In the Crosshairs: Russian Historical Thriller (Nikolai Volkov Book 2)

by Julia Gousseva

  “I don’t see why this part should change.”

  “All right. Then, let’s think about who would know his driving habits. Besides Grisha.”

  “Pavel, of course,” Marina said. “Didn’t he and Grisha take turns driving Roman? And didn’t Pavel serve in the military?”

  Nikolai nodded. “But let’s not jump to conclusions yet. According to ballistics report, the shot was fired at a significant distance. And it was a single shot. That’s not the work of somebody who simply served in the military. That’s the work of a trained sniper,” Nikolai said. “But Pavel could have provided information about Roman’s movements and habits to the killers.”

  “And why would he do that?”

  “For the money,” Nikolai said. “With the baby on the way, he and Ekaterina would need money.”

  Marina thought for a moment. “It’s a possibility. So, Pavel provided the information, but the money went to Ekaterina’s account. If nobody knows about their relationship, then nobody suspects Pavel. Or, at least, nobody could view that sudden large deposit as suspicious.”

  “Right.” Nikolai nodded. “The lack of financial irregularities in Pavel’s account helps take suspicions off him.”

  Marina nodded. “If the baby is Pavel’s, then of course Ekaterina would want to hide it.”

  “Right,” Nikolai said. “Otherwise, their relationship is out in the open, and Pavel would certainly not want that because somebody then would start looking at Ekaterina and at her bank account.”

  “That makes sense, but where is their baby?” Marina said.

  “That’s what I want to know, too,” Nikolai said.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  On Friday night, Nikolai put on his suit and tie and took the metro to Olga’s apartment. Driving and especially parking in central Moscow was a hopeless enterprise. Besides, the evening was warm and dry, and Olga lived a short walk from the Bolshoi.

  Like most people who grew up in central Moscow, Nikolai enjoyed his evenings at the theater. Nikolai’s parents introduced him to the theater when he was four years old, starting with matinees at the Moscow Puppet Theater. In elementary and middle school, he progressed to the Moscow Theater of the Young Spectator and by high school, he was a frequent visitor to many theaters that staged traditional dramas by Russian and international playwrights. Nikolai enjoyed them all: plays set in the large theaters, alternative plays in more intimate halls, musical theater, and anything else that Moscow had to offer. Many Moscow men of his generation enjoyed seeing plays and listening to concert music. But unlike most men, Nikolai preferred the ballet to almost any other performance. And the Bolshoi ballet was the best. There was something mesmerizing about the graceful movement of the dancers, the live music played by the full orchestra, and the naive plots of many ballets where the endings were hopeful and evil was always defeated. Perhaps, Nikolai was an idealist who preferred to believe in positive outcomes. Perhaps, the ballet was his escape from the gray, grim and often dangerous reality of his work life.

  The metro train came to a stop, and the tinny voice on the recording announced Teatralnaya metro station. Nikolai stepped out of the train, took the escalator to the surface, and walked two blocks to Olga’s apartment. On the way, he stopped by a flower stand but hesitated before buying anything. He wanted to make Olga happy but did not want to appear to be trying too hard to get her back. Desperation was not an attractive feature. He looked around for something Olga would like and saw a bouquet of delicate white roses. Perfect.

  He turned into the yard of Olga’s building, ran up the stairs, and rang the doorbell of her apartment. She opened almost immediately. In her long flowing skirt and a form-fitting blouse, Olga looked spectacular.

  “You look beautiful,” Nikolai said, admiring her. He handed her the roses. “Do you happen to have a vase for these?”

  Olga smiled. “Very nice of you. Thank you.” She gave Nikolai a quick kiss, and they walked inside. Nikolai followed her into the kitchen. Olga pulled a crystal vase from a shelf, filled it with water, and placed the roses on the table. For a moment, Nikolai wished they did not have to go anywhere.

  “I’m ready,” Olga said happily, picked up her purse, and they walked outside, hand in hand.

  The atmosphere at the square in front of the Bolshoi Theater felt more festive than usual, with lots of young people and their family members dressed in their best clothes, most carrying large bouquets of flowers. Tonight was a special night, with many of the students of the Bolshoi School of Ballet waiting to watch their friends perform in the last concert of the year, all young, hopeful, full of energy and great expectations for the future. Inside, the theater was overflowing with flowers brought by family members and friends of the graduates and their teachers.

  Nikolai led Olga through the ornate lobby, all shiny marble and sparkling chandeliers, and down the red carpet to the front section of the orchestra.

  “These are amazing seats,” Olga said as they sat down on the red plush chairs. She opened the program and looked through it. “This is different. It doesn’t say what they are performing.”

  “I asked about it when I was getting our tickets, and they told me that it will be a medley of different ballet numbers. The director makes the final selections the night before the concert. That’s why it’s not in the program.”

  After a brief introduction by the school director, the lights dimmed and the red velvet curtain slowly parted. Ten ballerinas in airy white dresses stood on the stage, their arms raised to the sky. Behind them, tall trees leaned over glistening water. Immediately, Nikolai recognized the setting of The Swan Lake. No matter the occasion, it was hard to get away from Tchaikovsky’s music.

  “Not Tchaikovsky’s fault,” Olga whispered, as if reading his thoughts.

  Nikolai grinned. The 1991 failed coup attempt were a desperate time, but now the memory was almost amusing. For three days, he and Olga searched for updates on the coup on all TV and radio stations, only to find endless broadcasts of The Swan Lake. Then, he thought he would never want to see this ballet again.

  As the orchestra started played Tchaikovsky’s melodic music and the ballerinas gracefully danced on stage, all thoughts about the coup left Nikolai. He was simply enjoying the beautiful performance, being with Olga, and sharing this magical moment with her. For the two hours of the show, life felt happy and simple again, like it used to be for Nikolai and Olga only a few years ago.

  When the performance ended, the two of them, still in a festive mood, stepped out of the theater and into the brightly lit square by the Bolshoi Theater. Nikolai did not want the evening to end. The square was filled with couples, families, and groups of friends who were out to celebrate the beginning of the weekend, the warm summer weather, and each other. Many couples were very young, barely out of high school, the same age Nikolai and Olga were when they first met.

  “Are you up for a late dinner?” Nikolai asked Olga, then suddenly remembered something and paused, fighting the feeling of slight guilt at his need to continue working while on a date with Olga. “Dvorik has had some great reviews lately,” he added.

  “Dvorik sounds great to me.”

  Nikolai put his arm around Olga, and they turned off the busy and loud Manezhnaya Square and into a quieter lane. A few minutes later, they were at the doors of the Dvorik, a family-run restaurant that served spicy Georgian food, Olga’s favorite. The interior of the restaurant looked like a dvorik, an outdoor patio, with green leafy vines climbing up the walls of white brick, faux windows displaying window boxes with flowers made out of felt.

  The hostess led them to a table covered with the traditional blue tablecloth block-printed with white images of flowers. Candles in terracotta pots were placed on each table. On Friday and Saturday nights, Dvorik did brisk business, and dinnertime extended from six in the evening to well past midnight.

  Nikolai sat with his back to the wall, facing Olga. He listened to her talk about the performance but also scanned the room. The
restaurant was filled with people, mostly couples. Some were coming in, probably also after the theater, others were finishing their meals and leaving. Older women wore long dresses, high heels, and sparkling jewelry; their male companions were dressed in suits and ties. Younger girls looked more casual in short skirts, short-sleeved tops and flats; their boyfriends were dressed less formally, too: slacks and shirts. So far, he couldn’t see what he was looking for.

  A waiter in dark slacks and a white starched shirt handed them the menus, lit a candle on the table, and stepped away. Nikolai glanced at the menu, then looked up as he noticed something, or rather somebody, at the far corner of the room. It was a woman. She was slender, with auburn hair worn straight down. She was dressed in a plain black long skirt and a light summer blouse.

  The woman was Tatiana. Her dinner partner, as Nikolai had expected, was not Roman. It was the same man Nikolai had seen with Tatiana before. He was dressed casually: a dress shirt and dress pants but no tie. They were engaged in an animated conversation and seemed comfortable with each other, as if they had known each other for a long time. The man was smiling as Tatiana was telling him something.

  “Is everything all right?” Olga asked.

  Nikolai immediately turned his attention to her. “Fine. Just fine. What looks good to you on the menu?”

  “The walnut salad or kharcho soup, perhaps,” Olga said and paused. “Be honest with me. What’s bothering you? Has something else happened in that investigation? Is that what you’re thinking about?”

  “A little,” Nikolai admitted. “I’ve been at it for a while but no results. Every time I get a lead, or think I got a lead, things fizzle out, and leads turn into dead ends. I must be missing something or thinking about all this in the wrong way, but I can’t figure out where I’m going wrong.”

  “You want to talk about it?” Olga said. “Maybe, I could give you an outside perspective, see things you overlooked?”

  “I don’t want to spoil our evening with all that.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “Thanks, but let’s get some wine first.” Nikolai smiled and motioned for the waiter to come to their table. “A bottle of Pirosmani, please.” The waiter nodded and left.

  Nikolai told Olga about Ekaterina and Pavel, their mysteriously absent baby, and his suspicions about Tatiana’s infidelity. “And I still don’t know anything about the man who tried to kidnap Anastasia.”

  “I don’t know if this is related,” Olga said, “but I called Denis. He said to me that the police are still looking for the man who tried to kidnap his son. His name is Eduard Kolyanin, but Denis doesn’t know anything else.”

  “Interesting,” Nikolai said. “I’ll see if the investigator, Marina Petrova, can do some official digging about him.”

  “I hope so,” Olga said.

  The waiter came with the wine and two glasses and made an elaborate show of pouring a little in Nikolai’s glass and having him taste it before filling both glasses.

  Nikolai raised his glass. “To a wonderful evening. I hope to have more evenings like this one.” They clinked their glasses, and Nikolai watched Olga take a sip, then his gaze turned farther into the restaurant.

  A woman who looked like the manager came up to the table where Tatiana and her friend sat, pulled up a chair and sat down. That was odd. Was there a problem? It did not look like it. Tatiana and the man were smiling and talking to the manager. She wrote things down in a notebook, not a notepad that waiters used. A few times, it looked like she asked for clarifications. Soon, the conversation was over. The manager shook hands with Tatiana, then with the man, and walked away from the table. Tatiana and the man were getting ready to leave. The man extinguished his cigarette and got up.

  This was Nikolai’s chance.

  “Please don’t get mad at what I’m about to do,” Nikolai said to Olga. “And at what I have done. I realize it looks even worse than it is, but I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

  Olga’s eyes widened. “What is it?”

  “You won’t get mad?” Nikolai asked. By now, Nikolai was quite certain Olga was not going to be upset. Because of Nikolai’s hedging, she probably imagined an awful scenario, so the reality would be much easier to accept for her now.

  “I overheard that Tatiana and her friend were planning to come here tonight, and I really wanted to know what’s going on, so I thought we could come here as well. This will only take a minute.”

  “Fine.” Olga rolled her eyes in mock anger and took another sip of her wine.

  Nikolai glanced over at the now empty table where Tatiana and the man sat, pulled out a few ruble bills from his pocket, and called the waiter. The waiter listened to Nikolai’s request carefully and cautiously. Seeing the waiter’s hesitation, Nikolai added another bill to the offering, in a much larger denomination. The waiter took the bills and nodded agreement.

  “Have you been watching any forensics shows?” Olga asked after the waiter left. “There’s no way what you’re doing is legal. If I understand what you’re doing right.”

  “Of course, you understand it right but it’s not illegal. And I’m not going to court with this, so legal or illegal isn’t even a question.”

  Nikolai watched the waiter walk into the kitchen and come out with a small plastic bag. He came up to the table where Tatiana had sat with her friend and did exactly what Nikolai had asked him, professionally and inconspicuously. After the job was done, the waiter walked back to Nikolai’s table and put the plastic bag on the table.

  “Are you ready to order?” he asked.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  In the morning, Nikolai’s first stop was the forensics lab that Centurion Agency worked with. He called ahead to make sure that Elena was there. He and Elena had worked on a number of cases together, and she was always quick with the results, reliable, and helpful. She was young and ambitious: working in the lab most mornings, caring for her young son in the afternoons, and taking college classes at night.

  When Nikolai walked into the lab, Elena was putting away samples in the cabinet in the back.

  “Good morning, Elena. Do you have a minute?” Nikolai said.

  “Of course. What have you got for me? It all sounded so mysterious on the phone.”

  “Sorry,” Nikolai said. “It’s something I need to keep private for now.”

  “No official report then?”

  “None this time. It’s a delicate issue, and I want to make sure I’m right before any of this comes out.”

  Elena nodded. “Sure thing.”

  Nikolai got a small plastic bag with Anastasia’s pink spoon out of his pocket. “Can you get DNA off this spoon?”

  Elena’s expression changed to serious. “Don’t tell me it’s another missing child. Not again.”

  “No, it’s not that.”

  “Good.” Elena took the spoon. “I’ll need a few days to get the DNA test done.”

  “Thanks. The sooner the better.”

  Elena nodded. “Anything else?”

  Nikolai reached into his pocket and pulled out the bag he got from the waiter at the Dvorik. Inside the bag were cigarette butts from Tatiana’s dinner partner. Nikolai handed the bag to Elena. “Can you check this guy’s DNA and see if there’s a match? I need to know if he’s the father of the baby.”

  Elena took the bag. “Sure thing. Cigarette butts are great. Tests are usually highly reliable. I’ll call you in a few days.”

  After talking to Elena, Nikolai got in his car and headed to Roman’s estate. It was time to talk to Ekaterina. The highway was relatively free despite some construction and lane closures, so Nikolai was making good time. About halfway to the estate, his phone buzzed. He saw Marina’s number and pulled over to the side of the road.

  About ten cars down from him, a light brown sedan also pulled over and stopped behind a sprawling oak tree.

  “Have you heard of a man named Eduard Kolyanin?” Marina said.

  “The name sounds vaguely familiar. Wh
y?” Nikolai trusted Marina but did not want to reveal to her that the first time he heard the name of Eduard Kolyanin was from Olga, when she told him that Eduard Kolyanin was the person of interest in the attempted kidnapping of her boss’s young son.

  “I’ve been working with the list of Pyotr’s phone contacts, and Eduard Kolyanin’s name comes up quite frequently, including on the day of Grisha’s murder, on the day of Anastasia’s kidnapping attempt, and on the day of Pyotr’s murder.”

  “We should check him out,” Nikolai said. “But the simple fact that Pyotr knew him doesn’t make him a suspect, does it.”

  “Agreed, but there’s more. The phone number is no longer registered to Kolyanin. It’s been disconnected. The address linked to the phone number is in a building that was demolished three years ago.”

  “I heard his name before,” Nikolai said. He told Marina what he knew about Kolyanin. There was no point in hiding this information since Kolyanin’s name was known to the police, and Marina was bound to make the connection between Kolyanin, Denis’s son, Olga, and Nikolai.

  Nikolai clicked off, and eased his way back into traffic lanes. About ten cars down, a light brown sedan rejoined the traffic as well.

  After his conversation with Marina, it was clear that Eduard Kolyanin was the most likely suspect, but Nikolai had to investigate other leads as well. While Marina looked into Kolyanin’s background, Nikolai would find out from Ekaterina where she got the money and what happened to her baby. He turned off the highway, drove into the estate, parked, and walked into the house.

  Ekaterina was alone in the kitchen. She stood at the sink, peeling potatoes. In the corner, a small radio was broadcasting the weather report. The next few days promised to be sunny and warm.

  “Would you like some tea, Nikolai?” Ekaterina asked, a big smile on her face.

  “Yes, please,” Nikolai said and pulled up a chair. He watched Ekaterina move about the kitchen. She plugged in the electric kettle and poured two heaping teaspoons of loose tea into a teapot. She got a large tea cup from the cupboard and put it in front of Nikolai. The water boiled, the kettle clicked off, and Ekaterina poured hot water over the tea leaves.