Blood Money

by J M Dalgliesh

  “You couldn’t possibly understand,” she said dismissing him.

  “Probably not,” Caslin agreed. “He was a friend of your father’s.”

  “Who got him killed,” Raisa bit back.

  “And your father walked a dangerous road,” Caslin countered. “One largely of his own choosing. Cory Walsh didn’t deserve for his life to end like that.” Raisa looked up and met his eye, quietly replying with a slight shake of the head.

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “Then why?” Caslin pressed. Raisa remained silent for a few moments. Caslin waited patiently. She stared at a nondescript place on the wall appearing thoughtful as she wiped the tear streaks from her face.

  “Have you ever heard of Maskirovka?” she asked, her gaze returning to him.

  “No,” Caslin replied, shaking his head.

  “My father explained it to me when I was a little girl,” she said with a warm smile. “Maskirovka. The age-old Russian art of deception. It is ingrained in our culture or at least, within the military. They still teach it to the officers - have done for centuries.”

  “Go on,” Caslin encouraged, moving closer and asking if he could sit. She nodded and he sat down alongside her.

  “It is quite simple really,” she explained, her expression taking on another faraway look. “Deny, frustrate and obfuscate was how my father used to put it. Apply those terms to any act of Russian foreign policy and you will see Maskirovka in action – Crimea, Ukraine… assassinations…” she said the last, rolling her head in Caslin’s direction and meeting his eye with a fleeting look. “Just when you think you know what is going on… everything changes… and by the time you catch up it is usually too late.” Caslin sat back, resting his shoulders and the back of his head against the tiled wall of the cell.

  “What are you telling me, Raisa?”

  “That it’s too late for you, Inspector Caslin,” she said with regret edging her tone. “You want to understand?”

  He nodded, “I do, yes.”

  “My mother still lives in Moscow,” Raisa said, before adding almost inaudibly, “and I have a half-sister, Roxanna. She is only seven. So much confidence. Roxanna can light up a room just by entering it. She’s adorable and I would do anything for her, Inspector. Anything.” Caslin realised he’d been holding his breath and exhaled deeply.

  “They could have come here, to the UK. There is always a way. We could have protected them,” he said, thinking aloud.

  “And tell me who is going to protect them from you?” Caslin found that to be an odd question and his expression conveyed the feeling. Raisa turned to face him, sitting cross-legged and raised her chin, taking in a deep breath. Caslin met her gaze. “Oh… Mr Caslin. I think you are a decent man but…” she said softly, reaching across and gently placing the palm of her hand on the back of his and pressing down ever-so-lightly, “you still don’t understand these things and I’m not sure you ever will.”

  There was a double knock on the door. Caslin held their eye-contact for a few seconds longer. He figured there was more that Raisa could say to enlighten him but at the same time, he had the sense that she would say nothing further.

  “It is time,” he said. Raisa turned away, dropping her feet to the floor and stood up. As did Caslin.

  “What happens now?” she asked fearfully.

  “Did they not say?”

  “I don’t think I took it all in,” she replied.

  “You’ve been charged with Cory’s murder. You’ll be taken from here to a magistrates’ court where, no doubt, they will refer you to Crown Court for trial. In the meantime, the magistrate will give their permission for you to be held on remand in prison until the date of your trial is set.”

  Raisa smiled nervously, “Piece of cake, right?” Caslin nodded, reaching across and gripping her upper arm in a gesture of support. Despite what she had done, he still felt protective over her. The cell door opened and Caslin felt her physically beginning to shake as two officers stepped through to collect her. He was unsure whether this was a result of an adrenalin surge or the dawning realisation of the magnitude of her predicament. She was handcuffed and led from the cell, casting a last glance back at him over her shoulder. He stared forward, expressionless. DS Collins appeared once the three were out of the cell.

  “Next one?” he asked. Caslin nodded.

  ***

  Grigory Vitsin was sitting on the floor at the far end of his cell. He glanced up as Caslin entered but said nothing. He cut the look of a broken man, far from the brash arrogance that Caslin had attributed to him in the past. The cell door was closed behind him and Caslin leant against the wall, his hands in his pockets. Neither man spoke for a full minute before Caslin broke the ice.

  “All of this could have been avoided if you had just come to me rather than sending those cryptic texts.”

  Vitsin snorted a derisory response, “And you would have believed me?”

  “I may have,” Caslin confirmed. Vitsin laughed.

  “You…” he said aggressively, much more like the man Caslin expected to see, “would have trusted… me? I don’t think so.” Caslin often kept an open mind but on this occasion, the Russian had a valid point.

  “Probably not,” he said, with a shrug.

  “Honesty,” Vitsin said, nodding his head. “For that, I salute you.”

  “How long have you and Raisa been an item?” Caslin asked. Vitsin shot him a dark look. “It’s pretty obvious. Remember I am a detective.”

  “For almost a year now,” he replied, confirming Caslin’s suspicions. That was why Holt’s tracking of the mobile records showed it so frequently in both London and York. “How did you know?”

  “I didn’t. Not until this afternoon anyway. I presume her father didn’t know?” Caslin asked. Vitsin shook his head in reply. “I guessed not. That’s why you always switched the phone off when you got back to York, so you never ran the risk of her calling you once you were back by Kuznetsov’s side on his estate.”

  “He would have gone mad. His daughter taking up with scum like me,” Vitsin said. “And he would have been right. She deserves better than me. What will happen to her, Raisa? She will be going to prison for a long time, yes?”

  Caslin nodded, “Yes. A long time.”

  “How long?”

  Caslin thought about it, “It’s premeditated murder. If she pleads guilty, then she’ll get a reduced sentence but we’re still looking at life with a minimum term of eighteen to twenty years. If she has a decent legal team around her, they may be able to successfully argue some mitigating factors and bring that down a bit.”

  “That is a very long time,” Vitsin said, looking up at Caslin with a forlorn expression.

  “Yes, I’m afraid there’s no way around it.”

  “And me?”

  “The bodyguard you thumped has no interest in pressing charges but they’re looking to have you deported for causing a public disturbance and affray,” Caslin said flatly. “The decision hasn’t been rubber-stamped yet but it’s looking likely.”

  “It gets me out of the way, doesn’t it,” Vitsin said with a smile.

  “You could be home by midnight,” Caslin suggested.

  “You know that deportation order may as well be my death warrant?” Vitsin said, his expression one of resignation. “I won’t even make it out of the airport before they pick me up.”

  “You could help me to help you,” Caslin suggested.

  “How so?”

  “You could tell me why you killed Nestor Kuznetsov?” Caslin asked casually. The question brought another laugh from the Russian, this one boomed out as he shook his head in disbelief. “There’s no need to deny it. I know Kuznetsov was unable to set his own noose in the way it was secured. The pathologist believes it’s nigh on a medical impossibility. Did he ask you… or beg you to help him?” Vitsin looked up and met Caslin’s eye and at that point, he knew his theory was correct irrespective of whatever response was forthcoming.

&n
bsp; “I underestimated you, Inspector,” Vitsin said. “Back home many of the detectives are either incompetent or corrupt. Some are both… that, I assure you is a tragic combination.”

  “He wanted your help to die and you agreed.”

  “Yes,” Vitsin confirmed. “He was about to lose everything. His business, his money… property… along with his reputation.”

  “His reputation?” Caslin scoffed. “You say that as if he had a decent one!”

  “He knew what he was,” Vitsin argued, his eyes narrowing at Caslin’s sneering response. “But he still had his dignity. They were about to strip him of even that. Nestor couldn’t face the humiliation. He asked, pleaded… and then he begged me to help him.”

  “He could have gone out a different way. Gone solo with some pills and a bottle of vodka.”

  Vitsin chuckled, “You don’t know him. Despite all his bluster and arrogance, he needed someone by his side that he could trust. He wanted it clean and yes, I helped him. I do not regret it.”

  “Go on the record,” Caslin encouraged him. Vitsin shook his head. “If you go on the record you’ll be arrested and face a manslaughter charge. At worst, you’ll do seven to ten years and then you’ll be out.”

  “And what then?” Vitsin countered. “I will still be deported.”

  Caslin had to concede the point, “Yes, in all likelihood.”

  “Then what is the point?”

  “Things may have changed back home,” Caslin argued. “It is a long time.” Vitsin processed the idea. Caslin could see the thoughts churning through his mind.

  “And what of Raisa? She will still be in prison.”

  “She will get out eventually.”

  “I will be an old man by then, Inspector whereas Raisa will still have time for a proper life. Perhaps, even a family,” he said with regret, “but it will not be with me.”

  “You could give her the choice,” Caslin countered. “She may surprise you.”

  Vitsin smiled but it was without genuine humour, “And you think she will still love the man who confesses to killing her father? She blamed Walsh. It didn’t matter what I said. Had I told her, she would have blamed me. I didn’t want to lose her, Inspector.”

  There was a knock at the door and it opened outwards. DS Collins stepped forward clutching some paperwork.

  “This has come through from the Home Office, sir,” he said, indicating the forms in his hand. “Mr Vitsin is set to be deported today.”

  Caslin turned to Vitsin, “You have the legal right to challenge the-”

  “I won’t be challenging anything,” Vitsin said, interrupting him and standing up. “It is time for me to go home,” he said, offering his hand. Caslin took it and they made eye contact in a show of mutual respect. Both men set out to achieve one goal that day… and both failed.

  Chapter 28

  Caslin left the cell without another word acknowledging DS Collins with a brief nod of the head as he passed. Hunter was waiting for him in the corridor.

  “What do we do now?” she asked.

  “Head home, I guess,” Caslin replied. “There’s nothing for us here.”

  “For a moment I thought you were home,” Hunter said playfully. Caslin laughed.

  “I don’t suppose the helicopter is still on the roof is it?” Caslin asked. Hunter shook her head.

  “I can arrange a lift over to King’s Cross for you,” a voice said from behind. They turned to see DCI Covey approaching. She stepped aside allowing free passage for Vitsin to be escorted from the cell block. He walked with his head high and Caslin noted him silently mouth the words ‘I love you’ to Raisa as they crossed paths in the custody suite.

  “Much appreciated,” Hunter replied.

  “You’ll be in time to catch the last train,” Covey said. “Unless you fancy a night in the city. It’d be like old times.”

  Caslin smiled, “Another time, I promise.”

  “There’s that word again,” Covey said, grinning.

  “Are you looking for us?” Caslin asked.

  “Commander Montgomerie asked that I convey his gratitude to the two of you. He was impressed with how you carried yourselves today.”

  “I’m not,” Caslin grunted. “We had one goal and completely screwed it up. I don’t suppose he mentioned anything about Walsh’s deposition?”

  “The dossier he was due to present was brought in, if that’s what you mean?”

  Caslin nodded, “And what is to be done with it?”

  “It will be assessed and passed on to the relevant authorities.”

  “Assessed by who? Which authorities?” Caslin pressed, feeling the answers were rather too ambiguous.

  Covey shrugged, “I don’t know, sorry. Come on, let’s get you guys squared away. We’ll have time to grab a bite to eat if you fancy it?”

  “Not for me,” Caslin said, heading back towards the custody suite. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

  Covey passed Hunter a questioning look, “I guess some things never change. Any idea what’s got into him this time?”

  “None,” Hunter replied, setting off after Caslin, “but I guess we’re passing on the meal.”

  She caught up with Caslin as he was leaving the custody suite, the double doors nearly catching her in the face as he released them such was his turn of pace.

  “Nate!” she called, trying to get his attention. He slowed and looked back at her.

  “Sorry, I didn’t know you were there.”

  “What’s gotten into you?” she asked. Caslin shook his head and set off again, purposefully striding along the corridor. “Where are you even going?” He stopped. She had a point. He had no idea where he was going.

  “There’s something wrong. I can feel it.”

  “You and your instincts again,” Hunter said, smiling. Caslin didn’t return her good nature. Taking out his mobile, he called Terry Holt back at Fulford Road.

  “Terry, do you have any news for me?”

  “Nothing major,” he said, thinking about it. “Oh, hang on, I did have some joy with that photograph the old widow brought in… Miranda Richardson.”

  “Michaelson,” Caslin corrected.

  “Yeah, her,” Holt confirmed. “Anyway, I’ve identified the other guy in the photo. It came up on Google image, can you believe that? You’ll never guess who it is, though. He’s a member of the House of Lords.”

  “Payne,” Caslin said firmly. Holt was surprised.

  “Yeah!” Holt exclaimed. “Lord Payne. How the hell did you know that?”

  “Did you check him out?”

  “Only the headlines of his bio. I mean, what with Walsh being killed today, I figured there wasn’t a great rush to go into detail.”

  “What did you find out?” Caslin asked, guiding Hunter into an empty room off the corridor. She flicked on the lights and he switched the call onto loudspeaker as she closed the door. Holt’s voice sounded disembodied and there was an echo on the line. They ignored it.

  “Lord Payne of Whittingdale,” Holt began. “Seventy-four years of age, he was made a life-peer in 1996 by the then Conservative Prime Minister. Attended Eton before going on to Oxbridge-”

  “Anything more recent?” Caslin interrupted.

  “Erm… let me see,” Holt said, clearly scanning through his notes. “Has had a successful business career on the boards of several multi-nationals and still sits on the board of one or two. He’s currently Deputy-Chair on the Treasury Select Committee… should I go on? I mean, I pulled his associations from the Register of Lords’ Interests.”

  “Michaelson wrote about the register. What businesses is he still actively involved in?” Caslin asked. Hunter’s interest was piqued. She leaned in closer.

  “ITF… where he’s a non-executive director, they are tied to big pharma… YP Global Holdings… again non-exec…” Holt sucked air through his teeth as he scanned his notes. “Henderson Holdings Ltd.”

  “That one!” Caslin said. “What’s the interest there?”<
br />
  “He’s the current Chairman of the board,” Holt stated. “Why?” Caslin hung up. Hunter stared at him. Caslin closed his eyes.

  “What’s going on?” Hunter asked him. “Who are Henderson Holdings?”

  “They were involved in Project Obmen. Michaelson was querying export licences granted to them a couple of years ago.”

  “And Michaelson knew Payne,” Hunter said.

  “And Michaelson is very much dead having raised concerns about a conflict of interest.”

  “You don’t think…” Hunter began but didn’t finish the question. Caslin furiously rubbed at his temples with the palms of his hands releasing a controlled howl as realisation dawned.

  “Cory Walsh said he was going to blow it wide open today. They were his exact words when he spoke to me earlier,” Caslin said, locking eyes with her. “Lord Payne is the Deputy-Chair of the committee that Walsh was scheduled to come before.”

  “You do know what you’re saying don’t you?” Hunter said, lowering her voice as if fearful someone would overhear. Caslin didn’t have an opportunity to respond as DCI Covey appeared at the doorway.

  “There you are!” she said. “I’ll give you that lift to the King’s Cross now if you like?”

  “I’d like to speak with Commander Montgomerie beforehand, if you could see to that?” Caslin asked. Covey shook her head.

  “He anticipated you would. He told me he would be in meetings for the remainder of the day so he’d be unavailable. But, if you wanted to leave your details with his office, then he’ll set up a telephone call later in the week.” Caslin looked at Hunter. She was thinking the same as him.

  “Later in the week?” Caslin confirmed. Covey nodded. “Bastard. We’ll see about that.” Caslin brushed past her and stalked into the corridor beyond. “Which way is his office?”

  “Is there a problem?” Covey asked, following.

  “I want a word.”

  “You’re wasting your time,” Covey said, catching up to him. Caslin turned to face her.

  “It’s my time to waste.”

  “He won’t see you,” Covey hissed, lowering her voice.

  Caslin shook his head. “What do you know about this?”