Blood Money (10 page)

Alexis picks up the ‘phone and tells Eddie that he and Emma will be going down into the basement for a few minutes.

Eddie can't believe it…. This is an act of insanity! The layers of security that have been put in place to protect the vault and its contents! Even Eddie has never been down there since the iris scanner and that impenetrable door were put in place, and some unknown girl comes along and Alexis's brain turns to mush. He owes it to himself to wake his boss up from this state of foolishness. “You've got to be kidding me, right?”

Alexis's hand covers over the phone's mic momentarily whilst he looks once again at the stunningly gorgeous female journalist, “Excuse me Emma. Could you please wait outside for a moment and I'll join you presently.” Alexis waits for her to gather-up her things and leave the office, shutting the glass door quietly behind her.

“No, Eddie. I'm clearly not kidding! And I'll thank you to remember who runs this operation, who owns this building and who pays your very handsome salary. There is no risk, no threat, and no argument.” Good as Eddie Slater is at what he does, this is hardly a high security issue for the psychopathic ex-soldier to be worrying himself with. ‘There can't be any risk, she's only a pretty little thing, for Christ's sake!'

Alexis continues “I rang you out of professional courtesy” then thinking on his feet he considers precisely what risks Eddie is concerned about and makes a concession. “And because I think it's best for you to join us down there.”

It's a strange relationship to employ a serial killer and yet remain top-dog. Eddie's not the sort of person anyone would want to piss-off. The relationship only works as well as it does because Alexis keeps making enemies and thereby keeps supplying Slater with new people to silence.

“As soon as Miss Barnfield is finished, you can get back to your task of finding those gun wielding idiots who thought they could take liberties with me. You can start using that network of yours you keep telling me about. Shake the tree and keep shaking it hard until four monkeys wearing balaclava masks fall out of it. And as soon as you know where they're hiding, be sure to let me know. I've some questions to ask them before you get your reward. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes boss, very clear. I'll be waiting behind reception for you.”

*

Alexis escorts Emma Barnfield down to the steel door behind the reception desk, staying behind her whenever possible to stare at her admirable rear profile.

True to his word Eddie Slater is waiting for them.

Alexis uses the iris scanner to open up the way down into the basement and in no time he is standing proudly beside the Cray computer with his chest puffed out and his stomach sucked-in as the girl who has teased and flirted her way into getting everything she wants from him takes his photograph. With sufficient shots taken and totally oblivious to the exceptional security concession that has been made especially for her, she tries to take her leave. “Thank you Mr Vasilakos, I think I'm done now.” And just to reinforce the fact that her appointment is over she adds “You've been most kind, you really have.”

Fearing that this beautiful angel is about to disappear, Alexis remembers her interest in his priceless treasures from ancient Greece, and whilst she is busy putting the compact camera away in her shoulder bag he walks over to the enormous circular vault door and begins unlocking the gargantuan mechanism.

Standing a little distance away, at the foot of the steps Eddie Slater can't believe what he's seeing. Even he has no idea what's kept inside the vault. He bites his lip but doesn't say a word, remembering Alexis's instructions not to argue the point.

“And now my dear, let me show you my little collection.” Emma genuinely wasn't interested an hour ago when the Fund Manager had talked about his dusty old Greek artefacts, but when an extremely wealthy multi-millionaire opens up his enormous bank vault to show you its contents any girl becomes just a little bit curious.

If Alexis were thinking clearly, he wouldn't dream of showing anybody the contents of his vault. Three years ago it had been an empty, barren room. A useless and pointless chamber left over from an era when wealth was physical and not electronic.

That all changed shortly after a rare phone call from his estranged father. The old man pulled no punches in expressing his disgust at his son not having attended his own mother's funeral. This sparked-off a vitriolic tirade in which both men, in no uncertain terms, told each other what they really thought of one another.

Following that argument, in an act of pure malice and spite, Alexis paid a team of professional Greek thieves to break into his family's private museum and steal every last object contained therein.

Able to provide them with comprehensive details about the security measures in place they had been unhindered in emptying the large display-room connected to the Vasilakos family home whilst his father and brother were away on business.

Now his cavernous bank vault has found a new purpose, as a repository for the Vasilakos family collection of rare and priceless ancient Greek artefacts.

These objects were the only things he had craved when he'd left his family home. -Objects. Not his mother's kiss, nor his father's hug and certainly not his brother's friendship. He had long since shunned such affections.

Having become wealthy and powerful in his own right, Alexis started believing he had the right to do whatever he wanted, and following that phonecall with his estranged father he decided to do something unthinkable. He stole these pieces of huge historical and personal importance, for his own amusement and to make the old man suffer.

Having had a sudden change of heart, Emma trots compliantly over to Alexis's side.

Putting a guiding hand around her tiny waist he shows her into the chasm, whose contents until now only his eyes have seen.

What she witnesses are row upon row of shelves, each laden with priceless pieces of Greek history and they begin a slow clockwise tour of the enormous vault. First there is pottery, items from the classical period comprised of orangey-red silhouettes formed by painting onto the red clay in black ink, allowing any details on the figures to be added with fine black lines. Vasilakos points out that the even older vases and dishes are the reverse of this, with the figures painted in solid black onto the fiery orange glaze.

Art in ancient Greece was not as Western Europe would think of it, typically as paintings and sculpture. Apart from a few surviving frescos and mosaics, Greek ancient art mainly survives as beautifully decorated pottery.

Next he shows the pretty girl on his arm the large numbers of Thracean and Macedonian bronze helmets as well as numerous spears, swords and daggers. Even Emma, with her slightly superficial personality is actually more than just a little impressed at the riches she's being shown. Turning the corner they come to a series of exquisite marble figures and busts. The next area is given over to perfectly proportioned bronze sculptures and statues. And when they are nearly back at the vault door, Alexis stops at a massive glass cabinet full of ancient coins, choosing to pass comment on a few of his favourites from within the extensive display which he explains were all hand-punched from silver and gold.

Having enjoyed a further twenty minutes in Emma Barnfield's company the tour is inevitably over, and he gets an assurance from her that she's not tell anyone about his valuable collection of artefacts. It must be their ‘very special secret'.

Once out of the vault, Alexis has to sweat and strain to push the massive steel door shut again before he can engage the locking mechanism into the surrounding steel frame.

Eddie's been waiting outside the vault all this time, incredulous at the sudden, uncharacteristic show of mental weakness from his boss. Having not been invited inside, he'd kept station at the foot of the stone steps, remaining patient, controlled and alert.

Alexis ushers Emma back upstairs to the foyer, where she thanks Alexis again for his time and kindness. And wanting to leave, she once more tries to close their meeting. “You've been a real sweet-heart. I can't thank you enough. Now, if I can get your article completed by Friday it will make the scheduling deadline. I'll send you a dozen free copies and I just know when you read next week's edition of The Speculator you're really going to like it!”

“It's been a total pleasure I can assure you, no trouble at all. If you think of anything else I can help you with…–anything at all, I'd be more than happy to hear from you.” Emma replies “You are so kind my dear Alexis, I might just do that, you never know.”

She would normally offer her interviewee her cheek for a quick ‘air-kiss', but not this time. Getting any closer to the fat swine who's been dripping with perspiration ever since struggling to shut the vault door would only provide him with another opportunity to get his sweaty paws on her again. No thanks. She smiles sweetly and turns tail.

Just as she nears the external door on the far side of the foyer he calls after her with a slight tone of withering desperation in his voice, “You have my contact details. Really…anything at all, call me.” Without turning round, Emma raises her slender wrist into the air and wiggles her long fingers in a token wave goodbye.

Leaving Lombard Street at last, Emma is glad to put some distance between herself and the loathsome, arrogant bore who'd been barely able to break his stare away from her chest and legs for the entire duration of their encounter.

Alexis is left standing in the foyer of 60 Lombard Street with a business card in his pocket and some very lecherous thoughts in his head. He'll not bother to make contact until after the article is written, then he'll call and ask to see her again, informally this time, for pleasure.

Meanwhile, Eddie has been waiting faithfully by his side, waiting for further instructions. Waking up at last to the fact that there's a day's work to be done, Alexis quietly asks his bodyguard if Tom Vaughan at the FSA now has his department under control. Eddie reports that the second ‘warning' (the first was sent to his home address) appears to have had the desired effect. “I think we can say the FSA won't be sticking their noses into your business for the foreseeable future”.

Being a control junkie, the Greek insists that he wants to personally review the recordings made by the listening devices Eddie had imbedded several months ago within the FSA's offices. He'll make his own mind up whether the timid little man has at last got his staff to fall in-line.

They go through into Eddie Slater's private office which adjoins the reception area. The solid door opens into a windowless chamber; some CCTV images are playing out on three flatscreen monitors on the front wall. They walk over to Eddie's desk and the bodyguard picks up a set of headphones, cupping one pad to his ear he soon finds the point at which Rebecca starts her conversation with Tom Vaughan. Then handing the cans over to Alexis he plays the digital recording from the moment where the dialogue commences. At several points, Alexis nods his approval at what he is hearing and listens intensely to the last few moments. Finished with the headphones, the Greek puts them back on the desk and considers the situation.

“Ok, he seems to understand what's expected of him, but the data girl, Rebecca, she sounds very keen to target us. Tom was firm, but she seemed to be equally determined. My gut says I should still be worried, and I'm going to listen to my gut.” The two men's eyes connect. “My bet is she's going to be pretty upset, and I want to know how she reacts when she gets home and who she talks to. We'll soon see whether there's still a problem. Got a bug that you can get into her flat? Something short term, small and discrete?”

Eddie opens his desk drawer and pulls out a very slim two inches long by one inch wide miniature printed circuit board. Eddie loves his job. He loves the weapons, he loves the intimidation, and he especially loves inflicting pain. Even breaking and entering into a building in order to plant these little devices gives him a buzz. This little disposable long-wave radio device will be able to pick up the slightest sound from up to seven metres away. And although listening to the transmissions from such bugs can be highly tedious, Eddie will be sure not to miss a thing because it might just result in providing him with another victim to silence.

Alexis walks over to the back wall behind Eddie's messy desk, so he can study his bodyguard's display that describes the complete organisational structure of the FSA's enforcement department.

Beside each of the numerous pictures of employees sits a list of personal data (full name, nickname, FSA position, age, marital status, home address, dependants) and an individual risk analysis assessment, something Eddie himself had dreamt-up. It had taken time, it had taken money, it had required the help of several insiders, but they now have an excellent understanding of their principal enemy.

Alexis taps his chubby finger at one of the pictures on the display, “This is the data woman I just heard talking to Tom Vaughan?”

Eddie nods.

“I don't trust this Rebecca Kavanagh woman. She sounds like a trouble maker. I need to know what she's thinking as soon as she's thinking it. Stabbing his finger hard at the picture, he says gruffly “Bug her house and do it now…” then he adds nonchalantly “and if you like, find some small way of frightening her up a bit.” He adds “Be as creative as you like.”

Eddie accepts the instruction and excuses himself; if this is going to be done today he needs to set off immediately. He dips his hand into his pocket, dropping the bugging device into its folds. “Right away boss.”

It's been a long day and by her watch, the time is 5:15pm. Looking around the office Rebecca sees that half of her colleagues have already left. Closing down her applications she logs off and lifts her laptop from the docking station before locking it in her desk drawer. She rarely takes it home these days; as doing so only serves as an invitation for some ‘young offender' to mug her.

After it happened the first time, she quickly wised-up and is now far more aware of everyone around her as she travels to and fro across London.

Grabbing her jacket and handbag she descends in the lift to ground level. Moments later she's passing through the security turnstiles adjacent to reception and exiting through the large revolving glass door. With such a chill wind blowing outside, she chooses to walk south through ‘One Canada Square'; an alternative indoor route that takes her almost directly to the tube station some 250 yards away.

The massive bulk of one of the most recognizable buildings in the UK is above her at this very moment, an iconic skyscraper with its distinctive pyramid pinnacle.

Rebecca reaches the tube station entrance and walking beneath the wide-arch glass canopy she descends on the escalator into the subterranean cavern below. Beautiful and vast, clean and litter-free, you have to pinch yourself to remember that this underground cathedral with its majestic columns and sweeping curves serves as a tube station.

She takes the Jubilee Line north. It's a recent extension to the network, built to serve the site of the 2012 London Olympics. Changing at Stratford she takes an overland westward train and in just over half an hour she finds herself getting off at Highbury and Islington where she has to change yet again before arriving in Finsbury Park. Thankful that she can now leave the hustle and bustle of London Transport behind her and she walks the last quarter mile back to her flat.

Going through the building's entrance she skips up the communal stairwell and with keys in hand Rebecca unlocks the door to her first-floor flat and closes it behind her. She attaches the security chain, thankful to be back in the comfort and warmth of her own home once more.

The burglar alarm is bleeping loudly. She steps over to the control to deactivate it. Holding up her keys only now does she notice that the security disc is missing. The usual way she operates the system is to hold a little flat black disc against the front of the alarm panel. Still staring quizzically at the keys wondering where it's gone, she realises just in time that there can only be a few seconds left, so she punches in the four-digit code instead. The small uncluttered hallway is now silent. In fact, it is unusually quiet. But it takes a few moments before she understands why.

Normally, as soon as she gets in from work she's immediately greeted by her ginger tom, Mustard. Apart from the low rumble of traffic noise coming from outside, the flat is totally silent.

A compact and powerful cat, Mustard is loyal and friendly, with a calm, quiet demeanour. Whilst picking up the post from the doormat she calls for him, but there's no response and this only heightens her feelings of confusion.

Something is wrong.

Hanging up her coat and handbag, once more she calls out. But there's nothing but silence. Disappointed, she walks into the small kitchen, and then gasps in horror as she assimilates the violence laid out on the draining board in front of her. The cat which she loves so dearly has been brutally killed. Impaled onto a wooden chopping board with a large kitchen knife; his blood has run thick and dark, congealing into a sticky pool in the sink.

Turning away, Rebecca stumbles and stands doubled-over in the hallway, one hand clutching her heaving stomach whilst the other hand covers her mouth. Too shocked to cry, too stunned to breathe, she tries to control a powerful urge to retch.

Unable to comprehend what she's just seen, waves of white hot terror hit her as she realises that someone has very recently broken into the apartment, and for all she knows, he might still be inside. Whoever entered the flat to slaughter her pet cat could be just a few feet away…hiding…waiting…watching.

Despite her spiralling sense of fear, Rebecca shows a surprising degree of self-control.

Grabbing her bag and coat she moves toward the door, scrabbling in silent panic to release the chain so that she can get outside as quickly as possible. Pulling it closed behind her she runs a few steps along the communal hallway to bang on the door to the flat of her nearest neighbour in the hope of finding safe refuge. Feeling totally vulnerable out in the open she has to try the next one along, repeatedly banging it hard with her tightly clenched fist, pressing again and again on the door bell. She doesn't shout, scream or cry-out, fearful of drawing the attention of a killer who might still be close by.

Someone's behind the third door that she tries. Rebecca notices the light coming through the small spyglass is blocked for a second. Moments later it opens, just by a few inches at first. A confused looking grey-haired woman of about 65 pokes her head out and asks in a concerned tone “Are you alright dear?”

When they look at each other there is an immediate and reciprocal acknowledgment that comes from seeing a familiar face. Neither knows the other well enough to have spoken more than a few words until now, but they are on terms good enough for Mrs Tanner to show consideration and concern for a young neighbour who's clearly in some state of distress.

Rebecca stammers out a whisper “Please can I come in for a moment?” but rather than wait for an answer she rather rudely steps immediately inside. Keen to get a physical barrier between herself and the potential danger which could be lurking outside, she closes the door quickly.

“I'm really sorry to barge in on you Mrs Tanner but I've just had a bit of a shock…” pausing momentarily to draw in a couple of breaths “I think my flat's been burgled…and I just need to be somewhere safe whilst I phone my fiancé…”

“Come inside dear, you poor thing.” Rebecca finds herself being ushered into a lounge with dated furniture, woodchip covered walls and artex on the ceiling.

It doesn't matter that the air smells stale or that the furnishings belong back in the eighties, she's somewhere safe. Slipping her hand into her handbag she finds her cell phone, but her hands are now shaking so badly she's unable to dial it just yet. Her eyes well-up as she bursts into sobs of tears.

It takes a minute or so before Rebecca is composed enough to make the call.

“John you've got to come home straight away.”

“What's the matter babe?”

“Someone's broken into out flat and killed Mustard.”

“
What!
–Never mind the cat, how are you?
Are you ok?
Where are you now?”

“I'm really scared John, I'm in the flat three doors down from us. I'm inside number ten. I had to get out, someone's been inside our home, I'm frightened, I don't know if the intruder's still in there or not. Why would anyone do that? The blood…the poor little thing's been butchered. Why…?”

“I'll be there in no time. Stay where you are, everything's going to be all right, I promise.”

*

John starts walking through the CID office at Bishopsgate station to get his partner Bill Warren. He finds him leaning back in his chair reading a case file.

“Stop what you're doing! I've got problems back home and I need you to come with me.” Bill's reaction is minimal; barely bothering to glance up at his partner.

Already walking away, John senses his slothful cohort is failing to react so he stops and fiercely demands an immediate response “Now you lazy plod!
I need some back-up!
”

Downstairs, they tool up with an X26 taser and a can of CS spray before exiting the rear of the station with the keys to a ‘company' Skoda vRS. In London, a marked police car is by far the quickest way to make an emergency response, and this is an emergency.

As soon as they get onto Bishopsgate, they switch on the blue flashing lights and two-tone siren to clear a path through the busy city traffic. John quickly tells Bill all he knows, which at this stage doesn't seem like very much. Driving the car allows him to focus on a task, affording him less time to worry about Rebecca. Getting clear of Moorgate he struggles to get the hammer down up the A1200. Despite cars and vans thoughtfully pulling over to the side, the centre of the road is all too frequently blocked by pedestrian crossing islands and speed camera installations. The way soon clears and John begins to cover the ground at speed.

Going round Highbury Corner, he shoots off east but is immediately hampered by road works. Once they're northbound on the A1201 he's once again able to get some speed up through the quiet residential areas of Highbury. John curses as they get snarled up again going through Finsbury Park but they weave their way through the melee of parked vans, cyclists and commuters until at last they reach their destination, Ark House.

John parks the vehicle in a hurry behind the aging block of flats.

As they enter the building from the rear, John holds out his arm to signal to his partner that they need to be extremely cautious. Slowing their progress down, they silently creep up the stairs.

Now outside his own front door John Gibson listens carefully for any disturbance inside, but all seems quiet.

“Stay right here whilst I check on the missus, I'll be back in a moment and then we'll go in together. If anyone comes out,
clobber them
.” Bill nods an acknowledgement to the whispered instructions, but says nothing. Standing guard, he lets his young partner go off and check on the state of his girlfriend.

*

Quietly and without fuss, John rings the doorbell to number ten. He hears the sound of soft footsteps approaching on the other side and can tell he's getting eyed-over very carefully through the spyglass fitted into the door.

At last it opens. “You'd better come in” the old lady says, almost pulling him into her flat. Rebecca is stood just a few feet further back in the hallway and the neighbour barely has time to move to one side as Rebecca rushes forward to embrace him tightly. John wraps his big arms around her and kisses down onto her soft brown hair.

“You alright babe?”

“I'm ok, I'm ok…Can you go into the flat please? Someone's been inside. I knew there was something wrong because the alarm was set but my alarm fob was missing off my keys. Be careful John.
Someone might still be in there.
”

“Everything's going to be ok. Bill's standing guard right now. You stay here, but first tell me slowly and clearly what's happened to our cat.”

Rebecca bursts into hysterics, unable to really tell him anything useful. “He's been stabbed! Someone's stabbed Mustard. My poor little baby.
Why would someone do such a thing?
”

On hearing this, the old woman becomes panic-stricken. “Oh my godfathers! A stabbing you say? I'm calling the police right now!”

“Listen Mrs Tanner, I am the police. I'm a Detective Sergeant with City of London Police. I'm plain clothes but here's my warrant card as proof.” He shows the woman his police id, letting her check the photograph and his details. “I can assure you that everything is ok. Stay inside and look after Rebecca whilst me and my colleague take a look inside our flat.” The woman stops squawking, but he can still see the look of fear fixed in her eyes. “Can you do that for me Mrs Tanner? Can you stay indoors and be nice and calm whilst you look after my girlfriend?”

The fretful old woman nods. Now John turns his attentions to Rebecca once more “Is there anything else can you tell me? Has anything been stolen or damaged?”

“I didn't stay in there long enough to find out. As soon as I went in the kitchen and saw Mustard I got my coat and got out of there.” John reassures her again that everything will be okay, then he opens the door and disappears back out into the communal hall-way.

“Cum'mon Mrs T.” Rebecca puts her arm around the elderly neighbour's shoulder. “John's in control of the situation now. We'll stay in here and have a nice cup of tea whilst we're waiting.”

*

Before they go in, John Gibson briefs his partner on the situation as he knows it. “Listen Bill, this doesn't sound like an everyday burglary, all Beccs knows is that someone's been in there, in the last few hours I'd say, and he's stabbed our cat dead. I don't think anyone's in there now because she says the alarm was set when she went in. Something's definitely not right,
so stay sharp
.”

“And there's only way one way in and out?” John nods in response. “Well, I can't see any sign of a forced entry so I just don't get it…why would an intruder re-set the alarm as he leaves? I've never known anything like it in all my years on the force.”

John gets out his house keys and quietly unlocks the latch to his own front door. They enter in silence.

Ignoring the kitchen for now, John signals that he wants to firstly check the bedrooms to the right. Nodding his understanding, Bill follows his partner into the larger, main bedroom and then into the second smaller one. They're clear, and there's not the slightest sign of any disturbance. Nothing's damaged and nothing appears to have been stolen.

Back in the hall they quickly glance into the bathroom, and it too appears completely normal. They head into the lounge, glancing into the small galley kitchen as they pass the open doorway. They can see the cat on the kitchen drainer and it's clearly dead.

Walking forward into the middle of the living room it also appears that nothing in here has been taken either. The flatscreen TV, their DVD player, the Wii, the stereo and even really portable valuables like their i-pad, camcorder and laptop are all still exactly where they should be.

Now that they're 100% certain there's no intruder inside, Bill and John backtrack to take a closer look at the gore in the kitchen.