“Why is he on psych?” Elsa wondered out loud.
“It’s the only ward in this hospital with the capability to lockdown and secure a patient. I have two officers guarding his door as well.”
Officer Imler hit the UP button on the lift and they waited for the elevator to arrive. Elsa reflected inwardly knowing that eventually, Faust would question her as to why she’d gone to Ivchencko’s in the first place. She didn’t like lying. Not at all. But Heinz told her many times over not to reveal her past career. Keeping it out of the press three years ago was hard enough, and only happened with Joseph’s help. His credibility is what carried her. That, and the fact that he’d redacted that information out of the first police report where he’d interviewed Elsa after she initially called in Anno as missing. Letting that cat out of the bag now would not only sink her, but would drag Heinz down, too, for supporting her new career all this time. She couldn’t do that to him. He’d gone above and beyond for her and Anno. She could do no less for him. So when that time came for those pointed questions, she would have to do the one thing she hated most in the world—lie. She just didn’t know exactly what that lie would be yet.
Chapter Fourteen
GREGOR LOOKED AROUND the room. The walls were a sick shade of green. The radiator by the window blew out heat that didn’t quite make it to where he lay strapped down onto the hospital bed. He was cold, and his head hurt. The doctor informed him he’d had to sew up the deep gash with ten stitches. He also warned him that he might begin to experience blurred vision, nausea, possible vomiting, and headache—all signs of a concussion. He’d been kept awake for an hour while the doctor tended to his head wound. He couldn’t believe Liliya had done this to him. The last thing he remembered was her voice screaming that she didn’t love him. After all they’d shared. He thought he’d earned her trust, her love. Out of all the women he’d encountered since leaving Pskov, Liliya was the one who filled the hole left in his twisted heart by Irina Bromovich’s death. He tried telling Liliya about Irina, about how he felt when he first laid eyes on her, first touched her skin, and then the horror when she died. He didn’t tell her the girl died at his own hands. He was afraid of scaring her. He knew he could never do such a thing to Liliya. He’d gained control over himself—almost. He slipped up with Anna. He knew that, but Anna wouldn’t let him touch her, and he wanted very badly to touch her soft skin. Still. It worked out because he saw Liliya at church, and knew she was the one.
The odor of strong bleach and chemical cleaners filled the air, offending his nose. Gregor stared at the fluorescent light overhead trying to figure out how to get out of this room. He needed to get out, to get back to port like Gospodin Ivchencko told him. He revered the man who’d given him a job when he was living on the docks in Riga, Latvia. After leaving the home of his cousin, Ivan, Gregor made his way across the border into Latvia where he traveled, mostly by foot, through the country until he reached the port city. Months went by with no job. He’d resorted to stealing once his meager funds had run out. He was considering finding the nearest Orthodox order and begging to be allowed to join when the Vledelets anchored.
He watched from under a platform as a tall man with silver hair, followed by a shorter, barrel-shaped man, and three sailors disembarked stepping off the gangplank onto the dock, and straight into a waiting luxury car. Hungry, filthy, and bone-tired, he curled up into a ball and slept. It was dark when he was awakened by the sound of a vehicle pulling up. He opened his eyes and saw that it was the same car from earlier followed by a dark van that parked behind it. One of the three sailors got out of the driver’s side and stood, waiting. The tall man and the barrel-shaped man got out of the car. They looked around, seeing no one, and the tall man nodded. The sailor who drove the van walked around to the back and knocked twice on the door before opening it.
Gregor could see that the other two sailors were inside. They stepped out and began pulling at something. Several somethings. All wiggling. As they were pulled out and into the dim light provided by the half moon, he saw they were girls. Three of them, and all bound and gagged. They were trying to get away, but with hands and feet tied, and gags shoved into their mouths, they didn’t stand a chance. One had long, blonde hair, and she stood defiantly facing the men. Irina? His mind, deprived for nearly three days of food, water, and decent sleep played tricks on him. He stumbled forth seeing only the girl.
The girl’s eyes widened in hope at seeing someone else on the dock. She began making noises that sounded like pleas for help. The first sailor smacked her, and she fell over. The other two turned and sighted Gregor. The tall man and the shorter one also turned to see who had come up on them. The shorter one drew a gun and aimed while two of the sailors pulled switchblades out of their pockets coming at him. All Gregor saw was his Irina go down. He shouted “No!”, then stumbled and fell reaching his hand out desperately trying to touch her. The two sailors were upon him. The first one grabbed him by his shirt and hauled him up. Now delirious, Gregor could only utter one word, one name. The only person in the world who cared what happened to him. “Ivan,” he whispered.
The man stopped. The other sailor asked, “How does he know you? Who is he?”
The first man replied in a deep, guttural voice. “I do not know this filthy rat.” He seemed convinced of that, yet...
“Well, he certainly seems to know you!” the shorter one said, pointing out the obvious.
The tall man approached. “What’s the hold up? Who is this creature?” He said the last with a disgusted sneer, observing Gregor’s dirty and disheveled state.
“Ivan says he doesn’t know, but the boy clearly called his name. He looks like he’s delirious. Probably starving by the look of him.”
“Well, we can’t leave him here. He’s seen us.” He looked at Dutch. “You know what to do.” Then he walked to the gangplank ascending to the ship.
Dutch stepped forward, pulled back a fist, and knocked Gregor unconscious. The world went black. Then it changed. It changed so completely that he couldn’t believe his luck, and he’d be forever grateful to Gospodin Ivchencko for as long as he lived even if he did have a Godless, evil streak.
The lock clicked and the door opened. A female officer walked in followed by a wheelchair being pushed by an older man. He let his gaze travel to the woman in the wheelchair. It was the redheaded whore from the basement, the woman who turned his Liliya against him. A sneer curled his lip, and hate filled his eyes.
SEEING KOSLOV AGAIN so soon was unsettling for Elsa. She could only imagine how much worse it would be when she came face to face with Ivchencko in the future. Still, a part of her felt only steely resolve and the need to squeeze every last drop of information out of him so they could get Birgitta back safely. She saw the hatred in his eyes and remembered the other thing she saw in his eyes down in that basement—lunacy. She couldn’t afford to forget that this young man was unbalanced. He thought Liliya was his girlfriend, truly thought they were a couple despite the glaring fact that he’d kidnapped her and forced himself on her.
His lip curled into a sneer. “You!”
Instinctively, she tread carefully with her words. “Yes. Me.”
Faust parked her chair at the foot of the bed keeping Elsa out of reach although he knew Koslov was strapped down by his wrists and ankles as well as handcuffed to the bedrail. He eyed the suspect taking note of the scars on his chest knowing they continued onto his back crisscrossing in raised, red and white welts of permanently damaged skin. The attending physician who examined the head wound was shocked, said he’d never seen anything like it. He concluded by their placement that they were self-inflicted. When Faust asked who the hell would do such a thing to themselves, the doctor responded, “the only cases I’ve read involved religious rituals of self-flagellation.” As strange as he found that answer, it fit in with the information slowly coming together about Gregor Koslov. He found the three missing women via a church community. He was still waiting to fill in the blanks
from the information Heinz and Mahler dug up about a Gregor Koslov out of Pskov, Russia. The records ended with an old census. It was entirely possible the boy had been raised by, or sold to, a religious order. He would have been too young at the time to voluntarily enter one. Faust was not a fan of religion. He considered it poison to the mind and a crutch used by those looking for reasons to justify their own personal agendas of hate, bigotry, and hypocrisy. People didn’t need religion to know right from wrong. All they needed was empathy. Without that, they lived in pure selfishness.
“Where is my Liliya? What have you done with her?” He jerked in his restraints, spittle flying from his lips.
Officer Imler stepped forward, but Faust put up a restraining hand. “It’s okay.” He looked at her. “You can wait outside.” She began to object, but then followed the order from her superior.
Once the door closed, Elsa asked, “Why’d you send her out?”
Faust pulled up the only chair from the corner and sat next to Elsa. He leaned forward placing his forearms on his knees. “Because some of what gets said from here on out needs to not leave this room.”
“Like what,” she asked, curious now.
“Like how you ended up at Ivchenko’s in the first place.” His steady gaze seemed to say he already knew, but that couldn’t be possible...could it?
Elsa returned his gaze giving nothing away. She decided to go with as close to the truth as possible without going into details. She hated lying. “He invited me.”
“I understand you’d only just met the night before. Why did he invite you?” Faust patiently gauged her responses.
Gregor watched the exchange, both angry that they were ignoring him and not answering his questions and fascinated as it seemed the redhead might be in trouble herself.
This question was not so easy to answer. “He was interested in me.” It was as close to honest as she could be without saying why Ivchenko showed interest.
Faust changed tactics. “And were you interested in him? I thought you and Trommler were dating?”
Elsa’s eyes widened. “God, no! To being interested in Ivchencko, not to dating Lukas.”
“Still, you responded to his invitation.” It was a statement and not a question, yet she felt compelled to answer.
“He really didn’t give me much choice,” she muttered, shaking her head, and looking at the wall. When she turned back, Faust was watching her intently. Then he nodded, seemingly satisfied with her answer.
He turned to Koslov then. “You’re in quite a bit of hot water, young man. Kidnapping a minor, forced imprisonment, assault and battery, and rape. That’s a five-year sentence for the kidnapping, five for the assault, and fifteen for each time you raped Liliya Avilova.” Faust exaggerated the last a bit. It could be suggested by the prosecution, but rarely was returned by the judge. Even so, instilling fear into a suspect for information was not beyond him, especially a rapist piece of shit who might also be a murdering piece of shit. He was still waiting for DNA results to come back from Doctor Menghala to see if Koslov’s matched what was found under Anna Popovich’s fingernails and in the semen collected from her body. By Liliya’s own testimony so far, he felt ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure it would. “You’re looking at spending the rest of your life in prison.”
Gregor stayed quiet. It was clear he was thinking about what Faust just said, weighing his options. This act alone showed he wasn’t completely crazy. Twisted, but not beyond the fringe.
“What do you want,” he finally asked.
Faust wanted it all. He wanted the man who took all three Berlin girls, and he was sure he already had him right here. But he also wanted what now appeared to be a larger menace—Yuri Ivchencko. The Russian was the head of one of the largest business enterprises in Eastern Europe, was respected throughout the world of art, and even philanthropy from what he’d gleaned off the internet. Taking someone like Ivchencko down would be no easy feat. He had more than the protection of his public image. If he was, indeed, involved in the trafficking of young women, he also had the protection of whatever underground organization he was working with. By all indications, that may very well be the Bratva, also known as the Russian mafia. If that turned out to be the case, it was bigger than Koslov, bigger than Faust alone. A task force would have to be formed to handle it. Their lives would be in danger if handled wrong. Hell, their lives would be in danger no matter what, but justice was a demanding bitch, and Faust was in love with her. He’d give her anything she asked.
He smiled. “My dear boy, I want your full confession.”
“I’ve nothing to confess to you!” He glared defiantly at Faust.
“Oh, I didn’t make myself clear. My apologies. It is not me you will be confessing to.”
Koslov looked at him with confusion. “Then who? A priest?” He began to laugh.
Faust stood up, walked to the corner where a black duffel bag sat. He unzipped it and pulled out a wicked-looking cat-o-nine tails, not the cute kind couples use in foreplay, but one made of strong leather tied with strips of suede knotted with spiked metal balls. It was heavy and at least three feet long. “Nein, mein Freund. You will be confessing to Mistress Elsa!”
Elsa’s eyes popped wide and her mouth fell open. Faust looked at her and smiled. “Your particular skill set is needed, officer.” He placed a warm hand on her shoulder and gave a small squeeze. “Mahler’s life depends on it.”
“How did you know?” She was still in shock.
He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “I’ve always known. Who do you think advised Heinz to redact that information from your old police report before you entered the academy?”
“Well, scheisse,” she said.
“Indeed. By the by. I appreciate your honesty earlier. You could have lied, but you stuck to the truth.” He patted her shoulder and stood up straight.
Elsa gave a wry chuckle. “Minus the sensational bits.”
“Exactly. Good job. Now, I feel a strong need to grab myself a cup of coffee. I think it might take me at least an hour to drink it. I believe Officer Imler might like one, too. I’ll leave the other officer outside the door there, just in case you have a need. He’s very discreet.”
“You’re going to just let me whip him into submission?”
Faust stopped at the door, giving her a look of astonished innocence. “Me? Why, I know nothing, Officer Kreiss.” He opened the door, stepped out, then poked his head back in. “And don’t be gentle. He has a mile of scar tissue to get through before you even manage to inflict the least amount of pain.” He winked and left. The lock clicked, and Elsa was alone with the rapist of Liliya Avilova, the man who may be the murderer of other young women, and definitely knew where they could find Birgitta and how to stop Ivchencko. All she had to do was dust off her old self and once again be the best of the best, a dominatrix skilled like no other in the art of inflicting pain without damage. Only this time, she could drop that last part.
She backed her chair up and maneuvered to the side of the bed. “So, you like to rape girls.” She eyed his scars remembering what Liliya had told her about him beating himself with a similar whip in front of her, and then getting off on it. She knew people found pleasure in pain, but she didn’t think that was why he did it, nor its intended consequence.
Gregor eyed her with distaste. “I didn’t rape her. Not once did I hit her.”
“Really? You’re understanding and knowledge of English and German seems quite fluent. And, of course, your native tongue shouldn’t be lost on you. So how is it you failed to understand the word no?”
His eyes narrowed to slits.
“Hmmn. What about nein? Stop? Aufhören?” Elsa lowered her voice and gave Gregor a pitying look. “You raped her. She didn’t consent. She is only a teenage girl. Do you know what that makes you?” She waited.
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me, whore.” His nostrils flared as the hate in his eyes increased.
“But of course I am.” Elsa did not
acknowledge his insult, but instead, backed her chair up and stood on her good leg, balancing. “I’m going to tell you over and over again until you get it through your thick skull that what you did was unforgiveable, illegal, a sin. And then you’re going to tell me what I want to know about Yuri Ivchencko.” She hobbled to a better position, one that allowed her to lean onto a metal cabinet that sat against the wall by the bed. She lightly flung the straps of the whip over his stomach to test the distance. Perfect. From here, she was up high enough to wield the whip while resting her body weight on the top of the furniture. Gregor’s eyes widened a little as she slowly dragged the leather strips over him.
“I’m not afraid of you.” His bravado was sincere. Elsa could hear it in his voice.
“Do you know why Ivchencko had me down in his basement?”
Her question seemed off-topic, confusing him. “I don’t question Gospodin Ivchencko.”
Elsa smiled slowly, cat-like. “I see. So you don’t even know.” She swung the leather strips back and forth playfully.
Suspicion clouded his expression. “Know what?”
“Before I became Schutzpolizei, I had a rather unusual career. I was known as Mistress Elsa. Men, rich men, poor men, and all the men in between, paid very well for my services.”
He laughed. “A whore, like I said. So what are you planning to do? Fuck me into confession? You’re not my type!” He spat at her and missed.
Elsa ignored this, looking him straight in the eye. “No, Gregor Koslov. I never had sex with any of those men. They didn’t pay me to fuck them. They paid me to whip them. Brutally. And often. I was the best. Still am.”
He paled just a little, but still didn’t quite believe her. “You’re a police officer. You can’t harm me.” He turned his head away.
“In this room, right now, I’m simply Mistress Elsa, and you will address me as such, and only when I say.” She hauled back the whip and let it fly.
The Checkpoint, Berlin Detective Series Box Set Page 39