She looked around the bar as she sipped her champagne. ‘How did you know I’d be here?’ she asked.
‘I followed you from your house,’ he said.
She sighed in annoyance. ‘And they didn’t spot you? What use are they?’
‘They’re not to blame, Mrs Koshkin. I was in an Uber cab and I was the only passenger. There’s no way I would have appeared to be a threat.’
‘You could have had a gun.’
‘Are you expecting an attempt on your life?’
She laughed. ‘Of course not.’
‘Because if you are, then you’d need more than a two-man detail. You’d need at least four, plus drivers and at least one more vehicle. Plus, you wouldn’t take the direct route to your destination.’ He shrugged. ‘Your security operates just fine for what you want.’
‘They didn’t stop you getting close to me.’
He smiled. ‘They tried. But I was never a threat to you. If they had seen me looking as if I was about to harm you, they would have reacted differently, I’m sure.’
She put down her champagne flute. ‘You think I wanted Mikhail dead, don’t you? That’s why you wanted to talk to me.’
‘I don’t know what to think. But what happened, someone must have paid for it.’
‘And you think I did?’
Standing shrugged. ‘You’re in the middle of a divorce, aren’t you?’
‘And you think I’d have Mikhail killed? For what?’
‘For money? Or maybe you were arguing over the children?’
‘Our son is twenty-one, our daughter is nineteen. They are both studying at Oxford. And as far as money goes, my husband has left more than enough money to keep me and the children in the style to which we are accustomed.’
‘So you weren’t fighting? The divorce was amicable?’
She laughed and there was a harshness to the sound. ‘Far from it. I’m as angry as hell at the way he refused to keep his dick in his pants during the last ten years of our marriage. But men are men, right? I was his second wife. I was his PA for five years and for three of those he was sleeping with me behind his wife’s back, so I always knew what I was getting into. But I never stopped loving him.’
The waitress returned with the caviar. Mrs Koshkin waved at the dish. ‘Please, help yourself.’
Standing was even less of a fan of caviar than he was of champagne, but he used a small spoon to heap some of it onto a cracker and popped it into his mouth. It tasted of salt and fish and wasn’t in the least bit pleasant, but he forced a smile and nodded his approval. The waitress refilled their glasses and moved away. Standing washed away the taste of caviar with his champagne. ‘So who do you think killed your husband?’ he asked.
‘According to the Los Angeles police, it was a rogue bodyguard. Your friend, apparently.’
‘As I said, I’m sure it wasn’t him.’
‘Was he also a member of special forces?’
Standing nodded. ‘He used to be a Navy SEAL.’
‘So he would have had the necessary skills to kill Mikhail.’
‘No question,’ said Standing. ‘But he wasn’t a killer.’
‘I thought that was the whole point of being in special forces.’
He looked at her, trying to work out if she was joking or not, but she stared back at him impassively, waiting for him to answer. ‘He wouldn’t kill for money?’ she asked eventually.
‘He would kill for his country, that’s what soldiers do. But he wasn’t the type to be a hitman. Trust me, Mrs Koshkin.’
‘Mr Standing, if I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you.’
Standing nodded. ‘Suppose the killer was a paid hitman,’ he said. ‘Who do you think would pay to have Mikhail killed?’
Mrs Koshkin looked around as if she was worried about being overheard, then leaned towards him and lowered her voice. ‘You need to be very careful when you ask questions like that,’ she said.
‘You think the Russian government wanted him dead?’
She frowned. ‘There you go again, putting words in my mouth. Why would you think the Russian government would want my husband dead?’
‘I heard that someone tried to kill him in London and it’s common knowledge that many enemies of the Russian State have ended up dead in the UK.’
‘My husband was not an enemy of the Russian State, as you put it. And he has always been a good personal friend of the Russian president.’
‘So who tried to kill him here in London?’
‘Mr Standing, unlike you I’m not in the business of throwing around unsubstantiated allegations.’
‘I understand that. And I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn. But I truly believe that my friend has either been set up or framed and to stand any chance of clearing his name, I need to find out who wanted your husband dead. What did the police say?’
She shrugged. ‘Nothing. To be honest, I think they were relieved that Mikhail died in America because it meant they no longer had to investigate the attack on his life here.’
‘They said that?’
‘Not in so many words. But after his death, I never heard from the investigating detectives again.’
‘What happened here in London?’
‘You don’t know?’
‘He was poisoned, that much I know.’
She nodded. ‘He very nearly died. He was in hospital for two weeks.’
‘The Russian government often uses poison to take out its opponents.’
‘So you say. But I’ve already told you that my husband was not an opponent of the Russian government. Quite the opposite, in fact.’
‘And when he recovered he left the country. Why?’
‘He didn’t think he would be safe here.’
‘But he had bodyguards already?’
‘Oh yes. We’ve always had security. In Russia and here, and when we travel.’
‘So he was scared of being attacked?’
She shook her head fiercely. ‘Mikhail was scared of nothing,’ she said. ‘But he was prudent. He knew that our family was at risk of kidnapping, especially the children.’
‘The bodyguards who went with him to Los Angeles, they had been with him for a long time?’
She nodded. ‘He hired Max and Boris when we moved to London. Nikolai joined us a few years after that. So Max and Boris for eight years, Nikolai for two. Eighteen months, maybe.’
‘And why did he hire bodyguards when you moved here?’
‘Oh, Mikhail has always had bodyguards. We had a big team in Russia but he wasn’t able to bring them all to England. There were problems with their visas.’ Standing nodded. Mrs Koshkin leaned towards him. ‘Do you think the bodyguards had something to do with my husband’s death?’
‘No,’ said Standing. ‘At least not Max and Boris because they died with Mikhail. But Nikolai was upstairs when it happened. And he’s the only witness.’
‘So you think Nikolai was somehow involved?’
Standing shrugged. ‘I am sure that my friend didn’t kill your husband. So if Nikolai says that he did, then Nikolai must be lying.’
‘That’s all you have?’
‘I’m afraid so. Mrs Koshkin, I’m told that Nikolai is now back in London. Has he been in touch?’
She shook her head. ‘No.’
‘I’d have thought he might want to talk to you about what happened. Express his condolences.’
‘We were never friends, Mr Standing. He was an employee.’
‘But he was there when your husband was killed. I just thought …’
She shook her head again, more emphatically this time. Then she sipped her champagne and studied him over the top of her glass. ‘You realise that it doesn’t matter, Mr Standing. Not in the grand scheme of things. Someone wanted my husband dead. It doesn’t matter who that someone was, not to me. All that matters is that he’s dead. And nothing will change that.’
‘There’s justice.’
She smiled sadly. ‘Justic
e is very over-rated, in my opinion. My husband was no saint, I’ve always known that. When the Soviet Union fell apart, he was a factory worker. A worker, with zero prospects. But the collapse of the Soviet Union provided opportunities for men with the willingness to do what had to be done, and Mikhail was one of those men. He took over the factory and became its boss. And how do you think he did that? By smiling and asking nicely?’ She shook her head. ‘Mikhail took what he wanted and woe betide anyone who got in his way. He took over the factory and then took over three more. By then he had people working for him who would do what needed to be done, but it was still Mikhail who gave the orders. He always said that you were either a sheep or a wolf, there was nothing in between.’
‘He made enemies?’
She smiled coldly. ‘If anyone chose to become Mikhail’s enemy, he dealt with them, Mr Standing. And he wasn’t alone in that. But you talk about justice. There are those who might say that what happened to my husband was justice. It all depends on your viewpoint, I suppose.’ She smiled when she saw the look of confusion on Standing’s face. ‘You expected a grieving widow?’
‘You seem very … relaxed,’ he said.
‘Mikhail was Mikhail,’ she said. ‘I took him from his wife, another woman was taking him from me. During our marriage he was never faithful.’ She paused. ‘But I can’t say I didn’t know what I was getting into. His company was one of the biggest in Russia and he was on good terms with the president. But we were always aware that at any point it could all be taken away from him.’
‘How so?’
She chuckled. ‘I’m sure you know,’ she said.
‘This is a whole new world to me,’ said Standing.
‘Running a business in Russia is not the same as in the UK, or the US,’ she said. ‘Mikhail was close to the president. He had been for years. But the president is known to be fickle. Hundreds of oligarchs are in prison. Mikhail was always careful to stay on the president’s right side, but it was a dangerous game.’
‘Is it possible that the president had turned against him?’
She shrugged. ‘Anything is possible. The last time we spoke was two months ago, before he was poisoned. And that was on the phone. I haven’t been in the same room as him since Christmas.’
‘You had Christmas together?’
‘We had a Christmas lunch, with the children. So if he was having problems, he’d be unlikely to say anything to me.’
Her mobile rang and she took it out of her bag and apologised before taking the call. She spoke in Russian and several times covered her mouth with her free hand as she giggled. Standing had the impression that she was talking to a man and that he was flirting with her. He took another sip of champagne, wishing it was a lager. Eventually she finished her call and put her phone away. ‘I have a friend on her way to see me, Mr Standing,’ she said. ‘It might be best if you’re not here when she arrives.’ She flashed him a cold smile. ‘No offence.’
‘None taken,’ he said. He stood up. ‘Thank you for your time. And I’m sorry about your loss.’
‘Thank you for your sympathy,’ she said. ‘I had lost Mikhail long before he was killed. But his children lost a father they loved, and that is something I can not forgive.’ She motioned for him to come closer and he bent down and leaned across the table towards her. ‘Mr Standing, if in the course of your investigation you find out who had my husband killed, I will pay you a hundred thousand pounds if that person meets a similar end.’
Standing frowned. ‘You want to pay me to kill the man who had your husband killed?’
She smiled sweetly. ‘Why, Mr Standing, that’s not what I said. That would obviously be totally illegal. I was simply telling you that if the man who had my husband killed meets a similar fate, you will benefit to the tune of a hundred thousand pounds.’ She raised her champagne glass. ‘Good hunting,’ she said.
Standing straightened up. She met his stare and continued to smile. He nodded and walked away.
The two bodyguards glared at him as he walked out of the bar. Standing grinned. ‘She’s all yours, lads,’ he said. ‘You have a nice day.’
Standing waited until he was outside the store before calling John Keenan in Los Angeles. The call went straight through to voicemail and Standing realised it was probably the early hours in LA. He left a short message asking for Lipov’s address in London.
16
Anton Vasilyev was easy to track down and when Standing told him that he had information about the murder of Mikhail Koshkin in Los Angeles, the Russian journalist readily agreed to a meeting in a coffee shop around the corner from his office.
Standing watched from across the road as Vasilyev arrived at the coffee shop, recognising the man from a by-line photograph on the website. He was a small man, barely five and a half feet tall, with a neatly trimmed beard and bright-blue framed spectacles. He was wearing a dark-green corduroy jacket and brown trousers and Timberland boots, with a black North Face backpack slung over one shoulder. Standing watched the journalist enter the coffee shop and waited a couple of minutes until he was sure that the man wasn’t being followed, before crossing the road and pushing open the door.
Vasilyev had bought himself a cappuccino and was sitting at a table in the far corner. He looked up as Standing walked over. ‘Mr Vasilyev? I’m Colin Peckham.’ Standing had decided against using his real name in case the journalist wrote an article mentioning him. On the phone he’d said that he was a private detective working on the Koshkin case and he intended to stick to that cover story.
Vasilyev shook Standing’s hand. His grip was weak, the flesh of his fingers soft and white. ‘Let me get myself a coffee and I’ll join you,’ said Standing. He went over to the counter and ordered an Americano, taking a quick look through the window to assure himself that no one was loitering outside. A young woman with dyed blonde hair and a badge that said her name was Lena gave him his coffee and took his money and he went back to sit at Vasilyev’s table. Standing sat with his back to the wall, side on to the door. The man at the table next to them was peering at a copy of the Evening Standard through thick-lensed glasses. He had a walking-stick leaning against his chair and he was picking at a chocolate muffin as he read his paper.
‘So you’re a private detective?’ said the Russian. He had an accent but it wasn’t heavy, which suggested he’d been in the UK for several years.
Standing nodded. ‘I’m looking into the attack on Mikhail Koshkin.’ He smiled. ‘And on yourself, of course.’
‘And who would your client be?’
‘Our company has been approached by another firm of investigators in Los Angeles, where Mr Koshkin met his untimely end.’
The Russian frowned. ‘Why?’
‘Why?’ repeated Standing, not understanding the question.
‘Why are private investigators investigating a murder? Isn’t that what the police are for?’
‘The authorities in Los Angeles suspect that the man who killed Mr Koshkin was a hired assassin but don’t seem to be in any hurry to find out who might have paid for the killing.’
Vasilyev nodded thoughtfully. ‘But who is the client? Who is so interested in finding out who wanted Koshkin killed?’
‘Aren’t you curious?’ asked Standing. ‘They almost caused your death, too.’
‘Of course I’m curious,’ said Vasilyev. ‘But I’m not paying a firm of private investigators to look into the matter. Is the client a family member?’
Standing shrugged. ‘I really don’t know. I was just asked to talk to you and to make contact with the authorities here. I wasn’t told who the original client is. But I’m not making much headway on that front. The police here seem as disinterested as their American counterparts when it comes to finding out who wanted Mr Koshkin dead.’
‘Even less so, after he was killed in LA,’ said Vasilyev.
‘There was almost nothing about the attack here in the papers,’ said Standing.
‘The government wanted it kept quie
t,’ said Vasilyev.
‘But there was nothing on your website, either.’
‘As I said, the government wanted it kept quiet. I was told in no uncertain terms that if I did publicise what happened, my journalist’s visa would be revoked.’
‘Told by whom?’
‘By a man in a grey suit who knew everything about me and my family.’
‘Your family?’
‘My sister married a Brit and is in the process of being naturalised. I was told that if I didn’t do as I was told, she would not be allowed to live in the UK either.’
‘So you kept quiet?’
‘I had no choice. You’re British, right?’
Standing nodded. ‘Of course.’
‘You Brits always assume that your own government is so much more respectable than the Russians or the Chinese or the despots in the Middle East. The trust you have in those who govern you is laughable. If I had disobeyed my instructions, I would have been on the next plane out of the UK. And considering the nature of my recent reporting, I doubt I would survive for long in Russia.’ He shrugged and sipped his coffee. ‘But I did as I was told, and here I am. And in four years’ time my sister will be a British citizen.’
‘Why were you interviewing Mr Koshkin?’ asked Standing, not wanting to be drawn into a discussion about the pros and cons of the British government.
The journalist shrugged again. ‘Nothing much. I was writing an article about oligarchs in London. I spoke to several rich Russians.’
‘Did you ever write the article?’
‘It’s a work in progress,’ said Vasilyev.
Standing stared at the man for several seconds. ‘I don’t believe you,’ he said eventually.
The Russian froze. ‘Excuse me?’
‘I believe in calling a spade a spade,’ said Standing. He leaned towards the journalist, his eyes hard. ‘I’ve looked at your website. You don’t write soft features about Russian businessmen. You’re an investigative reporter. You dig for dirt. So what dirt did you have on Koshkin?’ The journalist stared at Standing for several seconds, then got to his feet. Standing’s hand lashed out and his fingers fastened around Vasilyev’s wrist. ‘Sit down,’ he said.
Last Man Standing Page 13
