Cold Blood by Alex Shaw Read Free Book Online Page B

sandwich. The money and power had clearly gone to his old friend’s head.

 
    FOUR
     
    Podilsky School International , Berezniki , Kyiv , Ukraine
     
    Snow rubbed his right thigh, it was playing up again. Was he getting too old for this? He pondered a moment before dismissing the idea. “You’re thirty-four, not fifty.” He surveyed the class as they continued to jog around the small area of grass circling the playground. Some of these kids, especially Yusuf, the Turkish lad, could give him a run for his money. “That’s it, two more laps and you’ve finished.”
    Would these same kids be so eager to join a running club if they were back home in a normal comprehensive? He thought not. International schools seemed to bring out the best in children. Most would be bilingual by the end of their parents’ three year stint. Snow blew his whistle and gestured that it was time to go in. Counting heads he headed back to the school entrance along the small paved path that they shared with the residents of Kyiv’s Berezniki suburb. Yusuf caught up with him and trotted alongside. “Did you see how I run, Mr Snow?” he asked expectantly. “I beat Ryoski and Grant.”
    Snow nodded and smiled. Yusuf was twelve, quite tall for his age and wiry. He had the perfect runner’s physique and a real talent.
    “Well done Yusuf. I’m impressed.”
    Yusuf smiled back, picked up his pace and jogged the remaining distance around the corner and into the main entrance. There was a banging; Snow raised his hand to screen the glare of the sun as Michael Jones opened the staffroom window.
    “Hey Aidan, have you seen this?” Michael’s west Wales tones lilted to accentuate the question. “Murder in Odessa. And to think I was there last weekend!”
    Snow took the Kyiv Post and looked at the main page.
    ‘ British investor slain in Odessa factory shooting .’ He scanned the story as Jones kept an eye on the rest of the runners ambling past.
    “What d’ya think?” Jones’s eyebrows arched in his usual show of curiosity.
    Snow studied his friend’s ruddy face. “I’m glad I’m just a teacher and no one important.”
    *
    Fontanka , Odessa Oblast , Ukraine
     
    The dacha was in the small coastal town of Fontanka, twenty kilometres from Odessa. During Soviet times it had belonged to ‘the Party’ and was for the use of high ranking members of the YCCP. On Ukrainian independence this and many other such properties were sold off by ‘the state’ for hard currency to the highest bidder. The fact that many had been sold to the same person who was acting as ‘the seller’ on behalf of ‘the state’ had been conveniently overlooked.
    This particular dacha had been built in 1979 and had been used by some of the gold medallists of the 1980 Moscow Olympics. The new owner sought to commemorate this event and had the Olympic rings included in the design of his new 9ft wrought iron security gates which guarded the entrance. The gates were not the only part of the dacha to be modernised, ‘ remonted ’. The original three storey building remained but an additional wing had been added at a right angle, forming an L shape. Italian marble adorned the surfaces of all bathrooms, of which there were now six, and the indoor pool. The back of the house led onto a large terrace, with ornate garden and views of the Black Sea.
    Varchenko leant forward to smell a particularly nice rose. He was dressed in an expensive dark grey pair of slacks, a black polo shirt and a pair of Italian loafers. A matching dark grey cashmere sweater was draped casually over his shoulders. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Dudka exhaled and flicked his cigarette stub into the flower beds. Varchenko straightened up and frowned at his friend’s disregard for nature’s beauty.
    “What do you know, Genna?”
    Dudka met his gaze. “I know that your British business partner was assassinated in Odessa; I know that it was a trained sniper; I know that this is not good for