In the Hush of the Night

by Raymond Benson

  Annie briefly thought of her neighbor Jason and the fact that he might be going hunting with Trey Paley. She had to be careful not to let on that she knew this man’s future son-in-law.

  “I must say, you have me very curious as to why you wanted to have a talk,” Paley said. “It’s not often that I get a visit from the FBI.”

  The secretary knocked on the door that was ajar, bringing in a tray with coffee cups, cream, and sugar. She set it on the table between them. “Thank you, Dorrie. Close the door on your way out, please.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Annie took a moment to doctor her coffee with cream, while he did the same. Finally, she launched into it.

  “Mr. Paley, I understand you know a man in St. Petersburg, Russia, by the name of Evgeni Palit? You’re related, is that right?”

  “Yes! He’s my father’s cousin, so that makes us, what, second cousins? He’s my partner in the business. He runs the Russian side of Palit Wool. It was his father who founded the company with my grandfather.”

  “And you took over the US operations from your father?”

  “That’s right.”

  “When was that?”

  “1994.” Paley frowned. “What’s this about, Agent Marino? Is that what I’m supposed to call you? Agent Marino? Mrs. Marino?”

  “Agent Marino or Ms. Marino is fine. Mr. Paley, do you know a man named Fyodor Utkin?”

  Paley made a little face. “Um, yeah. I do. I think I know where this is going. Is it about his strip clubs?”

  “In a way. How do you know him?”

  “Through Evgeni. Fyodor is Evgeni’s nephew on his wife’s side of the family. So I suppose you could say Fyodor and I are related, too, but not by blood. Fyodor immigrated to the United States not long after the Soviet Union fell, when he was, I don’t know, thirty-something. Because I’m sort of a relative, he looked me up. At first he did a little ‘consulting’ for Palit Wool in terms of distribution and business contacts. That didn’t last too long. We’re really just acquaintances. I can’t say we’re necessarily friends. I don’t really approve of what he does for a living now.”

  Annie’s instincts weren’t throwing red flags. He seemed to be telling the truth. “I see. Mr. Paley, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Mr. Utkin is dead. He was murdered in St. Petersburg.”

  “What?”

  “His body washed up from the bay and was found recently. Investigators think he was killed as far back as June or early July.”

  “No. Really?”

  “Yes, sir. You didn’t know?”

  “No, of course not. Evgeni hasn’t said anything about it. Does he know?”

  “I don’t know if he does or not. It’s in the news over there, so if he’s paying attention, then he knows by now.”

  Paley sat back after placing the coffee cup on the table. The frown never left his face. “Jesus. Why hasn’t he said anything? I need to call him.”

  “Mr. Paley, we have reason to believe that Evgeni Palit may be involved with some unsavory elements over there in Russia.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Criminal elements. Organized crime.”

  “What? No way.”

  His eyes stayed on her. A good sign. He was genuinely concerned. “Have you ever heard of the Novgorod mafia?” Annie asked.

  “Uh, yeah, I believe so. They’re in St. Petersburg, aren’t they?”

  “Yes. We suspect that your second cousin is associating with a man named Nikolai Babikov. Have you heard of him?”

  Paley hesitated, looked away, and slowly shook his head. “Not that I know of.”

  Was that a lie? “Are you positive?”

  “Yes.”

  “Nikolai Babikov is a major figure in the Novgorod mafia. We know that he and Fyodor Utkin were friends.”

  Paley looked as if he was at a loss. “I had no idea. How was Fyodor killed?”

  “Throat cut. Wrapped in plastic and thrown into the bay.”

  “Jesus.”

  “I understand you may also know his son.”

  “Mack? Yes, I do. He’s one of my son Trey’s best friends. Jesus, does Mack know about this?”

  Annie was glad he mentioned his son’s name. That would help her. “I don’t know. As a matter of fact, we’re trying to find Makar Utkin. Do you know him as Mack or Makar?”

  “Both. We call him Mack, usually.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “No, why? Is he gone?”

  “He’s missing. Supposedly he went on vacation, but that was a couple of weeks ago. No one seems to know where he is. Do you think your son—Trey, isn’t it?—might know where he is?”

  “Yes, Trey is my son. I don’t know if he knows. You want me to call him?”

  “Maybe in a minute. Let’s talk about Trey for a moment.”

  Now Paley squinted his eyes. His body language told her he didn’t like the direction the conversation was going. “What about Trey?”

  “Did you know Makar Utkin works at one of his father’s strip clubs?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, if your son is good friends with him, then he probably visits the establishments that Fyodor managed, doesn’t he?”

  Paley nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure he does. But Trey’s an adult. He’s a war veteran. He can go to a strip club if he wants. Nothing illegal about that.”

  Annie figured it was time to come to the point. “Mr. Paley, we believe that Fyodor Utkin was involved in serious criminal activity—namely human trafficking.”

  Paley’s jaw dropped. “Human—what? No, no way. Wait—what do you mean?”

  “Illegally bringing women to this country from Russia and enslaving them to be prostitutes or … whatever. Against their will.”

  “No, I don’t believe it.” He vigorously shook his head.

  “And if Fyodor was involved and somehow using his strip clubs in the racket, then Makar may be involved, too.”

  Paley was quiet for a moment. She let him stew on that until he said, “This is very disturbing. You have proof of this?”

  She didn’t address the question, but Annie felt the man was shaken. Did he really not know? “I’m probably going to want to talk to your son, but I thought I’d speak to you first.”

  “I appreciate that. Agent Marino—”

  “Yes?”

  Paley made another face and shook his head. “Trey … he’s, well, Trey’s got some problems. He’s not well. He came back from Iraq with severe post-traumatic stress disorder. He’s being treated for it, and I think it’s under control, but he often makes … bad decisions. I try to look out for him. He lives at home right now, with Angela—that’s my wife—and me.”

  Annie didn’t want him to know how much she knew. “Trey was in Iraq?”

  “Yeah. Airborne Rangers.”

  “You must be proud.”

  “Oh, I am. I was in the army, too, back in the seventies, but I didn’t have a war to fight then. Trey served his country well.” He stood and walked over to a bookshelf where several framed photos sat. He grabbed a couple and came back, showing her one of Trey in uniform. “This is Trey.”

  Annie simply nodded. Paley wasn’t telling the whole truth—he was covering up for his son’s checkered record. She sensed it was the first time during the conversation that he had intentionally lied. Was it because he was ashamed of Trey’s OTH discharge? Or was he simply in denial? Perhaps he was just being protective of his boy.

  Paley then showed her the other photo—five hunters in the woods with the carcass of a black bear. Greg Paley was in the center, and he looked twenty years younger. Annie also recognized Fyodor in the picture. “I thought you might want to see this picture. It was taken not long after Fyodor came to this country in the early nineties. We went on a hunt up in my property in Michigan. That’s Fyodor.”

  “I recognize him. And you.”

  He pointed to one of the others, a rather coarse-looking fellow with long hair. “That’s Evgeni. He came over for
a visit when we were setting up this office in Northbrook. My dad was still running things then, but he had a stroke, and I took over not long after we bagged this bear.” The other two men in the picture were a tall, balding man and a stocky wrestler-type.

  “Who are the other two?” she asked.

  “That’s Louis Freund and Jim Dixon. I’ve known them since our days in the army. Louis has worked for me a long time, and still does. Jim did for a while, but he died in a tragic accident in China in 2002.” He pointed to the bear rug on the floor. “That’s this bear in the picture.”

  Annie had no admiration for hunters who killed animals for sport. All she said was, “Huh.” Why was he showing her this photo? “How did Jim die?”

  “Fell off a bridge. He was drunk.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “Yeah.” He placed the photos on the table and remained standing over her. “What is it you’re looking for, Agent Marino? Why did you want to talk to me? Just to find out if I knew this Babikov guy?”

  Annie remained sitting but looked up at him, focusing on his eyes. “Mr. Paley, have you ever heard of someone called The Bear?”

  “The Bear?”

  “He’s a human trafficker. Russian. He’s running a very large criminal enterprise that stretches from St. Petersburg to Chicago. And I think your cousin Mr. Palit might know him. I also think your pal Mr. Utkin did know him.”

  Paley smiled. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about. He calls himself The Bear?”

  She glanced down at the animal hide on the floor. “The Bear. Like your rug.”

  Paley spread out his hands. “Sorry. I don’t know anything about it. But if Fyodor had anything to do with human trafficking, then frankly he deserved to die, I’m sorry to say. That’s a horrible business. It makes me sick. And if Evgeni …” He shook his head, snatched the photos off the table, and replaced them on the bookshelf. He stood with his back to her for a moment, silent, until it prompted her to say something.

  “Mr. Paley?”

  “Aw, hell.” He turned to face her. “I suppose I better ’fess up. I wasn’t telling the whole truth when you asked me about that man Babikov.”

  “Oh?” She’d thought so earlier.

  “I better confess it now, Agent Marino, since you’ll probably find out anyway.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Evgeni … yeah, I know he’s had some dealings with the criminal underworld in Russia. Damn it.” He walked slowly back to where she was sitting. “I was afraid this might come back to haunt my family. It was all in the past. Actually, it was his father, my great-uncle Isaak, that initiated it. He got involved with Sergei Babikov, the founder of the Novgorod mafia.”

  Annie felt that buzz of satisfaction when she realized she was on the right track. “So you do know Nikolai Babikov.”

  “Me? No. I’ve never met him. But, yeah, I know who he is. I’m sorry I was being deceitful before. I don’t know why I was. I guess … I guess I didn’t want Palit Wool to be mixed up in anything … sordid.”

  “So far it isn’t,” Annie said. “Is it?”

  Paley went to his desk and sat in the big chair behind it. He leaned forward and said earnestly, “No, it’s not. Look, this is not a very nice story, I’m afraid. But I’ll tell you anyway. The year was 1910. My grandfather, Gregor Palit, and his brother Isaak founded Palit Wool in Russia. My grandfather changed his name to Paley when he immigrated to America in 1923. In order to get around the Communist government’s strict rules regarding imports and exports—especially to a country like the United States—Isaak had to make some deals. He got to know Sergei Babikov. I don’t know what my great-uncle Isaak did to gain Babikov’s favor, but that’s what happened. Babikov greased palms, he bribed officials, he did whatever it took to help my grandfather and great-uncle. Without the Novgorod mafia, there wouldn’t be a Palit Wool operating in the United States since the 1930s. Great-uncle Isaak died in 1963, and his son Evgeni took over the Russian end of the operation. I’m afraid he got tight with Sergei’s son, Nikolai, who I suppose you already know is now the leader of those crooks. My father—” Paley stopped and took a breath, as if it pained him to talk about it.

  “Maxim Paley.”

  “Yes. My father refused to work with mobsters, and I’m proud he stood up to them. But for a while the company faltered. There were financial problems. After my military service, he sent me to Russia to try and straighten things out. I think I was successful. I turned the company around. I cut off ties with Babikov. I did that. Unfortunately, what my cousin Evgeni does in Russia is out of my control.”

  “I understand you take frequent trips to St. Petersburg. Three or four times a year?”

  “Yes. Strictly for business. I check on the plant and make sure everything’s running smoothly. I go down to southern Russia, near Kazakhstan, where the wool comes from, and verify that the goats are well cared for and no one’s skimming off the top. We have a small facility there that shears the wool. Anyway, I make sure there’s no corruption going on, because that happens a lot in Russia. Especially after the Soviet Union collapsed.”

  “I realize that.”

  “So obviously, from what you’re telling me—with Fyodor being murdered—something’s still not right over there.”

  “Yes.”

  Paley stood. “Well, you can count on me to help you find out what’s going on.”

  His honesty impressed her, and she felt that perhaps she had gained an unforeseen ally in the case. She was glad he’d come clean. She now understood why Jason had said he liked his future father-in-law. Annie got to her feet as he came around the desk and held out his hand. She shook it and said, “I do want to talk to your son.”

  He nodded, and then his eyes welled up. “I understand. I’ll make sure he cooperates with you. He can be … troublesome. He is a troubled young man. You want me to call him?”

  He’s really upset about Trey. “No, please don’t say anything to him. I mean, he’s your son, you can say whatever you want to him, of course, but I’d prefer that you didn’t. If you could just give me his cell phone number or another way to get in touch with him, I’ll make the contact.”

  Paley nodded. He returned to the desk, took a pen, and scribbled a phone number on a note pad. He tore off the sheet and handed it to her. “I do want to help with this,” he said. “I don’t want the Paley name or Palit Wool mixed up in anything illegal. And if Trey … no, I’m sure he’s done nothing wrong. At least I hope to God he hasn’t. His mother will be heartbroken. Will you keep me informed?”

  “I will.” Annie folded the note, put it in her jacket pocket, shook Paley’s hand, and said goodbye.

  26

  The Paleys’ butler let Jason in the front door and directed him to the back. “Miss Natalia is by the pool, sir.”

  “Thank you, Dudley.” He moved through the expansive foyer and into the living room, where Angela Paley reclined on the sofa with a washcloth covering her eyes and forehead. She was dressed in skimpy shorts and a halter top, her bare feet resting on the arm of the furniture.

  “Who’s there?” she asked.

  “It’s Jason, ma’am.”

  “Oh, Jason, hi. Pardon me for not getting up. I have one of those headaches that make you rather want to fall on a sword.”

  “I’m sorry. Have you taken anything for it?”

  “Yes, yes, I’ve taken more painkillers than I should. Nothing works.”

  “Well, if it’s any consolation, Mrs. Paley, despite the headache, I must say you are looking very well this afternoon.”

  She lifted an edge of the washcloth so she could peer at him. “Ha. Thank you, you sweet man. At my age, every compliment is welcome, I don’t care what the feminists say. I think Nat’s out by the pool.” She replaced the wet cloth over her eyes. “I tell you, it was one knock-down, drag-out this morning with Trey. It’s why I’ve got this monster of a headsplit.”

  “Trey? What did he do? I’ll show him! He can’t mess
with my favorite future mother-in-law and get away with it.”

  That made her laugh a little. “Oh, he went off to Michigan this morning. He was supposed to go with me to my mother’s house this weekend. It’s my mother’s eighty-second birthday and he couldn’t bother to be respectful to his grandma.”

  “Eighty-second? Wow, that’s great. How’s she doing?”

  “She acts like she’s forty and she’s meaner than he is.”

  “Well, tell her ‘happy birthday’ for me. I enjoyed meeting her at the graduation party.”

  He left Angela and found Nat in a bikini and sunglasses outside on the recliner by the pool, a half-empty cocktail of some kind in her hand.

  “Hey, hon.”

  “Hi,” Nat said with a downbeat timbre.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, nothing. Just my job starts on Monday, remember? I don’t want the do-nothing-summer-after-graduation to end.”

  He sat on the edge on the recliner and slid his hand up and down her smooth, sunscreen-oiled leg. “I’m still looking for something, but I haven’t had any luck. I might have to ask your dad for a job.”

  “He’d probably give you one, but you’d have to give up your dream of being a writer.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s not going to happen. I’m up to thirty thousand words of the new masterpiece. I ain’t stopping now!”

  “You bring your swimsuit?”

  “Of course. I’ll go change. So Trey went to Michigan?”

  “Yeah, he left this morning. Why?”

  “He went hunting without me?”

  “This isn’t a hunt. It’s one of his stupid Bacchanals.”

  “Really? Who else is going to be there?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. Mack, I guess, I don’t know who else. I don’t keep up with Trey’s friends.”

  “Is your dad going?”

  “He told you he stopped doing those a long time ago.”

  Jason sat with his chin on his fist, like Rodin’s Thinker.

  Nat sipped the dregs of her drink through a straw and handed him the glass. “Another, please, when you come back out?” He took the glass but didn’t move. “Aren’t you going to change?”