Woman Chased by Crows (54 page)

According to Mikhael Tomashevsky, Dr. Lorena Wisneski did have a doctorate in psychiatric medicine from Vienna, although since psychiatry was still held in low regard by many bureaucrats in Moscow, it was not listed as part of her credentials at the Ministry of Culture. Dr. Wisneski explained that an understanding of the criminal mind was a useful weapon in her arsenal, along with her doctorates in art history, archeology, certificates in gemology, restoration and her command of six languages. Until 2003 she had been one of the most respected reclamation operatives in the field, responsible for the return of hundreds of items looted during the Second World War. And then she disappeared.

“She appears to have done it again.”

“So it would seem, Chief Brennan.”

“And at the time she disappeared she was on the trail of this ruby specifically?”

“Well, initially of course she was searching for the missing cross of the Empress Feodorovna. Among its most valuable components were the four large Kashmiri sapphires, three of which I believe have been accounted for, a large number of diamonds, most of them sold or lost over the years and, of course, a ninety-seven-carat stone worth as much as anyone who lusts after such things would be willing to pay. Ten million, twenty, thirty, it doesn't matter. It would be worth it to a government that believed it had a justifiable claim to the ruby.”

“Who would that be?”

“I can think of at least three. India, Pakistan, Iran. But one might get bids from Myanmar, China, who knows? Perhaps even England, although I'm not sure they'd care to spend that much money. The stone has passed through so many hands in its travels, and since it was usually stolen before it made its next stop, a claim could be made and even substantiated by a number of governments. And they wouldn't have to hide it. They could proudly declare that one of their great treasures had been successfully recovered.”

“And the person who recovered it?”

“Would have done a great service, would be handsomely rewarded and no doubt set for life in a very comfortable sanctuary.”

Adele drove into Dockerty from the east end, just for the hell of it, and because she wanted the extra ten minutes that avoiding 35 and coming up 11 added to the trip. Not that the extra time was going to answer any questions about O'Grady's murder, but it did give her a chance to finish the sack of Twizzlers she had in her glove compartment before showing up in “Dockerville.” Hey, what d'ya know, there's the 7-Eleven. How lame is that? I'm visiting this burg so much I'm starting to know my way around. Fuck gas and mileage, cheaper to just move here. Her cellphone started jangling. She swallowed the last wad of red rubbery goodness before answering. “Yeah, what? I'm here, Stace, I'm turning the corner right now.”

Stacy was waiting outside the station. She waved Adele to the curb and climbed in. “Make a U-turn. Got a break and enter.”

“Oh yeah? Who got robbed?”

“Nobody, yet.
We're
doing the B&E. The shrink's office.”

“We are? Cool.” Adele got them headed in the right direction. “Horrible thing? I actually know how to get there.” Stacy was picking a Twizzler off the floor mat. “Darn! Missed one. Well, it's no good now. Stick it in the glove compartment.” She made a left onto Evangeline. “I'll wipe it off later.” The glove compartment held an assortment of traveller's rations: Cheetos, beer nuts, half a Snickers bar. Stacy laid the red whip on top of the Cheetos bag and closed the lid. “Hey, you never know,” Adele said, “a person could get caught in a blizzard and then where'd you be?”

“Up the creek, definitely.”

“So? Wanna give me a hint? We looking for anything in particular?”

“We're looking for her. Where she went, what she's driving, where she took our dancer.”

“She scooped her?”

“Or she went willingly. Don't know. One of our constables spotted Zubrovskaya getting into a car near the bus station. Don't have a plate number, don't have a positive
ID
on the driver except our guy says she had a bandage on her head. Car was a dark blue
GM
product. Unfortunately the doctor drives a Honda.”

“What about her hubby?”

“Ford pickup. He's moved out of the marital house. Could be anywhere.”

Adele pulled into the parking lot beside the two-storey Evangeline Medical Centre. “We got a warrant or anything?”

“I've got a credit card. You got anything better than that?”

“Check under the beer nuts. Lockpicks. Black zipper bag. Not kosher, but I'm always losing my house keys.”

She was in a barn. She knew it was a barn. She could smell straw, she could hear the echo of pigeons cooing high above. She hoped they'd aim their droppings at the scarf tied over her head. The Hermès scarf. She should have picked up on that right away when Lorna came into the studio wearing it. She had seen it once before. It belonged to Sergei. He will be furious if it's ruined by bird shit. It would serve him right. And to think she almost had warm feelings for him the previous evening. Well, if not
warm
feelings, at least she hadn't been filled with loathing when the two policewomen brought him in. Her own fault. So sure that she was finally in control of events, directing the situation, driving things to a conclusion of her own choosing. She had forgotten the most important rules: never let your guard down. Trust no one.

And she was paying for her stupidity. The crows had won.

“I always thought they would send a man.”

“I am not a killer.” Lorna's voice was the same as it used to be in her office, calm rational, dispassionate, understanding.

“And yet here you are, prepared to kill me. Who are you? Who employs you?”

“Does it really matter?”

“Moscow?”

“At one time.”

“And now?”

“And now we don't have a lot of time, Anya. I tried to do this the soft way. The others who came after you over the years were crude, and ultimately unsuccessful. I hoped that I could gain your trust.”

“Ha. You did. I got into your car without a second thought. I think it was when you cried in my studio. And then that wicked cat sat in your lap. I should have known better.”

“Just give it back and it will all be over.”

“You guarantee that, do you?”

“Of course. I don't want to kill you, I never wanted to kill anyone.”

“Is it necessary for me to wear this thing over my head? I do not know where I am, and I already know who you are. What point does it serve?” She heard a hollow clumping noise. Someone was leaving. Then, after a silent moment, the scarf was untied and lifted from her eyes. She was in a small room inside a big room, a space like a stall, or a storage area. There was straw on the floor and rusted things hanging from rusted nails along one wall. The barn boards were loosely fitted and thin shafts of light entered from behind and above. She was tied to a wooden chair. Lorna was standing in front of her. “Why did Sergei have to leave? I already know what he looks like.” Lorna didn't answer. “Oh, of course. How silly of me. It
wasn't
Sergei.”

It took Adele just a few seconds to pop the lock. “Smooth,” Stacy said.

“Shit, I could open one of these with a dirty look. Can't be much worth stealing.” The door swung open. The place was bare. “Or much of anything.”

Stacy stepped into the place. “Definitely cleared out.”

They split up, made a search of outer office, inner office, washroom, closet, and came together in the middle of the main room. “Gonzo,” said Adele. “Totally. Last time
I
moved I left enough crap behind the Three Stooges could've tracked me down. What's next?”

“House.”

“I'll need directions.”

It was Constable Charles Maitland who had spotted Anya Zubrovskaya getting into a car outside the bus station. He had waved to her but she hadn't seen him, and as he was busy writing a ticket for a car with one wheel on the curb in a well-marked no-parking zone, he hadn't waved a second time. When he learned that the Chief was concerned about Anya's whereabouts, he reported in that he'd spotted her driving away but was unable to furnish a plate number. These facts nagged at him all through his lunch break until he remembered the couple whose car he'd cited for the lousy and illegal parking job crossed the street to yell at him for sticking the ticket under their wiper blade. They claimed that they'd only been there for a few minutes while seeing the wife's parents off. By that time Maitland had already written the ticket and couldn't do anything about it. He did say that they had the option of appealing the citation in traffic court, a suggestion that was met with overt hostility. It was while mulling over these events that it occurred to him that the couple in question, a Mr. and Mrs. Amos Wallace, had been taking pictures of Mrs. Wallace's parents prior to their departure and that the parents were posed with their backs to the street. Constable Maitland further remembered that at the same moment the pictures were being taken, Anya Zubrovskaya was getting into a dark blue Chevy Malibu and driving away. There was a chance, a slim chance to be sure, but a chance nonetheless that the Wallaces had a picture of the car in question.