Tutungian was announced by Moira as a surprise witness, on the agenda for the next day. He was, Moira Simmons said, going to reveal the secrets of his brethren in the nether world of trafficking. Tutungian sat without acknowledging the introduction, his eyes drifting around the room without focusing on any one person. He was doing his best not to appear interested.
The first speaker of the day was a Dutchman who began relating methods the smugglers were using to transport people across borders. He went into the statistics of people coming from Moldova, from Russia, Belarus, Georgia, Lithuania, Macedonia, Albania, and on and on. At first, the sheer numbers and the amount of profit, in the tens of millions, surprised her, and then it numbed her. Women, men, children, for one purpose or another. As for Slovakia, surprisingly, just a few reported cases, mostly Gypsy women. In the charts he displayed, the Dutchman listed Slovakia as primarily a conduit. Unfortunately, along with the human beings, these same routes were also used for narcotics, stolen goods, and every other criminal venture known to man.
The Dutchman had shifted to problems in the Asian sphere when Jeremy arrived. He glanced at Jana, then walked quietly over to Moira Simmons, and whispered in her ear. Moira’s body straightened as if she was experiencing a massive muscle spasm, her face registering shock to the degree that everyone stopped listening to the Dutchman, wondering what it was that Jeremy had said.
Moira sat for a moment, gathering herself; then she beckoned to Jana, signaling her to come outside. Moira and Jeremy walked out, Jana following. Surprisingly, Levitin rose from his seat and left close behind Jana. Outside the room, Moira registered no concern at Levitin’s presence, ignoring the Russian as they walked to the end of the hall. There Jeremy dropped his bombshell.
“Foch is dead. He was killed. They found his body a few minutes ago downstairs in the main-floor stairwell.”
Death, violent death, is always a shock to everyone. It is a particular shock, even to a policeman, when you know the victim. Jana tried to visualize Foch as a murder victim. She couldn’t quite manage it. Who would kill the inoffensive-appearing Foch? She pictured him telling his jokes. Vapid, a typical “don’t make problems for me” bureaucrat. Not the type of person who would get himself murdered, especially not in the setting of this building.
“How was he killed?” asked Levitin in perfect American-accented English.
“Stabbed, I think. I saw people running to the stairwell and pushed my way through. He was just sitting there, on the bottom step, as if he were dozing, his head down, but there was something sticking out of his eye.”
Levitin addressed Jana: “Perhaps you and I could go downstairs and have a peek. Maybe it will tell us something.”
The way Jeremy looked at Jana, he wanted her to go. Moira nodded in agreement. “A good idea. We need to know what happened, and why.” Her voice was strained, scratchy, as if she had a cold. At the news, her calm control had been lost; her face was slack. “Poor Foch. He was a weak man, but nice.” Then she managed to pull herself together. “We can’t let this affect the conference. It’s too important. Foch would have wanted us to continue.” She hurried back to the conference room, gathering momentum as she went.
Jana pictured Foch worrying about the conference continuing. When he was alive, he would not have cared one way or the other if the conference was a success. Dead, he would care even less, if possible.
“Are you coming?” asked Dmitri Levitin, as he headed for the elevator. Jeremy wore a rueful expression as he looked at Jana, already regretting what he was getting her into. Jana patted him on the shoulder, assuring him that it would be all right, then hurried after Levitin, who was holding the door of the elevator open for her.
Levitin took several keys from his pocket and began trying them in the floor-designation panel, finally finding one that fit.
“They will have the main-floor entrance to the stairs blocked off. And they won’t want us to interfere.”
Jana nodded. “So we take the elevator to the basement, than walk up. Yes, better not to have to depend on secondhand information.”
Levitin turned the key, than punched the basement button on the panel. With the key inserted, the elevator descended without stopping.
“Where did you get the key?”
“I bribed a maintenance man when I arrived.” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed. “I don’t like riding up and down with crowds. I get claustrophobic and scream very loudly. This always creates a panic in the elevator, so it’s much better if I ride with as few people as possible.” He smiled slightly at his joke.
“You are a police officer,” Jana stated. “From Moscow?”
“St. Petersburg.”
“Not good for a police officer to bribe people, even if they are French. You will bring bad habits from us to them.”
“Too late. They already have the habits.”
“How do you know me?”
“My supervisor received a call from Colonel Trokan. Trokan obtained an attendance sheet, saw I was coming and thought it would be a good idea for us to meet and compare notes.”
“What is your specialty?” Jana watched as he took his time answering the question. The man was deciding if he was going to reveal or conceal some fact. He finally made his decision.
“I’m an anti-corruption specialist. There are all kinds of official misconduct involved in human trafficking. Too much money changes hands. So they sent me.”
Jana thought he was telling some of the truth, but not all of it. “Does that mean you are investigating members of your own government? Do they have their crooked hands in the meat pie that Koba and his group have baked?”
“It would seem so.”
“Not unusual for Russia.”
“Nor Slovakia.”
“Our people sell out cheaper.”
They both smiled.
The elevator doors opened, and they stepped out into the first basement. The door that blocked the ascending stairs looked firmly locked. Levitin studied it for a moment.
“It looks like an easy lock.”
“My turn,” Jana insisted. She pulled on the handle to the door, and it opened. “Russians always think of doing it the hard way first.” Levitin winced. Score for the Slovaks, thought Jana, as they walked up the stairs. The door at the top was locked. Jana looked to Levitin. “No key; no lockpick?”
“A master key. I added more money to my bribe to get it.”
“Then why the hesitation at the first basement door?”
“I wanted to see what the Slovak would do.” He shrugged in apology. “Time now for us to stop testing each other.”
“Good idea.”
“I accept that as an offer of a friendship pact.”
Levitin opened the door, and they both entered the stairwell. Building security officers and a French policeman were securing the scene of the murder.
Jana did the only thing possible under the circumstances, transforming herself into a senior homicide investigator at a murder scene. She used her command voice and a few loud words to order everyone else out. “Laisse-moi tranquille! Tout le monde, depeche-toi! En avant marche!”
She went over to the body, crouching down to examine it. Levitin followed her lead. Only his way was softer, and his French impeccable, as he herded them out the door, apologizing for his minatory tone of voice, explaining they needed privacy to begin their work. He eased the last man out, telling him to guard the door, then shut it behind him.
He joined Jana by the body. “You have found your niche as the head of the French homicide police.” He knelt next to her. “But your French accent needs improvement.”
“If one comes anywhere near the accent, and says the words loudly enough, stress prevents the people on the receiving end from hearing the difference.”
She tilted the head of the corpse back. Moving its neck took effort. “Rigor mortis is well set in. He’s been dead for some time.”
She looked at the dead man’s shoes, one of which
was almost off. She checked the heels on the shoes, then looked behind her and pointed. “A drag mark, from the door leading to the basement. There’s a parking area further down.”
“Brought to the building already dead. No way to carry him through the lobby.” He began checking out the rest of the area. “Why make the effort to transport him here?”
“It’s a statement. The one who stabbed Foch wanted everyone to know what he had done. To induce fear. What better place to make a statement than in this building? The Council of Europe. Everyone will hear about it.” She pointed at the object in his eye. “An ice pick driven up to the handle through the left eye. Koba. He is known to use these. A nice terror weapon.”
“Not too good to have Koba as your enemy, is it? In Russia he burned people. Molotov cocktails were his favorite.”
“My automobile ‘accident’ victims may have met him on a very cold road one freezing night.” She started going through Foch’s pockets. “If Foch was an enemy who needed to be killed by Koba, and we did not know about Foch’s connection to Koba, then Foch was keeping it a secret from law enforcement.”
“Maybe we should pay our public officials more? That way they won’t have to turn to lives of crime.”
“Pay them more, they’d just want more. Maybe that’s the mistake that Foch made.” Foch’s inside pocket produced a small address book. She tossed it to Levitin. “Something to start with.”
Foch’s left arm was wedged behind him. Jana straightened up, indicating that Levitin was to pull the arm out. When it emerged, it revealed the left hand was missing its ring finger. The finger had been neatly severed at its base.
Levitin examined the hand closely. “Cut off very cleanly. Maybe a saw with fine teeth.”
Jana checked Foch’s wrists. Bruising and abrasions on both of them. She examined his neck more closely. There were some of the same marks around the sides of the throat. She then pulled both pant legs up. There were abrasions around both ankles.
“His wrists, legs, and neck were bound.”
“Tortured?”
“Maybe. With the Foch I knew, you wouldn’t have to torture him long to get the information you wanted. The man was not strong-willed.”
Levitin stood back to get a last look at the Frenchman. “Nothing about his face is unusual.”
“If there were bruising or lacerations, the rigor of advanced death and the swelling of the body might conceal it.”
Levitin walked to the basement door. “Time to leave. The real homicide gendarmerie will be here soon.”
They walked out, closing the door behind them very quietly.
Chapter 20
That evening they met with Moira and Jeremy in a small winstub whose menu for the evening recommended its Choucroute and Baeckeoffe dishes. Only Levitin ordered the Choucroute. When the tureen arrived at the table, it proved to have enough sauerkraut, pork, and sausage to feed three ordinary men, but Levitin began forking it into his mouth with such gusto, it was apparent that he was going to relish eating the entire dish by himself. The day’s events had not deprived him of his appetite.
The other three ate lightly, Jeremy selecting a Bouchée a la Reine and both women opting for a nondescript white fish in a butter-and-caper sauce. Jana and Jeremy picked at their meals. Moira did not eat a bite. There was not much conversation, with Moira staring into her own private distance, only coming out of it when the dishes were removed. She finally began to talk, speaking very softly. The others had to strain to catch her words.
“He should not have died this way.” She looked, in turn, to each of them as if fearing that they would disagree. “He had problems. We all have issues that we can’t address and which create difficulties with others, but he was murdered, brutally murdered. Inhuman!” She looked at Jana. “You must keep abreast of the investigation; you must tell me if they identify the madman who did this. I want to be kept posted every step of the way.”
“I’m not a member of the French police. They don’t have to talk to me. They probably won’t.”
Moira put both of her hands deep into her hair, grabbing fistsfu1, pulling as if attempting to snatch herself bald. Afraid she would injure herself, Jeremy tried to pull her hands away.
“No reason to punish yourself, Moira.”
Moira pursed her lips. “I have a headache. I need to do this. It relieves the pressure.” She continued to move her hands through her hair, repeating the procedure. “Foch had a jaundiced view of the world, but it came out in humor. Not malice. The person who did this to him was terribly malicious.”
Jana felt that at least she had to say a few words to let Moira know they were there for her in her grief. “No one deserves what was done to Foch.”
Moira focused on Jana. “I was married to Foch at one time.”
The admission startled both Jana and Levitin.
Jeremy patted Moira on the hand, trying to calm her while speaking to Jana and Levitin. “I knew that Moira and Foch had been married. So did a number of other people. It’s no secret. When it ended, Moira and Foch remained friends.”
“That’s a good word: friends. We were always friends. But our marriage didn’t work. It just didn’t work.”
“Why didn’t it work?” asked Jana.
Jeremy winced. “Let’s allow the lady her privacy on that subject, Jana.”
“I don’t mind answering,” Moira assured Jeremy. “We didn’t make love. He liked to entertain young men at home. Some of them were very young. He couldn’t stay away from them. And he was afraid that if I stayed with him, and we were still married, it would hurt me, hurt my career, hurt my social life. He urged me over and over again to get a divorce, so I did.” Tears started falling onto her cheeks. She made no effort to wipe them away.
The waiter appeared and began to run through the dessert selection. No one had any appetite. They paid their bill and the group broke up. Jana watched as Jeremy gave Moira Simmons his arm, trying to lend her support as they walked away. Jana and Levitin went back to their hotel together.
“I was not prepared for that,” admitted Levitin. “Ordinarily I would place her on my list of suspects, if I had any, except that she is not Koba.”
“Who or what is the Koba of today: Male? Female? Who is in the game he plays, who is not?”
“You are the homicide detective. You tell me.”
“When I can, I will.” They walked through the hotel lobby, stopping at the desk for messages. There was one for Jana from Trokan. She called him when she got back to her room.
He told her one of her cats was sick. Trokan had brought them home to care for them, and one cat had some sort of convulsive seizure. The seizures had stopped. But, to be sure the cat was okay, Trokan had left him with a veterinarian. Trokan apologized. Like Trokan, maybe the cat didn’t care for his wife.
Jana laughed.
Everything would be okay, she told herself.
It didn’t work. She couldn’t sleep.
Chapter 21
For the sake of convenience, the conference organizers had booked all the participants into the same hotel. However, it was still a surprise when Moira Simmons knocked on Jana’s door after midnight. It was a soft knock, hesitant, unsure. Jana pulled on her clothes. When she opened the door Moira Simmons was there looking like a little girl, her hair unkempt, her eyes big and pleading, her shoulders sagging. Jana stepped aside to let her in without asking why she had come. Her face was enough to tell Jana that she needed help.
Moira walked to the bed and, completely clothed except for her shoes, crawled under the covers. She lay there without talking, her eyes closed, her lips moving, soft, rhythmic sounds emerging. From what Jana could pick up, it sounded unlike any language she had ever heard. After some minutes, the woman opened her eyes, looking like she had experienced a nightmare and was pleading with Jana, with anyone, to stop her horrific visions.
Moira’s voice was childlike. “I pray in Gaelic for the bad spirits to go away. Even though I pray and pray, I’m sti
ll as frightened as I ever was. I’m lost. Seven years old. No! Please tell me I’m an adult. Please tell me I’m safe.”
Jana pulled the room’s only chair closer to the bed. “Foch’s death has taken a little of the adult in you away. Death, death of a close person, always does. To everyone. It’s part of what grief is.”
“I’m angry at him, dying like that on me.”
“If he’d had a choice, he would rather not have died at all.” Jana pulled her chair even closer. “People have a nasty habit of leaving us without our permission.”
Moira closed her eyes again. This time she lay so still for so long that Jana thought she had gone into an emotion-induced coma. Then her eyes popped open.
“I keep seeing him, the way he was killed, with that thing in his eye.” She turned her head, to look directly at Jana. “In my own apartment, all the while I am there, I watch the front door, afraid to look away. I think the door will be quietly opened without my noticing and a man will be there to kill me. I don’t want to die like that.”
Her voice had dropped in volume, and Jana was forced to lean over her to hear. She waited until she was sure that Moira was finished, then asked, “Who is this man who comes to kill you?”
“His name was Grosjean in Holland; Langlois in Belgium; Macht in Germany; Goncherov in Belarus. Many of them, all mixed into one face, one body, all of them in a single monster come to kill me.”
“You have not mentioned our Koba.”
“He is them, they are him, no matter what the name. The names I gave you are my older names, the monsters I first knew about. They’re the ones who haunt me in my dreams. I can’t sleep. I’m afraid to. That’s when they will come.”
Siren of the Waters: A Jana Matinova Investigation Page 11