by Rik Stone
“Your apartment is very attractive,” he said. “Hard times, but you’ve done well for someone so young.”
“Thanks,” she said, “but not really, they’re mostly gifts from my family.”
Or you’re just another working girl.
“Oh, I see,” he said, with acceptance. “As I said earlier, we’re here to go over the statement you made to the local police, if that’s all right with you, Nadia?”
“Sure – makes no difference to me.”
Without noticing, he sat on the chair with the pink throw, and saw a grin open on Viktor’s face. He shook his head in resignation.
“You say you were held captive and then escaped. Is this accurate?”
“Sort of: a new career was offered to me where I would be trained to dance for a living. It seemed the chance of a lifetime, too good to pass up, so I took it. But when we reached Volgograd, I recognized a man. My cousin had pointed him out to me one time in Moscow. He told me the man was a pimp called Boris. It all started looking a bit suspicious and I wasn’t under lock and key, so when the chance came I slipped away, returned to the city. I informed the police what had happened as soon as I got back.”
“Didn’t it worry you that it’s against the law to leave the country without permission from the authorities?”
“Yes, of course, but they said they’d taken care of it for me.”
Nadia was just too urbane; could she really be seduced into such a con? But if she wasn’t genuine, why make the report? No reward, nothing to take advantage of – why? Viktor’s thoughts were clearly different. A grin forced its way onto Jez’s face and Nadia smiled seductively, not realizing it wasn’t meant for her.
“This Boris, is there anything about him you can describe? There wasn’t a description in the statement you made.”
“Nobody asked,” she said, and raised an eyebrow, disapproving. “No one seemed interested, but sure he’s easy enough to describe. He is a handsome man, a big bit higher than tall and lots of muscle, like a circus strong man. But the thing you would notice other than his size is his spiked blond hair, white like a German.”
“Good, that will help,” Jez said, head down, writing notes. “Another girl escaped and went to the police a few days before you did. Did you see her on your travels?”
“No, I was always alone. I saw no other girls.”
“When your cousin pointed Boris out to you, which part of the city were you in?”
“Oh, that’s easy. We were north of here, on the docks at South Port. A bit of a dump, but we went there for shellfish. I have a weakness for them.” Her face took on a look that seemed to relish the memory of how they tasted.
“Okay, we don’t need to detain you any longer, Nadia. Thank you, your account has helped clarify the situation.”
Jez tugged Viktor’s sleeve, but halfway along the passageway he turned back on her. “Just out of interest, why aren’t you at work today?” he asked in a severe tone.
“Umm... I... I work in a hotel in the evening, so my time is my own until about six.”
“Oh, okay, thank you. We’ll let ourselves out.”
What she had said seemed plausible, but he wasn’t convinced with the performance and wasn’t about to let it go. He’d speak with the other girl, track down Boris, and then come back. He would get to the bottom of Nadia’s game.
Chapter 22
An unmarked car was parked in the road outside the police station. “There are keys in the ignition. Must be trustworthy around here… or would anyone really want to steal this heap of crap?” Viktor sniggered.
“I doubt it. Better show my face inside and tell the duty officer we’re here. There’s probably a different car for us round the back.”
Viktor leant against the old banger and Jez watched him wince at the creaking noise he’d made. He went in to report to the duty officer.
He came back out again with a grin on his face. “No, this is the one.”
The metal hinges ground noisily as Jez opened the door of the white Skoda; except he really couldn’t see how he’d determined the car was white: the bodywork was mostly browned off by rusted slashes and dents. And the front wing looked ready to fall off, as it floated independently and caused the balance of the carriage to alter.
“Not quite what I’d expected, but it’ll have to do.”
The front seats squeaked and the suspension groaned, as they settled in. “No heater. The rubbers are torn away halfway down the wipers and my backside doesn’t sink this far into the toilet. Do you think maybe they’re not impressed with the unit we work for?”
Viktor laughed. Without answering, he started the engine and pulled away. The journey was accompanied by more creaks and rattles than an old bedstead on payday.
Rula Korbet lived just outside Ostrov, but poor roads in the suburbs made for a slow passage. Small cabins perched on hillsides reminded Jez of his family home, and he wondered how his sisters had fared on their final leg to Israel. Please God they’re safe, he thought, then chided himself for begging to a figment of his imagination.
It was a quiet trip, each of them lost in their own thoughts. But they were roused by sudden bumping over cobbled streets, and Jez realized they were in Ostrov. The turn-off had been several kilometers earlier.
He grinned. “Viktor, you’ve navigated deserts, mountain regions, forests, and every other kind of terrain known to man, and yet you manage to get lost just outside of Moscow.” He laughed, and slapped his thigh. “Nadia certainly made an impression on you.”
“I am not lost,” he replied crossly. “I just missed the turning, that’s all.”
Indignation raised its ugly head and he spun the car sharply at the end of the street. Jez felt lucky the Skoda’s chassis hadn’t left the body behind. They returned the way they’d come and reached the exit for the Korbet cabin. The lane he’d driven past was narrow and barely wide enough for the Skoda.
Jez put his hands up. “Okay, an entrance with trees hunched over it like that, anyone could have missed it.” Whoops, he thought; Viktor was still not appeased.
The Korbets’ small lumber shack was a picture of neatness: newly painted yellow walls with a green wooden apron around the base, a backdrop of conifer trees and an open wood store at the side stacked with enough lumber to get them through the oncoming winter. It looked homely, a rural retreat where naïvety could reside untouched, and just how Jez would’ve imagined the missing girls’ homes to look.
A woman answered the door and he showed her his papers.
“Come in,” she said, “I’m Adelaida Korbet.” She pointed to a girl who sat next to an open fire. “And this is my daughter Rula.”
Jez was reminded of home again. But whereas his parents’ cabin always smelled of pine and cotton, here it was pine and newly baked bread. And also a fragrant aroma he didn’t recognize.
“Can I get you tea?” Adelaida asked.
A refusal almost reached his lips, but he noticed an ornate samovar in the corner and realized the aromatic smell had been of lemon and cardamom pods. Chai Po-Russki tea – how could he resist? He walked over to inspect the samovar and the heat of the built-in charcoal burner warmed his face.
“Yes please, that would be very welcome, thank you. This is a very unusual samovar, very nice.”
“Thank you, yes, it’s been in our family for generations.”
Jez turned to Rula and her head dropped to stare into her lap. Coyly, she peered up. He smiled and she beamed back warmly, but in a flash her gaze became awkward and she looked down.
Mother and daughter were dressed identically: blouses with long sarafans draped over, pale green and probably cut from the same piece of cloth. He thought Rula’s face lovely, more than pretty, and looking at Adelaida he could see why.
“What about you?” she asked Viktor. “Will you have some also?”
“That would be most acceptable, thank you,” he said, smiling in appreciation.
“Cream?” she asked, and they nodded pol
itely.
Jez smiled, seeing the cups of tea accompanied by a khlebsol, a round loaf with a salt cellar on top. They kept up the old traditions. Jez knew he should at least try to assume impartiality, but the more he looked at these people the less plausible Nadia became. Her reason for not worrying about the law was believable though.
“Before I go through the statement you made, Rula, can I ask you why you flaunted the law? You must know it’s illegal to leave the country without permission?”
“Yes, I do, but they said they had taken care of that for me.”
Same answer. But working through similar questions to those he’d pitched to Nadia, Rula’s reckoning revealed discrepancies. And they were at odds with the statement she’d signed. But if her account was true, her ordeal had been very much different to Nadia’s. “There were four other girls with me” and “But I have never heard of anyone called Boris” were just two answers crucially at odds.
“But the statement you signed states that one of your captors was called Boris,” Jez said, brow furrowing.
“Well, I’m sure the name was never used around me and I don’t know how it got on the paper I signed. I never mentioned it.” She took on a defiant attitude, as if he’d just called her a liar.
Captain Mitrokhin suggested that military people might be involved. And if he accepted Rula’s account, it confirmed the theory. Who else could doctor the statements?
“Let me ask you, Rula,” he said. “Exactly how were you coerced into leaving with these people?”
Visibly embarrassed, she dropped her head again.
“Well, I hate to say, but I met a very handsome man. His name is Vasili and he told me he had moved into the area with his work. He said he worked in conjunction with the Moscow military and that he represented dance troupes who travelled the world, that the military assisted him. He also said he had contacts in the Bolshoi and Kirov ballet companies. As we got to know each other he convinced me I had natural grace and the right physical appearance for dancing.” She pinked. “He said he would arrange for me to be trained, not in Russia but abroad where the opportunities are endless. As time passed, he said he had feelings for me. He told me to start the trip without him and that he would join me later. We’d planned a new life together.”
She turned away and Jez noticed her beautiful hair, thick, blonde and braided into a long plait, traditionally, more a style of north-west Russia than here.
“Of course I encouraged Rula to go,” Adelaida said, and looked miserable. “I thought she would be heading for a better life. Also, I met Vasili and approved. But it turned out he was an uncultured sort of man.”
“If you thought you were going for a better life, why did you feel it necessary to escape?” Viktor asked.
“I heard them, we’d reached Volgograd and a couple of the men had drunk too much. The others had gone into town and they were talking about testing us out before their comrades had a chance to get their hands on us. Then they began talking dirty. Words I don’t want to repeat.”
“Of course not,” Jez said. “There’s no need to.”
“Vasili hadn’t come to me as he’d promised. Suddenly I didn’t trust him either. I was scared. A chance came to run. I took it. I asked another girl to come with me but she told me I was being stupid.”
“Tell me,” Jez asked, “how did you travel to Volgograd?”
“We took the train from the Kazansky railway terminal to Saratov.”
Saratov. That’s strange, taking a bit of a chance trafficking girls through a military town.
“From Saratov we picked up a barge to Volgograd.”
Kazansky to Saratov by rail and then Volgograd by barge, that didn’t sound good. Worries of a more personal nature crept in and he didn’t care for the direction they were headed.
“The bargemen, did you get their names?” Whatever your answer, please don’t let it be Rudi.
“No, but there was only one man; he was dirty and smelly with horrible breath and no manners. He leered hatefully and it frightened me, so I kept my distance.”
Jez was dumbstruck. From the description, she might as well have said Rudi. But no… how could that be possible?
She continued. “I heard them say the next link was to Rostov where a ship would be waiting. I don’t know if that was true because, as you know, I escaped. I had no money and it took me several weeks to get back. My journey depended on charity from comrades.”
He’d stopped listening. This was the route he’d used to get his sisters out – and they’d used the same people. A cold sweat popped on the back of his neck. He felt stifled for air, and confusion flooded in. He had to get out of the cabin. The odds of someone stumbling onto that route and finding Rudi were infinite.
Slow breathing – stay calm.
“Thank you, Rula, I know it must’ve been difficult reliving your torment, but I think you should count yourself lucky. The other girls may not have been so fortunate.”
He took small sips of the tea and tried to appear steady, but he desperately wanted to see an empty cup. Too slowly, a little relief came when he finished the drink and got to his feet.
“I appreciate your hospitality and apologize for leaving so abruptly, but we have to follow the leads you’ve opened. Thank you again.”
They left the cabin and Jez was back in the car before Viktor was even halfway down the path. He climbed in next to him.
“You’re a bit of a softy. You looked really pained in there at the end of her account.”
“Yes, well. What if it’d been someone in your family?”
He couldn’t tell Viktor the truth. He couldn’t tell anyone.
But how? No one knew of the route other than his sisters. And they were in Israel. His mind turned circles. What if they weren’t in Israel? No, he couldn’t allow his wits to be blinded by that kind of distraction. His sisters were safe, and to think otherwise couldn’t be considered. Even so, how would he handle the case now?
The drive back to the city was slow and silence lingered. His strategy needed a rethink. Have any common factors surfaced… “Boris!” he yelled out.
“Wha...” Viktor responded, jumping up in his seat, the squeaks echoing louder than the knocking engine.
“Boris. We can’t get any further with the case until we find Boris.”
“You say that, but what about the girls’ statements? Somebody has clearly tampered with at least one of them.”
“I know, but I think it could be part of the same circle. We start with Boris, and that means we head for South Port.”
Jez sat back trying to get comfortable. He needed to distance his thoughts between personal and professional. For the meantime, there was more than one case to work on: the abduction of the peasants, how they’d found his route, and Nadia’s game with regard to Boris.
Chapter 23
They stayed at a militia station in the Proletarskiy District overnight and arrived at South Port early next morning. Already a fresh trawl of fish had reached the stalls. Fishermen along the quayside sat on capstans or old fish boxes, unravelled nets and mended snags. Jez and Viktor weaved through a mass of people who bought up fish as if they would never get another chance.
Jez saw a tall, white-haired trader at the far end of the aisle. “The big blond on the last stall fits the description Nadia gave,” he said.
“No, I don’t think so, but if he did, do you really believe a pimp would have such a mundane day job?”
“Probably not, but we have to start somewhere.”
Jez half-noticed Viktor raise a hand, but he ignored it and charged ahead. “Boris, is that you?” he asked.
But then he realized he’d jumped in without regard to follow-up. When Viktor caught up, Jez saw an expression that said it all.
“No, sorry, Comrade that isn’t my name,” the trader replied and turned back to his customer.
Jez made apologetic noises and moved quickly on along the quay. Trouble was, he’d sat behind a desk for too long. And loo
king back at the stallholder, he grimaced. The man wasn’t even vaguely like Nadia’s description. But it was done. Refocus.
They watched. Time hurried by. Jez thought investigative work might be boring, but he buzzed. His mind created stories of how it would all turn out and the new direction his career would take. A boy brushed past with his mother who scurried along behind.
“Why must I constantly repeat myself? Stay by my side or I’ll tell your father when he gets home. And then you’ll be in trouble,” she scolded.
School out already, the time had pressed on. Stallholders had begun to pack the last of the fish scraps into slatted wooden boxes. They would separate what was still fit for human consumption and bring it back to sell tomorrow. The rest would be sold as animal feed.
Daylight faded. Mauve clouds lay strung out above the horizon like veins knotted through a wintry sky. Just going through the motions now, he thought. No one had seen or heard of Boris. Nadia had to have had an ulterior motive. Maybe Boris had been a decoy to draw them away from the case.
“There are still a couple of fishermen on the quayside. We’ll see if they recognize Boris’s description. If they can’t help, we get rooms and leave it until tomorrow.”
“And then what?” Viktor asked, and sounded like he’d had enough.
“Then I think we go back to the start – Nadia. And this time I take the gloves off, whether it upsets your nether regions or not.” He grinned, trying to give a lift to an unsatisfactory day. Viktor smiled but Jez could tell when he was being humored.
A fisherman sat on a bollard braiding new twine into a lobster pot. The buttons on his blue collarless shirt were hidden by a placket covered in grease shines and fish scales. He had waders pulled up to the top of his thighs that looked old, creased and crinkled – hand me downs.
Jez approached, and the man stared coldly, his eyes narrowed, the frown on his brow causing his already stubbed nose to scrunch back. But to Jez’s surprise, when he asked about Boris the response was friendly. He dropped the twine, pushed a scruffy skipper’s cap further back on his head and let his longish wavy black hair fall over his brow.