by Shaun Hutson
Jess was aware of movement beside her and one of the security men placed a coaster and a tall crystal glass full of water close to her.
‘You seem to have a very strange idea about what kind of man I am,’ the billionaire said, quietly. ‘I’ve just been saying the same thing to Mr Hadley.’
‘So you got us both here tonight to talk privately about the things we asked you today in the Press Conference?’ Jess enquired. ‘Forgive me if I find that a little hard to believe.’
‘Do you think I brought you here to kill you, Miss Anderson?’ Voronov asked, smiling. The man with the goatee also chuckled softly. ‘What kind of man do you think I am?’
‘Or would you have taken care of us the way you took care of Brian Dunham?’ Jess challenged.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Voronov said as lightly as he could.
‘You know who Brian Dunham is, sorry, was? He was the man who refused you planning permission for your new hotel complex,’ Jess went on. ‘The man who resisted the building of this Crystal Tower.’
‘I know who he is,’ Voronov told her.
‘And you know how he died?’
‘People die, Miss Anderson. Would you blame me for every death in London?’
‘I’m not blaming you, Mr Voronov, I’m just saying that people who cross you tend to end up dead or missing and that you usually get what you want when those people are removed. That is how you got permission to build the Crystal Tower, isn’t it?’
‘Are those some of the rumours and lies you’ve heard?’
‘I heard that people, the right people, were threatened, bribed or intimidated until you got what you wanted and that you’ve done that in other cities too and that you’ll keep doing it as long you have the money and the power.’
‘And can you back up these claims, Miss Anderson? Where is your proof? I am a businessman, nothing more. I want to do business here in London just like thousands of other people. Why does that make me any worse than them?’
‘I heard you cut corners on the building regulations too, that’s one of the reasons there have been so many deaths during the construction of the Crystal Tower.’
‘You seem ready to blame me for everything other than the Great Fire of London,’ Voronov smiled.
‘Did you have ancestors in London then?’ Jess said, managing a grin. ‘Maybe I could blame you or them for that too.’
‘As you tried to put blame on my grandfather?’
The smile had slipped from Voronov’s face and there was an edge to his voice that Jess wasn’t slow to pick up. ‘Why did you mention him this afternoon?’
‘But what I said is true, isn’t it? The Crystal Tower is built on the site of the place where he lived and he fled London under mysterious circumstances back in the 1930s.’
‘He was driven out,’ Voronov said. ‘Subjected to the same kind of abuse, intimidation and bigotry that people like us had suffered for hundreds of years.’
‘Was it because he was Jewish?’ Jess enquired.
‘It was because he was an outsider,’ Voronov said, evenly. ‘He was different. He spoke differently, he lived differently, he believed in different things. People are afraid of things they can’t understand. When they are fearful that fear turns to hate and that hate to violence.’
‘Why didn’t he get help from the police?’ Jess wanted to know.
‘They were no better,’ Voronov announced.
‘So he decided to protect himself,’ Jess said. ‘Is that why he built a Golem?’
SEVENTY-THREE
What Voronov did next Jess hadn’t been expecting.
No sooner had she finished speaking than he broke into fits of laughter.
She regarded him warily for a moment then looked at Hadley who seemed similarly perplexed by the millionaire’s reaction. The other people in the room were also smiling, amused it seemed by what Jess had said.
‘Did I say something funny?’ she asked.
‘A Golem?’ Voronov intoned. ‘And what do you know of such things, Miss Anderson? Do you know of what you speak?’
‘It’s true, isn’t it?’ Jess persisted. ‘Your grandfather built a Golem to protect himself from the people who were after him and it ran amok. That was why he had to get out of London so fast.’
‘I thought journalists dealt in the truth not in myths and legends,’ Voronov said, reproachfully. As he spoke he got to his feet. ‘Come with me,’ he urged, ushering them towards a door at the end of the room. ‘Both of you.’
Jess and Hadley got slowly to their feet, completely thrown by the billionaire’s attitude. They had expected anger and denial not this calm almost calculated reaction.
‘Where did you read about the Golem?’ Voronov wanted to know. ‘A book of fairy stories? Some cheap horror book?’
‘There have been instances throughout history of creatures like that being built and manipulated by men who had the power,’ Hadley said.
Voronov merely raised his eyebrows.
‘If that is what you want to believe,’ he said, standing near the door of the other room waiting.
‘What do you believe, Mr Voronov?’ Jess asked. ‘What did your grandfather believe?’
‘There are many strange beliefs in the part of the world where I come from,’ Voronov went on. ‘Many of the people who live in Eastern Europe are as ignorant now as they were hundreds of years ago. They believe in the same things they believed in hundreds of years ago. Many think that there are forces that can be controlled by those with the right knowledge, forces that can be used for good or for bad. I don’t even know what you would call them, you who think you are so civilised and so much better than the rest of us.’ He looked dismissively at Jess and Hadley.
‘Do you believe in those things, Mr Voronov?’ Jess wanted to know.
‘I believe in what I can see and what I can control,’ Voronov told her. ‘And if I tell you what I believe in it will be front page news tomorrow, is that what you think? Are you trying to trick me?’
He looked at each of them in turn, his gaze flat and unblinking.
‘You were the one who brought us here,’ Hadley offered. ‘We thought you might have something to tell us.’
‘About ancient creatures, witchcraft and superstition?’ Voronov said, shaking his head. ‘I don’t think so. And not in the middle of the night.’
‘So why are we here?’ Jess wanted to know.
‘I want to know why you broke into my apartment just days ago,’ Voronov told her. ‘What was it? Professional curiosity? Were you looking for a story? Or were you looking for something to link me to the deaths of these people you keep talking about?’
‘No one broke in,’ Jess said.
‘You were seen,’ Voronov told her, smiling.
‘Were you worried what we’d find?’ Jess said, defiantly.
‘And what did you find?’ Voronov challenged. ‘The answer to your questions?’ He pushed open the door he was standing next to. ‘Come.’ he beckoned them to join him as he stepped through into the room and slapped on the lights.
Jess and Hadley followed him and found that they were standing in a large room lit by bright spot lamps in the ceiling and a warmer glow given by several small table lamps placed strategically around the room.
‘Is this what you saw?’ Voronov said, motioning towards the statue that stood at the far end of the room. ‘Is this your Golem?’
Jess looked at the figure and recognised it instantly.
‘Who made it?’ Hadley wanted to know.
‘I don’t know the artist’s name,’ Voronov told him. ‘I have a team of experts who buy artwork for me to place in my homes around the world. One of them saw this and thought it had promise. I bought it and had it shipped here. I’m sure I can find out the artist’s name if you are so interested in his work.’
Neither Jess or Hadley spoke then Jess looked briefly at Hadley as if expecting him to say something. He didn’t.
‘Now, if there is not
hing else,’ Voronov said, softly, ushering them back in the direction of the door.
‘You brought us here just for this?’ Jess said.
‘Why did you think I brought you here? To have you murdered?’ The billionaire smiled. ‘You seem to have taken an interest in myself and my family I just thought I would show that I am also interested in you.’
Jess and Hadley allowed themselves to be shepherded from the room. As they walked back into the other area of the Penthouse the eyes of those inside turned to focus on them.
‘My men will see you out,’ Voronov said. ‘They will ensure that you get back home safely.’
Hadley nodded almost imperceptibly. Jess merely headed for the door, the same two security men who had picked her up now walking behind her.
No one spoke as they rode the express lift to the ground floor.
SEVENTY-FOUR
‘So you’re telling me that Andrei Voronov, one of the richest and most reclusive men in the world invited you to his private penthouse apartment just for a quiet chat?’
Detective Inspector Robert Johnson raised his eyebrows questioningly and looked at Alex Hadley who was seated on the opposite side of the desk from him.
Hadley nodded.
‘And why the fuck would he do that?’ Johnson wanted to know.
‘I think he’s worried about what we know?’ Jessica Anderson interjected.
Johnson looked wearily at her.
‘He’s worried you know he’s got a statue in his penthouse,’ the D.I. said, shrugging. ‘Well, yeah, I can see why he’d be worried about that. I mean if that news got out Christ knows what people would say. God forbid they ever find out what kind of aftershave he uses or what paintings he’s got on his wall too, the entire financial world might go into meltdown.’
‘We told you what that thing was?’ Hadley insisted.
‘A golem?’ Johnson sighed. ‘An inanimate object that can be brought to life and can do the bidding of the man who built it.’ The scorn in his voice was heavy and he made no attempt to hide it. He shook his head and looked at Hadley again. ‘Don’t you think I’m taking this all very well considering it’s complete and utter bollocks.’
‘Brian Dunham was the main opposition to Voronov’s plans and now he’s dead,’ Jess offered. ‘All the people who opposed the building of the Crystal Tower changed their minds totally about Voronov and his projects because they were either threatened or bribed.’
‘No one knows that for sure,’ Johnson reminded her.
‘It’s a fair assumption,’ Jess persisted.
‘And you think they were threatened? By some walking statue?’ Johnson said.
‘At least consider the possibility,’ Hadley interjected. ‘As crazy as that possibility sounds.’
‘Even if I did,’ Johnson went on. ‘Don’t you think that someone somewhere might have spotted this fucking thing lurching about? How tall is it, seven feet or more? And it weighs a ton. It can’t be very light on its feet, can it?’
‘It must have been transported to and from Dunham’s house and also to the scene of his murder,’ Jess said. ‘By Voronov’s men.’
‘No details of the attack on his house or of his murder have been released to the press have they?’ Hadley offered, watching as Johnson shook his head. ‘Fair enough. So if I tell you something that could only be known by the pathologist or you then will you believe me?’
‘Like what?’ Johnson sneered.
‘You found something resembling brick dust at both scenes,’ Hadley said. ‘Dried clay or something that looked like building material. Probably in the wounds when Dunham himself was killed.’
Johnson looked evenly at the other man and his surprise did not register in his expression.
‘You probably found it on the remains of Dunham’s car too,’ Hadley went on.
‘That’s quite a supposition,’ Johnson said. ‘Even for you. How did you get to that conclusion so quickly?’
‘The dust came from the Golem,’ Jess added. ‘When it attacked Dunham it left traces of itself just like a person leaves fingerprints.’
‘It’s true isn’t it?’ Hadley said, softly.
‘Forensics did find some kind of residue at both scenes,’ Johnson admitted. ‘How the fuck did you know that? Have you got a source here that I don’t know about?’
‘It stands to reason that when the Golem attacked his house and attacked him, it left traces of itself,’ Jess said. ‘Check what you found on Dunham’s body against the statue in Voronov’s apartment. See if they match.’
‘And if they do?’ Johnson challenged.
‘Then you’ll know Voronov was responsible,’ Jess told him. ‘What else could have left that kind of residue?’
‘It’s unlikely that a killer is going to use a piece of masonry to kill someone with is it?’ Hadley added. ‘A lump of concrete isn’t exactly the perfect weapon.’
‘It is if you want to smash someone to a pulp,’ Johnson said.
‘And Dunham was smashed to a pulp wasn’t he?’ Jess said. ‘Beaten far worse than any man could have beaten him.’
‘You’d be surprised what a man’s capable of,’ Johnson said, quietly.
‘But who could use a weapon like that so easily?’ Hadley wanted to know. ‘Imagine the strength needed. If men had attacked Dunham, the heaviest weapons they could have used would have been iron bars or hammers. You said yourself that it looked as if his house had been attacked with sledgehammers.’
Johnson rubbed his eyes then looked at Hadley once more.
‘So you want me to go waltzing into Voronov’s apartment and ask to take scrapings from his fucking statue to see if it’s responsible for the murder of at least one man?’ the D.I. said.
Hadley nodded.
‘I always thought you’d lost it, Alex,’ Johnson said. ‘Now I know you have.’
‘Then you explain that dust, that residue, whatever the hell it is?’ Hadley challenged.
‘And you explain how a supposedly intelligent man like yourself can believe that the Leader of Westminster Council was beaten to death by a walking statue?’ Johnson countered. ‘And if it’s true why the fuck would Voronov show the bloody thing to you?’
‘To try and put us off the scent,’ Jess added.
‘The only scent around here is from the bullshit that you two are leaving behind,’ Johnson muttered.
‘He knows we can’t do anything about it,’ Jess said.
‘If this thing is dangerous like you say it is then shouldn’t you be worried in case he sends it after you?’ Johnson wanted to know.
Neither of them spoke.
Johnson got to his feet and crossed to the window of his office, gazing out over London, thoughts tumbling through his mind.
‘At least consider it, Bob,’ Hadley said, finally. ‘That’s all we’re asking.’
Johnson nodded without turning to face them.
‘You can see yourselves out,’ the detective said, his back still to them.
‘And you’ll call me if anything happens?’ Hadley asked.
‘Just go, Alex,’ Johnson sighed. ‘Just go.’
Jess looked at Hadley then they both got to their feet and headed for the office door. Johnson didn’t turn when he heard it close behind them. He waited a moment then turned and reached for the phone on his desk. Picking it up he hit one of the buttons, waiting for an answer.
When he heard Detective Sergeant Raymond Powell’s voice at the other end he exhaled.
‘Ray, have you got a minute?’ Johnson asked. ‘And when you come, bring the forensic report on Brian Dunham with you.’
Johnson dropped the phone back on the cradle and waited.
SEVENTY-FIVE
‘Bollocks.’
Spike hissed angrily as he spilled the can of Red Bull. The liquid fortunately for him missed his keyboard and spread out across the desk top like a puddle as he snatched at the can to avoid more spillage. He hurried into his kitchen and returned with a handful of kitchen rol
l which he used to mop up the Red Bull, muttering irritably to himself as he performed the task, one eye and certainly both ears still more concerned with what had made him spill the drink in the first place.
The room was alive with sounds coming from the computer and the banks of speakers and receivers that Mark Paxton had set up there. Each one was tuned to a different frequency, the details of which were known to him alone. To anyone walking into the room the array of gadgetry would have been baffling but not to Paxton. He loved this panoply of technology and he was sure that if he had a pound for every hour he spent cocooned inside this room he would now be a very rich man indeed. He tossed the Red Bull soaked pieces of cloth into a waste bin which was already overflowing and badly in need of emptying. Then he sat down again, adjusting some of the dials and knobs on the nearest receiver, pausing occasionally to listen to moments of conversation through earphones when the sounds became too distorted.
As well as the emergency frequencies, Paxton’s sophisticated equipment was capable of monitoring everything from taxi transmissions to baby monitors and two-way radios if they were within a certain range. Admittedly nothing important ever came across the airwaves from baby monitors he reminded himself (the odd argument between parents was occasionally amusing but that was about it) but occasionally something would turn up from a taxi transmission that would prove interesting, if not to him then to one of the people who paid him for information. Paxton had worked with a number of private detective agencies and some of the messages he’d picked up from one particular taxi firm’s radio messages had been enough to confirm that they were acting not only as a drug delivery firm on the side but also that they were ferrying prostitutes back and forth to clients some of who were best described as ‘minor celebrities’.
Now Paxton reached for the headphones once more and pressed one earpiece to his head, squinting as he tried to pick out words amidst the crackle of static or the buzz of interference. The words he’d heard to begin with, the ones that had caused him to react with such surprise he’d heard three more times in the last ten minutes and he was sure that their source must be a two-way radio somewhere close. Within ten miles he guessed, taking into account the range of the equipment he had.
