A Matter Of Blood (The Dog-Faced Gods Trilogy)

by Sarah Pinborough

  Buildings were something that he understood. In the black months after Birmingham, he’d spent a lot of time studying architecture. He had needed the solidity of buildings, the reality of them, and he couldn’t shake that last instruction, to ‘look up’. His brow furrowed. Maybe when the place had been MI6 HQ they’d needed some separate floors for security purposes. The question was: what was The Bank using them for now?

  He was still staring upwards when he realised the plump figure of Maya Healey was about to scurry past. She jumped slightly as he reached out of the gloom and touched her arm, and even when she realised who it was, her face stayed tight with tension. She didn’t start to relax until they were sitting in a pub around the corner from her home, several safe miles from her place of employment. He couldn’t blame her. He was quite certain Mr Asher Bastard Red would not be impressed to learn she was meeting the troublesome policeman away from his watchful gaze.

  ‘Thanks for meeting me.’ Cass slid the large glass of white wine across the table to her. She’d asked for a Diet Coke, but he’d persuaded her that they should have a drink for Christian. She hadn’t argued. Cass wondered if Maya had ever argued with anyone in her life. He doubted it.

  A smiled flickered briefly as she clinked her glass quietly against Cass’s pint mug. ‘You don’t look like Christian,’ she said and a flush mottled her neck, as if perhaps she should have started the conversation with a more expected nicety.

  ‘We weren’t really very similar, in either looks or personality. I think he was the better man - in both departments, ’ Cass said, a little surprised at himself for revealing that.

  ‘He was a good man.’ Her smile stretched sadly. ‘He was a very good man. I shall miss him terribly.’ Her eyes flickered across his. ‘It must be awful for you. I can’t even imagine.’

  Cass nodded awkwardly. ‘That’s why I wanted to talk to you. To understand his life better. Did you work with him ever since he joined The Bank?’

  ‘Oh no, I worked with him before then.’ She took another sip, the alcohol or the mention of Christian relaxing her slightly. She was like a nervous cat creeping ever so slightly closer to an offered treat. ‘I was his assistant in his last job, when he was at McGowan’s.’ She leaned across the table slightly. ‘When he was asked to join The Bank, he insisted that I come too. I would never have got a job there otherwise. ’ Her face twisted bitterly. ‘I’m not their type.’

  Cass didn’t comment. There wasn’t anything he could say. Timid, she might be, but he doubted she was stupid. She was right: she probably wasn’t their type, but maybe one day she’d realise that that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. There were far worse things to be than ordinary. He smiled.

  ‘Well, Christian obviously valued you highly, and that’s worth more to me than The Bank’s opinion.’

  The flush rose higher on her neck and her eyes darted downwards. Cass swallowed a mouthful of beer. ‘Did you notice anything strange about Christian recently? Did he talk to you about anything that might have been bothering him?’

  A hand fluttered to her neck and the tightness formed again, wrinkling the thin skin around her eyes as they narrowed.

  Cass refused to drop his own eyes and let her off the hook. ‘Please, Maya. I’m his brother. I’m just trying to understand all this. He tried to speak to me and I wasn’t there for him, and now it’s haunting me.’ It was the truth, although Cass thought she’d run a mile if he mentioned the crimson drops on black lace-up shoes, but something must have resonated with her.

  She took another swallow of wine.

  ‘He did change. After Luke got sick.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He wanted to see the results of the medical tests and talk to the experts. The Bank insisted on treating him in their own centre, which they never did for me when I had to have my gall bladder removed.’ Again the bitterness threatened to twist her plump sweetness into something mean. ‘I know Luke’s better now . . .’ Her breath hitched as she realised the awful irony of her words, but Cass just nodded at her to continue. ‘At the time your brother was really worried.’

  Cass had a vague memory of Kate talking to Jessica on the phone, and him waving away the silent suggestion that maybe he should talk to Christian. He wasn’t good with illness. He couldn’t cope with it. It was better that Kate handled it.

  ‘It turned out to be anaemia, didn’t it?’ he said. ‘It was treatable.’

  ‘Yes, but at first they were worried that it was leukaemia.

  It was awful. Christian said that Jessica’s parents had both died young, from blood-based cancers, and of course it played on their minds that Luke had somehow inherited the potential for it.’

  Cass nodded, encouraging her to continue while he tried to ignore the pangs of guilt that were tearing at his heart. How had he missed all this? How had this little fat woman supported Christian more than he ever had?

  ‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘I think he did some research into the doctors’ names that were on the reports, but he couldn’t find anything out about them. He wanted to get a second opinion from a specialist at Charing Cross, but it caused quite a fuss and it never happened. They wouldn’t allow it.’

  Cass wondered if she realised that her voice had dropped to almost a whisper, even though there was no one close to them in the quiet pub.

  ‘He didn’t tell me what went on, but you know how it is in an office.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s easy to overhear the odd thing. Even in a place like The Bank, you just can’t help it sometimes. From what I could make out, I think he was told that there would be no second opinions, and that there was nothing to worry about. I sensed he was being pressured to feel grateful and not rock the boat. It didn’t stop him though. He tried to make an appointment for Luke through the private practice, but they wouldn’t do it. They said they had no appointments for at least six months.’

  She stopped to take a larger sip of her wine. She sounded more confident now. ‘Christian didn’t believe them. He thought they’d been told not to give him an appointment, and he couldn’t understand why.’

  ‘Did he tell you this?’

  ‘Yes, one night after work. When we were at McGowan’s, we’d quite often go out for a quick drink when we were done. We didn’t do it so often after the move, but about three months ago we did. Maybe a bit longer than that, I’m not sure. Luke was doing okay and the medicine seemed to be working, but Christian was obsessing about the way the whole thing had been handled. I’d noticed he was more agitated. He’d started to question instructions, and he was staying a bit later, digging around in the computer for God only knew what. I think to start with he was looking for the records of Luke’s medical costs, but I think it went beyond that after a while. I think he was trying to understand The Bank better.’

  She peered at Cass over her glass, making sure he was following. He was. ‘He’d never been sure why they’d headhunted him in the first place. I told him it was because he was brilliant with figures, which he was, but I think he convinced himself that there was something else going on.’ She paused. ‘I think he was getting a little paranoid.’ The blotches on her neck flared red at her own disloyalty.

  ‘Anyway, out of the blue about two months ago, he was told he was going on some kind of management weekend course. I didn’t know any of the details, which I found odd, as I was his personal assistant, but sometimes they’re just like that at The Bank. What I found stranger was that no one else seemed to be going - even Mr Red wasn’t invited. Christian thought maybe his opposite numbers from the other headquarters across the world would be there, but I never found out.’

  ‘Didn’t he tell you when he got back?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head, visibly upset. ‘He changed after that. He didn’t really talk to me about much any more. He just withdrew. He was quieter. He still stayed late, and I’m sure he was still doing his own research into the company, but he didn’t open up to me. He looked tired, and then he began taking long weekends. I wondered if ma
ybe Luke was ill again, but when I asked, he always said he was fine. After a while, I just stopped asking if he was okay, because it was pretty clear that whatever was bothering him, he didn’t want to talk to me about it.’ Her eyes brimmed with tears, but she carefully wiped them back. ‘Maybe I should have pushed harder. Shown him how much I cared.’

  Cass realised that Maya had been a little bit in love with Christian. He wondered if his brother had even noticed. Probably not.

  ‘You couldn’t have known. And if anyone should have been there for him, it should have been me.’ He paused, giving her time to collect herself. ‘There is one thing you could help me with though.’

  She looked up.

  ‘Just before he died, Christian asked you to find some information out for him about two accounts. He seemed to think that there was something slightly wrong about the transfers, I think?’

  Maya looked at him blankly and he pulled his phone out and found the numbers. He jotted them down on a piece of scrap paper, along with his own phone numbers, and slid it across to her. ‘It was in his emails to you. I saw them on his laptop.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t remember. We deal with so many different accounts.’

  ‘Could you have a look for me? Something about these two had obviously bothered Christian. And I just want to make sure that there’s nothing suspicious about them.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘if Christian had asked me for the details then I’ll have them to hand somewhere.’ The wine was obviously making her braver. ‘But tomorrow I’m in a meeting with Mr Red. It might be the afternoon before I can get back to you.’

  ‘That’s fine.’ Cass smiled. ‘I guess I’d better make sure you get home safe. If you need the loo before we go, I’ll keep an eye on your bag.’

  ‘I guess I can trust you.’ She smiled back at him. ‘You are a policeman, after all.’

  He waited until she’d disappeared around the corner before unzipping the large leather purse and rummaging inside it until he found the pass that she’d tucked into the inner pocket. Bingo. He quickly tucked it into his jacket and replaced the bag exactly as it had been. When he was done he’d drop the pass in the doorway on his way out, try to minimise the trouble she might get into. With any luck she would persuade herself that it must have fallen out of her bag somehow. He was abusing her trust, but he didn’t feel that bad. It was in a good cause - and after all, he’d done much worse in his time.

  Even though it was nearly eleven, there were still plenty of lights blazing out from the building. The Bank, with all its global interests to manage, was a company that obviously didn’t believe in sleep. Cass kept his head down slightly as he walked with brisk efficiency into the foyer. He gave the girl behind the desk a quick, confident smile which she returned with impersonal professionalism before returning to whatever was occupying her on the small computer screen.

  Maya’s pass let him through the clear barriers and he headed towards the lifts, half-expecting armed security guards to leap out of the stylish black central office and drag him out of the building. The heels of his shoes sounded louder against the marble than they had earlier, as if the building was aware of his illegitimate presence, even if the security team hadn’t yet noticed him. He waved the card again to call the lift and the doors slid open immediately. Inside, he pressed the button for the eleventh floor and wondered where in the panelling the security cameras might be. He stayed facing straight ahead. There was no point in worrying. If they decided to double-check if Maya Healey had been in the building, he was sure there would be no shortage of cameras showing his face. What he’d do then - well, he didn’t yet know. All that mattered right now was to get into the computer system and see what information on Bright and especially Solomon he could find. If he did find anything, then maybe the commissioner wouldn’t give a shit that he’d entered the building unauthorised. Or at least he could hope as much. Right now, his career wasn’t an issue. He just wanted answers.

  The quiet corridor was softly lit by silver spotlights embedded in the ceiling, and Cass hoped that the lack of any noise meant that all those who worked in this section had headed home for the night. He didn’t imagine that there were too many people with offices up here. There were few doors breaking the antique white walls, maybe six on either side. He made his way carefully to what had been his brother’s office. The door was open and he went in, closing it behind him. For a moment in the gloom he thought he saw a figure seated behind the desk, one dark arm rising to mimic making a phone call, but as he flicked the switch on the wall there was only the chair pushed in close behind the vast desk. No Christian. Just an echo of a memory.

  Aware that his intrusion could be noticed at any time, Cass flipped open the lid of the embedded computer and hit the power button. The screen lit up immediately and demanded a password. He typed in the number seventy-four and hit enter. Nothing happened. He tried again, this time with his own name. Again, nothing happened. Shit. The dawning realisation of how stupid he’d been slowly hit home. They hadn’t just wiped Christian’s personal files from the system; it looked like they’d wiped the whole computer clean. Of course they had. Why wouldn’t they?

  He thought of Maya Healey and the way he’d stolen her pass so thoughtlessly, and all for nothing, and then he looked at the pass again. Maybe it still had some use. He closed the screen down and went back into the corridor, carefully trying each door as he passed it, hoping that the plastic rectangle would open Maya Healey’s office when he found it. He’s seen that glimpse of love in her eyes earlier. If he was right, and if he could get to her computer, he’d be willing to bet she’d used his brother’s name as her password. Finally, the small panel next to one heavy wooden door flashed green. He smiled. The expression didn’t last. He turned the handle, but the door refused to budge. It was only when he peered closer, swearing quietly under his breath, that he realised there was a second lock: a good old-fashioned one that required a key. Bollocks. Whatever they did on the eleventh floor, they obviously didn’t want anyone unauthorised getting in.

  With nowhere else to go and his mood darkening, he recalled the lift. He’d fucked up big time; he’d just not thought the whole thing through properly. How the hell had he thought he was just going to waltz into The Bank and get into their system, simple as that? It had been fucking stupid. He pressed the ground-floor button and the machine slid into silent action.

  He was still silently cursing his own stupidity when the lift eased to a halt a few seconds later. He frowned. The lit button in the row above the double doors read five. His guts sank an inch. Great. Not only had he entered the head office of the world’s biggest financial institution under false pretences, and attempted - very badly - to hack into their computer system, but now he was stuck in the fucking lift. It was almost laughable. Whatever was left of his career was creeping away.

  The light on number five went out and a breath later the machine’s engine whirred. The lift was going up again. In the panel against the wall the ornate middle section that had jarred with him earlier in the day glowed green at its edges, as if a light underneath it had switched on. Was that some kind of concealed control button? But he hadn’t pressed it. Cass jabbed his finger on the ground-floor button, trying to override whatever command the machine was following, but the round disc remained grey. His heart thumped. Wherever this lift was going, he was along for the whole ride.

  Finally, it stopped. The green light behind the panel changed to a pale pink and the doors slid open. Cass’s hand automatically reached for the ground-floor button again, hoping to get the doors closed and moving again before anyone on the other side could either get in or recognise him, but he paused. There was no one waiting to get in, and as he looked out, he felt his feet moving forward. This wasn’t a floor like the others. This was very different indeed. He stepped out of the lift. Maybe his trip to The Bank wouldn’t be in vain after all.

  The wood beneath his feet shone cherry-red with age, and it absorbed his footsteps a
lmost as well as the carpet on Christian’s floor. To his right, beyond the low chesterfield sofas and armchairs that made a lounge from the middle section, rose a wall of books, their spines red and green and blue; books from an age ago that had only their titles embossed in gold on the front, to encourage readers to open them. Alongside the bookcase, a wide spiral staircase of burnished bronze led up to a second floor that was swallowed in darkness. His mouth dried.

  Pools of light shone out from various lamps creating a subdued, shadowy atmosphere so different from the sharp business floors below. Were they below? Or maybe they were above. Cass realised he had no idea exactly where in the building this place was. The heart of it, that’s where he was. Even through his shoes he could feel the quality of the vast rug that stretched over to the far wall, the pattern in reds and creams looking to his untutored eye like a vague blend of Oriental and Middle Eastern characters. Heavy velvet drapes the colour of claret hung from the ceiling to the floor, covering what Cass could only imagine would be a bank of glass windows from which most of London could be seen. He turned to his left. Two thick wooden doors framed an inset modern fire where blue and yellow flames flickered from the stones sitting within the square steel frame. It was the only thing Cass could see that looked like it belonged in the present century.

  He took a step closer and peered at the small bronze plaques attached to each door. His heart stopped and for a few seconds silence reigned completely, both within the network of his veins and in the stillness of the room. Mr Bright was embossed in black on one, and Mr Solomon in matching writing on the other. His heart burst back into life. Solomon and Bright, with offices here in the heart of The Bank . . . His mouth was dry, but his palms leaked hot sweat as he stepped to his left and pushed open the doorway into Mr Solomon’s room. He stared. It was a far cry from the filthy bedsit where they’d found the flies and the notebook. A thick red carpet, so dark it was almost as black as clotted blood, covered the wooden floor. A vast desk was the main centrepiece of the room, behind which sat three large plasma screens, side by side on the wall, their screens black, dead. The desk was cleared and the waste paper bin empty. On a low table in the corner sat a huge globe of faded yellow, the map lines of the world drawn in ink a hundred years or more before. A vast painting hung on the left-hand wall, and Cass stared. It was beautiful, and ignorant as he was about art, he knew without a doubt that it was the original.