CHAPTER 3
Still shaking, Nik half-stepped, half-fell out of the truck. As his jelly-legs began to give under him, the giant Siberian’s paw dug into his shoulder and lifted, forcing him to stay on his feet. The sight of angry men brandishing guns made Nik’s head spin more, and as he struggled to orient himself, he glanced back at Murray.
The Englishman was still just sitting there, watching as the men outside banged on the window, pulled at the handle, demanded he open the door Nik hadn’t seen him lock. But then the fingers gripping him spun him round and he found himself staring into Lantzeff’s angry face.
‘KLERIDES?’
Nik sighed in relief. At least the man remembered him. But it did nothing to quell the Siberian’s fierce anger.
'WHAT MADNESS IS THIS?’ Lantzeff yelled. 'What brings you here?'
Before Nik could answer, his interrogator glanced over his shoulder into the pick-up. Nik saw the gun come up, pointing at Murray. And there was no doubting the threat in Lantzeff’s voice as he addressed the Englishman.
'Out,' he said. 'Now.'
Still in the Siberian’s fierce grip, Nik managed to twist enough to see Murray give the Siberian a long stare, the half-smile now gone. But though Nik was as scared as he could ever remember, Murray didn’t seem the least bit intimidated. Eventually, he pulled the lever and stepped down from the cab.
Immediately he was surrounded by clamouring, gesticulating figures demanding to know who he was, what he thought he was doing. Like a doll in the hands of a child, Nik felt himself being half-dragged, half-carried round to the other side of the truck to join the man who had brought them to such a plight. The others stood aside as the Siberian jammed Nik up against the Englishman.
'Tell me,' the Siberian growled. 'Why are you here? And why did you come at us like that? You are lucky we didn’t blow you and your truck up before you got to the gates.'
Nick saw Murray turn his gaze on the men surrounding them. He seemed to be weighing them, their weapons, their capabilities. Nik wasn’t interested. And when Murray didn’t rush to provide the Siberian with the information he had demanded, Nik decided he ought to offer some sort of explanation.
'You know me,' Nik gushed, just in case the Siberian might have forgotten in the half-minute since he’d said his name. 'I’m Nik Klerides. The builder.'
'I know who you are,' Lantzeff barked, 'But who is this?' He jerked the gun at Murray, who turned a stony face to him. Nik knew enough to recognise a potential stand off when he saw one and wondered again if the Englishman had taken leave of his senses. Surely Nik had told him enough to know these were not the sort of people you mess with.
'This is Mr Murray,' Nik said, keen to pacify his inquisitor, calm things down and just get the hell out. The Siberian looked blank. 'You know, Mr Murray. The man I spoke to your employer about?'
The Siberian’s eyes narrowed and his head lifted as he subjected the Englishman to a scrutinising stare. Nik held his breath, hoping things were starting to register in the ape whose fingers were still digging into his shoulder. In their limited dealings, Nik had gained the impression that whatever position Lantzeff held within his employer’s organisation, it was not one that required a great deal of reasoning ability. Slowly, the big man nodded, realisation seeming to dawn, at last.
'Ach. HIM' He said it almost dismissively. He turned to Nik. 'So why have you brought him? What does he want?'
About to protest his innocence – the idiot could see who was driving – Nik opened his mouth, only for Murray to cut across.
'He didn’t bring me. I brought him. And I’m here to see your boss.'
Inside, Nik groaned.
Lantzeff looked at the Englishman as if he was mad. 'You are not expected. It is not possible.'
'That’s alright,' Nik said. 'We understand.' He turned to Murray as if to say, That’s it then. But Murray was returning Lantzeff’s stare with interest.
'Tell him I’m here. He’ll see me.'
The Siberian stood over the Englishman by a good six inches, but the way Murray was looking at him it didn’t seem to mean a thing. It prompted Nik to wonder again about him.
Eventually Lantzeff turned, and barked something at one of the men at the gate, clicking fingers and holding out a spade-like hand. The man reached behind the gatepost then jogged over with a mobile which he placed in it.
Lantzeff walked away a few paces, making the call. As he waited with the phone to his ear, he turned to stare at the two visitors. Someone answered. There was a jumble of conversation which consisted on Lantzeff’s part of little more than a series of guttural grunts and growls, none of which Nik could translate into anything meaningful. It ended with the Siberian barking a sharp, 'Da!' into the phone before he tossed it back to the gateman. He sauntered back over, eyeing them both as if they were bugs he would take great pleasure in squishing, before nodding back over his shoulder towards the house.
'He says he will see you.'
As the Siberian led them through the gates and up the block-paved driveway towards the villa’s front door, Nik saw Murray’s gaze roaming everywhere. The now landscaped garden. The child’s bat and ball awaiting its owner’s return. The custom-built Monaco-Blue BMW X7 xDrive that Nik so admired. Parked outside the double garage where it looked like someone might have been polishing it, it was now covered in a film of dust. As Nik watched, Murray transferred his attention to the front of the house, his gaze lingering somewhere high. Looking up, Nik just caught a glimpse of the blond woman before she slipped out of sight behind the master bedroom’s curtain. Nik bit his lip. Truth be told, she was probably to blame for everything.
As they passed the circular pond and fountain in the turning circle at the bottom of the steps that led up to the wide porch, Murray stopped so suddenly the man behind bumped into him. For a moment his features seemed to soften as he gazed into the gently splashing water and the careful arrangement of plants and grasses. As he saw the almost imperceptible nod, Nik thought that for once he could imagine what might be going on inside Murray’s head. An imagined conversation with someone who would, Nik was sure, have appreciated the care that had gone into achieving just the right balance between water and greenery. To his regret, Nik had met her only twice, yet it somehow felt as if he knew her well. Then they were up the steps and through the darkened doorway.
But inside, the hallway was light and airy in the way that most traditional Cypriot houses are not. After the baking heat of outside it was wonderfully cool. As he looked around, and despite his anxiety over what the next few minutes might bring, Nik indulged his craftsman’s feelings of self-satisfaction. Unable to resist, he turned to check out Murray’s reaction.
The Englishman was standing in the middle of the entrance hall, at the bottom of the wide staircase. As Nik watched, he made a slow, full turn then tipped his head back to stare up at the coloured-glass dome in the middle of the high ceiling. An extravagant touch that was Nik’s own idea - he had stood to recover less than half its cost in the final settlement - Nik remembered how pleased he had been the day when, having overseen its fitting, he stood halfway up the stairs, admiring the way it diffused the light just the way he had envisaged..
'This way.'
Lantzeff’s gruff command snapped Nik out his reverie. He followed as the Siberian led them to the carved wooden doors to the main lounge. He knocked once then, in response to the muffled hail from within, threw them open. They trooped through.
The Russian was over to their right, in front of the long sweep of curved windows that gave the room its panoramic sea-view. As they entered, he snapped his mobile shut and turned to them.
Valerik Podruznig was tall, slim and sharp featured, with high cheekbones and a hawk nose. His light brown hair, greying around the edges, was cut short in what was almost a schoolboy-style, making him appear younger than his actual age. But it was the eyes - strangely lifeless, like a dead man’s - that drew people’s attention the most. Dressed in grey linen slacks and a lo
ng-sleeved white shirt, open several buttons to reveal a thick, gold chain, his relaxed, hand-in-pocket stance made him look every inch the wheeler-dealer businessman he nowadays professed to be.
Despite it being Murray’s first glimpse of Podruznig, Nik was surprised to see that at least part of his attention seemed focused on something beyond the windows. Laid mainly to lawn – the swimming pool was further round to the right – but dotted here and there with angular flower beds, the garden shelved gently to where it met the cliff-top. There, an old carob tree stood guard over the small cove that Nik had always felt was an excellent selling point. For a fleeting second, an expression Nik couldn’t quite place flitted across the Englishman’s face, then he was turning to give the Russian his full attention.
'Mr Murray,' Podruznig said as he crossed the hardwood floor, hand outstretched. 'We meet at last.' His mouth was set in a smile that wasn’t reflected in the eyes, and he withdrew the hand as soon as it became clear Murray intended to ignore it. Nor did Murray return his greeting. Podruznig turned to Nik.
'You should have told me you were coming, Klerides. We could have been expecting you.' Though the words were those of a gracious host, disappointed at not being given enough notice to lay on lunch, Nik had little difficulty reading the message they contained. The Russian was not pleased to be interrupted this way.
Like at the gate, Murray wasn’t going to let blame fall anywhere other than where it was due.
'He couldn’t tell you because he didn’t know.'
Murray tossed the words out, casually, as he gazed about the room, taking in the elaborate décor and furnishings that were in a different league to those on the original plan.
But at least it had the effect of drawing Podruznig’s scrutiny away from Nik. For long seconds Podruznig watched as the Englishman completed his appraisal. Eventually, his reconnoitring finished, and presumably aware of the silence that was now hanging, Murray turned to face the man he had come to see.
Less than thirty seconds had passed since they had first laid eyes on each other, but it was already clear to Nik there was to be no pretence at amiable politeness on either part. Nik knew it would not trouble the Russian - Podruznig hadn’t made his fortune by prevaricating – and he was beginning to think the same about Murray.
The Russian’s smile disappeared, replaced by a cold stare and an icy manner. 'Why have you come, Mr Murray?'
When Murray replied his words were clear and calm. And as far as Nik could tell he seemed entirely serious when he said, 'I want my house back. And I would like you, your family and your associates to leave. Now.'
CHAPTER 4
Efrosine Philippou’s eyes widened as she leaned over her desk.
'And how did he react?'
Despite her client going completely against all her advice, ‘Fofo’, as she was more commonly known was, nevertheless, engrossed. And though she was doing her best to maintain the professionalism for which she was known, she also knew that her taste for the dramatic - and which she shared with many of her fellow country women - was in danger of showing.
'He laughed in my face,' Murray said. 'I guess he thought I was joking. When I told him I wasn’t, he got pissy and started ranting.'
'About?'
'Oh, solicitors, contracts, not-so-veiled threats. That sort of thing.'
At the whiff of an opening, Fofo sat up, pen poised again. 'He threatened you?'
But Murray shook his head. 'Nothing you could make anything out of in court. But they were there. It’s the way he operates.'
Fofo frowned, annoyed by his casual dismissal, and not for the first time since he’d begun his narrative. For some reason, her client seemed intent on playing down anything that could hint at a bargaining point. It was as if he had already decided that court action was not the way forward, though she couldn’t imagine why. It made her wonder again whether he was simply cynical of Cyprus’s legal process - given his army/police background he would know it well enough - or if what he’d been doing these past few years had turned him into one of those ‘actions speak louder than words’ ex-service types she met occasionally. The sort who think that because of their background and contacts, no one would be stupid enough to mess with them. They all re-join the real world eventually, of course. Though by then it is usually too late. Certainly in Murray’s case, whilst his anger at the wrong done to him seemed as strong as ever, there were times when he seemed, just a little too understanding of the grab-it-while-you-can mentality that seemed to underpin the Russian’s actions.
Masking her disappointment, Fofo checked her notes again, hoping to spot something she might convince him to let her use, but there was nothing.
Eventually she said, 'So how did it end?'
'I guess you’d have to say he threw us out.'
'Physically?' One last try.
He gave it some thought. 'It depends on your definition of physical.'
Glaring at him, she chose not to press it.
She sighed and leaned back in her chair. 'What did Klerides say?'
Murray thought a moment. 'I don’t think he’ll let me drive his truck again.'
For the first time since he’d arrived to tell her about what she wasted no time in labelling, 'An entirely ill-judged intervention,' Fofo failed to stop the smile that was never far away from breaking through. Having been told many times how it changed her - radically most said - she didn’t let it linger. Then it was back to business. She shook her head.
'You are sure there was no violence of any sort?'
'None at all. I couldn’t even say if the guns were loaded.'
She froze. 'They had guns?'
He half-smiled, like it had been a joke. 'I’m kidding. There were no guns.'
For a long time she let her gaze linger on him, trying to decide whether the innocent look was genuine. She had learned long ago how he seemed to enjoy winding her up - the way some men do. But given how she had committed herself to his cause, if she thought for one moment he was keeping stuff like that back from her, she would not be pleased. She liked to think that after all this time he trusted her, and that the same went for Penny, her ex-pat English secretary, though she was aware he was less sure of some of her colleagues. He made no secret of his reluctance to share information with those who don’t need to know. To some extent she understood. Pafos was a place where many of the locals either know each other, or are related. Secrets tend not to stay that way. And whilst she knew he’d also taken the matter to the police, he had, it seemed, even been reluctant to say too much to them. Why, she still wasn’t sure. She eyed him, coolly, before putting down her pen.
'Peter.' She paused while he gave her his full attention. 'Why is it I have the distinct impression you are not telling me everything?'
He didn’t avoid her gaze. 'I am telling you everything you need to know as my solicitor.'
'But shouldn’t it be me who decides what I need to know?'
In truth, Fofo was beginning to feel more than a little patronised. With an LLB from Oxford, she was rightly proud of her hard-earned reputation as one of the island’s best litigators outside Nicosia. But there had been occasions when he had said things that left her wondering if he was trying to protect her from something. Yes, the information she had garnered on Podruznig so far was alarming, particularly the bits about his penchant for violence and - assuming it was true - young girls. But whatever the fate of those who had previously tried to get Podruznig into court - she hadn’t mentioned that side of things to her Italian boyfriend, Franco, yet – it would not stop her from following her principles, or doing the job she had trained so long and hard for.
Murray leaned forward. His face said, ‘Time for some straight talking’.
'I’ll tell you what,' he said. She arched a wary eyebrow. 'You tell me what you were going to tell me before I mentioned going to see Podruznig. Then, if there is anything I know that might change things, I promise I’ll tell you.'
She gave him the sort of look she usually
kept for opposing counsel. But eventually, she caved, and shook her head, exasperated. As she did a spray of her thick, dark hair fell across her face. She swept it back with the practised gesture she was aware many of her clients seemed to like. Murray didn’t move.
'The next time I see Nik, I am going to tell him he must never again send me clients like you.' Ignoring the wan smile of apology, she commenced to give him the opinion he’d come for. It was in two parts.
First off, she told him how she thought he had a strong case. True, they would have to concede that, technically, he was in breach of contract for failing to make the last two stage-payments within the periods stipulated. However, assuming he could prove the, 'extraordinary and extenuating circumstances beyond his control,' he claimed had prevented him from making the necessary arrangements, and that his claim to have contacted Klerides’ office by telephone to inform them the payments would be late held up, then there was a fair chance a court would find in their favour. Klerides’ sudden voiding of the contract – particularly his failure to give reasonable notice - would, in all the circumstances, be adjudged a disproportionate response to something that developers operating within Cyprus’s dynamic property market were well-used to.
At this point Fofo emphasised that she was putting her trust in his claim to have good reason why he could only reveal the nature of the 'extenuating circumstances' to a Judge in his or her private chambers. She had tried pressing him on the matter of course, but he had been insistent. And it was only his reference to ‘sensitive military matters’ that finally persuaded her to drop it. It is widely accepted within Cyprus legal circles that the island’s strategically-significant location, as well as its historic links with the British Armed Forces, generate any number of legal anomalies. European Union and UN-sponsored negotiations over the island’s partitioned status are always on-going, and given the country’s interest in maintaining its strong links with Britain, the courts tend to be sympathetic towards those who find themselves disadvantaged as a result of performing some duty that is, in some way, conducive to Cyprus’s longer term interests. It certainly wasn’t beyond the bounds of possibility that whatever work Murray had been involved in, a judge may well be persuaded to rule him a 'Special Case.' And if that happened, there was an excellent chance the court would find in their favour. The contract between Klerides and Pudruznig would be voided and the property would revert to Murray’s ownership. She paused to sip from her water bottle.
A Killing Place in the Sun Page 2
