Volkovsky smiled ironically. “Perhaps. But I rather doubt it’s for that reason. Getting a result might be good for a man’s morale but it does little for more important considerations.”
She stared. “I don’t understand.”
He sighed. “Helen, my godson is rich. Very rich. A tempting target for a man who is not paid very much.”
Helen’s eyes widened. “Do you mean that policeman might be trying to blackmail Alexey in some way?”
“The thought has crossed my mind. As a Russian I’m ashamed to admit it, but our police don’t have a very high reputation. Why come all the way here, on his own, when he could have summoned Alexey for official questioning in Moscow? It has a strong smell of corruption to me.”
“Oh my God.” Helen looked around, wildly. “What are we going to do?”
“I would call his superior in Moscow but I can’t be sure he isn’t on it too. These things have happened before. We’re going to have to sit tight and wait to hear what Lyosha has to say. If the man has made that kind of approach to him, we can act then.”
“And do what? If all the police are corrupt …”
“There are other ways.” He gave a faint smile. “I’ve not been the general manager of a successful investigative agency for nothing. Everyone has a weak spot, Helen. This man will have one too, and we’ll find it, and use it against him.” His voice was hard, his eyes cold. Thank God he’s on Alexey’s side, Helen thought. I wouldn’t want to be in that policeman’s shoes!
At that moment the door opened and Alexey came in. There was an odd expression on his face. “Are you okay?” said Helen.
“Yes. No.” He sat on the sofa next to her and took her hand. “At least I …”
Volkovsky interrupted. “Where is he, Lyosha?”
“Gone to the bathroom.”
Volkovsky said, softly, in English, “How much?”
Both Helen and Alexey looked at him, startled. Alexey said, “How much what?”
“How much money did he ask for in return for not spreading lies about you?”
“Money? Spreading lies? About what?”
Helen cried, “Did he – did he accuse you of anything?”
He looked at her. “He did at first. But that was just a lead-in to other things.”
“To blackmailing you,” said Volkovsky.
Alexey shook his head. “No. No. You’ve got it wrong, Kolya. He wanted to know if I was aware of a project – or a person – code-named Koldun.”
Helen saw the astonished expression that passed over Volkovsky’s face. “But he asked us about that already. I mean, the staff at the Trinity office,” he explained.
Alexey frowned. “You didn’t tell me that, Kolya.”
“No. I’m sorry. But he asked so many questions, and that was just a tiny part of it.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter, anyway. I told him the truth – that I had no idea. And then he asked me all sorts of questions about Dad. About whether he had any interest in the occult.”
“What?” said Helen.
Alexey explained, “Koldun means sorcerer in Russian.”
“It was just a code-name, surely,” said Volkovsky, slowly.
“He seems to think it means something more. He’s looking into the possibility that Dad and his partners may have secretly decided to employ a sorcerer as a consultant.”
Astounded, Helen said, “What? I know you said magic is a big thing in Russia. But they were running a business!”
Alexey and Volkovsky looked at each other. It was the Trinity manager who said, calmly, “I personally know of several companies that use the services of occult practitioners of various types, either on a retainer or for the occasional consultation.”
Helen couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You mean a business would actually get someone to read their stars or cast a spell or … all that sort of stuff? But that’s crazy!”
“No, Helen,” said Alexey, gently. “It’s just the way it is. You use whatever advantage you can in business. Why not that as well? We Russians discount nothing.”
Helen was speechless. It was one thing to learn to accept the mysterious in ordinary life, but quite another to cope with the idea of a sorcerer in the hard-headed world of business. For the first time since meeting Alexey, she felt impossibly foreign. And it wasn’t just his calm reaction to the idea that stunned her. It was that the shrewd, down-to-earth Volkovsky hadn’t flinched either, and that the theory had actually been put to them by a policeman.
“Don’t worry,” Alexey said, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “We don’t necessarily think that’s what happened. And Dad wasn’t normally the type to have any truck with such things. But then the policeman jogged my memory about something.” And he explained about the psychic’s card.
“But he might have been just consulting the psychic for a personal matter,” said Helen, bemused.
“He might. Of course,” put in Volkovsky, smoothly. “I can personally guarantee that there’s never been a sorcerer or any other psychic on our books at Trinity. But, of course, there were things we didn’t know about. So we can’t rule it out.” He turned to Alexey. “You really don’t recall the name of that ekstrasens?”
Alexey shook his head. “I’ve been racking my brains, but nothing comes up.”
“If that policeman’s theory is correct, then your father might have been, shall we say, exploring possibilities for Trinity. You’re right that he’d never shown interest before, but things can change. And your father was highly intelligent and flexible in his thinking.”
Alexey gave a sideways glance at Helen. “He was willing to try anything. I know. But he wasn’t alone in Trinity.”
Helen was slowly getting used to the idea. “Yes, wouldn’t his partners object?” she asked.
Volkovsky shrugged. “Not necessarily. Barsukov was a thorough cynic in these matters, but Galkin had a certain interest. He consulted an astrologer sometimes, I believe. And where Ivan Mikhailovich led, the other two followed. He’d have persuaded them.” He paused, and his tone suddenly changed. “But don’t you think that policeman’s been rather a long time in the bathroom?”
Startled, Alexey and Helen looked at him. She whispered, “Do you think he’s snooping?”
“Yes. He’s either not convinced you’ve told him the truth, Alexey. Or he thinks he might find something here which will back up his theory. Something he does not intend to share. Did he explain to you why he came alone?”
Alexey shook his head. “No. Is that important?”
“It could be. I rather suspect that our friend the senior lieutenant had to come alone because he isn’t acting in an official capacity.”
Somewhat glad to be back on solid, understandable ground, Helen said, “You mean, he might still be looking to blackmail?”
“It’s possible.” Volkovsky took a cell phone from his pocket. “I stored Serebrov’s office number here after the first interview, on his request.” He hit the number, and spoke, briefly. “Spasiba,” he said, finishing the call. His eyes shone. “We’ve got him, my friends. When I asked to speak to Senior Lieutenant Serebrov, I was told that he was on two weeks leave. Now why would a policeman be wasting his holidays working on a case he should have left at the office? There must be something in it for him. A kickback of some sort. Not money, perhaps. For his own reasons, he wants to get his hands on Koldun, whatever or whoever it is, and he thinks it might be here. You remember what Lebedev said to us today, Lyosha, don’t you?”
“About the rumor of something big that had been brewing in Trinity? Yes, but he’s a liar and a fantasist. You know that.”
“Yes. But even such people can accidentally hit on a shred of truth. And it’s Koldun that’s brought this officer to your door, alone. Why, we’ll have to ask him that directly,” said Volkovsky, cheerfully. “Ah! I think it will be most enjoyable turning the tables on our dear beloved militsiya, don’t you?”
Chapter 13
Volkovsky jerked his
head at Slava, who had come upstairs with them. The bodyguard nodded, and drew out a handgun from his inside jacket pocket. Helen held her breath as Slava quietly turned the handle of the door. Alexey gripped her hand, tightly. Only Volkovsky and Slava seemed perfectly calm.
The policeman was sitting on the bed, his back to the door, carefully examining something. So intent was he that he did not turn until it was too late, and Slava did not give him a chance to make good his mistake. With the gun in his back, there was nothing the policeman could do but turn to face the others. He spat something in Russian. There was no need to know the words to know what they meant. What do you think you’re doing, you bastards?
Volkovsky smiled, but didn’t reply. He walked over to where the policeman had been sitting, and bent down to pick up the thing Serebrov had been examining. He held it up so the others could see. It was a small digital camera. Looking at the detective, he raised an eyebrow. Serebrov shrugged but said nothing.
Volkovsky turned on the camera, and hit the button to replay the stored photos. There were about two dozen of them, and they were all of the house and the grounds. Many were of very poor quality, hazily focused and taken at odd angles. Alexey said, blankly, in English, “What the hell …”
Volkovsky spoke to the policeman, who made a brief answer. Despite his predicament – and the gun in his ribs – Helen thought he did not look at all frightened.
Alexey said something sharp in Russian. The detective gave him a shrewd glance. He nodded. “Da.”
“He’s lying, Lyosha,” said Volkovsky, in English. “It’s got to be his camera.”
Alexey shook his head. “No. Dad bought a camera exactly like this last year, just before one of his trips back here. But why would he have bothered to take these sorts of photos? It wasn’t like him to …”
Volkovsky said, “Wait.” He spoke harshly to Serebrov. Helen thought the detective didn’t appreciate whatever line of questioning the other man was pursuing, for his hazel eyes gleamed dangerously. But he answered calmly enough, in laconic phrases.
“Kolya, I really don’t think he is working for gangsters,” said Alexey, in English, so Helen now knew what Volkovsky had said. “If he was, he’d have had back-up of some sort.”
“Maybe, but you know he tricked his way in here,” said Volkovsky, sharply. “He’s not on the case. He’s on leave. If he’s not working for a Trinity-hungry gangster, then he’s up to mischief on his own account.”
Alexey didn’t reply. Instead, he spoke rapidly in Russian to the policeman, who looked at him for an instant. Then Serebrov said, precisely, quietly, in accented but good English, “Yes. That is so. I was transferred from the case. Indeed it’s been transferred from my department altogether.”
You could have heard a pin drop. Slava’s gun wavered for an instant. But the policeman did not even attempt to free himself.
“You speak English,” said Volkovsky, accusingly.
“A little. I studied it at university.”
“University? But you’re a policeman.”
Serebrov gave a faint smile. “Yes. That is so.” He turned to Alexey. “You are correct in your assessment. I have taken the law into my own hands because I do not believe in white-washing a failure of justice.”
“Well, well, well,” said Volkovsky, with an incredulous expression, “an idealistic policeman! Wonders will never cease.”
“Oh, not idealistic. Just tired of being lied to.”
“If lying offends you so,” said Volkovsky, with an ironic lift of the eyebrows, “then you will tell us the whole truth about what you were doing here, and what you thought you’d find in the bedroom of a dead man. The house was already searched by the local police.”
“Yes, but not thoroughly,” said Serebrov. “There was no reason to – it was known no computer files or documents were kept here, and Makarov had not been back to the house for many months before his death.”
“So why do it now?” said Alexey.
“Call off your guard dog, if you want me to answer any more questions.”
“You can’t give orders around here, Senior Lieutenant,” began Volkovsky, angrily, but Alexey cut him off.
Walking closer to Serebrov, he said, “Give me your hand.”
The policeman’s eyes narrowed. Helen thought he might refuse. Then he shrugged, and held out a hand. They shook, and Helen saw Alexey’s wary expression relax, and something like surprise flicker over Serebrov’s face. Alexey turned to Slava, gesturing him to step aside.
Volkovsky said, urgently, “Lyosha, wait …”
Alexey took no notice. He spoke sharply in Russian to Slava. The bodyguard looked at Volkovsky, who shrugged. He lowered the gun and stepped away reluctantly. The policeman looked pointedly at the bodyguard. Alexey understood. He waved Slava out of the room.
The bodyguard left, but hovered just beyond the doorway, uncertainly. He didn’t understand Alexey’s attitude, Helen thought, and, meeting Volkovsky’s eyes, she knew he too had reservations. She thought of how last night, when she’d seen Serebrov from her window, he’d reminded her of a forest predator. How did they know that wasn’t what he was, police or no police? What did any of them really know about the man’s motives, apart from what he’d chosen to tell them?
The detective picked up the camera, and addressing Alexey alone, but still in English, said, quietly, as if continuing an interrupted conversation, “I was sure that the answer to the riddle of your father’s death, and those of his partners, lay somewhere in the secret jobs they’d taken on. I knew there was no paper or computer trail of those. But I was also sure your father, being a cautious man, wouldn’t obliterate all traces of important business, even that which had to remain a secret. I came here because I thought he might have told you, Alexey Ivanovich, even in a riddle which you may not have understood at the time.”
“He didn’t,” said Alexey.
“I know that now, yes. But after we spoke just now, and you told me of that card in your father’s book, another idea struck me.” He paused.
He said he spoke a little English! Helen thought. That was definitely a lie. She must have been rather obviously staring at him, because he darted a hostile glance at her.
Then Serebrov went on, “Unless you physically obliterate a computer hard drive you can always find files, even if deleted. Paper files are more difficult to discover, as long as they are typed or written by hand, and not printed on computer. I believe the Koldun file was originally a paper file, which was destroyed. But today it struck me that another copy might have been made. That the file might have been photographed in its entirety, and stored in another medium. So that’s when I went looking. And I found this.” He held up the camera, pressed on its side, and ejected a tiny memory card.
They stared at him. Alexey was the first to speak. “I don’t understand. Those photos we saw, they’re not of a secret file.”
“No. Of course not. They are a decoy,” said Maxim Serebrov, calmly. “I was looking for a small digital camera, and I found one. I did not expect to find the files easily. Your father was neither stupid nor careless, Alexey Ivanovich.”
“I don’t know much about digital cameras,” said Volkovsky, impatiently, “but I do know that you can’t have hidden photos on a card. Either these mysterious photos of yours are there on this card – or they’re not.”
“You are correct, Nikolai Pavlovich. They are not,” said Serebrov, meeting his eyes.
“Then what?”
“The small internal memory of the camera is filled with the same kinds of photos. I checked. And this card has been placed in it to draw suspicion away, in case some snooper wondered why there wasn’t a card in it. I think there must be another memory card. For otherwise, why take such useless pictures? The card I hoped to find, with the secret files, must be concealed elsewhere.”
“Here?” said Alexey.
“Perhaps. Or perhaps in Moscow. His apartment. His office.”
“We have an office in St Petersbu
rg too,” said Alexey, eagerly.
Serebrov shrugged. “It could be in any of these places. I don’t know. All I know is that it doesn’t require much of a hiding place. Look how tiny such a card is.”
Helen spoke for the first time, and all eyes turned on her. “But why do you think the card is in Russia? Because if I understand your theory correctly, the paper files must have been in Australia, and Mr. Makarov shredded them before he died. Why wouldn’t he have kept the memory card there too?”
Maxim Serebrov gave her a sharp glance. “Alexey Ivanovich has already told us his father bought the camera before a trip to Russia. I believe he took photos of the original documents before he left. Then he kept the documents in Australia and brought the photos here, on the memory card, to be put in a secure hiding place. At the time, he did not realize he was in danger. He was merely following an instinct that he must keep the copies in different places.” He turned to Alexey. “Was this trip of his before Barsukov’s death – that is, before last August?”
Alexey said, “Yes. I remember because there was a concert I was in at the Conservatorium. Dad had been invited. But then he had to go to Russia.” He paused. “You are saying, then, that you think my father was killed because someone was after the Koldun file?”
Serebrov said, “I’m not sure. It is a theory only.”
“A man came to see us today,” said Alexey, with a glance at Volkovsky. “A low-life petty criminal with no reliability or credibility whatsoever. He’d told us he had some information on the break-in.”
“What break-in?” snapped Serebrov.
“Someone tried to get into our Petersburg office a week or two ago,” said Volkovsky.
“Did you inform the police?” asked Serebrov, sharply.
“It didn’t seem worth the bother,” said Alexey, smoothly, with another glance at Volkovsky. “Nothing was taken. They didn’t even manage to get in. Anyway, what I was going to say was that this man Lebedev claimed to have information as to who might be behind it. Turned out he was having us on. Scamming us,” he explained, when Serebrov looked a little puzzled. “But he did say something interesting, that might fit in with what you say. He said rumor had it something big had been brewing in Trinity.”
Trinity: The Koldun Code (Book 1) Page 12