Only ten minutes had gone by after Paeter returned from calling before the first uniformed figure moved through the small crowd of people in the hallway and came into the dressing room.
Behind him was a stocky, grey haired man with quiet eyes. Seeing him, Jessica felt both relief and alarm. She knew immediately who he was. Micha Borov, second in command of National Security. Interesting that he should be so prompt on the scene. There was no question now about whom Paeter had called.
She had assumed that one of the band was National Security. It was nice to have that pinpointed. But she had more immediate problems. Borov was standing quietly, gazing about the tiny room. Finally his eyes turned to Jessica. “This is your dressing room?” She nodded. “So you know this man?”
“No,” she said. “I’ve only been in Bulgaria since last Saturday.” She stopped. Let him ask the questions.
He looked at her for a moment, then turned to the others. “Perhaps we could go in the other room while work goes on in here.” They all moved slowly down the hall toward the now deserted club. The patrons had left their names with a policeman and been sent home. The room that only a short time ago had seemed warm and friendly now seemed cold and faintly menacing. The candles on the table were getting low and their flickering light threw long jittery images against the wall. One by one they sat down, no one speaking. Micha Borov came in behind them and sat down at a table in front of the others. “Now,” he said, “Perhaps you can tell me what happened here tonight.” They glanced at one another, shrugged. It was Karl who spoke. “We had played two sets when Miss Winter went back to her dressing room and screamed. We all rushed back, of course, and a few minutes later, you arrived.” Micha Borov waited, then said, “Perhaps we could go back a bit further. When did you begin?”
“At nine o’clock, as we always do.” Again it was Karl who answered.
“And how long do you play?”
“Generally forty-five minutes. We play longer sets than usual.”
“Why is that?”
Karl glanced at the others, then smiled slightly. “Were having a good time.”
Borov glanced at Jessica. “Did Miss Winter go back to her dressing room earlier in the evening?”
Karl turned to Jessica, who nodded and said, “Yes, I went back after the first set—briefly.”
“And there was no body at that time?” His voice was bland.
“I think I would have noticed, Major,” she said drily. “It is not, as you saw, a large room.”
Paeter spoke for the first time. “I stopped in to speak with Miss Winter at that time and she was,” he hesitated minutely, “alone.”
Borov raised his eyebrows at the hesitation.
“There is no space in that room to conceal anything.It is little more than a closet itself.”
Borov nodded. He sat drumming his fingers softly against the tabletop. Finally he sighed and rose. “We will know more about this tomorrow.” He looked at Jessica. “Perhaps you would be kind enough to provide us with a statement?”
She smiled slightly. “Of course. Whenever you wish.”
“I will send someone for you at your hotel.”
He turned toward the hallway. Karl said, “May we go home?”
“Of course,” Borov said. His voice carried back to them as he continued to walk away. “I know where to find you.”
None of them quite knew what to do.It was early; on an ordinary evening they’d have had two or three more hours work ahead of them. Finally Karl offered to walk Jessica back to her hotel. She agreed and they got up and started for the door. The others rose and went to the bandstand to put their instruments away for the night. Jessica was almost to the door when she stopped. “I don’t have my handbag,” she said to Karl. “I’ll have to go back there.”
“I’ll get it for you,” Karl said.
She touched his shoulder and smiled. “That’s all right, I’ll do it. Someone will hand it out to me, I’m sure.” She started toward the back. She was nearly to the dressing room door when Major Borov stepped out.
“You have remembered something, Miss Winter?”
She grinned. “No, I have forgotten something, Major. My handbag.”
He turned back, looking around the room.
“Under the dressing table,” Jessica said.
He appeared with the bag and handed it to her. “Would you look to see that nothing has been taken?”
She checked quickly through the bag and looked at him, shaking her head. “They appear to have been more interested in leaving something than in taking something.” Her voice was carefully casual. “In any case, there was nothing worth stealing in my handbag. I never carry much money with me. I’ve lived in Washington too long for that.”
“Yes, I have heard stories about crime in your country.”
“Greatly exaggerated,” she said solemnly.
“Yet you do not carry money.”
“It would not be wise to tempt fate,” she said drily.
“We have very little crime in Bulgaria,” he said.
“So I understand.” Her eyes strayed toward the dressing room.
“That is very unusual,” Borov said. His voice became even blander. “I always find unusual events interesting, don’t you?”
She shrugged. “Of course, in my country this is not that unusual.”
He looked surprised. “You have discovered many dead bodies in your country, then?”
She had a penetrating vision of the small mound on the street in Varna and of the man in the shop. “It is the daily fare on television and in the newspapers in the United States, Major. One does not have to be personally involved to regard it as routine.”
“Ah, so this was a routine experience for an American. Yet you screamed, I believe. Do Americans routinely scream?”
“Only at our children, Major. I did not mean to imply that I was unmoved by this experience. This was a little more personal than television; he was sitting in my chair.”
“If you had known him, it would have been even more personal.”
She bowed slightly in assent. “As you say. Although finding even a stranger sitting dead in your chair is unnerving.”
“How did you know he was dead?”
“Well, I smiled at him, Major,” she said tartly, “And he didn’t respond, so I knew immediately he must be dead.”
He smiled slightly. “I bow to your undoubted experience in this area. I’m sure you have a very shrewd idea of your effect on people.”
“I am long past the ingénue stage when that remark would cause me to blush and giggle.”
“Somehow I can’t imagine you giggling.”
“Only under enormous emotional strain, Major.”
“And you are not strained now?”
“Should I be?”
He shrugged. “Finding a body and being questioned by the police in a socialist country might induce anxiety in the average American.”
She grinned at him. “The average American has an unquenchable belief in justice, and a clear conscience, which he relies on to carry him through any situation.”
“So it would seem.”
Neither of them thought she was an average American.
She turned and started back toward the club. “Goodnight, Miss Winter.”
“Goodnight, Major Borov.”
She had reached the door when he called out, “I will see you tomorrow, Miss Winter.”
She turned and smiled, “I’ll look forward to it, Major. Goodnight.”
Karl had walked back to the bandstand and was talking to the others. He joined her at the door with an anxious expression. “Is everything all right?”
“Of course, Karl. I was just chatting with Major Borov.”
“Jessica,” Karl said as they started down the street, “Major Borov is not an ordinary policeman.”
“Oh?”
“He is an officer of National Security. I am sure he is here only because you are a foreigner..,” he broke off.
&n
bsp; “…And an American,” she finished for him.
“Yes,” he said unhappily.
“It’s all right, Karl. Whatever he is, he seems very competent and he was very pleasant. I’m sure he’ll have it sorted out before long.”
“Yes.” He didn’t sound quite as convinced but he didn’t know what else to say. They were approaching Jessica’s hotel and they walked in silence. As they got to the door, Jessica turned and smiled at his worried expression. “Don’t worry. It will all work out all right. Shall we rehearse tomorrow afternoon as usual?”
He nodded, his anxiety lifting a little at the thought of reestablishing the routine. They had been rehearsing for several hours each afternoon since she had arrived. Not because they needed it, but because they enjoyed it.
“Four o’clock then?”
“Yes.” He seemed about to speak, hesitated, then said, “Goodnight.”
She stood for a minute and watched him walk away, then turned and entered the lobby. It was the first time she had been there that early in the evening and she was surprised to see how crowded it was.
The room clerk was equally surprised to see her. “You’re in early, Miss Winter.”
“We had a small emergency, an accident at the club, so we’ve taken the rest of the evening off.”
He would have liked to ask many more questions, but she picked up the key and moved off. He shrugged. No matter. He would know by morning anyway. His wife’s cousin worked in the kitchen of the club.
*****
She unlocked the door of her room, hung up her jacket, glanced at the mirror and discovered she was still wearing the gold evening dress. No wonder people had noticed her in the lobby. She stripped it off, hung it carefully, put on her robe, and sank wearily into the ersatz Danish modern chair.
She’d found Ray. Or, to be absolutely accurate, he had found her. It would appear that she’d never been lost. Why had they put the body in her dressing room? Warning? Whatever the motive had been, it had accomplished two things in her favor. It freed her from wasting any more time looking for Ray. And, knowing how he had died—and she did know—told her something they couldn’t have counted on. Ray had taken the pill that all sensitive agents carried. No man was proof against modern methods bf interrogation. The agency assumed you would talk; pills were not handed out indiscriminately. Jessica knew how long Ray would hold out before taking it, they had discussed it many times. Taking the pill, Ray said, was admission that you were an agent, a sensitive one, and endangered everyone with whom you’d come in contact. They’d just work backward and gobble them up. Since he had done so, it meant he had come to the conclusion that it no longer mattered. That, in fact, his associates were already endangered, already known. Which left one female sitting duck, of drab plumage, ready for plucking. But she’d known that since she read the note. She trusted Ray’s conclusions. Just as she trusted Max’s. Sitting in his office, she’d known he thought Ray was dead. And although she’d refused to accept it, she realized now she’d trusted Max’s perceptions more than she trusted her own. Because part of her still believed that Ray was indestructible, that he would pop up at the last moment and lead her out of here. She thought of the note…. “Whatever plan you have for getting out of the country…” Oh, my dear, you should have known me better than that. I had no plan. I still have no plan. She’d never been in this situation before. She’d always been taken care of. Someone would do it now. Although the field of candidates did seem to be shrinking. It began to look as if she’d have to don a cavalry uniform herself. And on that happy note, she rose and got ready for bed.
*****
Late the next morning she got a call from Micha Borov asking if she would come in to make a statement. When she agreed, he said he would send a car to pick her up.
The young policeman, very stiff and polite, who had brought her from the hotel, escorted her to a small room.
“You must wait here; someone will come.”
She smiled warmly, said, “Merci.” She sat on the straight-backed chair and looked around her. Institution green walls, bare but clean, a table-desk, and two more chairs. Not the Ritz, but not unpleasant.
There were footsteps in the corridor and a man appeared at the door which had been left partly open by the young policeman. He wore the uniform shirt of the police and a loose jacket. Something furtive in his manner caught Jessica’s attention.
“Miss Winter?”
“Da,” she said. He moved toward her, his right hand in the jacket pocket. She stiffened as the glint of metal came into view, not, as she had instantly assumed, a gun, but the barrel of a hypodermic syringe. She froze, staring at him, her mind working furiously. Truth serum? Drugs? Finally she pushed back the chair and rose slowly, backing up, pushing the chair behind her. He continued to move toward her, calm and inexorable.
In the corridor an authoritative voice said, “Is this the room?”
With one smooth motion, the hand returned to the pocket and the man sat in one of the empty chairs.
The man who entered the room was a little above medium height, with greying hair and an air of authority. His eyes flicked over the guard, who rose and saluted, then left the room quickly.
Jessica had slumped into a chair. She took a deep breath and looked at the man who had come in, who was staring at her in disbelief. “Jessica!”
“Ilya!” To her rage and embarrassment, tears sprang to her eyes. “Am I glad to see you,” and she walked into his arms and laid her head on his shoulder.
He held her tightly for a moment, then said in English, “What are you doing here?”
She pulled away slightly and said in Bulgarian, “I don’t know.”
They grinned at each other, kids again, transported back to their last night together and to the argument which had flared with both of them shouting and neither understanding a word the other said.
“Where did you go?”
“London, then Washington.”
“I looked for you.”
“You didn’t find me.”
“No. Did you want me to?”
She didn’t answer. “How long did you look?”
He looked at her gravely. “Until five minutes ago.”
She grinned derisively. “Come on, Stoyano, give us a break,”
He grinned back, but said firmly, “I looked a long time and I never lost the hope that you would return.” As she continued to grin at him, unbelieving, he said ruefully, “It was dimming a bit.” She laughed. He took her hand and said, “Why did you go?”
“Why did I go? You were yelling at me in Bulgarian, you wouldn’t use the interpreter and you opened the car door and made it very clear you wished me to get out. What were you saying, for heaven’s sake?”
The years fell away as he looked at her sheepishly. “I was asking you to come back with me to my uncle’s farm.”
She looked at him in outraged astonishment, “And you couldn’t say that through an interpreter?”
He shrugged. “He was a man I knew slightly,” he hesitated. “I wasn’t sure you would say yes.”
“You threw away twenty years of my life to save face with a man you barely knew?”
He shrugged again. “I was young. And I could hardly foresee the consequences. Would you have come?”
She looked at him angrily, then the anger died and she said gently, “Like a shot.”
“That is yes?”
She nodded. “That is yes.”
They stood looking at each other, contemplating the lost years, then Jessica sighed and patted his cheek. “It wouldn’t have worked anyway. If we’d had more time, we’d have found that out. I couldn’t have stayed in Bulgaria and you couldn’t have left. What did you do?”
He said drily, “I studied English and spent five years in New York at the United Nations.”
“Funny, I studied Bulgarian.”
“But you didn’t come back to Sofia.”
“No, I stayed in Washington.”
“I thought
New York was the place for singers.”
“It was and is, but by that time I’d decided I really wasn’t cut out to be a singer. So I became one of Robin Hood’s merry men.”
He frowned.
“Who?”
“I work for the government. We redistribute the national wealth.” He still looked puzzled. She laughed. “I defend the nation against itself. Just a small cog in the bureaucratic machinery.”
“Do you like it?”
She paused. “Not at the moment.” Then she sighed and said briskly, “But now I’ve taken a leave of absence to try singing again. One last fling before Medicare. What about you? Did you marry?”
He hesitated, then said briefly, “Yes.” Then as she waited, “Ten years ago.”
She smiled slightly. “Anything after seven years is defensible.”
“Did you marry?”
She shook her head. “I occasionally lost my heart, but never my mind. Ilya, what are you doing here?”
“A man was found dead in a night club…”
“Are you with Balkan Tourist?” She knew he was not; she had known for several minutes who he must be. Still, it came as a shock when he said, “Not Balkan Tourist. I am Chief of State Security.”
“Chief? My God, Ilya, who did you marry?”
He looked at her coldly, prepared to be offended, and then could not. He grinned and told her, naming the daughter of a high party official.
She gave a low whistle and raised her eyebrows. “Boy, when you fall, you rise.”
He looked puzzled.
“You just happened to fall in love with her, in spite of name, rank, and party card number?”
“It was a wise marriage for both of us,” he said stiffly.
“I’m sure.” It was her turn to look puzzled. “I’ve heard the name of the Chief of State Security, and it wasn’t Stoyano. I thought it was Christov’s son or somebody …,” she trailed off. He was looking uncomfortable. “You changed your name?” she said incredulously. “What else did you trade away?”
He was defensive but firm, “Gregor had no sons; he wished the name to continue.”
No Work for a Woman Page 7