The Bullet That Missed (Thursday Murder Club #3)(48)

‘OK,’ says Ibrahim. ‘But even so.’

‘I haven’t finished, dear. Yesterday morning, Joyce and I travelled up to London to visit Viktor Illyich.’

‘Wait till you hear about the swimming pool,’ says Joyce, Alan curled uncomfortably on her lap now, his eyes darting around, thrilled by all this unexpected company.

‘Quite so,’ says Elizabeth. ‘We entered the penthouse apartment of Mr Illyich, whereupon I proceeded to pretend to shoot him dead in one of his many bathrooms.’

‘I didn’t know it was pretend at this point,’ says Joyce.

‘Bogdan then kindly made his way up to London, and we stuffed Viktor Illyich into a holdall and he drove us all back here.’

‘Good lad, Bogdan,’ says Ron.

‘As far as we are aware, the Viking believes that Viktor is dead, so we are out of immediate danger, but that situation will not last for long, and we need to find, and neutralize, the Viking, before he realizes what we’ve done. So we are meeting at eight a.m., because we don’t have a second to spare, and we are meeting at Joyce’s flat, because she is hiding a former KGB colonel and criminal kingpin in her spare room. He also has a great deal of experience in money-laundering and interrogation, so I will set him straight to work on the deaths of Bethany Waites and Heather Garbutt. Is that an explanation you find acceptable, Ibrahim?’

Ibrahim nods. ‘I knew it would be something like that, yes. Given the circumstances, I waive my objections.’

‘That is good of you, thank you,’ says Elizabeth.

Ibrahim looks up, and in the doorway sees Viktor Illyich with a cup of tea and some toast. Viktor gives him a huge smile.

‘Everybody is here! The whole gang, now. Alan, you are too big for Joyce’s lap, I think!’

‘Viktor, I am Ibrahim.’

‘I have been told you were handsome,’ says Viktor. ‘But I didn’t expect you to be this handsome.’

Ibrahim nods. ‘Yes, it takes people by surprise sometimes. What is it like to be dead? Is it freeing?’

‘Yes. This is my first slice of toast as a dead man, and it is delicious,’ says Viktor.

‘It’s Waitrose multi-seeded,’ says Joyce. ‘It’s in the freezer for special occasions, so don’t get used to it.’

‘I should get shot more often,’ says Viktor. ‘Maybe in heaven Joyce makes the breakfast?’

‘I don’t think either of us will be going to heaven to find out, Viktor,’ says Elizabeth.

‘Maybe in hell, Ron makes you breakfast?’ says Ibrahim, and everyone laughs, except Ron.

‘Hello, I’m Ron,’ says Ron.

‘A man with the heart of a lion,’ says Viktor.

‘If you say so,’ says Ron.

‘Ron is harder to compliment than Ibrahim,’ Elizabeth tells Viktor.

When Elizabeth first met Viktor, which would have been sometime around 1982, and somewhere around Gdańsk, he already had a fearsome reputation. A reputation for intelligence, rather than for violence, which marked him out as someone to worry about. He had risen from the ranks of the Leningrad KGB at that point, and was running agents in Scandinavia. He would later rise and rise until he was at the very top table of the KGB. Which was no mean feat. He had eventually fallen out of love with the whole system, however, and gone freelance. Which explained why he owned a penthouse.

They had met in a bar by the port to exchange prisoners without rigmarole, and, several bottles of vodka later, their friendship had been established. Eventually they were as close friends as sworn enemies could possibly be. Elizabeth had never imagined she would end up faking Viktor’s death in a London penthouse, but neither had Elizabeth imagined having a best friend who didn’t listen to Radio 4. Sometimes you simply have to swim with the tide.

‘I think I should like to ask, if I may have the floor,’ says Ibrahim, ‘why did Elizabeth have to kill you? Not now, Alan.’

‘The criminal underworld, is all linked,’ says Viktor. ‘The Colombians, the Albanians, the New York mob. They all do different things, they all fight, but sometimes they need each other. Sometimes they need someone to bring them together. Someone they trust with their money when it moves through the system. And that’s me. I make sure everyone plays nice, everyone makes money, and I make sure people don’t kill each other.’

‘But they do kill each other, old son,’ says Ron.

‘I know,’ says Viktor. ‘But not as much as they would. I do what I can. Now, in every country I have men like Martin Lomax, who work for me.’

Elizabeth thinks back to Martin Lomax. That beautiful house they went to visit.

‘So, you see, you killed one of my guys,’ says Viktor.

‘Sorry, Viktor,’ says Joyce.

‘You probably had your reasons,’ says Viktor.

‘We did,’ says Elizabeth.

‘What happened to his diamonds?’ asks Viktor.

‘Long story,’ says Elizabeth.

‘So who is the Viking?’ asks Ron. ‘Why does he want to kill you?’

‘The new generation of criminals are different. And they like to launder their money in a new way. No gold, no diamonds, no bureaux de change or car factories, which is how I launder money.’

Alan sneezes.