Dark Tribute--An Eve Duncan Novel

by Iris Johansen

  He went to the window and watched Gavin stride down the driveway. He’d had to be very careful not to give up any control while he’d revealed that nightmare of over thirty years ago. He must always retain control. After all this time, it shouldn’t have been this difficult.

  But time hadn’t seemed to matter today, perhaps because Jock Gavin’s fire and passion reminded him of that boy he’d been himself on that day in Siberia …

  LABOR CAMP

  Pain!

  The butt of Ivan Svardak’s rifle struck Kaskov’s temple as he entered the hallway, stunning him. He staggered as the rifle struck him again. “What in hell is—”

  “Grab him.” Kaskov realized dazedly it was Ivan Svardak, one of the guards, speaking to his son, Boris, who was behind him. “I’ve seen him fight in the yard. He’s a tiger. Put him down!”

  “I’ve got him.” Boris was behind Kaskov, his arm around his neck. “Hit him again!”

  He was already hitting him, whipping the barrel across his shoulder with full force.

  More pain. Get rid of the sons of bitches. Kaskov broke free, whirled, and karate-chopped Ivan’s neck. Then he head-butted his son in the stomach.

  But Ivan was there again, beating him with the butt of the gun. He brought Kaskov to the ground.

  Darkness.

  He was barely conscious as he struggled to his knees and heard Svardak call, “Anna, come over here and give me your scarf so that I can gag him.” He kept hitting Kaskov again and again. “You wanted this done. Now come and help.”

  “Why else am I here?” Anna smiled as she crossed the hall and handed her father the scarf. She looked down at Kaskov. “He’s bleeding. We won’t get in trouble if he dies?”

  “He won’t die. And I’ll tell the sergeant I had to smash his hands when I caught him stealing.”

  “He was stealing,” Anna said. “He was trying to steal away my prize from all of us.” She stared down at Kaskov with a vicious smile. “It was mine.”

  Smash his hands …

  Only those words were clear through Kaskov’s pain and dizziness.

  Smash his hands? Take away the music? Take away everything he was?

  “No!” He started to struggle again. “You can’t do it. I won’t let you do that to me.” He got an arm free and hit Boris Svardak in the groin.

  But his father immediately struck Kaskov again, this time in the belly. Then he pulled out his pistol and whipped him with it until the entire room and all their faces were only a blur of pain. “Stop fighting. I was going to knock you out first,” he hissed. “But you hurt my son. Now you’re going to feel every single bone splinter.” He gagged him with Anna’s scarf and turned to Boris. “You get the first hit. Index finger.” He handed him the rifle. “Go slow. Make him feel it.”

  “I want to do it.” John, Svardak’s youngest son, was stepping forward. “He tried to cheat Anna. Can’t I do it?”

  “Maybe later. It’s your brother’s treat now.”

  Kaskov tried to move, to stop them. He couldn’t do either. He could only watch as they spread the fingers of his right hand and lifted the butt of the rifle. It was going to happen. They were going to take everything away from him. They were going to take what had kept him sane in this hellhole of a camp. They were going to take the music.

  He could see their faces above him, all eager, like hungry vultures, waiting for the first scream.

  He would not give it to them.

  The butt of the rifle was coming down …

  But, oh my God, he would make them pay …

  * * *

  “Gavin has left the property, sir.” Nikolai had come out of the kitchen and was standing behind him. “Am I allowed to resume my duties?”

  “Why not?” He turned away from the window to face Nikolai. “If you can overcome your irritation with me for ordering you to stay away from him.”

  “It’s not my place to question you. But I saw no reason. I would have obeyed your orders.”

  “But Gavin would not. He saw the video of you at Cara’s hotel. It was best to avoid conflict in this case. Everything went very smoothly without your interaction.” He went back to the table. “The only thing that went amiss was that my breakfast was interrupted. Would you tell the chef to make me another eggs Benedict?”

  Nikolai nodded and started to turn away. Then he turned and looked back at Kaskov. “He did not hurt you?”

  “What? Why would you think that?”

  “You’ve been flexing your hands since I walked into the room.” He repeated, “He did not hurt you?”

  Kaskov looked down at his hands. It was lucky that it had been Nikolai who had noticed. It was only an instant of loss of control, but he would have to watch it. He smiled and shrugged. “Of course, he didn’t. My hands are perfectly fine, Nikolai. Now see about my breakfast.”

  CHAPTER

  5

  LAKE COTTAGE

  “I don’t want you to see these,” Joe said as he climbed the steps to where Eve was standing on the porch. “It’s only going to upset you. We’re not going to let it have anything to do with Cara.”

  “Jock looked at them. So did you.” She took his tablet. “And everything that man did has to do with Cara.” Yet she didn’t open the tablet. Joe had told her what she would see, and she had to brace herself. “And there are things I don’t like about this either. Do you think I want to stay here while you go hunting with Jock? I should be there. When are you leaving?”

  “As soon as I show you those damn photos and say good-bye to Michael. Is he home from school yet?”

  She nodded jerkily. “He’s doing his homework. I told him that you were going after Cara. He wanted to go with you.” She turned into his arms and buried her face in his chest. “I told him I did, too. He didn’t like it when I said I might have him go visit Catherine Ling for a few days.” Her voice was muffled. “But I said we’d discuss it later since we didn’t exactly know where Cara was and we have to wait until you and Jock tell us.”

  “You mean until Jock tells us,” Joe said dryly. “He’s been out in those mountains all day trying to locate Svardak’s base camp. I’m just hoping he’ll find it before I get there.” He grimaced. “Or maybe I’m not. Because he’ll probably not wait for me before going in after Svardak.” His fingers were tangled in her hair as he rocked her back and forth. “We’ll find her, Eve.”

  “That’s what I keep telling Michael.” She gave him a quick kiss. “Now you go tell him. He took my lecture entirely too much to heart, and he’s feeling responsible for bringing Cara to Atlanta.” She took a step back. “And I’ll take a quick glance through those photos while you’re doing it. I don’t want Michael getting curious.”

  “Right.” He headed for the door. “I guarantee those photos are considerably different from your reconstructions he’s become accustomed to seeing.” He looked back at her. “I still don’t want you to look at them.”

  “Go say good-bye to Michael.”

  He shook his head and went in the house.

  She gazed down at his tablet. Then she forced herself to open it.

  ST. PETERSBURG—KATYA TARVONA.

  She inhaled sharply as she was assaulted by the sheer brutality of the photos. Youth and eagerness, then death and destruction.

  She had told Joe she would glance through the photos, but she was held, horrified into sluggish inertia. She went through each one, digesting each sick detail. Then it was done, and she could close the tablet. She drew a deep breath and stared out at the lake, which was clean and blue, trying to forget the faces of those young girls who’d had their lives cut short by a monster. Trying to forget how close Cara must be to that monster.

  “Okay?” Joe was standing in the doorway behind her with Michael at his side.

  She nodded and handed Joe his tablet. “I was just thinking that it’s likely Michael and I will definitely pay that visit to Catherine.”

  “I was afraid of that. Call me so that I can talk you out of it.” He
looked down at his son. “Walk me to the car?”

  “Phone as soon as you make contact with Jock.” She kissed him and held him tight for a long moment. “Be safe.”

  “Always.” He was walking beside Michael down the steps. “And I don’t have to worry about you. Michael and you are a great team.”

  “You bet we are.” She watched him hug Michael a final time and knew he was whispering something in his ear. Guy stuff, again? Then Michael was waving good-bye to him as he drove out of the driveway. Then Michael was running up the steps. He nestled close to her as they watched Joe drive down the road until he was out of sight as he turned the corner.

  “What did he whisper to you?” She smiled down at him. “Or do you have to keep it a secret?”

  “Nah, he just told me not to be a pain in the neck and make sure you don’t worry.”

  “You’re supposed to make sure I’m not worrying? That sounds like your dad. I’m not the one going away. Next time, tell him he should be the one you worry about.”

  “He wouldn’t like that.” Then his smile faded as his gaze went back to the point where Joe’s car had disappeared around the bend. “But you’re right, he’s the one I should worry about…”

  * * *

  The red peasant-style blouse Cara had put on after her shower was one of Michael’s favorites, Cara remembered as she gazed in the mirror. He thought it made her look happy and not so serious as her usual neutral-tone shirts and slacks. But then Michael was always about being happy. She reached up to touch the simple low neck. She usually wore it with a gold cross Jock had given her years ago, and she felt strange without it.

  Jock …

  “Very good.” Svardak was standing in the doorway behind her. “I knew it would be perfect.” He was gazing critically at her hair. “Not quite perfect. Your hair is still wet. I can take care of that.” He went to the vanity and pulled out a blow-dryer. “I thought I’d bought one of these for Marian…”

  “No!” She jerked away from him.

  “Oh, you don’t like the idea of using Marian’s possessions?” He was staring at her maliciously as he turned on the dryer. “She only used it the one time, when I had to make her presentable for her photo. She didn’t complain. By that time she knew better. Now stand still and let me dry your hair, or I’ll be forced to beat you with this very expensive dryer. That would leave nasty bruises. Much worse than the ones I’ve already given you. You don’t want to upset Kaskov when he sees the photo. The first photo is always serene and happy. Contrast.”

  She gazed in revulsion at the nozzle of the hair dryer. In his hands, the dryer looked like a small snake. But she didn’t want to argue and give Svardak any other weapons. She unclenched her hands. “It wouldn’t upset Kaskov. I told you that he doesn’t care anything for me.” She had to raise her voice as he brought the hair dryer closer as he blew through the long strands. “You must know that my grandfather’s occupation doesn’t lend itself to being either tender or loving. Life is all about him.”

  “Shut up. I’m concentrating. It has to be just right.” He added softly, “This should make you feel even closer to Marian. Don’t you feel the intimacy?”

  She did feel an intimacy, but not the way he meant. He wanted her to feel helpless that he was repeating this act that had preceded Marian’s death. She didn’t feel helpless. She felt angry and sad, together with a growing recklessness that surprised her. She didn’t care that he held the power. No one should be permitted to do what he’d done to Marian Napier. No one should be permitted to hurt Eve and Joe the way Cara knew they’d be suffering by now. She could take whatever he’d do to her. He had to realize that in the end it wouldn’t matter, he wouldn’t matter.

  “That’s the way you should be,” he murmured. “Meek and compliant.” He held up a strand of her hair. “See how it shines now. And look how rosy your cheeks are from the heat of the dryer.”

  “Maybe not from the dryer.” She held up her wrists. “Are you going to take the chains off me? You promised me something to eat. Unless you just want to throw me some bread and water?”

  “I wouldn’t think of it.” He unlocked the cuffs from the chain. “What good is surface polish if you look like you’re starving? Before and After.” He pushed her toward the door. “I have a bowl of stew for you on the bar. Be sure not to spill anything on that blouse. You look like a gypsy, much better than that insipid gown you wore at the concert.”

  “What concert? I know you weren’t at the charity concert at the hotel.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I would have been nauseated to see them all fawning over you as if you were some angel of mercy. No, I had a box at the concert in Charlotte. That way I could ignore your lack of skill and concentrate on what was going to come afterward.”

  “You mean this horror you’ve dreamed up?” She sat at the bar and looked down at the unappetizing stew in the bowl in front of her. “What a completely useless life you must lead to have to depend on slaughter to keep you amused. You might think I have no skill, but I don’t destroy.” She began to eat the stew. Cold and lumpy. Yet she had to keep up her strength. “And you’re wrong, I’m actually very good. I’ve been taught by experts, and I’ve worked hard.” She forced herself to take another bite. “And Marian Napier was also good. You just don’t have the judgment to appreciate anything that’s outside your own narrow viewpoint. Whoever taught you about music must have been extremely limited and without any sense of—”

  “Bitch!” He knocked her off the stool. She fell hard on the floor, striking her temple. It took her a moment to recover. She shook her head to clear it of the waves of pain. The blow had come so swiftly, she’d had no time to brace herself. He was standing over her with clenched hands. “Limited? Anna was superb. It’s the rest of you who know nothing. You have no discipline or control.”

  There was something here that she might be able to use … She slowly got up on one elbow. “Anna? Your sister?”

  “Of course. Anna had no limits. She was so perfect, everyone was jealous of her skill and tried to crush her.”

  “She played the violin?”

  “Of course. So much better than you.”

  “Then I would like to hear her.” She paused. “But you’re speaking past tense. She’s not alive?”

  “No.” His face was twisted with pain. “He killed her. She didn’t think he’d find her, but he did. She told me she’d come and get me, but she didn’t. He hunted her down and shot her and she never came back to get me at that hospital.”

  “Who did it?”

  “You know who shot her.” His face was flushed, his eyes glittering. “You know who killed them all.”

  “I have an idea it had to be Kaskov. But I don’t know why. Tell me.”

  “No.” He was suddenly smiling recklessly. “I’ll let him tell you. But not now, it has to be the right time.” He reached down and jerked her to her feet. “And he has to have the Before photo to prepare him. So that he’ll know what’s coming next.” He slung her into the chair in front of the fireplace. “But you’ll not insult my sister again, or I’ll use that fire poker to scar that pretty face.”

  “I didn’t know I was insulting her. I don’t insult other artists. I was just remarking on your lack of judgment. I didn’t realize she had taught you. How could I? I don’t know anything about you.”

  “You’ll learn very soon.” He was backing away from her, his head tilted as he studied her. “Yes, that chair is perfect for you.” He went behind the bar and got his phone. “And I knew the red top would show you off beautifully.” He was clicking photos with his phone camera. “Now the violin…” He went to the kitchen pantry and pulled out her violin case. He set it in front of her. “Open it, I know you’ve missed it. Such a wonderful instrument. Anna should have had one like it.”

  “There’s no other instrument like it. Each Amati or Stradivarius is unique and individual. If your sister was as clever and talented as you claim, she’d know that.” She took the violi
n out of the case, her palms unconsciously caressing the fine wood. “Even if you don’t.” The violin felt so good in her hands. Just touching it made her feel that wonderful sense of belonging, bonding to something that was part of her and yet part of the world around her. “But any violinist would appreciate this Amati.”

  “And you love it.” His eyes were narrowed on her face. “Kaskov gave it to you, didn’t he?”

  “Yes. But I don’t love it because it came from him. I love it because it makes beautiful music.” She looked down at the strings. “We complete each other. We make beautiful music together.”

  He scowled. “You don’t, you know. You’re mistaken.”

  “I won’t argue with you.” She glanced up at him. “Take your photo.”

  “You don’t give me orders. I want you to look perfectly natural.” He came forward, unlocked her handcuffs, and took them off. “I want you to look the way you did at that concert.” He smiled mockingly. “Play for me, Cara.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s the Before photograph, the one to cherish and remember.”

  She looked up at the photo of Marian Napier on the wall. No smile, but all the glow of youth and courage was in that face. Cara wished she’d had a chance to know her. The longer she was here, the closer she felt to Marian. “That’s her Before photo? Who has the After?”

  “I’m sure you can guess. Kaskov, of course. But you really wouldn’t want to see it. Play, Cara. I’m becoming impatient.”

  She was tempted to refuse, but he would only force her, and the violin might be damaged in the conflict. It didn’t really matter. She wanted to play. It would release a little of this poison that he’d injected every minute she’d been with him.

  She tucked her violin beneath her chin and began to play the Tchaikovsky.

  “No,” Svardak said instantly. “Something else. Maybe the same Mendelssohn as Marian played.”