Walsh sighed, “He’s a fixer. A damn good one.”
“A fixer?”
“Adept at moving money without setting off alarm bells. He is very skilled when it comes to property investments.”
“Tell me about Project Obmen? I believe it got Finlay Michaelson killed.”
“You’re not wrong,” Walsh said. “Obmen means interchange in Russian. It’s a large infrastructure project south of Moscow, part of the city’s expansion. Effectively building new districts projected to house upwards of two million people over the course of the next fifteen to twenty years.
You’re talking all utilities, public roads and railways, subway trains, leisure facilities. It’s one of the largest and most ambitious construction projects going on right now anywhere in the world.”
“How did this get Michaelson killed?”
“The details… I don’t know… and that’s the God’s honest truth, Nathaniel. Nestor was heavily invested against my advice. There was certainly a lot of money to be made but pulling it off in the Kremlin’s backyard was a big ask. Had they managed it, then that would have been one in the eye for the powerful and one hell of an embarrassment for the president. Nestor always had to push it that extra yard, you know? He overexposed himself and those around him.”
“And now they’re paying the price,” Caslin said.
“I wasn’t trying to fob you off, Nathaniel. I really am busy. I’m on my way to a meeting but we can talk more later if you want.”
“Okay. I’ll give you a call if I have time later today,” Caslin said. “Where are you anyway?”
“I’m giving a deposition around lunchtime. I’m travelling there now,” Walsh said. “Part of that whole blowing it open thing, I was telling you about.”
“Okay, take care of yourself and I’ll speak to you later,” Caslin said.
“I always do, Nathaniel. You know that,” Walsh replied and hung up.
Caslin put his mobile in his pocket and started the car. The scale of the investigation threatened to overwhelm him and now he understood why the case had been allocated for a swift closure.
Frosty international relations would take a turn decidedly for the worse if it became public knowledge that effectively, the Russian state was executing their enemies on British soil. From a political point of view, the loss of life to a few low-level criminals paled into insignificance in comparison to an international incident with a global power.
However, it wasn’t only criminals who were paying the price. Marat Kadyrov was a diligent investigator examining the theft of public assets and in his mind, until he found out otherwise, Finlay Michaelson was a civil servant doing his job. It didn’t matter how high the pyramid went, Caslin was damn sure no one would get a free pass if he had anything to do with it. Maybe those at the very top were out of his reach but there would be plenty in between who were not.
***
Taking the turn into Bootham Park, Caslin pulled up alongside Hunter’s car. It was empty, so he figured she was inside. Stepping out, he braced against the cold. The rain of the night before had passed to be replaced by an overcast day with a light wind. The temperature was low but at least the weather had lost some of its bite. He set off towards the entrance only to see Hunter emerge and walk in his direction with an expression like thunder.
“What’s going on?” Caslin asked as she got within hearing distance.
“They’ve only gone and bloody discharged him.”
“Since when?”
“Eight, this morning,” Hunter said barely concealing her anger.
“Can they do that?” Caslin asked.
“Apparently, he wasn’t sectioned. He self-presented and was therefore a voluntary in-patient. They carried out an assessment this morning and judged him not to be a danger to himself or others and let him out.”
“You have got to be bloody kidding me?” Caslin said. “He looked pretty dangerous last night when he took apart those nurses.”
“No one has filed a complaint and until they do, Grey is free to go,” Hunter said.
“Who picked him up?”
“He got a taxi,” Hunter said. “I don’t know where to but I’ve got the company name and I’ve given them a call to find out where he was dropped off. I’m waiting on them coming back to me. There was a shift change and the day staff don’t know.”
“I’ll bet it’s one of two places, either his apartment or the office. Put a call into ops and get Grey’s description out there. He is to be detained on sight for his own safety.”
“Sir?”
“I think his life is under threat. You head over to the office and I’ll go to his place. If the taxi firm get back to you let me know or meet me there, yeah?”
“Got it,” Hunter said and both of them got into their respective vehicles and set off.
Caslin remembered that Thomas Grey had a penthouse apartment in the city. He managed to keep it in the settlement following an acrimonious divorce from his wife during which he had spent three months in prison for failing to grant the court access to his finances. Knowing what he now knew, Caslin figured the reason for Grey’s refusal was obvious. The apartment was in the shadow of York Minster, in the heart of the city’s old town, not far from where Caslin lived in Kleiser’s Court.
Leaving his car in a side street, the remainder of the journey was spent negotiating the narrow streets impassable by car. Even in the grip of winter, tourists were beginning to congregate around the Minster for guided tours. Caslin brushed past them without apology such was his haste to get where he was going.
Grey’s residence was located in a converted brewery building, now a bespoke refurbishment of luxury apartments. Turning the corner, Caslin heard a muffled shout and looked up to see where it came from, only to see a body falling from above, arms flailing as he came down. Within seconds he hit the railings on the edge of the street with barely a sound.
Caslin broke into a sprint, covering the ground in a matter of seconds. Thomas Grey was stretched out before him, impaled with the points of three metal railings protruding from his abdomen. One passed through his right shoulder. The second pierced his left lung, back and front, with the third having punched through the thigh of his left leg. Caslin stepped forward, putting his arms under Grey’s body in a vain attempt to take the weight of the body and ease the draw of gravity. Grey convulsed, his body in spasm as he involuntarily spat blood from his mouth.
Realising the impossibility of his chosen course of action, Caslin tried his best to support him with one hand and call for help on his phone with the other. Blood was pouring from multiple wounds and seeping into Caslin’s clothes as well as onto his hands. The latter were slippery and he swore as his handset slipped out of his grasp.
“Hang in there, Thomas,” Caslin said under his breath.
“Bloody hell!” Hunter’s voice came from behind him. He was pleased to see her. The taxi firm must have confirmed the drop off to her and her arrival couldn’t have been better timed. “What can I do?”
“Get us some back up and call an ambulance,” Caslin barked, “and the Fire Brigade. They’ll need to cut him off these bloody spikes!” The weight of the businessman was not insignificant and supporting him was not a task Caslin was finding easy. A few passers-by came to see what the commotion was about and without being instructed ran over to assist Caslin. Between the three of them, they took Grey’s weight but what the latter knew of it was debatable. His body was going into shock.
Casting his eyes upwards, Caslin spied an open window on the top floor. That was where Grey had fallen from. Jumped or pushed, Caslin was unsure? He was itching to get upstairs and find out. Hunter got off the phone.
“They’re on their way. ETA five minutes,” she said before following Caslin’s gaze. “Did you see anyone?”
“Nope,” Caslin replied, his voice straining due to the physical exertion. Grey’s breathing was ragged and coming in gasps which in turn, were spacing further and further apart. Caslin alr
eady knew their efforts would be in vain. He looked up at the window again. “We need to get in there.”
“We need to wait for back up,” Hunter said, meeting his eye. Caslin knew that was what the rulebook said but hesitation only gave a would-be assailant those extra, precious seconds to make good their escape.
“I know. I would go…” he said, imploring her with his eyes. It was an order he couldn’t give. Hunter took a couple of steps towards the entrance only to stall a moment later. Looking back at him, he could see the fear in her face. She couldn’t hide it even if she wanted to.
“I… I’m sorry… I can’t,” she stammered. Caslin cursed under his breath and looked away. Sirens could be heard approaching from the south and a patrol car arrived alongside an appliance from the nearby Kent Street Fire Station. Caslin instructed the two police officers to assist the members of the public in supporting Grey and once he was sure the appliance crew were aware of their responsibilities, he detached himself and ran towards the entrance. Hunter followed.
Residents had come from within their apartments once they heard the sirens giving Caslin and Hunter access to the communal parts of the building. They located the stairwell and took the stairs two at a time. Caslin outpaced his detective sergeant and reached the threshold of the top floor nearly a full minute ahead of Hunter.
He approached the door to Grey’s flat and found it secure. Hunter arrived behind him and Caslin pointed to the locked door. She moved aside and he stepped back. A short two-step run up and Caslin drove the base of his foot at the lock. The first attempt was unsuccessful but with a second, the door began to give but wouldn’t break. A third attempt saw Caslin give in. It was a fire door and was unlikely to give way.
“I’ll be back,” Hunter said and took off down the stairs. Caslin tried to catch his breath. The exertion of the run and the efforts to break down the door were catching up with him. A few minutes later, Hunter reappeared with one of the firemen in tow. He carried with him a hydraulic ram. Hunter directed him to the door and he applied the cylinder to the lock. The pneumatic system was deployed and seconds later the door burst open as the locking mechanism gave way. Caslin pushed open the door and ran in, Hunter only a step behind.
Inside, the lounge area was a scene of devastation. The coffee table was overturned, whatever had been upon it was now scattered across the floor. Two chairs were upended and there was broken glass sprayed out in a radius of roughly a metre. Hunter looked to Caslin.
“Fight?”
He shrugged, “Possibly. Careful what you touch.” He made his way over to the open window and looked out. The paramedics had arrived and were clearly trying to stabilise Grey while the appliance crew set up their cutting gear. It looked as if Grey was still alive. At least, for now. Caslin found his attention drawn to the exterior window ledge. It was crafted from stone and was original to the building, garnering the build-up of debris one might expect. There were eight distinct lines that he could make out, almost as if they were gouged out of the natural accumulation on the stone.
“What do you see?” Hunter asked, coming to join him. He pointed out the marks. “What do you make of that?”
“I heard a shout or a muffled scream, I’m not sure which just as I rounded the corner to see Grey falling.”
“My God, that’s awful. Do you think he may have jumped?” Hunter asked. Caslin pointed to the marks again.
“I don’t know of many suicides where the victim shouts or screams before the fall and fewer still who cling onto the window ledge to preserve their life that bit longer. Do you?”
“No,” Hunter said. “And you didn’t see anyone?”
“No,” Caslin reiterated. Pressing his fingers against his eyes, Caslin cursed.
“Where do we go from here?” Hunter asked. Caslin shook his head. His phone beeped and he saw another text. Feeling thoroughly deflated, he opened it – You must protect hm. Why aren’t you acting? Caslin shook his head and typed out a reply – It’s too late. They’ve already got to Grey. The response came back immediately and it was angry – They were always going to get to Grey. He was dead months ago, he just didn’t know it. Why aren’t you in London??? I told you they know where he will be…
Caslin looked out of the window at the scene below. The frenetic activity had ceased. Grey was still impaled on the railings and it was clear that he had passed away. Caslin was crestfallen. Turning his thoughts back to the spate of texts, he called Terry Holt back at Fulford Road.
“Yes, sir. What can I do for you?”
“You tracked this mobile for me. You said it was in York and London but never left the city centre?”
“Right,” Holt confirmed.
“Where does it report most frequently in London?”
“Wait one and I’ll check,” Holt said. Caslin cast Hunter a glance and she was curious as to where he was going with the inquiry. “The area the phone connects to the network towers is triangulated in central London, between the Embankment, Leicester Square and… Holborn. I’m sorry, sir, my knowledge of London’s geography is sketchy. I don’t know where that is.”
“That’s where you spend your time if you have a bit of money,” Caslin offered. “Tourist central at the weekends but…”
“What are you thinking?” Hunter asked.
“Where does Raisa study?” Caslin asked.
“Kuznetsova?” Hunter clarified. Caslin nodded. “At the London School of Economics, I think. Why?”
“That’s on the edge of Covent Garden.”
“So?” Hunter asked.
“If you were studying at the LSE, and you had a bit of money behind you, you might choose to live in Covent Garden which is slap bang in the middle of the area Terry just gave me. I would live there if it were me and I had Raisa’s background.”
“You think she’s what… the source?” Hunter asked.
“The other guy in the photograph, Cory Walsh,” Caslin explained. “He campaigns against financial fraud. He was a friend of Nestor Kuznetsov’s and I believe the latter was feeding him information as was Marat Kadyrov and possibly, Finlay Michaelson. It may be what got them killed.”
“And this Walsh… they’re taking out his sources? He must have some powerful enemies.”
“Trust me, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you the half of it but yes, it’s a distinct possibility. Terry,” Caslin turned his attention back to his phone, “are you still there?”
“I’m still here.”
“Is the handset active?”
“Erm… yes. It is,” Holt confirmed. “Heading south along the Victoria Embankment.”
“Terry, get me a helicopter.”
“I beg your pardon?” Holt said with obvious surprise.
“Get onto the National Police Air Service and get me a chopper, now. And tell them to make sure it’s fuelled. Don’t take no for an answer. Then I want you to route me a call through to Niall Montgomerie. He’s the commander of the MET’s Counter Terrorism Unit.”
“Leave it with me,” Holt said and hung up. He didn’t know what was going on but he knew better than to question his superior once a course of action was set.
Turning to Hunter, Caslin said, “Come on. They can pick us up from Dean’s Park. That’s the closest place they can safely land a helicopter.”
“Where the hell are we going?” Hunter asked.
“We’re off to London…” Caslin said before adding, “to see the Queen.” He said the last with such a straight face, Hunter had no idea whether he was serious or not but she fell into step, regardless.
Chapter 26
Caslin’s phone rang as the distinctive sound of rotor blades could be heard approaching from the west.
“Caslin,” he said. It was Terry Holt.
“I have Commander Montgomerie for you, sir. I’ll patch you through.” The line beeped and Caslin knew they were connected.
“Commander, I don’t have a lot of time so I’ll need to keep this brief,” he began.
“Go ah
ead, Inspector.”
“I have a real and present threat against the life of Cory Walsh, obtained from a credible source,” Caslin explained. “Walsh is due in Parliament today to deliver a deposition. I understand from my source that an attack is highly likely.”
“That’s one of the most protected complexes in the country. How will they manage that?”
“I don’t have the details, sir but my guess is that Walsh’s campaign relies upon a degree of media coverage to keep it in the mainstream. He is unlikely to enter Parliament by way of the back door. This is one occasion where he will want to be high profile and visible,” Caslin said, raising his voice to counter the incredible noise coming from the twin engines of the descending helicopter.
“Who is your source?” Montgomerie asked.
“I would prefer not to say at this stage, sir. I believe she is under duress and with what she knows I imagine the hit team are keeping her very close by. That’s why my contact with her has been sporadic and limited. She is already in the area and if she is, then so are they. DC Holt can provide you with jackets on the suspects and DS Hunter and I are en route to London. Walsh is due to appear at lunchtime.”
“Perhaps we should contact him and postpone his appearance?”
“I’ll guarantee he won’t go for that, sir,” Caslin practically shouted as he made his way to the waiting helicopter, stooping to avoid the downdraft of the spinning blades. “Besides, if we postpone, so will they. At least on this occasion we’ll have the drop on them.”
“Call me when you land,” Montgomerie stated. Caslin cancelled the call and made up the short distance remaining to the helicopter. The officer seated in the rear opened the door looking first to Hunter and then Caslin.
“No one’s told us where we’re going,” he said, looking confused.
“Well, you and your co-pilot friend are staying here,” Caslin stated, pointing to the front and indicating one of the pilots to disembark.
“You can’t leave us here,” the man said.
“Yes, I think you’ll find I can… out,” he said firmly. Hunter glanced at him.
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