A Killing Place in the Sun

by Robert F Barker

  'I sense a 'but'.' Murray said.

  'I have researched Podruznig. And this so-called Security Chief of his-.' She searched through her papers.

  'Lantzeff,' Murray reminded her.

  'That’s him. First of all, you were right. Podruznig does have connections with several of those people nowadays refer to as, “The Oligarchs”.’ Murray nodded, clearly not surprised. It was he who had first suggested she may want to check it out. 'In particular he worked for someone called-' She searched through her papers again, found it. 'Anatoly Kaskiv?' If Murray had heard the name he didn’t show it. 'He is in shipping, as well as other things. Anyway, it seems that Podruznig started off acting as a… I think you would call it, a fixer, to some of these characters?' She looked up, caught his affirming nod. 'I haven’t been able to get hold of a police record yet but there seems little doubt he was involved in some very dubious activities. He has a reputation for extreme violence.' She looked up again, saw his face. 'Am I boring you or do you already know all this?'

  'Carry on.'

  She took a deep breath not at all sure she wasn’t wasting her time. 'A few years ago, it seems Podruznig decided to go ‘respectable.’ I am not sure why. He invested in some companies Kaskiv and a couple of others had inherited during the soviet upheavals, motor manufacture, gas production, that sort of thing. He also, somehow, ended up with a stake in the privatisation of Aeroflot. I won’t bore you with the details.'

  As Murray nodded again, Fofo wondered once more how much of what she was telling him he’d already gleaned from his own sources. Most of what she’d discovered was even in the public domain. Thanks to the dedicated efforts of a handful of stalwartly-patriotic Soviet exiles around the world - some of whom were now dead – much of it was now on-line, especially Wikipedia. Over recent years such people had made it their mission in life to expose the stinking corruption that had allowed the former wealth of the Soviet Union to fall into the hands of the relatively small number of entrepreneurs who just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Still more could be gleaned reading between the lines of what they had written. People like Kaskiv - and those feeding off him, like Podruznig - weren’t subject to assassination attempts because of the equitable way they ran their business affairs. But Fofo wasn’t stupid. If this was just what she had been able to find out, there had to be more, lots more. She wondered what Murray had been doing since she saw him last, apart from acting like an idiot. She got to the nub of it.

  'The main point is, over the years several people have tried to sue Podruznig through the courts.' She gave Murray a loaded look. 'He seems to have a knack of making enemies.'

  'Is that right?'

  'But as far as I’ve been able to find out, no one has ever got their case before a judge. Sooner or later, people always drop their cases, quite suddenly in some instances, and before any bargaining has even taken place. Either that or they, or their witnesses, or their legal representatives, disappear.' She looked for a reaction. When there wasn’t any, she carried on. 'It doesn’t take a genius to work out that Podruznig, or more likely this….'

  They said his name together. 'Lantzeff.'

  '…this Lantzeff, employ some rather questionable methods to dissuade litigants from pursuing actions.'

  'So what are you telling me?'

  Fofo took a deep breath. It was what she had been leading up to. In fact, she had been thinking of little else for days, mulling over her decision, what it may mean. 'As your solicitor, I have to advise you that you should consider pursuing your claim against Klerides. There is every chance a court will find in your favour. And if that is what you want to do then you can rest assured I will do everything in my power to get the case into court.'

  This time she didn’t wait to be invited to give him the, ‘but.’ 'I must also tell you, quite frankly, that things are likely to get rough. You must be, we both must be, sure we understand what we could be getting into if we take Klerides, which means Podruznig, on. You could end up paying a higher price than you bargained for over what some might see as simply a point of principle.

  'Is that how you see it? A point of principle?'

  Seeing the look in his face she softened, searching for the right balance between professional advice and compassion.

  'I know what the house means to you, Peter. And what it meant to Katherine. But you have to remember that Klerides did offer you another property. Okay, it’s not the one you originally signed up for, but it’s comparable in many ways. And he’s probably right when he says it is worth more. Some legal advisers would see it as a fair offer, and would advise you to take it.'

  'I asked if you think this is about a point of principle.'

  She took a deep breath. 'No. I believe this is more than a point of principle.' For once he gave her something back, not much, but enough.

  'Thank you.' She nodded her acknowledgment. He continued. 'So, seeing as we both agree this isn’t just about principles, what are you advising me to do?'

  Fofo Philippou sat back in her chair. For several seconds she tapped the rubber end of her pencil on the yellow legal pad in front of her, at the same time subjecting him to a long look. Would he be up for it? More to the point, was she?

  Eventually, her attractive face broke into the sly smile some people said hinted at something dark within her. She sat forward again, and as she did so she thought she saw something in his face that told her he knew exactly what she was going to say.

  'I hate these Pontians who come to my country and think that just because they have money they are above the law. If you are up for it, I think we should sue.'

  CHAPTER 5

  Murray waited for the clattering noise to stop. The dive shed was made of breeze-block topped with fibre-glass sheeting and had a corrugated iron roof. The generator powering the Max-air Scuba Compressor was running full-on. There was no chance he would be heard over the din bouncing off and around the walls.

  Across the other side, by the workbenches, a man was filling air-tanks. Back to Murray, his attention was on the row of pressure gauges on the wall above. Tall and gangly, his still-damp, ginger hair hung in rats’ tails. The top half of his wet-suit dangled behind, like a withered, con-joined twin. As he monitored the dials he seemed as oblivious of Murray’s presence as Murray appeared to be of the small Nepalese in bright blue Bermuda-shorts and carrying a spear-gun who crept up behind and prodded the point squarely into his belt. At the same time the man working the compressor released the trigger so that the noise suddenly cut off.

  'That belt cost me twenty euro on Pafos market,' Murray said without looking round. 'If you mark it Kish, I’m going to stick that spike so far up your arse the only job you’ll be good for will be as a spit.'

  Chuckling, the ginger-haired man didn’t turn as he hung up the hose. 'Jesus, Kishore, you make more noise than a crate of roller-skating monkeys.'

  Behind Murray, the former Ghurkha corporal with the spear gun shrugged, and put up his weapon. As Murray turned, he ran a finger over the smooth leather, checking. The man called Kishore smiled, displaying prominent white teeth.

  'You fucking fairy,' Kishore mocked. His voice was a mix of native Nepal and East-end cockney. 'Since when did you worry about poncy belts?'

  Murray looked threatening. 'Since a little buck-toothed bastard thought he could creep up on someone without being heard.' He made a grab at the spear-gun but the smaller man was ready, and jerked it out of his reach.

  The toothy grin showed again. 'You’ve slowed up, Plod. You’ve lost it.'

  Murray turned to the other man, now sauntering over, wiping his hands on a rag.

  'It’s time you drowned this runt and got yourself a proper pet,' Murray said.

  The man nodded, accepting the truth of it. 'Aye, but he does a good job keeping the rats down.'

  Murray shook his head, not convinced. For several seconds the two men faced each other, noting the changes.

  Red’s hair was longer, if thinner, but his face wa
s as tanned and weathered as it had always been. Several days’ grey stubble lightened his chin and jowls. Murray had put back on some of the weight he’d lost. He still had a way to go yet, but he knew he looked better for it.

  After a few seconds’ inspection, both men caved, stepping in to embrace each other. The man in the wet suit was taller and older and before they broke he clapped Murray’s back in a way Murray read as, I miss her too. He cocked his head to one side. 'How are you, Pete?'

  Murray shrugged, took a long, deep breath. 'Getting there, I guess.'

  Former SAS-Sergeant Mike 'Red' McGeary nodded, letting his silence substitute for words their reunion would otherwise have merited. Then he turned to the still-grinning Nepalese.

  'Kish. Go tell that lot out front the dive is cancelled. Tell ‘em there’s a storm brewing. Then break out some Keo.'

  Some minutes later, the three popped Keo cans as they sat at the plastic table in the small courtyard out back. It was private and, under the vine-laden trellis, welcomingly cool.

  'Yamas,' Red said, raising his beer.

  'Yamas,' the other two answered. As cans clinked, condensation dripped onto the table. They all supped, long and slow.

  'So,' Red said eventually, pulling another chair round and putting his feet up. 'Tell us.'

  Over the next few minutes Murray gave his ex-colleagues further details of the problem he’d first sent word of in an email, weeks before. In particular, he described what he’d discovered about how the Russian had accomplished it, the veiled threats he now knew Podruznig had made towards the Klerides brothers and their families - not that they had reported anything to the police. He told how, finally convinced they had no choice, Nik and Christos had voided the contract with Murray in favour of the Russian. Murray spoke of the anger he’d first felt at being cheated, and how he’d been on the point of setting out to convince the builders of the error of their ways when he caught wind of what had actually happened.

  Red snorted. 'No excuse as far as I’m concerned. If it had been me, I’d still have buried the bastards.'

  But Murray shook his head. After listening to Nik’s story and checking a couple of details, he was satisfied the pair’s actions were nothing to do with greed, rather simply making sure their families stayed safe and the business viable. It wasn’t their fault. He said so.

  Red interrupted again. 'But why your house? Why didn’t the Russian just get Klerides to build him a new one? There’s plenty of land out there.'

  'His wife, Klerides reckons. Apparently she took one look at it, or rather the location, it wasn’t finished then, and decided it was just the place she was looking for. It’s the most prominent point along that stretch of coast.’

  Red nodded. 'The view’s spectacular, that’s for sure.'

  Murray stopped his can an inch from his lips. 'You’ve been out there?'

  Red swigged some beer before answering. 'Not to the house, but we dive along that stretch all the time.'

  Murray nodded. The calm, crystal waters north of Pafos are well used by the resort’s several dive schools. He continued. 'Podruznig’s wife is a former beauty queen, or model, or something. But from what I’ve heard, the marriage is a sham. He treats her like shit, but still likes to show there isn’t anything he can’t get if he puts his mind to it.'

  Red spat in the dust. 'Women. They cause more fucking trouble….'

  'I doubt she even knows what he did,' Murray said. 'Apparently Podruznig went looking for her when he decided to become respectable, and didn’t hang about trying to romance her. The word is he just uses her to show people that the rumours about his other interests are bullshit.'

  'And are they?'

  Can to his lips, Murray shrugged. 'I’m still working on that one, but I wouldn’t mind betting they’re true. From what I know, he’s not exactly what you’d call well-balanced.'

  'Like us you mean?' Kishore said, grinning. Murray ignored it.

  'Anyway, it appears his wife isn’t the sharpest tool in the box. She wouldn’t have given a thought that the house might already be spoken for. My fight’s not with her.'

  'Guess not,' Red said.

  After popping more cans, Murray brought them up to date, describing his abortive visit to the house the previous morning. Red and Kishore sat up, more alarmed, it seemed, than Murray thought it merited. After all, he was still here wasn’t he? He moved on to recount his morning meeting with Fofo. On hearing of her enthusiasm for doing battle in court, Red looked sceptical.

  'That could take a long time.'

  Murray wafted his concern away. 'I can’t let her take it on. It’s too dangerous and I’m not going to let her expose herself that way.'

  'Have you told her?'

  'Not in so many words. I said I’d think about it and get back to her.'

  Kishore chipped in. 'So you’ve come to us instead.'

  Murray turned to the diminutive Nepalese. Excitement already showed in the beady eyes. He was probably already imagining them teaming up again, what it might mean, what it might bring.

  'Don’t get ahead of yourself Kish. I’m still weighing options. And I’m not ready yet to start something that could well turn nasty. Kathy wouldn’t want that.'

  At mention of her, the atmosphere around the table changed. Red and Kishore had known Kathy. Kishore adored her.

  'You’re right,' Red said. 'She wouldn’t.'

  They finished the rest of their beers in silence. Eventually, Red broke it.

  'As a matter of interest, what was the set up at the house?'

  'He’s well dug-in,' Murray said. He described his welcome committee. 'Since leaving Ukraine, Podruznig keeps a small army of ex-military around him. For personal-protection supposedly, but they come in handy for other things, too, I imagine.'

  'Like putting the squeeze on people.'

  Murray twitched an eyebrow. 'Podruznig got Klerides to extend the basement as well as the house. It’s a lot bigger now than we originally planned. According to Klerides there’s accommodation down there for twenty or more, as well as a state-of-the-art security system. He likes his privacy. It’s why he’s come here. Things were getting a bit too hot back home it seems, but he’s close enough here to keep in touch if and when he needs to. He’s still got fingers in plenty of pies around the Russias.'

  'So what’s your plan?' Red said.

  Murray stood up. 'There’s someone else I’ve got to see. Then I’ll decide.' Crushing his can, he tossed it to Kishore. 'Don’t fall asleep, Goofy. I still owe you for ruining my belt.' Then he marched out, ducking under the vines as he headed towards the Dive Shop’s front,

  'Prissy wanker,' Kishore called to his back. Murray didn’t turn.

  From under the shade of the front awning, the pair watched as Murray threaded his way through the tourists milling around the bric-a-brac and souvenir shops lining the arcade down to the sea-front. As he disappeared, Kishore turned to his partner, all trace of humour now gone.

  'What do you think?'

  Red took his time. 'Not sure yet. Let’s wait and see. It might all just sort itself out.'

  'And if it doesn’t?'

  A broad grin split Red’s weather-beaten features. 'In that case me old cocker, you, me and our mate Plod may have to resume where we left off.'

  Kishore’s eyes widened and his brows jerked up and down, several times. 'Can’t wait.'

  CHAPTER 6

  If the Pafos Divisional Police Headquarters were situated in some sandy desert, rather than the centre of the Old Town, looking down on Kato Pafos - the tourist area around the harbour - it could pass as some Foreign Legion outpost. Square, and plainly built around an inner compound that is used for everything from mustering-parades, to car parking, to volley-ball, the station’s wide, outer, stone wall is broken, here and there, by green-shuttered windows. Around the inner square, wooden steps lead up to the walkway that gives access to the second storey offices. Almost completely enclosed, the square is a natural sun trap. Not yet ten o‘clock, t
he temperature outside was already into the high twenties.

  The Divisional Commander’s office is situated on the North East corner where it catches the least direct sunlight. As Murray waited in the small ante-office, he was grateful for the barest breeze coming off the ceiling fan. He was trying to remember if the Police Chief’s office had air-con, but he’d last visited in April, long before a local would have felt the need to use it.

  Murray checked the clock on the wall behind the desk where Woman-Sergeant Andri Pahiti sat at her keyboard. He had been waiting nearly a quarter of an hour now. It made him wonder what was happening behind the door Andri guarded.

  Andri’s initial pleasantries - 'Nice to see you again Mr Murray. How do you like our Cyprus sun?' - had finally dried up as she got back to typing up the summaries for the stack of Court Files on the table beside her. A middle-aged career officer and, as she had disclosed during Murray’s last visit, married to a Limassol-based Inspector, Andri had the air of someone who had been around long enough to have seen it all. Attractive, in a motherly sort of way, her quiet efficiency reminded Murray of some of the spinsterly types he had come across during his own police service back in the UK. It prompted thoughts in Murray’s mind about how, though the island’s system of policing was based on the British model, the local force seemed to operate in a time warp that mirrored UK Policing thirty or more years earlier. He wondered if the cult TV drama from years back, ‘Life on Mars’, had ever been popular here. Even if it had, most Cypriots would probably never get the jokes.