Blood Money

by J M Dalgliesh

  “Is that right?” Caslin said, inclining his head slightly. She was correct.

  “And yet, here you are.”

  “In the flesh,” Caslin stated, smiling.

  “I’ll spare you some time, Inspector but please be brief. I have a business to run.”

  “Yes, running an empire of prostitution, drugs and general racketeering can be time consuming can’t it?” Caslin countered.

  The smile faded, “My solicitors have your Chief Constable’s office on speed dial, Inspector. What do you want?”

  “Information,” Caslin stated.

  “From me?” she asked, taken aback. “The last person you drew information from within my organisation proved far from reliable.”

  “I can make it worth your while,” Caslin said.

  “How so?” Danika replied, sitting back in her chair. The curiosity piqued once again.

  “You and I both know I’ve been warned to stay away from you,” Caslin began. Danika nodded her affirmation. “And you and I both know that’s unlikely to happen.”

  “You are persistent, I’ll give you that,” she said. “What is it you are offering.”

  “How about a period of grace?” Caslin said.

  “Temporary?” she clarified. Caslin nodded. “So appealing, Inspector but not much of an offer. If I’m to be honest.”

  “Anything more than that would be a lie,” Caslin stated. “You know I think you’re a low life. One day I’ll take you down and anyone standing alongside,” he said, casting a glance to her right and meeting the gaze of who he perceived was her most trusted lieutenant. They stood, locked in a steely gaze until Danika broke it with her voice.

  “You offer little by way of favour, Inspector. I trust what you want is worth similar?”

  “Very astute,” Caslin said. “I want to know your connection with Thomas Grey?”

  “Ahh… I see, Thomas,” Danika stated, her face splitting a broad grin. “It is a fleeting one. He worked with my late husband on occasion rather than with me.” Caslin figured that to be truthful bearing in mind Grey had failed to materialise in his previous investigation of her affairs.

  “So why did he come to you?” Danika’s grin remained in place although the corners of her lips gave away the slightest tell that he had caught her off guard, if only a little.

  “Thomas always had the capacity to be sloppy. Most of the time he is prudent but when the pressure comes about, he has the capacity to make rash moves and that leaves him vulnerable.”

  “Likewise, anyone who he does business with?” Caslin queried.

  “Quite so, Inspector,” Danika said openly. “Hence why I do not.”

  “He is in trouble?”

  “Is that a question or a statement?” Danika countered.

  “That’s what I want you to tell me,” Caslin said honestly. “What did he want when he came to you?” Danika took a deep breath looking sideways to her associate who met her eye with an unreadable gaze. Caslin waited. She returned her focus to him.

  “Thomas wanted to know if I could help him.”

  “With what?”

  “I have connections. I know people,” she said as if that answered his question. Caslin’s expression indicated he wanted more. “It would appear, Thomas has fallen foul of those who you really want to stay on the right side of.”

  “Which people?”

  “The scary kind,” Danika said flatly. “The type you never want to meet.”

  “Even you?”

  “For some it’s an occupational hazard,” Danika said. “Thomas wanted my help to head them off.”

  “He wanted your protection?” Caslin asked.

  Danika laughed, “You have a very high opinion of my levels of influence, Inspector. As it happens, so did Thomas. No, he sought my intervention on his behalf.”

  “And what did you tell him?”

  “That… unfortunately… plans were already in motion,” she replied coldly. “There was nothing I could do for him.”

  “What plans?”

  “Of that, I cannot say.”

  “Or won’t?” Caslin pressed. Danika didn’t respond but Caslin had his answer. “Grey’s business has been struggling for a while now. Do you know why?”

  “I’m afraid you have exhausted my knowledge of Thomas Grey’s affairs, Inspector,” Danika said, “as well as my patience. No doubt we shall speak again but I trust it won’t be in the near future?”

  Caslin met her stare and held it. He was not going to get any more information than he already had despite a cast iron certainty she knew far more than she was letting on. Without doubt, Grey was in trouble. If Danika was frightened for him and bearing in mind what was happening to his associates, then he was on borrowed time.

  The meeting was over and Caslin was escorted from the office without a farewell and back out to the street. The door closed behind him and Caslin set off to his car. The thought occurred that perhaps the mysterious texts he was receiving were unrelated to Cory Walsh and directed towards Grey. His relationship with Walsh was low profile and he had kept it largely to himself.

  Despite the relationship Caslin endured with Kyle Broadfoot being somewhat fractious on occasion, his superior held his confidence and he had no reason to doubt him. Maybe he was reading more into the messages than he should have. Thomas Grey was in real jeopardy and his money troubles were the logical root cause. But who did he owe and where was the money? Caslin was looking forward to putting these questions to the man himself.

  Turning away from the main traffic route, the background noise level dropped and Caslin took out his mobile. He called Terry Holt at Fulford Road.

  “How are you getting on with that phone number I gave you last night?”

  “I have as much as I can for now,” Holt said apologetically. “It’s an unregistered burn phone purchased here in the UK.”

  Caslin wasn’t shocked, “What else can you tell me?”

  “With the help of the manufacturer and network provider I was able to track it through the supply chain back to where it was distributed and sold. It was purchased in London. Incidentally, that is where much of the network activity takes place. Other than that, it’s frequently used here in York. Sometimes both locations in the same week,” Holt explained.

  “Any particular location, here in York, I mean?”

  “It’s weird.”

  “How so?”

  “The only records I have place it in the city centre where there are multiple hits but nowhere else.”

  “What does that tell us?”

  Holt thought about it, “Either the owner lives in the city and never ventures out, always arriving by train…”

  “Plausible,” Caslin agreed. “Or?”

  “Or they switch the phone off whenever they leave the centre,” Holt concluded, “which is weird, if you ask me?”

  Caslin reflected for a moment, “Tell me, where is it now?”

  “It’s not currently active on the network, sir. But I’ve flagged it and should it be turned on, I’ll get a notification.”

  “Good work, Terry,” Caslin praised him.

  “Hunter’s here and wants a word,” Holt said as Caslin was about to hang up. The phone was passed over and Hunter’s voice was the next he heard.

  “We’ve had a package delivered, sir,” she said, excitement edging into her tone.

  “What is it?”

  “Miranda Michaelson. You remember Finlay’s widow?”

  “Yes of course. What about her?”

  “She turned up a copy of one of the photographs that were missing from the wall of her husband’s office. You remember? She really liked one of them and Finlay got her a copy but she’d forgotten all about it. We jogged her memory,” Hunter said. “I’ve scanned it and I’m emailing you a copy. You should get it any second.” Caslin flipped through to his email account on his phone.

  “Yes, I have it,” he said before downloading the attached file. “What about the other one that was missing?”<
br />
  “No such luck but she added that she thought it was a shot taken in the inner sanctum of Westminster but she still couldn’t recollect who Finlay was with.”

  Slowly, the picture revealed itself to him. It was as Miranda had originally described. A shot taken on a fishing trip somewhere in the Mediterranean.

  Five men, appearing as close friends, huddled together at the stern of the yacht brandishing their catches and grinning to the camera. On the right was Michaelson and next to him was a face Caslin didn’t recognise who had an arm around the shoulder of none other than Thomas Grey. The two remaining men, Caslin knew very well. On the far left stood the larger-than-life figure of Nestor Kuznetsov, grinning broadly. Alongside him was the familiar face of Cory Walsh.

  “Son of a bitch,” Caslin muttered.

  “What’s that, sir?” he heard Hunter say almost inaudibly. He brought the handset back to his ear, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over him. Not through his choice of language but more because he felt like an idiot. The realisation that he may have been played somewhere along the line.

  “Nothing. Don’t worry,” he replied, multiple scenarios cascading through his mind as he tried to bring everything together. He exhaled deeply. What the hell was going on?

  “We have some leads to follow up on. I’m going to try and find out who these guys are,” Hunter said, “along with where Grey, Michaelson and Kuznetsov tie in.”

  “Okay, great,” Caslin said, reluctant to offer his own take until he had something coherent to say. “Actually, I want you to pass that on to Terry Holt so you can meet me at Bootham Park. I’m on my way over there now. Tell him to focus on the old guy with his arm around Grey, would you?”

  “Why him, in particular?” Hunter asked.

  “Because I know who the other one is already,” Caslin said before hanging up.

  As he walked, Calin pieced together a timeline of events as he saw them. Michaelson, in his role at the Foreign Office, worked within business and trade relations. This brought him into contact with the likes of Walsh and Kuznetsov. Grey’s presence suggested investments in property deals. The logical follow through would be to assume they were possibly shady in origin or at least financed unconventionally. Michaelson however, from Caslin’s understanding, had made some inroads into something that he considered potentially unethical. What Caslin figured to be a reference to the Register of Members’ Interests. Furthermore, Walsh had been a vocal campaigner for transparency and good conduct in international business in recent years.

  The two scenarios were poles apart and yet somehow, they were enmeshed together. One thing was for certain, Kuznetsov had severe financial woes, being declared bankrupt and subsequently those within his sphere were finding similar events befalling them. Not least, several winding up dead in questionable circumstances. Apparently, while Kuznetsov was riding high so were those around him and similarly when he fell, the others went down like a domino effect. Caslin’s phone vibrated in his pocket.

  Taking it out, he saw a text message alert. It was from his unknown advisor. The message read – They know where he is. Protect him. Moments later, Holt was calling. Caslin answered.

  “Where is it, Terry?” Caslin asked. Holt was immediately thrown at the psychic abilities of his DI but gathered himself quickly.

  “Central London, sir,” Holt confirmed.

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “No, it’s already been switched off. The handset was active for less than a minute and sent a text-”

  “To me,” Caslin cut in. “It’s a warning. I think someone knows where Grey is and they’re looking to put him down… permanently. I think we need to take Thomas Grey into protective custody. Speak to Matheson and get some bodies over to Bootham Park and we can take it from there.”

  Caslin hung up and then scrolled through his contacts picking out a number and dialling it. He increased his pace. The phone rang at the other end and just as he was about to give up the call was answered.

  “I’m a little busy, Nathaniel. Can this wait?”

  “You lied to me!” Caslin stated, his tone one of controlled anger. “More than once.”

  “I guess it can’t,” Cory Walsh replied.

  Chapter 25

  “You told me you had no connection with Nestor Kuznetsov,” Caslin said aggressively, “and yet here I am, looking at a shot of the two of you holidaying together. You look pretty tight from where I’m standing.”

  “I was protecting myself… and you, for that matter,” Walsh countered.

  “Is that so?” Caslin said. “How does this fly for you? A business associate of yours, heavily into illegal money laundering and bribery turns up dead in suspicious circumstances. That doesn’t look good for the poster boy of international financial ethics does it?”

  “You’re getting carried away, Nathaniel,” Walsh said calmly.

  “Convince me,” Caslin challenged. “Give me a good reason not to have you arrested on suspicion of Kuznetsov’s murder.”

  “To my knowledge, Nestor’s death was a suicide.”

  “There are far too many Russian backed money-men killing themselves at the moment and all of them tied either to you or Nestor Kuznetsov,” Caslin said.

  “You’re quite right, Nathaniel. There are. I’ve tried my level best to keep my contacts safe and preferably out of sight until it was time to blow it wide open.”

  “Blow what wide open?”

  “Listen, this goes beyond simple money laundering, although that’s a major part of it. We’re talking billions of dollars in cash and assets. That’s what Nestor was. He enabled money to be funnelled out of Russia. Moscow imposed strict procedures to restrict the flow of capital out of the country. An exodus of money leaves the system vulnerable. People need to get creative in order to do that.”

  “Why do they have to?” Caslin asked.

  “Modern Russia doesn’t work like the United Kingdom, Nathaniel. Just because you have possession of money or assets it doesn’t mean you get to keep it. The rule of law is dictated by whoever holds the power. No, the only way you can keep what you have is hold it where they can’t touch it.”

  “You mean abroad?” Caslin clarified.

  “Exactly. Particularly in a country such as yours where the judicial system is almost incorruptible,” Walsh explained. Caslin reached his car, unlocked it and got in.

  “And Kuznetsov facilitated this?”

  “Yes. He was one of many who made a fortune off the back of state assets and used that to his benefit.”

  “So, you’re saying the Russian state are trying to get their money back?” Caslin asked, eliciting a chuckle from the other end of the line. That annoyed him.

  “It’s not their money. It’s the citizen’s money. The taxpayers,” Walsh went on, interpreting Caslin’s frustration and trying his best to elaborate. “Look, see the Russian Oligarchy as something of a game of thrones. The power shifts and coalesces behind different figures who each have a stake in the game. They are all after the same outcome - to obtain as much wealth and power as they can. To do so, they need to be on the right upward curve to do well. If you make a mistake, then your world can collapse around you.”

  “Like it did for Kuznetsov?” Caslin suggested.

  “Correct,” Walsh confirmed. “He cultivated his own network but overplayed his hand. The upshot was he had to leave the country but he didn’t stop.”

  “He lost out politically but his location in the UK meant he was in a perfect position to help others funnel money out of the country,” Caslin said. The clouds were clearing if only a little.

  “That’s right,” Walsh said.

  “His enemies want what he and his circle have and also to cut off his route for others.”

  “Yes,” Walsh said.

  “So why not just take out Kuznetsov? Why are they going after the others?” Caslin asked, feeling stupid.

  “Because Kuznetsov is one of many. How many wealthy Russians do you know who live i
n London, let alone elsewhere in the world?” Walsh explained. “They all need access to those with the skills to shift money around using a variety of methods. They take advantage of multiple shell companies, trust funds, hedge funds and the like. Not to mention investing heavily in real estate and infrastructure projects.

  You need a small army of people to pull this off. They have the skills. If you cut down the top man another will step in and utilise the network. No, they need to kill it dead and send a message to anyone else who thinks they might like a piece of that action. If you have the right skill set then you can join in. You may well draw fantastic wealth to you but it’s a high stakes business and ultimately the reciprocity for all that money is your blood… and maybe that of your family.”

  “Who are these enemies you speak of back in Russia?” Caslin asked. There was a pause at the other end and Caslin had to check that the line hadn’t been disconnected. It hadn’t. “Cory?”

  “In Russia, when you break it down there is ultimately only one man who wields that much power.”

  “You’re talking about the President?” Caslin said softly, not quite believing the words coming out of his mouth.

  “The richest man in the world bar none,” Walsh confirmed. “With his own worldwide network of people laundering money in plain sight.

  “Get out,” Caslin said, wanting to disbelieve him but knowing in his heart it was true.

  “Aided and abetted by non-Russian nationals the world over,” Walsh said. “They don’t just use their fellow citizens to do this but also utilise those more sympathetic to their goals.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “How much Russian money is there invested in the banking system or in the London property market? What do you think would happen if that was withdrawn? This isn’t hidden, Nathaniel. This is in plain sight as I keep telling you. That is why I kept you in the dark. It was as much for your protection as for that of me and my sources.”

  Caslin drew breath, “What of Thomas Grey?”