Viktor’s immense front door was bought from, and installed by, an Israeli technology company. The lock is unbreakable, blockchain technology, graphene and Kevlar, all with a choice of veneer. Viktor has gone for Alaskan teak. The company has done very nicely indeed, servicing the security needs of international mafiosi. As the Viking knows well, as it’s his company.
He lets himself in.
He’s there for reassurance. Elizabeth Best had been highly motivated to kill Viktor Illyich. Threatening to kill her friend had been the masterstroke. But it is always worth checking these things. And Viktor’s apartment is close to the heliport at Battersea, so it’s an easy trip for the Viking. After this perhaps he will go for sushi, which is hard to come by in Staffordshire. There is a good place called Miso in Stoke, but the Viking is banned from there after he accidentally discharged a firearm in the bathroom. He is not good with guns. Shouldn’t have one really.
The Viking looks around the penthouse. It is nice, sure. Perhaps lacking a feminine touch. The view is very pleasant. There’s the London Eye, there’s Big Ben, there’s the Bank of England. You could launch a rocket attack on any of them from Viktor’s balcony. Wouldn’t that cause a stir? The Viking realizes he is thinking a lot about rocket attacks at the moment. Mainly because he has just bought a rocket launcher. It was an impulse buy, because, when you have as much money as he does, there are very few novelties left, and also because you can buy rocket launchers directly with Bitcoin. So far all he has done is blow up a barn.
The Viking works out the geography of the shooting, from the live audio he heard. He realizes that Elizabeth must have walked Viktor through a large open archway to his right, then down the carpeted corridor and into the shower room. He traces these steps.
No one has heard from Viktor since the shooting, which bodes well. The rumour mill is suggesting he is dead. It is causing some panic in certain circles, which is lovely to see. The Viking walks into the shower room.
It has been tidied up, of course it has, Elizabeth Best is a professional. At some point someone with a bit of authority will notice that Viktor is missing, and at that point the penthouse will be searched for clues. The Viking assumes that Elizabeth will not have left any. There will be no crimson blood spattered up the wall, no brain stuck in a plughole.
But there should be a bullet hole somewhere, maybe even the bullet.
The Viking holds out an imaginary gun, and points it at Viktor’s imaginary head. He pulls the trigger, and estimates the path the bullet would have taken. It should really have passed straight through the shower screen, but it clearly hasn’t. It should have lodged itself somewhere deep inside the Turkish marble wall tiles, but, again, it clearly hasn’t.
The Viking knows that the bullet passed through Viktor Illyich; he has seen evidence of the exit wound. So where is it? Is Elizabeth Best taller than Viktor? Was she shooting downwards? The Viking looks lower, scanning the walls. Nothing.
Was the gun angled upwards? Was that how spies killed you? The Viking raises his gaze, but still there is no bullet hole. As his eyes scan the mirror on the far wall, he spots it. The hole in the ceiling. The Viking looks up, almost directly above the spot where he is standing. The spot where Elizabeth Best would have stood. A bullet hole. The bullet fired directly into the ceiling.
The Viking stares at the hole. He recognizes that it means a number of things.
It means, firstly, that Viktor Illyich is not dead. The bullet he heard was fired into the ceiling, not into Viktor Illyich. Which further means that Elizabeth Best takes him for a fool. She has misunderstood his abilities. The Viking does not like that one bit. He sighs.
Because the most important thing it means is that he will now have to kill Viktor Illyich himself. And, of course, to punish Elizabeth, it means he will also have to kill Joyce Meadowcroft.
Which is vexing. Most vexing.
46
Joyce
Joanna came down for lunch today with her man, the football chairman, and I, of course, have an ex-KGB colonel in my spare room. So I had some explaining to do.