by Rik Stone
“What do think you’re doing?” she screamed.
“Why aren’t you at work?”
“Why?” she demanded.
He loomed over her aggressively.
“Yes, yes, all right, my friend called for me on the way in. I asked her to tell them I felt sick. What’s it to you anyway?” She spat the words, gathered her gown, tried to protect her nudity.
He pulled her to her feet, pushed her into the living room, and shoved her onto the chair with the pink throw. Fear clouded her face, but defiance steeled her eyes.
“One way or another, Nadia, you will tell me what’s going on. But just so we understand, let me tell you something. Yesterday I informed you I was part of internal security. True. But what I failed to tell you was I’m secret police. Now, there are certain myths that circulate round my unit. Nadia, let me tell you, everything you’ve heard is true, and some.”
He slipped a throwing knife out of the lining of his jacket and spun it in his hand. “I could spend hours with tales of what I’ve done with this knife. My colleagues are impressed, and, believe me, that isn’t an easy task. But listen to me. You must think I’m bragging.”
Still spinning the knife, he grabbed it in mid-air and, before Nadia could react, made an impression in her cheek with the flat side of the blade. Her breath caught.
“Tsk, what the hell, I know you’d love to hear my stories,” he said coyly. “I was given a young woman once, about your age, I suppose. They said she was a dissident – worse, a Chechen dissident.” He affected a thoughtful pose. “You have a bit of an accent; you’re not a Chechen, are you, Nadia?” He put pressure on the blade and opened his eyes wide, looking as if he had questionable sanity. Alarm paled her.
“No, no, I swear, they moved me in from Tallinn in Estonia. Please, please don’t hurt me.”
He eased back. “Well anyway, by the time I’d finished cutting her, my partner reckoned I’d removed more of her skin than what I’d left. Actually, I think she was the first one I’ve ever scalped. I started collecting them after that. Yes… hers was the first scalp. Hmm, is that true? Yes, I’m sure of it. But here I am, always boasting.”
He plied her with several tales, each more gruesome than the previous. For a moment he worried where were they coming from. With speed that matched sleight of hand, he cut buttons from her robe and slashed through straps and nightdress. By the time he’d finished she was all but naked and shaking in terror.
Enough. He breathed a heavy sigh. “Where were we? Ah yes, unlike those victims, Nadia, you have options. Now, let us begin simply, why aren’t you working? And I mean for your pimp.”
Tears streamed and she must’ve been wondering if she’d make it through alive. They all play their tough games but this one should meet Anna. She’d show her tough.
She blubbed, “Please, don’t hurt me. I had no say in it. I’ve never had a choice about anything since I was a girl.”
Jez tilted the blade and made a light crease on her cheek. “Why aren’t you earning your keep?”
“I’ve been given time off until Boris is sorted,” she sobbed.
“As yet I haven’t harmed you, Nadia, but I think by now you know I will. Don’t make me get blood all over my nice clothes – that’s what usually happens and I’m beginning to tire of it. Just tell me what you know of the set-up.”
“Yes, okay, fine, I’ll tell you. But please don’t cut my face. There’s a nightclub called The Red Lite in Balashikha. It’s used as a meeting place where shipments of girls are gathered before being taken out of Russia. That’s all I know, I swear. I’m only a working girl. They gave me a story to feed you – to incriminate Boris. But I have no idea what it’s about.”
“Who gave you the story, Nadia?”
“My pimp – Filip Godova,” she said.
“Is that him in the picture?” Jez pointed to the silver photo frame.
“No, that one works with Boris, his name is Alexandro. I don’t know anything else, I swear. Filip told me a KGB sergeant had paid him; said he could put a lot more money our way if I was convincing about Boris.”
Jez had to strain his ears.
“Filip said that if we could get in with the military people running the scams, we could maybe take over some business in that area. He would get a job recruiting girls. I wouldn’t have to work the streets.”
“What happened to you having no choice?” Jez asked.
“But you don’t understand. I was tricked when I was a young girl. Now, I take whatever chances I get.”
“If you had been tricked when you were young, then you should have more understanding for what is happening to these girls.”
She sucked in air sharply.
“And you seem to know more than you realize. This sergeant, you must have heard a name? Think, woman.”
“I’m not sure – Tchaikovsky, something like that.”
“You’re kidding me, the composer?”
“What, no, oh I’m not sure. I don’t remember, all I really know is he’s KGB.”
Tchaikovsky or similar, Jez didn’t know anyone like that, but if he was KGB, it wouldn’t be long before he did.
Eventually, Nadia’s answers went full circle and her story became a chorus. She was drained of information, huddled up with knees under her chin and tears flowing. Jez took a last look at her before leaving, and softened.
“Here, cover up,” he said, and pulled the gown over her shoulders. “Tell no one of this conversation and none of it will come back to you. Your dues are paid.”
“I won’t say a word,” she promised, and dropped from the chair to curl into foetal position on the floor.
Jez closed the door on the way out. Now he had what might be the key to the case, but he didn’t feel good about it. Nadia was unlucky with her start in life and had done what it took to stay on top.
At the railway station, he considered whether he should go home and rest or team up with Viktor later. Or, he could go straight to the club and check it out. Still pondering after boarding the train, he took too long about it and fell asleep – all the way to the terminus. The last train! It would be hours before the service resumed.
But at first light he would go to The Red Lite – alone.
Chapter 26
Otto poured a couple of vodkas. “I wonder how the Jew and Comrade Muscles are getting on,” he said. “Have they managed to piece together Nadia’s story, and are they now hot on the heels of Boris?” He laughed, swallowed and handed Adrik the glass for a refill.
“I’m just glad we’re on the same side, Otto. But yes, they probably are onto Boris. I mean, Kornfeld’s not a fool.”
“No,” Otto muttered under his breath. “Anyway, I think we’d better call it a day. I’ve got that catch-up with Petrichova early morning.” He looked at his watch. “Come on, let’s go.”
On Dzerzhinski Square, an uninviting breeze struck. It should’ve been too early for anybody to be about, but nevertheless the silence was broken by the sound of clacking boots. Otto’s head spun to his right. He hadn’t seen Sharansky for some time, but he was hard not to recognise. What the hell was he doing here at this time?
“Bit early for work, Sergeant,” Otto said, curiosity biting.
“Yes, I wish, Captain. I’m still on the case from yesterday.”
“That’s a long stint. What’re you up to now – looking for your partner?”
“No, I’m looking for you, sir. The case has developed and we have bodies in need of clearing. Lieutenant Kornfeld said you were the only one I should trust.”
“And the lieutenant was right. If you’re up to it, Sergeant, we could go and see to it ourselves.”
“Yes, sir,” Sharansky replied, and Otto noticed a veil of tiredness had shadowed the sergeant’s face.
He raised his eyebrows to Adrik and grinned. It had gone smoothly.
“What about you, Sergeant Mayakovski? If you’re not too tied up for tomorrow morning, maybe you could come along.”
“I wouldn’t miss it, Captain.”
“Good. Where exactly are we going, and who did these bodies belong to?”
“South Port: there are two men, an unknown bodyguard and his boss. A man called Boris. Information led us to believe he’d been one of the traffickers, but he wasn’t. We’d finished with the interrogation, but when we tried to leave there was a confrontation. He attacked us. We had no option but to terminate both men.”
Otto grimaced. “You say you eliminated him from your enquiries? What made you decide that, and where is the lieutenant now?” His skin itched.
The killings had gone to script, but to start making follow-ups hadn’t been part of it. Why couldn’t the little shit have just killed Boris and a few of his pimps and then called it a day? The case would have been shelved.
“Well, Captain, Boris thought we were the traffickers, and when he made the claims he was in charge of the situation. As for the lieutenant, he’s gone to talk to one of the girls.”
Otto nodded his approval, but was pissed off. The situation needed a rethink. “Is it messy, Sergeant Sharansky?”
“One of the bodies is a bit sticky, sir.”
“Sergeant Mayakovski, bring the car round and make sure there are a couple of body bags in the boot.” Adrik left and Otto turned back to Sharansky. “Sergeant, do you feel your leads have legs, or have these deaths got us turning circles?”
“Depends on whether the girl knows anything. And I suspect she will.”
“Which girl is that?”
“Nadia Ulyanov.”
And her pimp knows Adrik – shit!
“Here comes the car now.” Otto climbed in front next to Adrik. “Exactly where is this bar, Sergeant Sharansky?”
“At the quayside in South Port, Captain,” he told him.
Silence prevailed and Otto mulled over what had gone by. He needed a new strategy, hopefully a final strategy. But thoughtful or not, Sharansky’s presence needled him: he had no desire to pass pleasantries with a Jew-lover. Thought thundered round his head and a plan matured. And he would need to do most of it himself.
In South Port, Adrik parked the car midway along the quayside; they all got out and the three men gingerly crossed the slippery jetty en route to the bar. Equidistantly pitched cranes raised their long necks like dark, sinister serpents. An unravelled anchor chain was laid out in lines along the dockside. The first light of dawn fought for supremacy over darkness, and glowing arcs of blue light assisted in the fight as two journeymen prodded the chain with welding electrodes.
Beyond the cranes, they passed fishing boats; and beyond them was the bar. Sharansky stopped to unlock the main door. A bakery next to the club prepared its first bread of the day and blooms of steam flowered from the oven’s exhaust, belching a misty haze over the soldiers. The smell of newly baked bread made Otto’s mouth salivate and he couldn’t work out how long it’d been since he’d eaten. Inside, the deserted bar room was strewn with tables and chairs. At a guess, the crowd had left in a panic.
“A bit of a mess,” Otto said, “Are the customers aware of what happened? This place looks like they must’ve had some idea of what went on?”
Could be a stumbling block; witnesses might screw the plan. A damp patch irritated the back of his neck and he moved his head in an attempt to dry it against the collar of his greatcoat.
“No, Captain, other than us flashing ID cards to get them out, no one had any idea of what we were up to.”
“Good.” Thank fuck for that: covering up a complicated trail was the last thing he needed. That’s how mistakes creep in.
“They’re that way,” Sharansky said, and crossed the bar through the stink of cigarette smoke and stale alcohol.
“On you go then,” Otto said in the corridor, and followed closely, ushering him towards the office.
Sharansky went in and kneeled over Boris’s body. He was about to say something, but Otto spoke first. “You grunts can be such fucking fools. No real intelligence,” he said with taunting declaration.
The sergeant froze, and it seemed to take forever for the words to sink in. When they did, he turned abruptly, a surprised, hurt expression on his face, but not for long.
CRACK!
A shot echoed and a bullet punctured his face. Sharansky crashed to the floor as Otto mimicked a cheap cowboy film and blew on the end of the barrel before returning it to its holster.
He smiled, self-satisfied. “Adrik, I want you to set this scene and then bring the militia in to deal with it.”
“How do you want it to look?”
“The bodyguard has no blood on him,” he said. “Position him near to Sharansky. Make it look like the sergeant killed him.”
Otto leaned over Boris and forced the embedded throwing knife back at a new angle. He twisted the handle, compelling the blade to make the wound more cavernous. At a glance, the new injury would look as if he’d been stabbed from behind and the knife had been jiggled in a struggle. He pulled the blade out, cleaned it on the back of Boris’s clothes, wrapped it in a piece of paper and pocketed it.
“Not such a big shot now,” he said, and kicked the body. “Adrik, when the militia get here, this is the story they will put in their reports. Listen carefully, because you’re the one who has to make them believe it. Sharansky killed the bodyguard and the Jew shot Sharansky. Boris was the Jew’s partner, but they must have argued and the Jew stabbed him in the neck from behind. You are able to determine all of this because of the body positioning, the entry of the knife wound and, finally, because you’ve been investigating the Jew on the grounds of corruption. Got it?”
“I’ve got the story, all right, but Sharansky was Kornfeld’s partner. Why?”
“Shush.” Otto held a finger to his lips. “We know whose partner is who, but nobody else does. When I make my report, I’ll show that Sharansky was brought in to help us. He was our partner and the Jew had nothing to do with the case. Got it?”
“Ah – got it. But where are you going?”
“I, my friend, am off to seal the case good and tight. I’ll use the railway where I have to. You take the car. Oh, and make sure your story leaves them without doubts. Tell them Smersh are tied up in the case, so we won’t expect post mortems.”
Otto left the bar. Dawn had now broken with a cold, weak sun that set a silver sheen over a sky dusted with thin cloud. The welders had finished their task and the chain was rewinding, eerily creaking its way back into the ship’s chain locker.
He left the dock area, caught the first train of the day and made his way to the Plattenbau where Nadia lived. A brisk walk and he knocked at her door. No sign of life. Nadia would be the icing on his plan, not crucial, but he’d made the journey and wanted it to happen. He hammered furiously.
“Who is it, what do you want?” A nervous female voice called out – at last.
“It’s the police, let me in. I need to talk to Nadia Ulyanov.”
“I’ve already told the police all I know. What is it you want?”
“I’m not willing to talk about this through the door. I have a warrant and am authorized to break in if necessary. You may as well open up without any fuss. Please, I mean you no harm. We just need to talk.”
Bolts scraped in the hasps and keys turned in the locks. The door came clear of the frame and the dimmed corridor was sliced by a beam of light. A human eye that was widened with fear peered out at him. Silly bitch, the premises were secure. If she’d had a little more gumption and refused to let him in, he would’ve had to leave.
“Thank you – Nadia?” he said, removed his cap and smiled, pushed a foot forward, teased her into standing away from the door.
“That’s me, yes, but as I’ve already said, I told the policeman all I knew.”
The gap opened enough for Otto to see her face. It was wet and her make-up had run.
“Well, Nadia, I appreciate you told a man everything you knew, but he wasn’t a policeman.”
She looked sceptical. “He must have been,
he showed me his ID and so did his sergeant.”
Irritation had him rubbing his chest. He couldn’t just barge in. A door might be cracked open, someone could be watching and he couldn’t afford witnesses. Keep it nice until you get inside, he thought.
“I understand you have doubts, of course, especially at this time of day, but what I’m telling you is true. But really, I shouldn’t be discussing it out in the corridor, Nadia. This matter is confidential and you will know how nosy people in these housing blocks can be.”
She hesitated, sighed deeply, and then opened the door fully.
Otto stepped in with a grin on his face. “Thank you. Let me say that through my investigation I probably know as much as you do, but you still need to tell me everything you told him. The men you spoke to are criminals trying to take over a trafficking operation in Moscow, so knowing what they know will help me track them down.”
She nodded, but was clearly not convinced.
“My sergeant, Mayakovski, is closing in on them as we speak, but what you can tell me will sew things up.”
She froze, pulled back and looked horrified. What had he said? Shit, he shouldn’t have mentioned Adrik’s name.
Otto slammed the door shut behind him. Nadia spun away. He grabbed her hair, kicked her legs from under her and threw her along the passageway. She landed face down and tumbled along the aisle. She caught her breath, crawled away, but Otto closed the gap and pressed a foot firmly against her buttocks. Flattening out on her belly, she rolled over and pleaded for mercy. He stubbed a boot in her face, let it slip across the soft flesh, grabbed a fistful of hair and repeatedly punched her in the face. And then, as he took a firm grip on her chin, she lifted a hand submissively.
“Had enough? Okay, the story, please, Nadia.”