Siren of the Waters: A Jana Matinova Investigation, Vol. 2 (7 page)

“A hotel room would have done.”

“Not in Kiev!” His roar was only slightly muted in the car. “Better to rent an apartment than fight the bedbugs, thieves, and smell of alcohol and disinfectant in those places. You would need a gas mask to survive.”

“I am a born survivor,” she advised him.

“So am I,” he allowed. “Except it is always better to survive in the most pleasant circumstances one can obtain.” He switched gears, becoming more professional. “You know, the stuff you are asking for is not going to be easy to come by. It’s not my department. I supervise traffic cops. Everybody here guards their own farm. If you control information, you control your job. So they hold it close to their chests. However, there is a guy I know who owes me small favors. His wife got drunk and drove her car into a storefront. I helped him quash any problems.”

“You are becoming corrupt, Mikhail.”

“A little corruption in the right places never hurts. It allows me to do my job. I help him; he helps me. One hand washes the other. How does it hurt to aid a comrade’s wife? Besides, he divorced her.”

“For a younger woman?”

“Young but ugly. She’s already drinking.” His laughter was an even louder roar, the sound’s impact causing the driver of the car to swerve. “Watch your driving!” he yelled at his chauffeur. “You could get us all killed.”

Jana looked at Mikhail with disapproval. Mikhail’s face adopted a faked, comically sheepish look. “The driver, he needs to keep his eyes on the road. What if someone threw a bomb at the car? Would he flinch from the noise?”

“Not after having to listen to you, Mikhail.”

“That’s good to hear. Now we can continue on with confidence.” He took her hand in his huge paw, the two of them old pals, sitting in comfortable silence the rest of the way to police headquarters.

T
he nightclub was drab, to say the least. Grimy was probably a better description. Nothing indicated that it was a place where a fun time was going to be enjoyed by all. The putative decorators had hung multicolored streamers from the ceiling in a feeble attempt to disguise reality. Unfortunately, the ambient light made the streamers look like a demented spider’s web, with a huge tarantula waiting in a corner to scuttle across the strands and drop on an unsuspecting customer to devour him.

There were the usual complement of B-girls sitting at a small bar, half asleep because there were no available single men for them to fasten onto. The few customers in the place appeared bored, dressed in clothes that looked like they were from a vintage thrift shop that sold third-hand apparel. None of the customers were listening to the performers, too busy with each other or with drinking to care.

Jana watched the performers pretending to be the life of a party that only existed in their own minds. A man who was too old for the job sang a duet with a young blonde who had her eyes lined with kohl and her lips darkly painted to make them look ripe and sexy. The four-piece group backing the duet wore huge T-Shirts on which “Vadym’s Place” was painted in fluorescent Cyrillic.

It was Vadym they were waiting for.

“He is a clod,” Mikhail’s wife hissed. “An hour eating this terrible food, drinking this awful wine.” Adriana, normally very cheerful, had been happy when Mikhail suggested she accompany them to the club, but the place had an aura that made her uneasy and anxious. Vadym’s lateness was not helping. So she complained. “If he does not come in the next ten minutes, I want to go home.”

Mikhail rolled his eyes, shifting his bulk, trying to get comfortable in the cramped booth. “He will be here. He’s always late. He’s that kind of person.”

“Late!” She spit it out. “That means he’s a bad police officer.”

“My sweet, there are good police officers who are always late.” The look on her face indicated that Mikhail’s attempt to appease her had failed. He kept trying. “He is very proud of this place.”

“What kind of police officer owns a nightclub? There are whores at the bar. They must work for him.”

“Prostitution is not illegal in this wonderful country of ours. They are independent. They pay a small rental fee for the chairs. It’s good for business.”

Adriana took out her compact and began to fix her makeup, turning to Jana. “Do you remember when you two met in that school in Budapest? How we all had fun at night? Those places we went to, they were cheerful. Not like this filthy cave.” She turned back to Mikhail. “I promise you, Mikhail, I will leave here if he does not come in five minutes.”

“Vadym will come.”

“The International Law Enforcement Academy in Budapest. Good people; a good learning experience.” Jana smiled at Adriana. “And, yes, good fun. Young police officers can still have fun.”

“Budapest was a wonderful city.” Mikhail smiled, remembering. “A good place for a friendship to start.”

“I was jealous,” Adriana sniffed. Her eyes roved over to Mikhail, who looked embarrassed.

Jana shrugged. “We have always just been friends, Adriana.”

“Just friends,” echoed Mikhail.

“Good.” Adriana, satisfied, slipped her hand into one of Mikhail’s big paws. “I knew it. I just wanted to hear it.” She went back to her least favorite person of the moment. “You were in the police academy in Kiev with Vadym. You told me the instructors did not like him, Mikhail.”

“What do instructors know about who will really make a good police officer? They guess.”

“They liked you.”

Mikhail looked embarrassed again. “Vadym was always a little pompous. He would try to correct the instructors to show them how much he knew. They didn’t care for that.”

“And they didn’t like his showing up late,” Adriana added.

“That too,” Mikhail agreed.

The orchestra took its break. “Thanks to God, they are finally stopping,” Adriana muttered under her breath so she would not wound any of the performers by her criticism. Then she turned back to Mikhail, pointedly giving him his etiquette lesson for the evening. “When he arrives, if he comes at all, you will have to tell Vadym the performers were wonderful. We are not hypocrites, it’s a lie in a good cause. I don’t want any of them to lose their job because of an irritated woman’s complaint.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Mikhail agreed.

A small man, erect, looking a little like a pouter pigeon, came through the double set of winter drapes at the door, looking the place over as if he were the emperor of all he surveyed. A waiter rushed over to him, grabbing the man’s briefcase when it was tossed to him, barely managing, as the pouter pigeon shrugged off his coat, to snatch the heavy leather garment before it hit the floor.

The man walked straight to their table.

Vadym looked even more overstuffed up close. In love with himself, yes. Pompous, filled with self-importance, a preposterous little porker, yes. But, aside from the vanity he projected, his eyes showed a sly intelligence as well as impatience to get to the point. Odd, thought Jana, for a man who was perpetually late.

“I am Vadym,” he announced, then nodded at Adriana, as if regretting the energy spent on having to acknowledge her, then, with more cordiality, at Mikhail, managing to get Mikhail’s name out in greeting. He stared at Jana, patronizing and attentive at the same time. “You are the police officer from Slovakia? I am Vadym Grisko. You may call me Vadym.”

Jana stared back at him for a moment. Italian tie, expensive shoes. Too costly for a police officer who did not have an outside income. Probably graft. This nightclub itself, a part of it. She hoped he had not sold out their case already. “You may call me Jana, or Matinova, or Commander. Whatever you feel comfortable with.”

Grisko caught the irony in her voice. He stared for a second too long, wondering whether to take offense. Finally he sat, laying his briefcase on the table. Without preamble, he pulled out a number of photographs and a stack of reports that had been stapled together under a cardboard cover that bore the name “Makine, Ivan.” In capital letters, at the center of the page, was the name “KOBA.”

Grisko looked over at Mikhail while Jana examined the photographs. “You will remember what I have done for you?” Vadym was making sure that Mikhail acknowledged that he owed him now. A favor would require a favor in return.

Mikhail sighed. “I find myself always in your debt, Vadym.”

“I am a generous man.” Grisko maintained his grip on the reports, his fingertips impatiently running back and forth across their cardboard cover. “Good to see you with your wife.” He did not bother to glance at Adriana. “Have you danced together this evening?” He looked pointedly at the dance floor.

Mikhail nodded. Grisko wanted to talk to Jana without another set of ears around. Mikhail was being asked to leave. “I think that is a wonderful idea.” He turned to Adriana. “We must take advantage of the opportunity a club like this gives us, sweetheart.”

“The band is not back yet, Mikhail.”

“We have music in our hearts, my love. Who needs a band?” Adriana, suddenly comprehending, walked stiffly with Mikhail to the center of the dance floor. The two of them came together and began swaying to unheard music.

“A nice couple, don’t you think?” Grisko declared.

“Lovely.” She decided she liked the man even less. “They are good for each other.” She spread the photos in front of her on the table, then nodded at the reports Grisko was fingering. “Photographs are good, but they are much better if you have text with them.”

“I have had difficulty in obtaining these documents. Everything is in disorder. A hard place to do business, Ukraine.”

“Slovakia appreciates the effort. What is the old saying? ‘To give is to receive.’”

“I like that philosophy. Have you noticed that people, no matter how different, think the same?” He went on without waiting for her to answer. “I have a cousin.” He stared at her. “A stupid man.”

“Cousins get into trouble,” she suggested.

“Always. But one must help family.”

“True.”

“An altercation. He hit a man.”

“Cousins do that.”

“As I said, not a very bright individual. He was sentenced to three years of prison in Slovakia.”

Jana considered it thoughtfully. “A terrible place to be, prison.” If Grisko’s “cousin” had been sentenced to three years, he either had a long record, was a gangster involved in organized crime, or had injured his victim seriously. If Grisko was interested, it was probably all three. She didn’t want to put that kind of man back on the streets. “Once a man is sentenced, it is hard to bring him back. The courts generally will not allow us to do it.”

“His family is mourning their loss.” Grisko brought his hands to his eyes, bowing his head in mock grief. When he brought his head back up, he winked at her. “So we must help the whole family over this bad period. Just a small favor, not a big one.”

“Small mercies are all anyone can hope for.”

“One can only hope.” Grisko pointed at photographs, his manner becoming direct. “Interesting photos, these, particularly of the fat woman.” He slapped his hand lightly on the table for emphasis. “My cousin. He needs a change of prisons. The one he is being kept in, there are people who are also being kept there who are trying to do him injury.”

“His bad temper, again.”

“Naturally. He can be somewhat aggressive.”

“Under the circumstances, a small favor, even for an aggressive man like your cousin, is not out of order. I think this one can be arranged.”

“Wonderful. To the Czech Republic?”

The Czech Republic. The prisoner had very dangerous enemies if Grisko wanted him shipped that far. Yes, Jana thought, organized crime. Perhaps a war between factions. No other reason for a Ukrainian officer to make such a request outside of official channels. She decided to put more cards on the table. “If a man gives information to the authorities, we can possibly help in this way. I only say ‘possibly’ because you are asking us to send him to another country.”

“‘Possibly’ is not good enough.”

“It would depend on the information your cousin had.”

“Narcotics. My cousin hates narcotics and would like to put an end to the dealing in drugs.”

“Slovak authorities would welcome that.”

Grisko pulled a small envelope from his jacket pocket. “His name, prison number, and so forth. I assume you will act on it quickly?”

“No later than tomorrow.” The prison authorities would get the information from the prisoner. Grisko knew it had to be good, so there was very little doubt in Jana’s mind that the prisoner’s transfer would be worth the cost.

Grisko slid the reports over to her, confident that they had finalized their arrangement. “I like dealing with fellow police officers. We understand each other.” He pointed at the photos again. “The women we identified, all have minor criminal records. One for petty theft, another for working with a group of pickpockets. And so on and so on. They worked the tourists that came into Kiev. My guess is that all of them, including the one from Moldova, had gone into prostitution. A natural progression for ambitious young ladies looking for a profession.” He laughed at his joke. “The old fat one you showed me, the one dumped in the Danube, we know her as well.”

“She was also Ukrainian?”

“Born in Kremenchuk. But most of her activities were also here in Kiev.”

“One of our man’s passports said he was from Kremenchuk.”

“I will get to him in a minute.” Grisko was saving the best for last. “First we finish with the old woman. Also a prostitute when she was younger. She then graduated into all types of petty criminal acts. We have a lot of paper on her. The last time she was here, she was questioned about stolen vehicle sales.

“The group she was involved in was, and is, reported to be stealing cars to order, like an agency. They steal them in Western Europe: Mercedes, Peugeots, BMWs, top of the line. They then slip them over the border from the EU or Prague or Sweden or wherever, into an Eastern bloc country, go through a fraudulent sale, and, in a flash, you have legitimized ownership of the vehicle which can now be brought back to the West.