MONOLITH (10 page)

The room smelled of coffee and expensive aftershave.

The six men seated around the long rectangular wooden table in the centre of the red carpeted room were all in their forties and upwards and they moved with the pace of men who didn’t need to hurry.

Every now and then the relative silence inside the room would be broken by a cough or the clinking of porcelain as one of them sipped at his coffee. Even the soft turning of sheets of paper was audible in the high ceilinged room with it oak panelled walls. Every little sound seemed magnified by the acoustics in the room, heightened by the vaulted ceiling.

There were several framed photos on the walls, competing for space with a number of portraits all displayed in gilt frames that caught the light and reflected it back into the room. The eyes of those in the paintings and photographs regarded the occupants of the room blankly as they carried on the business that had been perpetrated within for hundreds of years before and which would continue for many more to come.

The man seated at the head of the table was the oldest occupant of the room and it was he who looked up from the file he’d been reading and around at his colleagues. He coughed theatrically then tapped the long wooden table three times.

‘Gentlemen,’ he said. ‘If we might come to order now.’

Brian Dunham was fifty-three. A large, slightly overweight man who wore a dark grey suit and a tie fastened a little too tightly around his neck. It made it appear that he was being slowly garrotted and he pulled occasionally at the knot of the tie with his long fingers. He had bushy eyebrows and a shock of blonde hair that appeared as though it must have been dyed but anyone who knew him would reveal that he had possessed that same blonde mop all his life. He had tried cutting it short on a number of occasions but, as time had gone on, he’d decided that it had become something of a trademark for him and he’d grown fond of it. Even though at this precise moment in time it badly needed trimming. There had been a photo of him in a National Newspaper recently and he had looked positively scruffy he had been told. He swept one hand through it and looked again at the other men seated around the table.

‘We have before us an application for planning permission as you know,’ Dunham began. ‘Filed by and on behalf of the offices of Andrei Voronov. As with selected other applications for planning, this has been passed to us for consideration by Westminster council.’

‘Why couldn’t the council just make a decision in its own right?’ the man sitting to Dunham’s right wanted to know.

‘Because, as you know, some decisions are, how should I put it, beyond their remit,’ Dunham went on. ‘We were felt better disposed to make a decision in this case.’

‘How much of London does Voronov want to own?’ one of the other men grunted. ‘This is a much more expansive project than even the Crystal Tower was.’ Adrian Murray was a tall, thin faced man with a forehead so smooth it looked as if he’d been forcibly injected with Botox on a regular basis.

‘Expansive or expensive,’ one of the other men chuckled and some laughs echoed around the table.

‘I agree,’ Murray added. ‘There’s a huge amount of work to be done. And in the area of London proposed it would cause serious disruption for God alone knows how long.’

‘On the other hand it would create a huge amount of jobs, a project of this size,’ a third man offered.

‘And that has nothing to do with the fact that you own a building business?’ Dunham grunted. His remark was greeted by laughs from around the table.

‘He’d probably use his own labour,’ the third man snorted.

‘He didn’t on construction of the Crystal Tower,’ Dunham said.

‘I don’t think the Crystal Tower was anywhere near as big a project as this one he’s proposing now,’ Murray said, thoughtfully.

Dunham sat in silence for a moment and the other eyes in the room turned on him as if waiting for his response.

‘And how far over deadline has the Crystal Tower gone?’ one of the men offered. ‘Three months? More?’

Dunham nodded.

‘I still think we should consider the long-term benefits to be gained by granting permission for this project to go ahead,’ the third man said.

‘Long-term benefits for whom? Voronov?’ Dunham snorted. ‘If I remember rightly there was considerable opposition to the Crystal Tower.’

‘There was from local residents and I think we can expect the same kind of opposition if permission is granted for this project,’ Murray interjected.

‘I agree,’ Dunham muttered.

‘There’s always opposition to whatever project is proposed,’ one of the other men reminded them. ‘Especially one such as this when it involves such extensive work in this area of London. If he wanted to build twenty blocks of flats in Hackney none of us would object would we?’

‘But he doesn’t want to build flats in Hackney does he?’ Dunham said. ‘He wants to build a hotel on the banks of the Thames.’

‘What are your objections, Brian?’ Murray asked.

‘It isn’t down to me personally,’ Dunham remarked. ‘This has nothing to do with any of us on a personal level.’

‘Other than the fact that we are Londoners,’ the man went on.

‘Does Chiswick count?’ another asked and there were more chuckles.

‘We are representatives of the city of London,’ Dunham reminded them. ‘All decisions made by this office should be for the good of the city and its inhabitants, not the personal advancement of one man. Especially not a man like Voronov.’

‘A foreigner, you mean?’ one of the other men said dismissively.

‘He’s a Jew, isn’t he?’ one of the other men offered.

‘His nationality has nothing to do with it,’ Dunham snapped. He paused and sucked in a thoughtful breath. ‘But there is something … disagreeable about Voronov, I’ll admit that.’

‘So are we deciding the future of this project on its viability or on the personality of the man who wants to push it through?’ the man closest to Dunham wanted to know. ‘If planning permission was decided on personality then nothing would ever be built in this city.’

Dunham smiled and looked around the table at his companions.

‘My initial instinct is that this project should be denied planning permission,’ he said, flatly. ‘For the reasons we’ve discussed today and also at previous meetings.’ He sat forward, rested his elbows on the long wooden table and steepled his fingers.

‘Voronov will have the right of appeal, won’t he?’ Adrian Murray enquired. ‘He can appeal against this decision through the Council if he wishes.’

‘Of course,’ Dunham went on. ‘I’m sure he’ll find ways of trying to counter our negativity.’ He smiled.

‘Like he did with the Crystal Tower?’ the man nearest Dunham murmured.

‘Well, Voronov seems to think that everyone and everything has a price,’ Dunham mused. ‘Perhaps we should put that theory to the test.’ He glanced down at the file of papers in front of him then picked up his pen and scribbled one word on the top sheet:

DENIED.

‘We could have met at your place.’

Jess sipped at her red wine and looked across the table at Alex Hadley.

‘I told you when you rang it wasn’t convenient,’ he told her without looking at her. ‘Besides, there isn’t room to swing a fucking cat there.’

They sat in silence for a moment then Jess pushed her phone across the table towards Hadley who picked it up and scrolled through the shots.

‘Who’s the dead guy?’ he asked.

‘I’m not sure of his name but it’s not his name that interests me,’ she said, moving her chair around so she could also see the screen of the phone. She pointed to one of the pictures, outlining something on it. ‘There’s no blood.’

Hadley frowned and inspected the picture more closely.

‘Not in that one or any of the others,’ Jess went on.

‘That’s not possible,’ Hadley said, quietly.

‘Then where is it?’

Hadley stroked his chin.

‘I need to get back inside the Crystal Tower,’ she told him.

‘And how are you going to do that?’

‘I was hoping you might have some ideas. That’s why I called you.’

Hadley looked carefully at the photos once again then handed the phone back to Jess.

‘Break in,’ he said, flatly.

Jess looked at him in silence for a moment.

‘How the hell else are you going to do it?’ Hadley enquired. ‘You had a run in with one of Voronov’s security men last time, didn’t you? They know what you look like now. They’re not going to let you within a mile of that place.’

‘If they’ve got nothing to hide then it shouldn’t be a problem,’ Jess smiled.

Hadley looked at her and shook his head.

‘Are you going to help me?’ she asked.

‘Help you do what?’

‘Find out what’s going on?’

‘A series of unfortunate accidents is what’s been going on, Jess, nothing more.’

‘There’s a story there, Alex, I’m telling you. I can’t believe you’re so resistant to it. If you help me we could write it together.’

‘Is this a bit of charity work for you then? Help Hadley get some fucking work?’

‘Don’t be stupid. I asked for your help because I needed it. I respect what you are.’

‘What I
was
, Jess.’

They regarded each other silently for a moment, Hadley finally dropping his gaze to the table top as if he’d spotted something of great importance there next to the gouges in the wood and the rings left by the glasses.

‘I was talking to a friend of yours the other day,’ Jess told him, finally.

Hadley raised his eyebrows quizzically.

‘Clive Garston,’ she told him.

‘Cunt,’ Hadley said, shaking his head. ‘What the fuck was he going on about?’

‘Like you really care?’

‘Just asking.’

‘He was talking about you. Well, he
mentioned
you.’ She shrugged and smiled.

Hadley sipped his drink.

‘Why were you talking about me?’ he asked.

‘I just mentioned that I’d seen you,’ Jess informed him.

‘You didn’t tell him anything else did you? He doesn’t know about me, about my … situation?’

Jess shook her head.

‘So what if he does, Alex?’ she said, defiantly. ‘Fuck him.’

‘I don’t want him or anyone else to know,’ Hadley snapped. ‘It’s fucking humiliating.’ He looked down into the bottom of his glass.

‘You’re a better journalist then he’ll ever be.’

‘I
was
better. Not any more.’

‘For fuck’s sake, Alex,’ Jess snapped. ‘Stop this will you?’

‘Stop feeling sorry for myself? Is that what you were going to say?’ he countered. ‘I’m not feeling sorry for myself, Jess I’m just trying to face the fucking situation I’m in. I’m finished as a journalist. I have been for over a year now. I’m nearly fucking broke and in about a month I’ll be homeless unless some work comes in and that doesn’t look very likely.’ He looked at her angrily. ‘This is nothing to do with self-pity. This is all about reality.’

‘Then help me with this story,’ she retorted. ‘Help me, Alex and help yourself too.’

Brian Dunham was about to step into the waiting lift when he heard his name being called from further back down the corridor behind him.

He turned to see Adrian Murray approaching at something slightly quicker than a walk and guessed from the speed of his companion’s pace that it must be reasonably important. Murray rarely, if ever, moved faster than walking pace and even then that speed seemed to be something of an effort. Dunham turned, nodding politely to the two other occupants of the lift. The two women nodded back and one of them pressed the ‘Door close’ button inside and the two doors slid shut.

‘Have you got a minute?’ Murray asked. ‘I thought this was best between just the two of us.’

Dunham raised his eyebrows and nodded.

‘Why the need for secrecy, Adrian?’ he asked, smiling. ‘What have we got to talk about that we should keep from our colleagues?’

Murray glanced up and down the corridor conspiratorially then ushered Dunham towards one of the nearest offices, pushing open the door to ensure that no one was already inside. Once he saw that the room was empty he walked in, ushered Dunham in too and closed the door behind them.

‘It’s this business with Andrei Voronov,’ Murray began. ‘The planning permission for the new hotel he wants to build.’

‘What about it?’ Dunham asked.

‘I wondered how long we were going to withhold planning permission,’ Murray said.

‘I don’t think I’m with you, Adrian,’ Dunham said. ‘We decided to advise against granting planning permission for Mr Voronov’s latest venture. I thought we were all agreed on that.’

‘We advised against granting permission for the building of the Crystal Tower to begin with,’ Murray reminded him.

‘This is a much bigger project as far as logistics are concerned. There’s more potential for problems.’

‘There were problems with the Crystal Tower too.’ Murray sighed. ‘Come on, Brian, you know what I’m getting at. We advised refusal of permission for Voronov to build the Crystal Tower until he was ready to … negotiate.’

Dunham nodded.

‘I see what you mean,’ he said. ‘What you’re asking me is how long do we wait for him to try and bribe us before we actually renege on our decision to decline planning permission? I am right aren’t I, Adrian? That is what you meant?’

‘If Voronov is so set on this new project and it is bigger than the Crystal Tower then he should be willing to negotiate.’

‘Offer us more in the way of bribes than he did before we granted building permission for the Crystal Tower you mean?’

‘If you want to put it that way.’

‘Which other way should I put it, Adrian? You’re not only hoping I’ll collude with you in this you’re hoping I’ll ask for more money from Voronov, too.’

‘
He’s a rich man, he can afford it.’

‘He can afford to pay us bribe money, that’s true but whether he should or not remains to be seen.’

‘Oh don’t be so self righteous. You were quick enough to accept what he paid last time. Don’t try and make out you’re above this kind of investment. Don’t pretend that your conscience won’t allow you to accept any gifts he might offer to speed along the building of his next project.’

‘I genuinely don’t believe that this new hotel would be good for London. It has nothing to do with money.’

‘Rubbish. Everyone has their price.’

‘And yours would appear to be somewhat lower than many, Adrian.’

‘I’m talking about oiling the wheels a little. If Voronov wants to do that then why should we refuse?’

‘No one has said Voronov has any intention of oiling wheels or any other pieces of machinery. You’re just hoping that you can blackmail him into paying you some money to help him get his hotel built.’

‘It isn’t blackmail,’ Murray snapped.

‘Prostitution?’

Murray shook his head dismissively.

‘I think we know what you are, Adrian we’re just establishing your going rate,’ Dunham grinned.

‘Save the morality for someone who wants to listen, Brian. Are you telling me that you’d refuse if he approached you?’

Dunham shrugged.

‘Some things aren’t for sale and self respect is one of them,’ he said.

‘Well, I’m glad you value your self respect so highly,’ Murray went on. ‘I am perfectly capable of retaining mine but am also not averse to any incentives that Mr Voronov might wish to offer.’

‘Financial incentives?’

‘If that’s the way it has to be. Listen, it isn’t just money. I don’t like his kind.’

‘You mean rich foreigners?’

‘You know what I mean,’ Murray said agitatedly.

‘Your opposition has been duly noted, Adrian. To Voronov and every other rich foreigner who wants something done in this city.’

Murray regarded his companion silently for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly.

‘The hotel isn’t going to be built, Adrian. That’s the end of it.’

‘It isn’t your decision alone.’

‘As the leader of this committee …’

‘You are responsible to the people of London,’ Murray cut in. ‘Just like the rest of us on this committee.’

‘And I feel that it would be in London’s best interests if this hotel was not built. Your concerns should be with the citizens and residents of London too, rather than your own bank account.’

‘Don’t preach to me,’ Murray sneered. ‘We’ve known each other too long. You’re no better than I am so don’t try and take a stand on the moral high ground, Brian because it can get very slippery up there. I’ve seen people fall before.’

Dunham turned towards the door.

‘Well if I fall,’ he said, irritably. ‘The splash might just sink a few smaller boats like yours, Adrian. I’d be careful if I were you.’

He pulled the door open and slipped through leaving Murray alone in the deserted office.