along its full length. There were several hundred fist-sized bolts that held the metal spine in place. ‘Over to you, Vikram.’
The tall Sikh stood under the rock and stretched out his arms. ‘In the Thomas Crown remake, a huge sculpture of a horse is delivered to an art gallery and stowed inside. During the night, thieves emerge from within the hollow statue and steal a painting.’
‘Ah, the old tale of the siege of Troy,’ Rob Townsend said.
This was an ‘aah’ moment for several of the detectives. ‘They’d still have to be in there, though, wouldn’t they, Vikram?’ Hoskins said, pointing at the rock. ‘Whoever killed Volkov and his mate haven’t had a chance to get out of the building.’
‘Well, that’s true.’
Townsend walked the entire length of the underside of the exhibit, then returned shaking his head sceptically. ‘If you put a secret compartment in there, you can’t afford to have these massive great bolts. And once it had been opened a couple of times, whatever methods had been used to conceal the cracks around the door would become more obvious.’
There were several nods from the assembled group.
‘If the exit were underneath, there would inevitably have been some ground floor debris,’ Gillard said. ‘Bits of limestone dust, extra footprints even. All we’ve got are some bits of plastic and some chewing gum, right?’
Singh nodded. ‘A bit of broken spectacles frame as well, I think.’
‘Well, we’ve got to crack it,’ Gillard said. ‘We can’t charge Oleg Volkov with murder when everybody saw him at the party. It’s a non-starter.’ He cut the crime tape at the bottom of the first staircase and led the team up to the window-side balcony. He asked them to spread themselves along and look down on the fossil.
‘I cannae see there being anything inside this rock except the bones of the wee creatures,’ Rainy said. ‘The lighting up here is very good, we’d definitely see something.’
Claire, who was down towards the head end of the creature, was leaning over the balcony squinting at something. ‘I can see something.’ She pointed and Gillard hurried along past his colleagues until he was standing next to her.
‘I think it’s a fragment of plastic, dark grey, in the hollow.’
Gillard followed the line of her outstretched finger and saw it too. A less than fingernail-sized piece. Vikram Singh had joined them and recognised what they were looking at. ‘I got a couple of bits of that already, landed on the ground floor underneath here. Think it might be a light fitting, hit by a bullet.’
Three cops looked fifteen feet above them to the recessed lighting in the ceiling. It was hard to see with the light still on and dazzling them, but there was no obvious sign of damage. ‘I’ll get a stepladder and have a closer look,’ Singh said.
A little further along the balcony there was another discussion taking place. Two of the female officers were asking Carl Hoskins questions.
‘What about luggage, Carl?’ Shireen asked. ‘You said you counted them all in and out again on the CCTV. But did somebody go in with a big heavy suitcase and leave without it?’
‘Or even leave with it, but empty,’ Claire said.
‘I don’t remember everyone who came in over the previous two days, I’d have to go back and take a look,’ Hoskins said. ‘But what I am sure of is that in the short time-window after the shots, and before CSI got here, no one went out with any kind of luggage. Certainly not anything big enough to contain a person. Sophie Cawkwell went in there with some photographic kit in the morning, followed by Anastasia and Wolf, but they were out by three. We had kitchen staff bringing in food in the morning for them and clearing away the leftovers by two p.m.’
The team fell silent for a moment. In that void, the vibration of Gillard’s phone seemed quite loud. Claire watched the puzzled look on his face as he looked at the caller ID before answering. She could tell immediately that something momentous had occurred, because his jaw began to sag, until his mouth was open. ‘Thank you,’ he said quietly to whoever the caller was.
He looked up.
‘Daniel Levin is dead.’
Chapter Fifteen
Gillard was grim-faced as he addressed his colleagues: ‘That was the Sussex Police control room. Levin’s camper van was found in a beauty spot in Sussex with a hose from the exhaust pipe into the vehicle,’ he said.
‘Sounds like suicide,’ said Michelle Tsu.
‘Yeah, as it’s meant to,’ said Carl Hoskins.
‘Levin was convinced he was going to be killed by the Russian government,’ Gillard said, then looked at his watch. Just after three p.m. ‘We really could do without this. Claire, I need you to go down and take a look, and make sure Sussex Police are treating it as a crime scene. Ring them first, ensure nobody touches anything.’
‘Okay,’ she said, as she began to make her way out of the library. ‘Rob,’ she called back, ‘looks like you’ll have to deal with Mary Hill alone. She’s due in five minutes at the chapel, so you best be on time. She’s quite a stickler for punctuality.’
There was some laughter as the young research officer rolled his eyes and left to meet the elderly verger.
Gillard thought back to his conversation that morning with the spooks. ‘Carl, one of the Volkov family bodyguards is called Jason Lefsky. I believe he is no longer at Westgrave Hall, and I want him traced.’ After what they had told him, Gillard was far from sure that they’d ever find Lefsky. From Gillard’s fleeting recollection, he didn’t quite match the artist’s impression of the Ghost that Levin had shown him, but at this stage it was the best that he had to go on.
‘I’ll speak to Wolf, he’ll know where he is,’ Hoskins replied.
The officers made their way hurriedly out of the library back towards the mobile incident room. The Khazi greeted them with its characteristic bad odour and droning fan. Gillard started by returning the call to Corrigan. The Special Branch officer owed him one on this. If Lefsky had killed Levin there was a good chance he was implicated in the murders of Volkov and Talin too. The spooks really should be sharing information with him. Fat chance. The call went to voicemail and he left a message. After he put the phone down, he blew a heavy sigh.
DC Rainy Macintosh was watching him. ‘Och, this wee investigation is busier than a Glasgow pub giving away free beer,’ she said.
Gillard nodded. ‘Well, in theory Levin’s death isn’t on our patch, but we’ve got to look for clues wherever we can find them. Let’s face it, we’re not making much progress here, are we? Despite having the murder weapon, every reasonable suspect seems to have an alibi, including Lefsky.’ He taped a copy of the artist’s impression of the Ghost plus a picture of the bodyguard to one of the whiteboards, and below listed everything that they knew about him. He was careful to leave off the background, which the spooks had reminded him was covered by the Official Secrets Act. Gillard was pretty sure that Corrigan and his friends at MI5 would already have a trace on Lefsky’s phone, and if they couldn’t catch him that way there was little chance of Surrey Police being able to. He spent the next half an hour consolidating his ever-expanding list of tasks.
His phone rang. It was DC Rob Townsend. ‘Sir, I’m standing in the chapel with Mary Hill.’
‘Ah yes, our redoubtable verger.’
‘I’ve just got out of the tunnel underneath. I’ve had the remote camera in on a two-hundred-metre cable, and I can confirm that the end is blocked by rubble behind a large grating. I think it’s impossible that anyone could have been using this passageway to get in and out to the library.’
‘All right, Rob, it was a long shot, but glad to have closed that possibility down,’ Gillard said. ‘The ground-penetrating radar kit is due to arrive on Monday, so that we can examine any evidence of tu
nnels from the library end. Perhaps I can ask you to take charge of it.’
‘I’ve already downloaded the manuals. It just seems to be a lawnmower-sized scanner on wheels that you push along the ground.’
‘I have every faith in you. But don’t forget your main task is still ploughing through all that electronic data on the various phones and laptops we seized. I need a result.’
‘Oleg Volkov’s archives alone are dozens of terabytes, sir. There are hundreds of hours of video. With the four specialist officers working full-time it’s still months of work, and so much of it is in Russian, and has to go through the translation app.’
‘Okay, Rob. Concentrate on Oleg. Forget the promo videos and stuff for his brand. I’m after messages that might show who he lent his gun to, or any motive for involvement in killing his father. See what you can get me by Monday.’
* * *
Oleg Volkov was ferried by Met Police van to Staines police station and booked in by the desk sergeant. He was already waiting with his solicitor in the station’s most intimidating basement interview room when Gillard arrived with DC Michelle Tsu at five o’clock. On the CCTV behind the sergeant’s desk they could see him fidgeting nervously on the chair next to his solicitor, biting his nails and running his hands through his hair.
The moment Gillard walked into the room Oleg leapt to his feet. ‘I was told I’d be released, so why are you holding me?’
‘There have been certain developments since your arrest,’ Gillard said. ‘However, you will be released on police bail once we’ve finished having a chat.’
Michelle prepared the official tape recorder, and the two officers sat opposite Oleg and his brief.
‘I just want to run through some of the things that we discussed earlier,’ Gillard began, asking for confirmation of address, nationality, occupation and the other formalities. Gillard passed across an eight-by-ten blow-up of the golden gun. ‘Now, is this your weapon?’
Oleg picked up the photo and nodded.
‘Can you please speak for the benefit of the tape,’ Michelle asked.
‘Yes, it’s mine.’
‘How did it come to be in Britain?’ Gillard asked.
‘It seems it was inadvertently shipped over with a load of my other stuff.’
‘You say inadvertently, did you pack it yourself?’
Oleg looked at Gillard as if he were mad. ‘No. I have staff to do stuff like that.’
‘You have professional weapons handlers?’
‘No, I mean it must’ve been in one of my bags that was loaded for some of the concierge staff when I came over from the States last time.’
‘You claim to be ignorant of its arrival, Mr Volkov, yet we have here a photograph of you posing with the same weapon in front of Westgrave Hall.’ Gillard passed across a glossy enlargement.
‘Like I said, that was Photoshopped. I’ve never touched the gun since it’s been in the UK.’
Gillard shrugged, and shuffled some papers. ‘Okay. Let’s talk about your Humvee. Would you say that vehicle is one of your favourites?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Where do you keep your keys?’
‘With me, most of the time.’
‘And the spares?’
‘In my apartment at Westgrave Hall.’
‘And that is normally locked?’
‘Yes.’
‘According to Wolf, he keeps most of the vehicle keys in his office. The Humvee is the one vehicle whose keys he rarely has. He says you don’t like anybody else to drive it.’
He shrugged. ‘Answer for the tape please,’ Michelle said.
‘That’s true, I suppose.’
‘The gun was found in the door compartment of your Humvee. Can you tell me how it came to be there?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Did you leave it there?’
‘No.’
‘Do you have any idea how it got there?’
‘Somebody planted it.’
‘Yet as you have admitted, no one has access to the keys to the vehicle except you.’
‘If I may interrupt,’ the solicitor said smoothly. ‘Can we put it on record that Surrey Police managed to access the vehicle, using the keys.’
‘By all means,’ Gillard replied. ‘Those keys were found in the interviewee’s bedroom.’
‘Then to say that no one has access but him is not factually true,’ the brief continued.
‘I’m talking about in the normal course of events,’ Gillard said, then turned back to Oleg. ‘Earlier today, we had fresh news about your gun. Ballistics tests by specialist police investigators have determined that this weapon was used to kill your own father, your mother’s partner Maxim Talin, and your father’s bodyguard Bryn Howell.’
Oleg looked stunned and turned to glare at his solicitor. If the brief was managing to beam any neat replies telepathically, Oleg certainly didn’t pick them up.
‘What do you have to say to this?’
‘On my life, it wasn’t me,’ he whispered. Asked for a louder repetition he shouted: ‘I didn’t do it!’
‘Then who did it?’
‘Someone who wants to frame me.’
‘Mr Volkov, you ask us to believe that your gun, which nobody knew was in the UK, was used by someone else to commit a crime and then slipped back into your locked car.’
‘Yes, that’s exactly what I want you to believe.’
‘Then who would you say this person is?’
‘My sister.’
‘Anastasia?’
‘Yes, she hates me. Or maybe her boyfriend, Jason.’
‘You mean Jason Lefsky, the bodyguard?’
‘Yes. A complete scumbag.’
Gillard exchanged a glance with Michelle, then said: ‘Both Anastasia and the bodyguard you refer to were outside the library when the shooting took place. We have several witness statements to that effect.’
Oleg stabbed his finger towards Gillard. ‘Yeah, and those same witnesses saw me outside too, but that doesn’t stop you accusing me of the crime.’
* * *
It was five p.m. by the time PC Simon Woodbridge returned to the Dorchester. As he emerged from Marble Arch tube station into the post-Christmas sale crowds, he felt his pulse racing. She had said she would be waiting for him there, in her late father’s suite. Woodbridge was in civvies, his uniform packed in a suitcase should he need it again that night. He felt awful about what he had been forced to do last night, but Jason had a hold over them both. The stories that Anastasia had told him about his violence and brutality turned his blood to ice. That Anastasia felt he could be her saviour was both flattering and terrifying.
‘If you can’t report him to the police, you have to kill him, Simon, for both our sakes.’ That’s what Anastasia had told Simon over the phone. And he was coming back tonight to hear what her plan was for doing it.
Just the thought of tackling the man turned his guts to water. Jason was a trained bodyguard. Anastasia said he was a crack shot left- or right-handed, a jujutsu instructor, and an Ironman veteran. Simon, by contrast, had taken two attempts to pass his police fitness test. His only physical qualifications were a Duckling swimming certificate gained at the age of five and the Duke of Edinburgh Award he took as a seventeen-year-old in Wales, during which a twelve-year-old girl helped rescue him from under his capsized canoe.
What were the alternatives? He had compromised his professionalism entirely. Not only with his entanglement with Anastasia, but by using his pass to get into an unmanned police station late last night. Following the text from Jason, Simon had used the ANPR system to locate a vehicle and had made a request for a mobile number cell tower trace from a service provider. He had made up an incident in case he was ever asked to justify the requests, but it wouldn’t survive detailed scrutiny.
His life was wired up with explosives, just waiting to be demolished.
Above all, he needed to get that video of him in Anastasia’s bedroom deleted. And the only way
was either money, or murder.
Simon trundled his suitcase down Park Lane and made his way through the grand entrance of the Dorchester Hotel. The moment he arrived at the reception desk and said who he was, he was treated like royalty. A bellboy whisked his suitcase from him and led him to the lift. Arriving at the door of Anastasia’s suite, Simon pressed a 50p piece into the hand of the porter. A momentary sneer was followed by: ‘Thank you so much, sir.’
She opened the door to his quiet knock. She was casually dressed in jeans, pullover and ankle boots, but with her hair done up and eye make-up, she looked fabulous. Once the door was closed, she kissed him passionately, her tongue hot inside his mouth.
‘Did you do what he asked?’ she whispered.
‘Yes.’
‘So we’re safe for now.’ She blew a huge sigh of relief.
‘The mobile phone data was patchy, so I hope it’s enough. Who is it Jason is trying to track down?’
‘I don’t know. He doesn’t share his plans.’
‘It must have been Jason who killed your father and his colleague,’ Simon said.
Anastasia shrugged. ‘I have thought about this many times. I spoke to Natasha, who was standing right outside the library on the bridge when it happened. She said Jason was with them when the shooting began. But I do know he despised my father and detested Bryn.’
‘Jason said he might need more information from me. Only then will he delete the video,’ Simon said. ‘But I don’t see how we can ever be sure he will do what he says.’
She kissed him again. ‘Simon, I have a plan. He’ll come back to me at some point, that’s when we have to do it.’
‘Does he know you’re here?’