Trinity: The Koldun Code (Book 1) Page 19

  “You are quite sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure.

  “When did your friend Lev die?”

  She answered, promptly, “June last year. The fifteenth of June.”

  “Two months before Barsukov’s death, then.”

  “Yes. But like I told you, at the time I never thought that there was any connection. He was old. The escalators are long, steep. He slipped. It happens. Or so I thought. Until Makarov came calling.”

  Suddenly, he felt very sorry for her. He said, gently, “I can look into the case. Into your friend’s death.”

  She looked quickly at him. “Thank you. But there’s no point. The man who had him killed is dead.”

  “We don’t know for sure it was Makarov. It might still be worth checking out. What was Lev’s full name and date of birth?”

  “His surname was Kirov. Lev Grigorevich Kirov. I don’t know his exact date of birth, but he was nearly eighty when he died. A grand old age. Not many of us live to that age.”

  “Mmm,” said Maxim. “And his old address and phone number?”

  She gave it to him, and he wrote it down, though now the man was dead, it wouldn’t be of much use. “Did he have a visiting card? A business card, I mean?”

  “Yes,” she said. “But it wasn’t much good. Done on the cheap, you know. On one of those old-fashioned Roneo machines. I kept at him to change it, but he wouldn’t. He was unworldly, poor Lev. Didn’t realize these days you needed something showier.”

  Flimsy paper, smudged type, Roneo style, he thought, remembering Alexey’s description. Yes. There could be no lingering doubt it was Lev Kirov whom Alexey’s father had gone to see. Getting up, he said, “Anna Feodorovna, I must go. But I’d like to thank you. You have been very helpful indeed, and I had no right to expect that.”

  She shot him a surprised look. But all she said was, “You’re welcome.”

  “One more thing – your kind of people. You must know a great many.”

  “My kind of people?” she said, with a raised eyebrow.

  Maxim said, quickly, “Sorry. I mean, psychics. Witches. Wizards. Aura-readers. Healers. And …”

  “Et cetera,” she finished, deftly. “Yes, Senior Lieutenant, I do.”

  “I’d like a list of the people in Moscow that you consider best in each … special field.”

  Her eyes were sharp. “Yes. A wealthy businessman like Makarov would only have gone to the best to follow up on his discovery. And what about the tendency?” He looked confused, so she added, “White magic, or black magic?”

  He swallowed. What was he getting himself into? If anyone in the department found out about this, he’d be a laughing-stock. “Er – both.”

  “Very well.”

  He took his notebook out of his pocket, scribbled down his name and cell phone number. “Call me when it’s ready. And please …”

  “I know. Don’t tell anyone,” she finished for him, with a smile. “You can count on me for that, Senior Lieutenant Serebrov.”

  *

  On his way to Chekushkin’s place, Maxim’s phone rang. It was his pal in immigration, with the information he’d asked for.

  “The girl Helen Anna Clement came into the country with her mother direct from Britain about two weeks ago,” said the man. “Their visa expires in four weeks. The girl has never been to Russia before. Her mother, however, has been before, there is a record of a visa for her about two years ago.”

  Maxim’s ears pricked up. “Did the mother fly direct from Britain back then? Or France, perhaps?”

  “I thought you’d ask that, so I checked. She didn’t come straight from Britain. Or France. And she didn’t fly. She came in by train.”

  “Did she come in to Petersburg from Finland by any chance?” said Maxim, eagerly. Finland was where Galkin had been killed, and the time frame was right.

  “No. Into Moscow, overland from Belarus and Poland.”

  Maxim thanked him and rang off. So that was it, then. Well, it had only been a possibility, he thought, as he turned into the street where Chekushkin lived.

  If Skorpia’s apartment block had been shabby, this one was positively grim. With its facade riddled with concrete cancer, entrance awash with a tide of trash, including used syringes, dirty stairwell walls graffitied with obscene messages, it was the kind of place Maxim knew only too well, though he hadn’t been to this particular block before. Climbing wearily up the filthy stairs to the second floor – of course the elevator was not working here either, probably vandalized beyond repair years ago – he was thinking this would be a wild goose chase for Grisha would have made himself scarce, if he knew what was good for him. But when he got there and saw the splintered door, he knew, even before he saw the body sprawled on the ragged armchair like a grotesque rag doll, its throat cut from ear to ear, that Grisha Chekushkin hadn’t even had the most elementary notion of what was good for him.

  Chapter 21

  “He’d been dead for some time. At least three, maybe four hours before I found him. Even if I’d gone straight there, he’d have been dead.”

  Helen watched the detective’s face as he spoke. He was speaking in English, clipped, unhurried, apparently calmly. Not a flicker of emotion, not a hint as to his thoughts could be read in his expression. Or rather, lack of it. It made her feel even more uneasy.

  Volkovsky said, sharply, “But why didn’t you go straight there?”

  Serebrov was unruffled. “I thought he’d keep. And there were other things I wanted to check. The psychic your father consulted,” he went on, turning to Alexey. “I found out who he was.”

  “How …” began Volkovsky, but Alexey cut him off, impatiently. “Who was it? Did you go to see him? What did he say to you?”

  There was a pause. Then Serebrov said, slowly, “He was an old man named Lev Kirov. But he didn’t say anything to me.” Another pause. “Because he was dead.”

  They all stared at him. Alexey said, blankly, “I don’t understand. Did you find him too?”

  “No. He died at least eighteen months ago. Before Barsukov’s death. Accident apparently. But I suspect otherwise. He was murdered.”

  “By the same person who killed my father and his partners?”

  “Perhaps. But there are – other possibilities.” His steady gaze met Alexey’s, who went pale.

  “You don’t mean … that my father – had him kill –”

  Volkovsky broke in, angrily, “This is mere unfounded speculation. I demand you withdraw this outrageous accusation.”

  Serebrov smiled, faintly. “I did not accuse anyone of anything. I merely stated that there were other possibilities.”

  But Helen knew he’d meant to stir things up. Deliberately, to see what happened. A sense of dread crept over her. What was he up to?

  Alexey said, quietly, “But why? Why for God’s sake would he – why would anyone want to kill a psychic they’d gone to see about a dream?”

  “Because of what the dream revealed,” said the policeman, grimly. “Because of what Kirov told him. Your father became convinced he had a latent psychic power. Something that came down to him from the blood. That had been blocked most of his life because of his single-mined focus on his company. But that was now emerging.”

  There was a stunned silence as three pairs of eyes stared at Maxim. Then Volkovsky said, disbelievingly, “You surely cannot mean that Koldun refers to – to Ivan Mikhailovich? That he thought he was – a – a sorcerer?”

  “Yes,” said the policeman, simply.

  “Good God, man, that’s ridiculous,” began Volkovsky, but Alexey interrupted him. He was very pale, but his voice was steady as he said, “How do you know that?”

  “I have my information,” said the policeman, watching him, Helen thought, like a cat watches a mouse.

  “And – is there … is there any doubt in your mind as to the – accuracy of this information?”

  “Not the slightest.”

  Alexey sighed. Then he said, quietly, sad
ly, “I see.”

  Helen hated to see him so cast down, and it made her say sharply, “Aren’t you jumping to conclusions, Senior Lieutenant? Alexey’s father might well have believed he was a sorcerer, but that doesn’t make him a murderer! I’d have thought if he’d really wanted to – to hide his secret – he’d surely have got rid of this Kirov person at the beginning, when he was told about it. The fact that he didn’t suggests, doesn’t it, that this man and his knowledge was no danger to him.”

  Serebrov’s attention turned to her. His hazel eyes had a strange gleam to them. He said, softly, “Well thought-out, Miss Clement. But I’m afraid that my information suggests otherwise.”

  “Your information, your information!” she said, fiercely. “You keep repeating that, but you won’t tell us where you got it from. Who was it exactly who tried to pin Kirov’s death on Alexey’s father?”

  His eyes weren’t friendly. “None of your business.”

  Her fists clenched. She burst out, “But it’s Alexey’s! Why should we trust your informant – or you, come to that? If you really wanted to get at the truth, you would have gone to find that creep Grisha at once. You say he would’ve been dead anyway, but we’ve only got your word for that!”

  The policeman’s face was no longer impassive, his hostility clearly showing. But he said quietly enough, “That is not so. After I found him, I called the ambulance, and the uniformed police. It will be in their report.”

  “You don’t get out of it so –” Helen began, angrily, but Alexey put a hand tenderly on her shoulder, interrupting her. “It’s all right, darling, we’ve got to hear it all.” He turned to Serebrov, and said, firmly, “What did your informant actually say?”

  “That your father issued certain threats.”

  “To Kirov?” said Alexey.

  “No. To my informant. But he did mention Kirov’s death.” Another pause. “To be fair, it was, however, rather ambiguous. Whatever you might think, I do not keep a closed mind on this –”

  “Like hell,” Helen muttered, under her breath.

  “And so I think Miss Clement is most likely right and your father had nothing to do with Kirov’s death,” went on Serebrov, his glance flickering over her. “The timing of his death, between Galkin’s and Barsukov’s, suggests that whoever killed Kirov suspected he might know something about Galkin’s death. Now that could have been Barsukov – and it could have been your father – but I don’t think it was either.” He turned to Volkovsky. “I think that’s where Grisha and Kirov are connected.”

  “What do you mean?” said Volkovsky, sounding startled.

  “In the matter of timing – because you caught Grisha snooping in Barsukov’s office not long after Galkin’s death, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, perhaps Grisha found something in Barsukov’s office that identified Kirov, and tipped off whoever was responsible for Galkin’s death. Or maybe he was even contracted to kill him. Grisha Chekushkin had no visible means of support but he had plenty of money for drugs. Hard drugs. And he was moving in criminal circles, that’s certain. To me, the murder of Lev Kirov provides a link between the partners’ deaths and the attacks on the Trinity offices both here and in Petersburg. It was a link that, to be frank, I couldn’t see before I knew about Kirov. I had almost become convinced we had two separate criminal plots here – the murders, and the vandalism. But now I’m sure it’s not the case. It’s all connected. We are dealing here with one criminal, and a very dangerous, flexible and devious one, with a good many resources at his disposal. Somebody who’s not afraid to change his method, who plans carefully, is patient and impulsive by turns, whenever it suits. Something else has been made clear to me now – I had an instinct the Koldun file would prove crucial, but now I think it is absolutely central. It is at the dark heart of this case, I am convinced of it.”

  Helen shivered, remembering what she’d felt, holding that memory card in her hand, the feeling that it was evil.

  Alexey said, “But how? I mean, yes, if my father – if he really was – or thought he was – a … a sorcerer, that’s one thing. For him to plan setting up a psychic unit based on that discovery, okay. I get that. But to kill him for it? Are we talking about some witch-hater here? Some religious fanatic who thinks all such things are the works of the devil? And what about the others? There’s no indication that either of them thought they had – powers, is there?”

  “Not that I know of. But I can’t be sure. Anything’s possible, at this stage. But it does seem increasingly likely to me that that it was their plans for Koldun which got them killed. But I think a religious motive is most unlikely. It was something much more cold-blooded. A rival, maybe – someone trying to stop them. Perhaps there is something in their plans that threatened somebody. We don’t know, yet. Not until we can read what’s in those other pages.”

  “We’ve got to crack that code,” said Alexey.

  “Yes,” said Maxim. “But listen, and listen well. You are the heir and now the sole director of Trinity. You are already under attack because of your decision to keep the company on. But now – if even a breath of a whisper gets back to whoever’s behind this that you’ve actually found the Koldun file – documents which the murderer may have believed were destroyed – then you will be in the gravest danger.” He turned to Helen. “Did you tell anyone else about your find?”

  She faltered, “No. Nobody except Alexey. And he told you, and Nikolai.”

  “Did anyone see you find it?”

  “There were other people in the room with me when I found it – but I don’t think anyone was taking any notice of …”

  He looked thoughtfully at her. “Who were they, Miss Clement? I mean, who was in the room with you?”

  Helen said, “Ah – Alla was there, and Sonya I think – and – um – maybe Ilya. Not sure, though, can’t really remember.”

  “I see.” His voice was hard, and Helen had the impression that he didn’t really believe what she was saying.

  “What do you suggest, then?” Alexey said.

  “We neutralize the danger of the card, to you, and to Trinity. And to do that it should not stay here in this apartment, or go back with you to Uglich. For if anything leaks out, whether innocently or not, you’ll be in great danger. So here’s what I propose: first, allow people in the office to know something important was found, but that it has been put for safekeeping in your bank vault.”

  “But I don’t see how –” began Alexey.

  “Wait. Let me finish. The card must be put in a bank safe-deposit box, but not in your usual one, rather in a branch a fair distance away, or even in a completely different bank. This must be done this very day. Till you have cracked the code, that is where it must stay.”

  “An excellent idea,” said Volkovsky, warmly.

  “But if we don’t have the pages, then how can we crack the code?” said Alexey. “We need to at least have a copy of the pages.”

  “Of course we do,” said Volkovsky, eyes alight. “But I think we only need the first coded page to do that. If we print out one single copy of it – I have a photo printer which we can use for the purpose – then that’s all we need to find the key. We’re going to need the services of a really good cryptographer.”

  “What about Foma?” Alexey said. “Yulia’s right-hand man,” he explained to Helen and Maxim. “Brilliant at cracking.”

  Helen tried to remember Foma. He’d been one of the quiet ones, she thought.

  “Can he be trusted?” Serebrov said.

  “Pretty sure he can,” said Alexey. “Don’t you, Kolya?”

  “Never seen anything to suggest otherwise,” said Volkovsky. “He’s been working for us for years. But as a safeguard we should tell him as little as possible, aside from the code-name, and that the code may be text-based. It’s an off-the-books job for a client, we’ll say. It’s not the first time he’s been asked to do one of those.” He smiled. “And if we tell him we think it’s an impossible task
, he will take it as an absolute point of honor to crack it.”

  “Excellent,” said Alexey. “We’ll do that, then. Print the copy first then take the card to the bank.”

  “You should disguise it,” said Maxim. “Not just put it in the safe-deposit box as is, I mean. Nobody except us should know what is in it. I suggest something simple, though – perhaps an envelope inside a padded bag.”

  *

  An hour or so later, it was all done, and the bag with its strange cargo was locked away in the safe-deposit box of a far-flung suburban bank branch Alexey had chosen, and put in the vault personally by him, with only the bank manager in attendance. Now no one but Alexey could access it, unless it were a proxy appointed personally by him and bearing a signed document from him. As to the print-out, Volkovsky took that to Foma’s apartment after work, so as not to alert anyone else in the office.

  It was after six when Helen and Alexey finally got back to the apartment. They would not be going back to Uglich tonight. Volkovsky wanted them to go back the next morning, but Alexey had said firmly that he would see. He would not accept another bodyguard; he said there was quite enough in-house security at the apartment. But he agreed that he would be in regular touch with Maxim and his godfather and that he would take no chances.

  Helen called her mother, not without some trepidation. But after the first astounded, “Where did you say you were?” Therese Clement listened in silence to her daughter’s garbled half-truthful explanations, “Sorry, Mam, but it was a spur of the moment thing. Alexey thought it would be fun to hit Moscow for a bit – we went in a helicopter, we had this really good pilot, ex-airforce, Alexey thinks – anyway we meant to get back tonight but things got a bit hectic and we decided to make a weekend of it. We’ll be back Sunday or Monday – I’ll call you when I know.”

  Her mother said, blankly, “Okay. But why did you tell me this morning you were going to Yaroslavl?”

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I thought you’d freak out if I told you we were going in a helicopter.”

  “Damn right I’d have had something to say about it,” snapped her mother, “but so what? If you want to go off for a romantic weekend, that’s up to you. Just don’t lie to me about it, okay?”