Traffyck (12 page)

Fingers touched lightly between her legs on the surface of her shorts. She pulled at the restraints and screamed mutely into the gag. The touch at her crotch withdrew.

“You think you know what we want, Natasha?” asked the man to the right, his face close, his breath smelling like stale bread. “You do not. We simply want discussion.”

A hand slid beneath her head, lifted her head gently from the floor of the van as the man to her right came closer. She could feel his arm and shoulder. He cradled her, kneeling over her, the gentleness more horrifying than if he would have slapped her.

The man continued, his breath warm in her ear. “This concerns your husband’s death, Mariya. We require you to admit it was accidental. In God’s world, it might not be considered accidental, but here it is. Do you understand?”

He rocked her head up and down, making her nod.

“Imagine children snatched from streets, fed drugs, and no longer able to return home. Your husband was one of those who took advantage, and now he has been punished.”

She shook her head. Not Viktor! Not Viktor, who said they might someday have a child! But the man grasped the hair at the back of her head and made her nod in agreement.

“Yes,” he said, his voice becoming angry. “It’s true! He was one of many who make a living trafficking children. We cannot allow you to undo God’s vengeance. We cannot allow you to use a Gypsy to create untruths. If you do this, you will harm yourself. Your husband will still be dead, and you will create the additional burden of others knowing what your husband was. It is best to let it go as it is and dwell in the cottage where one keeps silent.”

He let her head drop to the floor and backed away. Then he said, “Let us pray, Mariya. God will show you the way. Let us bow our heads and pray.”

It was silent for a long time. During the silence, she recalled Viktor saying similar words when they first met: God’s will and God showing him the way. She remembered at first thinking he was joking. A man who owns an adult video store speaking about God and retribution and sin? Finally, there were the dreams, Viktor talking in his sleep.
Before God’s fellowship lowers in final judgment of the children, I pledge
.

Hands at her ankles startled her. They were unharnessing her ankles. Would they let her go? She had been warned, and they would let her go!

But they did not let her go. Instead, the two of them left her arms strapped and held her down while they pulled off her riding shorts before re-strapping her ankle restraints.

Something touched her pubic hair, and the man between her legs giggled. Whatever had touched her pubic hair pulled back.

The man to her right said, “We must be certain you understand our message, Mariya.”

The man between her legs said, “We have something to help you remember. I found him in the weeds, and I have been saving him for you. He is a symbol of Satan. I will simply place him here and release him. Do not rush, little creature.”

Mother of God! No!

She pulled at the straps, lifted herself from the floor of the van, held herself up as long as she could until the man to her right pressed her down and said, “It is God’s will, Mariya. Whatever happens is God’s will.”

CHAPTER
NINE

Janos found Svetlana in the hallway at Kiev Headquarters Investigative Division. Although it had not been long since he’d seen her, she looked different—upswept hair, thinner, wearing slacks and jacket instead of a skirt.

“It must be the hair, Janos, because no matter how hard I try, the scale does not lie. Perhaps it is the outfit. Wearing a skirt in militia investigations was becoming difficult.”

“You look wonderful, Svetlana.”

“Thank you. And how is Kim Novak? I judged she is about your age.”

“Who?”

“Mariya Nemeth. I saw the Alfred Hitchcock film
Vertigo
some time ago on satellite. Mariya Nemeth reminds me of Kim Novak.”

“I will need to take a film appreciation course. Were you able to check the license?”

Two uniformed militiamen squeezed past, obviously staring back at Svetlana as they walked down the hallway. “Yes. Let’s get out of the hallway.”

They sat at one end of a long table in an empty meeting room. Svetlana took a slip of paper from her jacket pocket and handed it to him. “The car belongs to Metro Vehicle Rental near Borispol Airport.”

He took the slip from Svetlana and put it in his pocket. “Thank you.”

Something was wrong. Instead of joking, she stared at him seriously.

“What is it, Svetlana?”

She folded her hands, looked down at them. “You and me, Gypsy. I have a friend—”

“Anyone I know?”

“He works in the House of Government.”

“Politician?”

“Low in the chain of command, but he is honest and I like him.”

“Are you sure?”

She put her hand on his. “Yes, Janos. I am sure. I enjoyed last year in the Carpathians, and the rest of it.”

She stood, her eyes watery, and walked out of the room. The slacks hugging her legs reminded him of the night in camp. For a moment, he heard a violin crying to the moon as Svetlana danced upon the table. Then he stood and went to see Nikolai Kozlov.

Nikolai Kozlov was short, with a receding hairline and plump cheeks. His smile made him look like a food market worker. Kozlov was a necessary evil, the man a chief investigator keeps around to put on cases not to be solved.

Janos sat across the desk from Kozlov. He felt melancholy after being dumped by Svetlana. The finality of it, and the fact Svetlana felt it necessary to tell him about her new man, affected him more than he expected. A Gypsy breaking camp, leaving his spoils behind, never knowing how much he will miss her until she leaves…

“So, what can I do for you, Janos?”

“The video store case, the one that burned down—”

“The case did not burn down. The video store did.”

“I am not here to meddle in your investigation, Nikolai. You, as a professional, should know this. To be honest, Viktor Patolichev’s widow asked me to check some things. So, if we could discuss the case—”

Kozlov’s smile widened. “Very little to discuss. I received the arson report this morning. The fire was started with gasoline ignited at the same location the two bodies were found, inside the back room near the BMW. Patolichev wanted to burn down his business, and your friend Aleksandr Vasilievich Shved walked in on him. Perhaps they fought over the gasoline can. We can never know the details when the bodies are burned to crisp bacon.”

“What was Shved doing there?”

Nikolai gave him a conspiratorial look. “I’ve speculated, but it seems to be coincidence. I believe Shved was there as a customer.”

“Aleksandr Vasilievich Shved purchasing dirty movies?”

“We found films hidden in his office. He was what one would call a closet voyeur.”

“This is unbelievable, Nikolai.”

Kozlov reached out and patted Janos’ arm. “My friend, it is sometimes like this.”

Janos wanted to shove Kozlov’s hand away and tell him to go to hell. But he remained calm, at least on the surface.

“Are you certain there’s no evidence Shved might have been taken there?”

“After he was dead?”

“Dead, alive, knocked out.”

“No evidence whatsoever.”

“Was his car there?”

“Yes, down the street. We have it impounded.”

“Can I see what was in it?”

Kozlov leaned back in his chair. “You know I would need permission for this, Janos.”

“So, I am asking, Nikolai. Permission should be granted because he was my friend and I might have information relevant to the case.”

Kozlov looked annoyed. “The case is clear. Patolichev started the fire after increasing his insurance.”

Janos must have looked angry, because Kozlov waved a hand at him and stood up. “But I will speak with the chief investigator. Do you want to stay here?”

“Yes. I need to make some calls.”

Kozlov reached out, turned his desk phone around, and smiled like a fool. “Here, Janos, use my phone.”

But after Kozlov left the office, Janos did not use the phone. Not right away anyhow. All he could think about was that Shved was dead and he was alive. Several years back, when they were still in the militia, he and Shved had faced death together. Shved had saved his life, taking two bullets meant for him. And now, here he was in the same building, down the hall from the office he and Shved shared when they were in the militia.

The phone rang six times before Mariya Nemeth’s voice said to leave a message. Her voice was businesslike, noncommittal, but sensual as he visualized her sitting across from him in the airport lounge. Four o’clock, and she was still out.
She is a very serious bicycle rider
, the old man next door had said.

Janos hung up without leaving a message and called his office, the new one in north Podil where he’d moved before leaving on his disappearing-act vacation. He pressed the code and listened while the recorder played back messages of the last few days. One of the divorce cases he thought had ended was back, Mrs. Knezevkov complaining that Mr. Knezevkov was cheating. A few new prospects recommended by old clients had called. The neighborhood watch committee in south Podil wanted him to investigate the dump site again, saying they were certain they saw a truck drive in at night to unload. Nothing much at all except numerous blank spots where someone called and did not leave a message. Too many to ignore, especially for an investigator with glass in his butt. He decided he would stay away from his office and apartment a while longer and use the camper van parked at a secluded campground fifty kilometers southwest of the city.

After Janos finished copying down his messages, he called Arkady Listov, the Darnytsya investigator who recommended Mariya contact him.

“Listov here.”

“Arkady, this is Janos Nagy.”

“Ah, the Gypsy.”

“Yes, Arkady. I spoke with Mariya Nemeth this morning and need to follow up.”

There was a pause before Listov answered in a lowered voice. “I knew Mariya’s husband. She thinks someone murdered Viktor … the same ones who bomb female clinics. I mentioned your name to her because I know you are interested in Father Rogoza from the Moscow Patriarchate.”

“Or he is interested in me. Was it Mariya Nemeth’s idea or your idea to contact me, Arkady?”

“She saw an article about you, a reprint from the Rogoza story and links to bombings. Mariya believes the fire is related. Where did you get your information, Janos?”

“An informant.”

“Do you trust him?”

“Him or her.”

“Janos, my friend, do you trust this man, woman, or child? Accusing clergy is serious. Expropriating church funds is one thing, but murder is quite something else.”

“I trust my informant. Can we get back to my questions?”

“Of course,” said Listov, lowering his voice again. “But if it’s about Viktor Patolichev, I’d rather speak in person. How about tomorrow at lunch? Meet me here at noon.”

“Fine, noon. And Arkady?”

“Yes.”

“This meeting is between you and me.”

“Of course. After your bombing, I certainly understand. To make it more convenient, I’ll be at the front entrance at exactly noon. You can pick me up at the curb.”

After he hung up with Listov, Janos tried Mariya Nemeth’s number again. There was still no answer, and he imagined how she must look, with her blond hair blowing in the wind.