NO ONE ASKED

NO ONE ASKED

last updateLast Updated : 2021-09-30
By:  Quintus NooneCompleted
Language: English
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Synopsis

Lavish London mansions. A hand-painted Rolls-Royce. And eight dead friends. For the British fixer Robbie Chase, working for the Russian's President most vocal critic meant stunning perks – but also constant danger. His gruesome death is one of 14 that retired British Agent QUINTUS NOONE has linked to Russia – but the UK police shut down every last case. QUINTUS NOONE'S investigation reveals the full story of a ring of death on British soil that the government has ignored.

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Chapter 1

ONE

NO ONE ASKED

BY QUINTUS NOONE

The framework of this novel is factual.  However, my cast of characters and some of their adventures are all purely imaginary.

Quintus Noone

September 2021

This book is inspired by true events, where names and places

have been changed to protect the innocent and the guilty.

LIST OF CHARACTERS

Quintus Noone………………………………………….       Retired MI5 agent

Blanche Bradbury……………………………………           Home Office Pathologist

Inspector Brooks……………………………………..           Metropolitan Police

Amber Chase…………………………………………          Ex-Wife of Robbie Chase

Lewis Barfield…………………………………………        Moscow Based Private Detective

General Ozdoyev………………………………………        Russian Deputy Prosecutor

Elmira………………………………………………….        General Ozdoyev’s Escort

Elena Koshka…………………………………………...       Ex-Wife of Igor Akinfeev’s

Kayla Zelenyy………………………………………….       Ex-wife of Alexi Zelenyy

Ingrid Kuzyaev…………………………………………       Wife of Daler Kuzyaev

Detective Chief Inspector Sandra Burton………………       Inspector Brooks’ Replacement

Casca Ashakova…………………………………………      Ex-Girlfriend of Robbie Chase

Katrin Cajthamlova…………………………………….       Kuzyaev’s Mistress

Trevor Marshall…………………………………………      Former Home Secretary

Michael Falco……………………………………………     Helicopter Pilot

Anna Maria Castello……………………………………       Italian Ambassador to Britain.

Victoria Usheava………………………………………..      Italian/Russian Translator.

Monika Cvurka…………………………………………        Dog-walker

Caroline Brett…………………………………………..       Dr Brett’s wife

Anjelica Ebbi…………………………………………          Translator for Public Health England

Christopher Rice……………………………………….         MI6

Sir William Frederick Patterson………………………..       Chairman of JIC.

Madame Charlotte Julien……………………………….       French Lawyer

Claude Duvall…………………………………………..       Ex-French Policeman

THE FOURTEEN

Robbie Chase…………………………………………Property developer (Suicide)

Igor Akinfeev………………………………………… Russian Businessman (Suicide)

Alexi Zelenyy……………………………………Akinfeev’s business partner (Heart Attack)

Daler Kuzyaev…………………………………………..Financier (Heart Attack)

Dmitry Zhivoglyadov……………………………Owner of Zhivoglyadov Oil (Heart Attack)

Paul Eden………………………………………………... Lawyer (Helicopter Crash)

Freddie Cumber…………………………………………. Lawyer (Heart Attack)

George Charles………………………………………….   Property Agent (Suicide)

Nigel Burch……………………………………………..   Investor (Suicide)

Mariella Novotny………………………………………        Journalist (Stabbed)

Igor Asimovsky…………………………………………   Russian Diplomat (Heart Attack)

Dr Kieran Brett………………………………………….   Government radiation scientist.

Paul Betts………………………………………………..  Journalist.

Jimmy Raistrick…………………………………………  US Security Consultant.

1

The terrifying scream spoke right to the heart.

It was still cold when the body fell, dropping silently through the Sunday morning light and landed with a dull sound. Impaled through the chest, the spikes of a wrought iron fence dangled under the streetlamps as blood spilt onto the pavement. Overhead, a fourth-floor window stood open.

I was out for my morning constitutional, seeing the same faces, the man walking his reluctant dog and the beautiful, tall young woman going out for a jog. She always wears figure-hugging running gear, and her hair in a ponytail swishes back and forth beneath a white baseball cap, held on by headphones, listening to music.

After forty years of marriage, I find myself a widower, and this has become my daily routine since she died so tragically in a road accident.

Now, lonely and isolated, my morning and evening walk turned out to be my only respite from the drudgery of day-to-day life. Of course, I found it worse during the pandemic, but with the easing of lockdown restrictions, at least, I felt safer, albeit behind a mask, to be able to go out and meet people and re-join the human race.

A light wind stirred the trees in the avenue, and their shadows cast on the pavement. The traffic is periodic, a couple of cars, a moped and the odd cyclist. That's about it.

The music teacher across the road is mowing his grass. He glanced up as I passed and waved as if all was fine in the world. The wife of a plumber two doors down is pruning a hedge, and next door, a landscaping van is parked on the side of the road, Green Thumb Lawn Care.

A young man wearing dark glasses, oversized jeans, a Chelsea shirt, and a baseball cap is not far from it. He's loud with a leaf blower, clearing the footpath, and he didn't look at me or be polite and pause as I walk past, with grass clippings and grit covering me like a swarm of angry bees.

I stopped and looked at the young man. Although initially, he paid no attention, he didn't even seem to realise it.

Finally, abrupt silence followed as the young man stopped what he was doing. His dark glasses stare, his mouth opens expressionless. I tried to place him. Maybe I had seen him every morning without really noticing him. That is possible.

"Watch what you're doing."

I asked him.

"Sorry."

He articulated in an indifferent tone, and his hair was long and carrot red.

"Just show some care next time."

A shrug, showing he wasn't that bothered. He didn't give a toss, and to add insult to injury, he even smiled a little.

Before moving on, I gave him an impassive look. But, as the plastic surgeon who had worked his will on me hadn't quite succeeded in matching up the two sides of my face, my impassive expression is noticeably lacking in encouragement.

Before my brain could register the sound like a terrifying scream, I froze, all but my heart remaining statue-like on the pavement. The crescendo of sound had been tremendous, and it stopped the dog walker dead in his tracks. The jogger continued on her merry way, oblivious of what happened while listening to her music.

Within minutes, three police cars parked on the road, along with an ambulance with its blue turret light revolving ominously. People were bustling through the open door of the apartment block, waking the whole street. Neighbours stood on the pavement in dressing gowns and overcoats. I sat there for a moment getting the lay of the land.

Two policemen had turned up. The plain-clothes one asked the questions, while the other one wrote everything down. Although they were efficient, polite, and unsympathetic, they left a distinct impression that I had little to offer as a witness. Moreover, in many of their questions, it seemed to be a faint hovering doubt that what I had told them would not be a reliable source of information.

It didn't bother me. I answered automatically, sometimes between question and answer.

"Explain to me again what you were doing when you heard the scream."

"I was walking past. My thoughts were elsewhere. I was thinking about my wife."

The Inspector casually propped his foot on the tray of the ambulance.

"Where is your wife now, sir?"

"The local cemetery."

There followed a beat of silence, and something invisible passed between us.

"What is your name, sir?"

"Quintus Noone."

The Inspector looked like he had been bitch-slapped. He took out his mobile and punched in a number. I overheard him talking to his superintendent. I don't know what was said to him, but I still have many friends in high places, people who respect what I did for a living.

When the call finished, the Inspector was a chastened man, but before he could articulate anything, one of his team shouted from the scene of the fallen refrigerator.

"I haven't finished with you yet."

He told me before stomping off to find out what the other policeman wanted.

I hobbled away from the ambulance. The tape tightly wrapped around big oak trees and lampposts, blue and white with police lines not cross written in black. It encircled the property, threaded through railings, barring the front entrance covered by a peaked roof.

A large white SOCO van parked in the driveway. Doors yawning. Metal boxes stacked inside.

Nearby, a forensic technician is crouching on the front path taking photographs. She looks like an extra in a science-fiction film dressed in blue plastic overalls, a hood and matching boot covers.

Positioning a plastic evidence tag, she raises the camera to her eye. Shoots.

Stands. When she turns, I recognise her. Dr Blanche Bradbury, a Home Office pathologist from Czechoslovakia, spoke without a hint of an accent.

"Well, look who it isn't."

"Hello, Blanche. How are you?"

"Better now I've seen you. Didn't realise this would involve you?"

"Nor did I until the Inspector spoke to someone on the phone."

"Still got friends in high places, then?"

"Looks that way, Blanche. How much longer only time will tell."

Turning back to the van, she collected a tripod. On the other side of the road, the attractive jogger went past her second circuit and started to turn into Farriers Road but noticed the emergency vehicles and the news vans. She looks up at the news helicopters hovering at about a thousand feet. Heading to Miller's Street instead, she nervously glanced back and around as she picked up her pace.

"I'll catch you later, Blanche."

"I certainly hope so."

She stated, her crystal-blue eyes sparkled.

I approached the perimeter where six uniforms stood guard, blocking off the street. They're making sure no one unauthorised entered the scene but missed my innocuous presence.

Four sizeable white nylon panels are fastened by Velcro straps to PVC frames and form an ominous boxy shelter room enough for the Crime Scene Investigators to work in a while shielding the body from prying eyes.

But like similar screens used roadside to prevent the curious, the temporary shelters also signal carnage, and they won't stop helicopters from filming. Despite the local constabulary's best efforts, they won't be able to keep the crime scene out of the news.

I stopped just short of the privacy screens, the sun almost overhead now illuminating what's inside.

Blanche saw me and nodded, but I only had eyes for the body. An old-fashioned spike-, a tipped set of railings ran the length of the apartment block, and the body was impaled on the fence, still dripping blood.

"Has he a name?"

"Robbie Chase."

"How many stories did he fall?" I ask Blanche.

"Looks like a couple. That window there."

There was a noise behind me. One of the uniforms was vomiting on the road. A colleague had an arm around his shoulders, encouraging the flow.

"Let's get him down," Blanche tells her team. "Get the poor bastard into a body bag."

The uniformed constable accompanying the Inspector earlier saw me swaying in the entrance and took quick annoyed strides back to my side.

"You mustn't be in here, sir. It's a crime scene!"

He cried with exasperation, stating clearly that my faintness was my fault.

I nodded dumbly and started to turn away when a voice called out.

"Constable!"

The source of the shout came from the entrance to the flats. It was the Inspector, dressed from head to toe in a white coverall with boot covers. He beckoned me over and held out some coveralls packaged in cellophane.

"Put these on."

He pronounced sharply.

"Why?"

"You're coming with me."

The Inspector waited while I worked the coveralls over my clothes. He then gave me some boot covers, and I pulled them on, standing on one foot at a time. Suiting up is an art, having witnessed seasoned investigators put things backwards or lose their balance on many occasions.

I finished off by pulling on a pair of gloves.

"Ready?"

The Inspector's voice still sounded unfriendly.

"Just out of curiosity."

I verbalised.

"Where are we going?"

"Follow me."

He had no intention of being expansive. He wanted me kept in the dark for as long as possible. I had dealt with these types of police officers on many occasions. Despite supposedly being on the same side, my old job had rarely made me popular with any of the constabularies I'd had the misfortune to work alongside.

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claudianovena
nice story ! do u have any inquiries that i can keep in tpuch with y ? i have sth to discuss abt the book
2022-03-26 13:25:36
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35 Chapters
ONE
NO ONE ASKEDBY QUINTUS NOONE                             The framework of this novel is factual.  However, my cast of characters and some of their adventures are all purely imaginary.  Quintus NooneSeptember 2021                    This b
last updateLast Updated : 2021-09-21
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TWO
2Orange fluorescent evidence markers are spaced intermittently on the stairs, distinguishing footprints. A camera flashes on the third floor, sending a pulse of light through the metal railings of the staircase.The flat was immaculate, with pristine white walls and cream carpet. Entrancing into the bedroom, I went over to the sash window from which the victim had fallen. A constable stood on guard beside it.He stood to one side as I approached. Pulling it up, I found it only opened about fifty centimetres, about the same as the distance from his elbow to his fingertips. A can of Diet Coke, a packet of cigarettes, and a cigarette lighter were lined up neatly in a row on the narrow window ledge.I looked down, where a team of four were trying to manoeuvre the body from the railings."Your officers closed the window before it was photographed, rather than leaving it open to document the narrow gap through which the victim meant to have jumped?" I a
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THREE
3The living and the dead stainless steel: basins, scalpels, and scales disinfected and polished to a dull gleam under the halogen lights.The mortuary is located in the new coroner's court basement and smells like a hospital, and looks like an office block. A ramp leads down the road to an underground parking area where Home Office' meat wagons' are parked in bays.Pushing through swing doors, Brooks walks like a sailor in search of a fight. A white leads the way along brightly lit corridors. The place seems deserted until a cleaning lady appears wearing elbow-length rubber gloves. I don't want to contemplate what she's been cleaning.Another door opens. Blanche Bradbury had her hands deep inside a butterflies ribcage. Half a dozen students are gathered around him, dressed in matching surgical scrubs and cloth caps."You see that?" Blanche questions, adjusting a lamp on a retraceable metal arm above her head.Nobody answers. They're staring
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FOUR
4It's almost six by the time we reach Amber Chase's house. Blanche came with me as support and as my driver.  I don't drive, never have done and never will do.Three cars parked in the driveway.  Visitors.  That makes it more difficult. Finally, the front door opened by a woman in her early twenties, red-eyed from crying.  A young man, bearded and shaggy-haired, joins her, putting his arms around her waist.             "I'm looking for Mrs Amber Chase," I say.            "That's my mum," says the young woman. "I'm Louisa, and this is Jamie."            "We phone ahead earlier," Blanche says, "I am the Home Office pathologist, and this is Quintus Noone."            The young couple stares at me, n
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FIVE
5The Aeroflot jet touched down in Moscow on a bitter morning with thick snow lying on the ground. The customs men waved Amber Chase and me through as if uninterested, though they seemed to be taking apart a man of much my age on the next bench. No protest, no anger, nor, I could see, any apprehension.As we went on my way, one of the officers picked up a pair of underpants and carefully felt his way around the waistband.I was thinking purposefully of taxis, but it transpired that we had a reception committee. A girl wearing a knee-length black coat and a black knitted hat approached us tentatively and said, "Mrs Chase? Mr Noone?"She saw from our reaction that she had the right couple. She said, "My name is Julieann. We have a car to take you to your hotel."She turned towards a slightly older woman standing a pace or two away."This is my colleague, Miranda.""How kind of you to take so much trouble," Amber said politely. "How did
last updateLast Updated : 2021-09-22
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SIX
6Miranda waited, hovering in the dining room, and stepped forward as I appeared. She wore a blue wool suit with rows of bronze-coloured beads and would have fitted un-remarkably into the London business scene. Her hair was clean and well-shaped, and she had the poise of one accustomed to organising."You can sit here," she said, indicating a stretch of tables beside a long row of windows. "Mrs Chase will be joining you shortly.""Thank you.""Now," she said, "tomorrow….""Tomorrow," I said pleasantly, "I thought Mrs Chase and I would walk around Red Square before we meet with deputy prosecutor general Ozdoyev.""But we can add you on one of the guided tours," she said persuasively. "There is a special two-hour tour of the Kremlin, with a visit to the armoury.""We'd rather not," I said, "this is difficult enough for Mrs Chase as it is."She looked annoyed, but after another fruitless try, she told me that our lunch was
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SEVEN
7After breakfast, the receptionist summoned us, where two prominent men stood with impassive faces, flat uniformed caps, and long grey coats.One of them handed Amber a stuck-down envelope addressed to her. Inside there was a brief hand-written note, saying simply. "Please, accompany my officers," and below that, "Deputy Prosecutor General Ozdoyev."During our progress through the foyer, there were several frightened glances. The bulk and intent of our two escorts were unmistakable. No one wanted to be involved in our situation.They had arrived in a large black official car with a uniformed driver. They gestured to us to sit together in the back, and I gave Amber a reassuring squeeze of her hand as the vehicle set off and made unerringly for Dzerzhinsky Square.The long façade of the Lubyanka loomed one side, looking like a friendly insurance-company building if one didn't know better. Finally, however, the car swept past its large sides a
last updateLast Updated : 2021-09-22
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EIGHT
8Unsurprisingly, Ozdoyev did not offer a lift, and after collecting our coats, shuddered out into the saturated air. As darkness fell, it seemed to be colder than ever, and Amber linked her arm in mine and moved closer to me so that we could share our little body warmth.There were even fewer cars than usual to mow one down and not another pedestrian in sight, let alone a policeman."Did I do the right thing?" Amber asked in due course."Of course, you did," I answer. "The Russian's want that hard drive as much as you want to know the whereabouts of your ex-husband's money."The Majestic Hotel lay in the distance down the hill, with its canopy stretching out over the street. I turned up my coat collar, wondering why most of the centre of the top was an intentional hole rectangular hole, like a skylight without glass, open to every drop of rain or snow which care to fall. As a shelter for people arriving and departing, the canopy was a non-starter.
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NINE
9My room looked calm and sane to reassure me that tourists were safe to roam the city's main streets.It could happen in London, I thought. It could happen in New York and Paris, and Rome. What was so different about Moscow?I threw my coat and room key onto the bed, poured a large reviver from the duty-free whisky, and sank onto the sofa to drink it.The attack had been, perhaps, an abduction attempt. Without glasses, I could have been a pushover. They could have got us in the car. And the drive? To what destination?Did Amber expect me to stick to the task until I was dead? Probably not, I thought, but then I don't think Amber underestimated the whole situation.More than anything, I could be lucky again. But, failing that, I had better be careful. My heart gradually steadied, breath quietened to normal.I drank the whisky and felt better.After a while, I put down my glass and picked up the box containing a pay-as-you-go mo
last updateLast Updated : 2021-09-23
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TEN
10A limousine collected us about seven o'clock that evening, and we sped down the Komsomolsky Prospect, and I looked two or more three-times out of the window. A black car followed us faithfully, but we were on the main road where that would happen anyway.We arrived outside a restaurant ten minutes late because more snow falling clogged the public transport and taxis almost to a standstill. There was a short queue outside shivering, but the chauffeur led us past the row and opened the firmly shut door.The place was packed, and somewhere there was some music. Led to the one empty table, a bottle of vodka materialised within five seconds."Of the two decent restaurants in Moscow," a voice said behind us, "I like this the better."We turned to find Ozdoyev, standing there accompanied by a tall, slim, and beautiful young woman, wearing a deep-blue velvet jumpsuit and high-heels which made her taller than me, and I am over six-foot."This is m
last updateLast Updated : 2021-09-23
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