by ILIL ARBEL
“Like vhat you gave me during the robbery?”
“A bit stronger, I am afraid. We must go now.”
They entered the atelier. The man seemed to know the exact layout of the place and they went together to Natalya’s little ironing room at the back. While constantly pointing the gun at Madame Koska, the man walked to the window and opened it. Madame Koska eyed the window with discomfort. How was she supposed to climb through it? The man, as if reading her thoughts, dragged a chair to the window and said, “I suggest you take off your shoes and throw them out of the window. We’ll pick them up when we reach the ground.” Madame Koska shrugged, knowing that she had no choice. She slipped her bag over her arm, removed her shoes and threw them out of the window, climbed on the chair, lifted her skirt just a little, and managed to get out of the window, if a bit clumsily, and onto the ladder that leaned against it. Reaching the bottom of the ladder, she blessed the atelier for being only one floor above ground, found her shoes, and put them on.
The man led her through a dark alley, and into a quiet street. A car stood there, with the driver waiting and the motor running. The man motioned her to get into the back seat, sat next to her, and the driver, who did not turn around, took off immediately. They drove for a while until they reached an area that was near the river. It was hidden in the darkness, but Madame Koska heard the splashing of water. The car stopped in front of a small house, from which came strains of music, unexpected in such a dark and unpleasant neighbourhood. The man opened the door for her, and led her inside.
Entering the house, Madame Koska was surprised by its ordinary, even cheerful, appearance. It seemed to be a regular night club, crowded with nicely dressed men and women who were having drinks and listening to a singer and a small band. On the side there was a dance floor, and a few couples were dancing. “Go on,” said the man quietly, standing close behind Madame Koska and pushing the gun into the small of her back.
“Vhere to?” asked Madame Koska.
“Look to the right,” said the man. “You will see a red curtain. It hides an open door. Just push it and go through.”
Doing as she was told, Madame Koska passed through the curtain into what seemed to be a totally different world, only vaguely connected to the other room by the muffled sounds of the singer’s voice. The room was in half darkness, but she could clearly see that several divans were arranged around the room along the walls. Two long divans stood in the middle of the room, dividing it in half. A number of men reclined on the divans, smoking a substance that smelled strong and sweet. The scent made Madame Koska clear her throat and cough, but no one paid any attention to her; the smokers were isolated in their own world. So this had to be the opium den by the river, thought Madame Koska, disgusted. This is where Mr. Howard would go…how dreadful. But why would they bring her here? What did she have to do with an opium den? She did not have time to ponder, because the man was leading her through the room into another one, a small room that was also in half-darkness. By then, however, her eyes began to adjust and she could see that the room was crowded with furniture, a big desk with a chair, a couch, and some armchairs.
“Please sit down, Madame Koska,” the man said. “I will have to leave you here for a few minutes, to tell the person who wishes to see you that we have arrived. Do not try to leave the room. There will be a guard outside the door, and as you can see, there are no windows. So please just wait a few minutes.”
Madame Koska sat on the couch. She did not have to wait long since in a few minutes she heard voices outside the door. The man’s voice was saying, “No, no trouble at all. The officers in the front saw nothing. The one in the back passed out cold, but he is not hurt.”
“Are you sure?” said another voice. “If a police officer was killed, I will be very displeased.” Madame Koska froze, and a cold shiver ran down her spine. She felt the blood rushing to her head, then abruptly draining, leaving her cold and shaky. She was sure she was about to faint or go into hysterics, and her shaking was so strong she almost dropped her handbag. And just as suddenly she prevailed and felt a complete, total calm envelop her, as if she stood in the eye of a hurricane. She took the gun out of her handbag and cocked it. Then she got up, stood behind the couch, and waited.
“I assure you, sir. He will be fine in a few hours. We placed him against the wall of the house; he will wake up with only a bit of a headache.”
“Very well,” said the other voice. “And are you certain no one followed you?”
“I am certain.”
“Well done. I will go and talk to Madame Koska now. Don’t let anyone disturb us until I call you. No one should walk into this room no matter what.”
“Yes, sir. I will inform the guard.”
Slowly, the door opened and a tall man entered the room, closed the door behind him, and turned toward her. Even in the semi-darkness she could see his clear, bright blue eyes.
“Hello, Grigory,” Madame Koska said in a very quiet and steady voice, and pointed the gun at him.
Grigory raised his hands slowly, saying nothing. Suddenly he laughed. “How lovely to see you again, chérie,” he said in French.
“Thank you,” said Madame Koska, also in French.
“How did you know it was me, Vera? After all, I did make a death certificate, quite authentic, too.”
“I did not know until I heard you outside the door,” said Madame Koska. “However, I never really believed the death certificate was legitimate.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I knew your name is not Koska. The death certificate was under that name.”
“I could not really have it done under any other name,” said Grigory. “That is the name everyone associates me with.”
“So you are really involved in crimes,” said Madame Koska.
“Yes, I am,” said Grigory. “No point in denying it.”
“Are you behind the disappearance of the brooch?” asked Madame Koska.
“Yes, I stole it from the museum. There is a buyer for it, wealthy beyond belief. This should be my last job.”
“And you are connected with this Eurasian crime ring.”
“Yes, I am. Actually, they are my ring; I have been heading the crime ring for years.”
“Even during our marriage?”
“Yes, of course. I built the ring long before we met. Do you remember how much I was travelling?”
“Yes, but I believed you travelled on the atelier’s business. Of course you could have done both.”
“That is exactly what I did.”
“But the brooch, Grigory. What did you do with it?”
“I hid it in your atelier among all the beads and pearls, planning to retrieve it. But when my people broke in, and searched the atelier, it was not there. Then when I went there, you know, when I drugged you with the ether, I could not find it either.”
Madame Koska stood very still. “You put it into the mix of beads and pearls? And then it vanished? Are you absolutely sure? Because…” She stopped talking and gasped at a sudden epiphany; she knew exactly what happened to the brooch, but her husband must not suspect…it could lead to a disaster.
It passed in her thoughts in an instant and Grigory did not notice anything. “Yes, no one knows what happened to it. But I am sure I can find it. You must help me, Vera.”
“I will not,” said Madame Koska.
Grigory looked at her quietly. “I should have brought a gun with me…but I never thought you would be armed.”
“You taught me how to use a handgun, remember?” said Madame Koska.
Grigory laughed. “Yes, of course I do…but not against me. Why don’t you let me go before everyone comes, Vera? You know you could not bring yourself to kill me.”
“I think I could, Grigory. I really think it would not be too hard, after what you have done to me, leaving me to the wolves after your disappearance.”
“But you did well, Vera. And I knew you were strong enough to do it.”
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��You could not know in advance, and since you did it to me, I know you did not care about me. I assumed you escaped with a mistress.”
“Not care about you? A mistress? Vera, you were the love of my life. There had never been another woman. But I had to leave Paris or I would have been put in jail for life, or even executed.”
“What will you do if I let you go?”
“I will resume my search for the brooch. And I will find it, I always do.”
“And after you sell it?”
“I will leave Europe permanently and go to Polynesia, where life is simple and enjoyable. Why not come with me, Vera? Let’s retire in style, live the rest of our lives in total luxury. Come with me, my dear. Let’s resume our life together and be happy. I missed you, Vera”
“And live as fugitives from the law, with the police one step behind us? No, Grigory. Besides, I will never trust you again. We are going to wait here until the police arrive.”
“I could scream for the man stationed outside,” said Grigory.
“I will shoot as soon as you scream,” said Madame Koska.
“You know you still love me, Vera. Why are you being foolish? Who is hurt by our taking the brooch? It was stolen by the Bolsheviks anyway!” He started walking slowly towards her.
“Stop, Grigory. If you come any nearer, I will shoot you,” said Madame Koska. “And since you taught me, you know I can shoot pretty well from such a close distance.”
“But if you won’t come with me willingly, my dear, you leave me no choice,” said Grigory and continued to advance towards her. Madame Koska retreated but after a step or two her back touched the wall.
“Don’t come any closer, Grigory. I would much rather not hurt you,” she said.
Grigory’s blue eyes blazed in the darkness. “You cannot hurt me, my dear. You simply cannot shoot me…give me the gun, just hand it over, and all will be well…” His voice had a hypnotic quality. Madame Koska felt she could not speak.
“Just hand it over, chérie. You don’t have to worry about a thing…” he edged toward her. Madame Koska saw him raising his hands and she knew, with complete clarity, that he meant to strangle her. She fired the gun and in what seemed too slow to be real, she saw Grigory sink to the floor.
At this moment Mr. Korolenko burst through the door, holding a gun of his own.
Madame Koska stood paralysed, with her arm still stretched ahead of her. Mr. Korolenko put his gun in his pocket, approached her, and gently took the gun from her hand. Her arm dropped and she could not move or say a word.
Grigory opened his eyes and looked at Mr. Korolenko. “Dmitri, old friend,” he said.
“Yes, Grigory. I am sorry it had come to that,” said Mr. Korolenko.
“Dmitri, push me so I can sit up against the desk,” said Grigory. “I am finding it hard to breathe.”
Mr. Korolenko hesitated for a few seconds, looking at the wounded man. He shrugged, bent over and gently helped Grigory to sit up, then quickly jumped back. Grigory smiled weakly and said, “I would not hurt you, Dmitri.”
“You would hurt anyone who is in your way, Grigory,” said Mr. Korolenko. “We can be your friends, even your wife, and you would still hurt us. But go ahead, do what you have to do. It’s better than the alternative.”
Grigory raised his hand and touched something under the desk. A large trapdoor opened under it and both the desk and Grigory fell through it. Madame Koska heard a strong splash of water and then silence.
The shock freed her from her paralysis. “He is gone,” she whispered. “I shot him.”
“Good work,” said Mr. Korolenko. He took her in his arms and held her close, very calmly, until she stopped shaking. When he sensed that she was more in control, he let her go and helped her sit on the couch.
“It’s all right,” he said, sitting down next to her. “It’s all over now. You are safe.”
“How could I shoot him? How could I kill Grigory?” Her voice showed she was still near a hysterical reaction.
“Because he was about to kill you, Madame Koska,” said Mr. Korolenko. “You had no choice.”
Madame Koska shuddered violently. “Yes, I think he was,” she said. “He was perfectly capable of killing me. He tried to hypnotise me to give him my gun, and I think he meant to strangle me.”
“Yes, since he had no weapon, he would consider that.”
“But why would he kill me? He could have dropped himself through the trapdoor and disappear. Why strangle me?”
“Because you knew too much. You could help the police with so many details about the past and the present. He could not afford to let you live—unless you consented to help him, which I am sure he tried to make you do.”
“Yes, he said he still loved me, and wanted me to go away with him to Polynesia.”
“He might have loved you in his own way, Madame Koska, but he was a ruthless man and the life and death of anyone meant little to him.”
“Is he dead, do you think?”
“We have no way of knowing,” said Mr. Korolenko. “But I certainly hope he is, and I can’t imagine a man who was so badly wounded would survive the fall into the river. The police will look for his body.”
“But what will the police say about my shooting him?” asked Madame Koska, suddenly aware that she might be in more trouble.
“The police will be perfectly satisfied that you shot in self-defence.”
“How do you know?” asked Madame Koska “What makes you think they will believe me?”
“Because I am the police,” said Mr. Korolenko.
“You are what?”
“I have been doing police work in England for some years,” said Mr. Korolenko. “Special assignments. Plain clothes.”
Madam Koska shook her head. “I suspected it once momentarily, but it did not make sense and I dismissed the idea.”
“Of course it did not make sense, since you believed I was engaged in some dishonest work. But that was perfectly all right since I did not want you to know until we resolved this crime.”
“You knew about his real identity, somehow, didn’t you?”
“I suspected it, but I got my proof when we were looking through the papers in the envelope you left with Madame Golitsyn. I saw a very old letter there, just a note, really, signed Grigory Orlov, and I took it to make sure and read it carefully. He obviously never knew it was left around, and you didn’t know because you could not read Russian at the time.”
“I saw his passport once, but I did not remember his name was Orlov.”
“Because it was written in the Cyrillic alphabet. Later, I’ll show you how it looks, when we get some better light. I am sure it will look familiar.”
“You knew about the trap door, and let him go,” said Madame Koska. “I am glad of it.”
“I was not sure about it, but it’s a commonplace escape route in these dens by the river, and I assumed it was his way out. There was no point in preventing it.”
“I agree. But how did you know I was here?” asked Madame Koska.
“I heard it from Gretchen. When she went upstairs, she sat on the couch with a book to wait for you, and being tired from all the excitement, fell asleep. About an hour later, Madame Golitsyn called you. She had been uncomfortable and worried about you and Gretchen and wanted to see if you were safe. Natalya was with her that night, and when Gretchen woke up to answer the phone, and the three of them realised that you were seriously delayed, they called Inspector Blount and me and then rushed to the apartment. Madame Golitsyn and Natalya wanted to sit up and wait with Gretchen and to hear what happened to you as soon as possible.”
“And what about Gretchen’s father?”
“He is right here. They kept him here all this time.”
“Is he well?”
“Yes, they did not hurt him. We must leave now, and let the officers continue with their massive arrests. I’ll tell Blount to join us at your apartment as soon as he can. There are several police cars out in front of the house
, we’ll use one and take you home.”
“Thank you, yes, I want to see the ladies as soon as possible…they must be terribly worried.”
“Before we leave, Madame Koska, I must say that you look—”
“Of course I look dishevelled, Mr. Korolenko. I mean, look what I have just been through. I apologise for looking like a mess.”
“I meant to say that you look extremely beautiful when you are just a little less perfectly groomed and your hair is down, Madame Koska.”
“Oh,” said Madame Koska, not sure how to react. “Thank you, Mr. Korolenko.”
They went through the opium room and the night club, moving through a pandemonium of police officers, half-dazed smokers, and elegantly dressed people in a state of panic. Passing by the inspector, Mr. Korolenko said, “I am taking Madame Koska home. Please come as soon as possible.” They entered one of the police cars that were parked in the front, and Mr. Korolenko gave the address to the driver.
“What I would like to understand,” said Madame Koska, “is how Grigory and you knew each other, Mr. Korolenko, and why an Orlov would become a jewel thief and a couturier.”
“He was a school friend. He was interested in the arts and took some lessons. I was interested in literature. We had so much in common that was good, but we both were thoughtless youths… When I was kicked out of the priesthood, Grigory was caught in a worse scandal—he was involved in a jewel theft on a large scale. I faced my disgrace and lived it down, but Grigory disappeared. No one knew where he went, not even his family.”
“But eventually you found out?” asked Madame Koska.
“Yes, through police work some hints came to me, and I know the story now. He came to Paris at age nineteen, in 1883, and since he needed to make a living, he decided to put his drawing talent to use. He was a talented child, and his parents allowed him the pleasure of studying with a famous art teacher in Saint Petersburg, by the name of Lovesky. Grigory always liked haute couture, and somehow, with the aid of his good looks and charm, he landed a minor job at the big, famous house of Worth. After some years there, having learned quite a bit and also created some good connections among the ladies who had their dresses made there, he opened his own establishment in 1899, at age thirty-five.”