“Now? Can you do this?”
She offered the envelope to him, but he swatted it away. “Fine,” he said. “I have nothing to hide. What’s this about, anyway?”
“Where is Makar Utkin?”
“He’s gone. On vacation.”
Annie cursed inwardly. “For how long? Where did he go?”
“How should I know where he went? He’ll be gone for a week or so.”
“There’s a time on the letter indicating when you should be at the US Attorney’s office tomorrow. Or would you like to come with us now?”
“I’m calling my attorney, but I’m not coming until tomorrow.”
“Very nice to see you again, Ivan. I look forward to our chat.”
Attempts to reach Makar Utkin at his Chicago residence on the south side—State Street near Chinatown—failed. Annie had to be satisfied with Ivan Polzin for now. He appeared at the Northern District of Illinois US Attorney’s building on time with his lawyer, an American named Victor Plant. Annie had dealt with Plant before and knew him to be a weasel who represented underworld figures and small-time crooks. In fact, he was both Polzin’s and Fyodor Utkin’s lawyer.
Annie sat across the table from the two men in an interrogation room. Harris stood behind the one-way mirror, watching and listening. Despite his attempts to look composed, Annie could see that Polzin was antsy.
“A video camera is recording our conversation,” Annie announced. “I thank you both for coming.”
“My client has nothing to say,” Plant said. “Unless you charge Mr. Polzin with something, we are leaving.”
“Mr. Plant, we just have some questions for Mr. Polzin. How about we give it a shot before you go all Fifth Amendment on us?”
“Ask away. I’ve advised my client not to answer.”
She looked at Ivan Polzin. “Mr. Polzin, you lied to me about not knowing this girl.” She showed him the photo of Irina Semenov. “You did know her. She was at the Den in early May.”
Polzin pointed his thumb at his attorney. “He says I don’t have to answer, so I won’t.”
“Mr. Polzin, we know that Ms. Semenov was at your club for a few hours, and Makar Utkin came and took her away.”
“That’s not true!” he blurted, almost involuntarily.
Plant put a hand on Polzin’s arm. “Don’t answer her.”
“Mr. Polzin, we have reason to believe that another woman was recently at your club for a few hours and was also picked up by Mr. Utkin and taken to another location.”
“That happens all the time, we give rides to some of the girls …”
Plant said, “Ivan, stop talking.”
“No, it’s all right!” Polzin snapped at his lawyer. He then laughed nervously and said, “I have nothing to hide. Agent Marino, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Whoever told you this is a liar.”
“Mr. Polzin, we have reason to believe that you might be involved in a human trafficking operation. Is this true?”
“No!”
“Shut up, Ivan!”
Annie kept at it for another twenty minutes, but it was soon clear that Polzin’s attorney was not going to let him speak.
“Very well,” she finally said. “We will continue our investigation. I suggest you not leave town, like your comrades did.”
Polzin’s eyes narrowed at the implied insult.
“Are you going to charge my client? Is he under arrest?” Plant asked. “This is harassment, you know.”
“No and no, and no it’s not. You’re free to go.” She pointed at Polzin. “But we’ll be watching you.”
Polzin did his best to keep a straight face, but she noticed his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed—a telltale sign that he was nervous.
A meeting was held in the SSA John Gladden’s office. Present were Annie, Harris, and Michelle Aronson, a US Attorney who had been assigned to the case.
“I’m sorry, Agent Marino, but there just isn’t enough evidence yet,” the attorney said. “You have no concrete proof that the strip club is involved in your trafficking case. I agree there’s something there, but you don’t have enough to connect the pieces. You really have nothing on Mr. Polzin. I have to say I think you brought him in too soon. Now they’re going to be careful.”
“I know,” Annie said. She turned to Harris. “What did you find out from ICE?”
Harris glanced at his notepad. “Fyodor Utkin left the country on June 8 for St. Petersburg, Russia. As far as we know, he hasn’t returned. Not through legal ports of entry, anyway. He’s still over there. We have in place a stop on his passport for when he tries to come home. He’ll be held for questioning.”
Annie turned to Gladden. “John, I know there are a lot of parts to this puzzle. I haven’t quite put it together. But I’m getting close.”
“What happened with the investigation of the driver of the car that crashed in Michigan?”
“We were successful in finding Vladimir Markov’s real residence. It wasn’t far from the Cat’s Lounge. He lived in a studio apartment, not in a good neighborhood, and he worked in a newsstand in Chicago. His finances were poor, although he made a deposit of five thousand dollars into his bank account the day before his death. It was a cash deposit.”
“But nothing in his house or computer?”
“Nothing useful. We’re still checking phone records. The most recent calls he made on his cell phone—which survived the crash—went to now-disconnected numbers, burners, phones that could be tossed. Everything else looks legitimate. There are some calls to the Cat’s Lounge and to the Den, spread out over two or three months. There’s definitely a connection there, but otherwise it appears Mr. Markov lived a very lonely life since his divorce.”
“The phone calls to the clubs don’t prove anything except that he was a loyal customer,” Aronson said. “He could have been calling to find out if a particular dancer was on duty that night.”
“And the bartender … ?” Gladden asked.
“Tiffany Vombrack. I think she knows more, but she’s going to want something in return.”
“You have to find out what she knows before we can make any deals. Do you think she can connect the dots?”
“I don’t know. The problem is that none of them are talking. I’m pretty certain Markov was associated with the Utkins, Polzin, and our friend, The Bear. But we haven’t caught them at anything yet. I need to step up surveillance of all these characters. I’d like to find Makar Utkin—he’s still ‘away,’ but we know he hasn’t left the country. My gut tells me that Fyodor Utkin is in charge of The Bear’s US operations. He’s probably over in Russia meeting with his boss now.”
“Look, I’d like to catch these bastards as much as you would,” the attorney said. “I just need more. I’m not convinced this ‘Bear’ even exists.”
Annie looked at her supervisor.
He asked, “Are you in touch with one of the Russian ALATs?”
“Yeah, Colin Clark. He hasn’t gotten back to me yet.”
Gladden grunted. “I’ll authorize the time, but I can’t give you any more bodies. As for the bartender, use your judgment. If you think you can get something out of her, then keep at her. She’s got to give you an indication of what she knows before we can even think about making a deal with the woman.”
“I understand.”
“Annie, you’re free to work this case to your heart’s content, but not to the detriment of any other cases. Got me?”
“Yes, sir. I’m lucky to have Agent Caruthers here working as my partner. He’s on Detroit’s dime.”
“I know that. Let’s reconvene if and when you uncover more evidence.”
“Thank you, John.”
She walked out with Harris and spread her hands. “What do you think we should do now?”
“We perform a little surveillance on the Den ourselves. It’s just you ’n’ me, kid.”
“Fine.” She looked at her watch. “The club is going to open soon. Watching a strip club is just my i
dea of how to spend a weeknight. Let’s go.”
18
“Why are you so quiet this evening?”
Nat and Jason sat in Pat’s Pizzeria and Ristorante on Lincoln Avenue, their favorite joint for thin-crust pizza. One of the things the couple had in common was a dislike of the famous Chicago deep-dish pizza. Jason had originally hoped they would move to New York City after they were married, a superficial wish—he liked the pizza there better. He admitted that saying such a thing was sacrilege in Chicago. Unfortunately, Nat had a therapist job ready to go with a firm in the Windy City, so they would be staying for a while.
“I’m not being quiet,” Jason answered.
“Yes, you are. You’re acting glum. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m just tired.”
They ate in silence for a while, and then Nat said, “No, you’re not. I know you. You’re mad at me or something.”
“I’m not mad at you.”
“Then who are you mad at?”
“I’m not mad at anyone! I’m just …”
“What?”
Jason shook his head. “I don’t know. Your … brother and dad and mom … I don’t know …”
“What about them?”
“I just … I just don’t think they respect me.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t be silly. My parents love you.”
“Really?”
“Sure they do.”
“I think they like me all right, but I always get the feeling they’re really just tolerating me, and they hope pretty soon you’re going to come to your senses and realize you can’t marry a guy who has no secure source of income.”
Nat put a half-eaten slice of pizza back on the plate in front of her. “Are we going to have this discussion again?”
“Don’t be annoyed.”
“I can’t help it. You’re so insecure.”
“I’m not insecure. I’m perfectly fine with myself. It’s your family that is insecure with me.”
“That’s nonsense.”
“Is it? Then how come Trey constantly berates me? I’ve tried to warm up to him, I’ve tried to be his friend, I’ve tried to show him that I can be a regular guy … and he still treats me like dog poo on a stick.”
That made her laugh. “Look, I know how Trey can be. We’ve talked about this before. He’s got … problems. He’s messed up. What can I say?”
“I know, I know, he’s ‘not right since he came back from Iraq.’ I get it.”
“But my parents like you. They don’t berate you.”
Jason sighed. “Your mom—I can hear it in her voice, and I see it in her eyes. She looks at me like I’m a lost puppy. I think she’s disappointed you’ve picked me.”
“That’s not true.”
“Are you sure? Have you actually talked to her about it?”
“No, but I—”
“And your dad … hey, I like your dad, don’t get me wrong, but I’m also getting the feeling that he thinks, ‘Uh oh, she’s really going through with it … I thought it was a phase she would get over, but no, she’s actually going to marry the guy.’”
“What makes you think that?”
“It’s just a feeling.”
“A feeling.”
“Yeah. I mean, he has a sense of humor, we’ve laughed at jokes together and all that, but most of the time he has a pretty serious look on his face.”
She paused. “Well, I think I know what you mean. Of course he has a sense of humor; he just doesn’t show it very often. I think what you’re seeing is that he’s just worried about Trey. But he’s also a very determined man, always thinking about business. He still has a lot of the army in him.”
“But he didn’t see combat. He was in the army, what, in the late seventies?”
“Yeah. What difference does that make? Whether you see combat or not doesn’t make the army any less disciplined. And remember, he lost a brother, too. I think he blames himself for the accident.”
“Does he?”
“I don’t know. He doesn’t like to talk about it.” After a moment, she added, “Yeah, I think he does feel guilty about what happened to my Uncle David. It was a tragic accident, and Dad was right there. He saw it.”
They ate in silence for a while again. Jason offered the last bit of wine in the bottle to Nat, but she shook her head. He poured the rest into his own glass and drank it.
“Nat, what’s the story with your dad and your grandfather Maxim?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen your dad speak to him. Most of the time Maxim stays upstairs in that big house.”
“You’ve seen him downstairs plenty of times.”
“I know, but I think more often he’s upstairs by himself. It seems as if he doesn’t like to associate with the rest of the family.”
“Grandpa Maxim had a stroke; he can’t associate well with the rest of the family. He was once the patriarch, you know, the leader of the family, the head of Palit Wool. It was his father, Gregor, and his uncle Isaak who founded the company. Their last name was Palit, not Paley. My great-grandfather Gregor changed his name to Paley when they immigrated to America. My dad is named after him.”
“I know. Your family tree is fascinating.”
“Was that sarcasm?”
“No.”
“Hm. Anyway, Grandpa Maxim took over the company and got rich. How do you think he feels now, helpless, stuck in a wheelchair, unable to speak?”
“Doesn’t he write notes? Can’t he communicate that way?”
“Sure. But he does so only if there’s something he really wants. He doesn’t ‘talk’ to us very much. He’s a little antisocial, I’m afraid, but not in a mean way.”
“I like your grandpa. Sometimes I think he’s the only one in your family—besides you, of course—that really does like me.”
That made her smile, too. “He’s a sweet old man. Even though he can’t speak.”
“Yeah, but I’ve seen arrows shoot out of his eyes whenever he sees Trey or your father. Do he and your dad not get along?”
Nat made a face and finished the last of her pizza. After a pause, she admitted, “No, they don’t. As long as I can remember, they didn’t get along much.”
“How come?”
“I don’t know. Grandpa Maxim had the stroke the same year as my Uncle David was killed on that hunt.”
“Really?”
“Well, it was a few months later. Right around the time I was born. Maybe—”
After a pause, Jason asked, “Maybe what?”
“Well, maybe Grandpa Maxim has always resented Dad for what happened to Uncle David.”
“Wasn’t it an accident?”
“That’s what the police investigation said.”
“So why would he hold it against your father?”
“Because Grandpa Maxim had named Uncle David to be his successor as the head of Palit Wool when Grandpa retired.”
“Really! Wait … wasn’t your uncle younger than your dad?”
“By two years.”
“So it sounds like your Grandpa Maxim liked your Uncle David best.”
Nat narrowed her eyes at Jason. “Don’t you say that.”
“Sorry.”
“Why would you say that?”
“I said I’m sorry. Forget it.”
She let out a heavy sigh. “All this talk about family is putting me in a bad mood.”
“Okay, sorry. Let’s get out of here.”
On the way back to his apartment, Jason collected his thoughts. No, he wasn’t sorry. There were still a lot of issues he wanted to work out with Nat’s family. After all, if he was going to marry into it, he wanted to be comfortable. His sister, Miranda, had advised him on a number of occasions that having good relations with the in-laws was not necessarily a prerequisite for a happy marriage, but it certainly helped. Was it going to be possible? Was he having second thoughts?
Jason did his best to put it out of his mind as they a
pproached his building.
19
Annie sat at her desk preparing a report from the notes of the surveillance she and Harris had performed over the past two days, but she found her mind wandering back to the brunch with Tiffany at Denny’s. She’d been thrown by the appearance of the man she had mistaken for Eric. After not seeing or talking to him for eight months, the prospect of a surprise encounter—while she was with a witness—was disturbing. There was no question that the guy at Denny’s resembled him—he’d had a smug, look who I’m dating now attitude as he showed off his blonde girlfriend, and yet his focus was on his cell phone. Later that night she probably had drunk too much wine while listening to Joni Mitchell’s Blue—another one of her mother’s favorites—and mulling over the failed relationship.
But then she’d started thinking about her mom. Julia Presetti had been a sort of hippie folk singer type when she’d met Giacomo Marino—who always went by the name of Jack—at the Woodstock festival, of all places. Julia was nineteen, Jack was twenty. He had family in New York, which was where the couple eventually married and had their first child, Annie’s oldest brother, Robert. Her father’s job as a philosophy professor brought them to Chicago, where their second son, Paul, was born. Annie came along next, followed by the youngest, Mary. Her mother had lived with cancer long enough to see Annie get a master’s degree, but was robbed of the opportunity to witness her daughter becoming an FBI agent. It was one of the reasons Annie had requested a transfer from New York back to Chicago—her mother didn’t have much longer to live at the time. The transfer—and the promotion to Special Agent—had come a month too late. Julia Marino passed away in 2014, just before Annie made the move.
Looking back on her decisions made Annie realize that her job was more important than a romance that was going nowhere. Eric had never respected what Annie did. But it was who she was. Maybe she’d feel differently about starting up a new romance if and when she met someone who understood this. She would know it when it happened.
As for Eric, Annie thought, he can go stick his head up his ass.
She made a mental note to phone her father and try to make a date to visit him. She didn’t do it enough. Then she thought, Do it now, or you never will.
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