‘Three are underground,’ said Popov. ‘The control centre is on Basement One, where we are now, with the car parking area and storage rooms. Basement Two has the recreational areas, including the cinema, games room, billiards room and bowling alley. Basement Three has the pool and the boss’s gym, the wine cellar, more storage. Our gym is on Basement One. You’re welcome to use it.’
‘I’m not a great one for gyms,’ said Shepherd.
‘You keep fit, though,’ said Popov.
‘I run,’ said Shepherd. He gestured at the scanner. ‘So you know who is where at any point, right?’
‘We know which doors have been accessed and by who. And the transceivers we carry have GPS so have real-time locations for all the security staff. I’ll fix you up with a transceiver and get you a security code once we’ve done the tour.’
They arrived at the top floor and Popov walked Shepherd though the two wings, either side of a large hallway from which a huge marble staircase swept down to the ground floor. There were ten bedrooms in each wing, each exquisitely furnished and each with a massive en suite bathroom. The bedrooms all had double-height ceilings but they were individually designed in a range of styles and colours, any one of which could have been featured in a glossy magazine. None of them appeared to have been slept in.
‘Where does Mr Grechko sleep?’ asked Shepherd.
‘Since the shooting he has slept in a room on Basement Two,’ said Popov. ‘He says he feels safer there.’
‘Understandable,’ said Shepherd. He was looking out of the window of a room decorated in Japanese style with a low bed and rosewood furniture. There was a collection of Japanese pottery that looked as if it had just come from a museum and several Japanese swords in display cases. ‘But the house isn’t overlooked.’ He tapped the window. ‘And this is bulletproof glass, right?’
Popov nodded. ‘I explained that but he insisted on going below ground.’
Shepherd turned to face him. ‘He’s scared?’
‘You’ve never met him, have you?’ Shepherd shook his head. ‘Mr Grechko doesn’t scare easily,’ said Popov. ‘But after the sniper he sent his wife to France.’ He grinned. ‘Shopping.’
‘Shopping?’
‘Mrs Grechko likes to shop.’
‘And he has two sons, right?’
‘Sixteen and fourteen. They are with their mother. The former Mrs Grechko. Mr Grechko owns a large estate on Cyprus and Mrs Grechko knows that she is to stay there with the boys until this is resolved.’
‘And what about security in Cyprus?’
‘Mrs Grechko has her own security, but they have all been with the family for many years. Totally trustworthy.’
Shepherd nodded. ‘Before the attack, he had a lot of guests?’
Popov shook his head. ‘Mr Grechko rarely entertained here,’ he said.
‘But all these rooms?’
The bodyguard shrugged. ‘The new Mrs Grechko likes nice things,’ he said. He grinned. ‘I’ll show you her dressing rooms.’
‘Rooms?’
Popov’s grin widened. ‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘Rooms.’ He led Shepherd down a corridor lined with a thick green carpet, with small chandeliers hanging every ten feet or so. At the end of the corridor were two gilt doors. Popov threw them open. ‘The shoe room,’ he said. He wasn’t joking. The room was filled with rack upon rack of shoes, most of which hadn’t been worn. Popov pressed a button and the racks began to move to the side. More shoes appeared. And more.
Shepherd began to laugh and Popov laughed with him. ‘Are you serious?’ said Shepherd.
‘If she sees a style she likes, she buys them in every colour,’ said Popov. ‘At the last count she had close to one thousand pairs.’ He pressed the button and the racks stopped moving. At the end of the room were two more double gilt doors and Popov pushed them open. ‘The handbag room,’ he said. The room was smaller than the previous one and lined with display cases containing handbags of every conceivable design and colour. Shepherd recognised many of the brands – Gucci, Chanel, Prada, Louis Vuitton.
‘Are you married, Tony?’
‘I was. She died.’ Even though the Tony Ryan legend was a work of fantasy, legends always worked best when they bore some resemblance to reality.
‘Sorry about that. I was going to say wives go crazy over this room. Mrs Grechko, when she goes into a handbag shop, if she sees something she likes she orders dozens and gives them to all her friends.’ He pointed to a bright green Prada bag. ‘She gave me one of those for my wife last Christmas.’
‘That’s generous,’ said Shepherd.
‘It means nothing to her,’ said Popov. ‘She doesn’t even ask the price when she buys something. In most of the shops she doesn’t even have to hand over a credit card. She points out what she wants and they deliver and the bill goes to Mr Grechko.’
The next room was the evening wear room with rows and rows of gowns and dresses. There was a huge gilt mirror on a stand in the middle of the room and two winged leather armchairs. Popov pointed at one of the chairs. ‘Sometimes Mr Grechko sits here while she tries on dresses. If I’m lucky I get to watch, too. Have you seen Mrs Grechko?’
‘I’ve seen photographs.’
‘She is beautiful. Seriously beautiful. Eight years ago she was Miss Ukraine but if anything she is even more beautiful now.’
‘Mr Grechko is a lucky man.’
‘Mr Grechko is a very rich man,’ said Popov. ‘I don’t think luck has much to do with it.’ He took Shepherd through to the next room. It was the casual wear room and there were countless shirts, jeans and dresses on hangers and on shelves. There was another large free-standing gilt mirror and two leather armchairs. The room was the size of a regular high street clothing store; all that was missing was a cash register.
The next room was what Popov called the underwear room, and it was filled with underwear, lingerie and swimwear, and was a riot of colour. Shepherd realised the clothing rooms pretty much occupied the whole top floor of a wing that was running parallel to the main house. There were no windows but if there had been they would have been overlooking the tennis courts. The next room also didn’t have windows. It was a complete beauty and hairdressing salon with a mirrored wall that made it look twice its size. ‘Mrs Grechko has her two hairdressers and a make-up girl,’ said Popov. ‘They’re with her in France.’
‘When they are here, where do Mr and Mrs Grechko sleep?’ asked Shepherd.
‘The master bedroom suite,’ said Popov. ‘It’s in the opposite wing, along with the children’s bedrooms and the bedrooms of the children’s nannies. I can’t show you those quarters without Mr Grechko’s permission.’
‘Nannies? They’re a bit old for nannies, aren’t they?’
‘The boys are accustomed to servants,’ said Popov. ‘They are in Cyprus with them now. Four women, all from Russia.’
‘And where is Mr Grechko at the moment?’ asked Shepherd.
‘In his gym,’ said Popov. ‘I’ll show you the ground floor and then we’ll do the basement floors.’
The rooms on the ground floor were even bigger and more opulent than the bedrooms. There were two enormous sitting rooms, one with a Victorian cast-iron fireplace that was taller than Shepherd, and another in a minimalist style dominated by a circular fireplace under a stainless-steel hood. There was a library lined with leather-bound books, two dining rooms each with tables large enough to accommodate two dozen diners, a room with two grand pianos in it, and two fully equipped kitchens. In one of the kitchens a pretty brunette in chef’s whites was preparing Beef Wellingtons. Popov introduced her as Sheena Edmonds, one of Grechko’s three personal chefs. She grinned at Shepherd. ‘Let me know if you need feeding at any point,’ she said. ‘Mr Grechko’s here on his own at the moment so I’m not exactly rushed off my feet.’