“You have been there many times?” asked Iris.
“Sometimes Daniel wanted one of us to visit him,” Olga said. “He liked me as I am now, not as Svetlana. He treated me gently. He treated us all gently.”
“You found him,” Elena said.
“Yes,” said Olga. “He was. . He had been. . I do not know. Violated.”
“Daniel Volkovich had been stabbed at least twelve times and his throat cut,” said Elena.
Olga closed her eyes tightly and bit her lower lip. She made a small, clipped whimper and shook her head. The blond waitress returned with four coffees and a full hot pot, which she placed gently on an ornately decorated stone trivet. The waitress looked at Olga and then retreated through the door to the kitchen.
“Tell them who owns the black car with the little flag,” said Elena gently.
“Pavel Petrov,” said Olga. “He sat in the back each of the four times I saw the car. He sat in the back behind closed and tinted windows while the two men terrorized us. I saw him when the light hit the car windows just right. I saw him. I saw him today. He was reading a newspaper. The two men were murdering Daniel and he sat reading a newspaper. And if they had gotten to me, I would be cut to pieces like Daniel and he would sit there reading the newspaper. Arrest him. I will tell you everything I know. Arrest him and get me out of Moscow.”
“It will not work,” Sasha said. “She saw no murder taking place, and even if she did, she is a prostitute. Her testimony is worth little. He will not be convicted in any court.”
“Not in court perhaps,” said Iris, “but I can certainly convict him in print. Remember, I have an interview with Pavel in less than two hours. I will put the needle to him and record his confessions.”
“He will kill you,” said Olga.
“No,” said Iris. “I have the police to protect me.”
She patted the hand of Sasha, which rested on the table.
Olga Grinkova tried to pick up her coffee with both hands, but they refused to cooperate. She put the cup back down and said again, “He will kill you.”
Nine police officers, including Iosef Rostnikov and Akardy Zelach, entered the small apartment of Vera Korstov ready for whatever might come from Ivan Medivkin. The blue-uniformed officers, one of them a woman, carried stun guns, electric riot batons, and heavy rubber truncheons. Iosef Rostnikov and Akardy Zelach were unarmed.
Iosef had knocked at the door and announced loudly that the door should be opened immediately. The door had not been opened immediately. Two of the uniformed police threw their shoulders against the door, which opened abruptly with a shattering of wood.
There was no one in the tiny living room/kitchen area and no one in the bedroom. There was, however, a note in small penciled words:
Vera, I cannot stay. It is torture to pace these floors waiting. I am calling someone who will help. It is better you not know who. I will come back to you when this nightmare ends.
“How far can a giant run without being seen?” asked Iosef.
None of the police had an answer.
“Shall we check every apartment in the building?” the highest-ranking of the uniformed police asked.
“Yes,” said Iosef, looking at the note one more time before folding it and tucking it into his jacket pocket.
Armed and very dangerous, the uniformed police hurried out of the apartment.
Iosef and Zelach could hear the high-ranking officer calling out orders for two people to check all exits and entrances from the building and to secure them. The other four began their apartment-by-apartment search while Iosef and Zelach went down the stairwell and out the front door just as one of the policemen was about to secure it.
On the way into the building, they had seen people on the lone patch of green and under the only tree within sight. This was not a day to be enjoying nature. A fast-rushing rivulet of melting slush ran along the curb on both sides of the street.
Iosef and Zelach approached the people, who were all in yellow sweatpants and sweatshirts except for one old Chinese man who appeared to be leading them in some kind of slow-moving dance.
“Have you seen a giant come out of that building this morning?” asked Iosef.
The old man in blue looked ancient now. His head was bald and dotted with meandering blue veins. He was clean-shaven and smiling. He was in the middle of a movement of legs and hands as he gently urged his extended right hand upward, palm forward. The others were mirroring the old man’s moves.
The old man closed his eyes, dropped his hands at his sides, and bowed his head smoothly forward and back.
“A giant?” the man in blue said.
His look was one of incredulity. He turned toward the people in front of him and said, “Have any of you seen a giant?”
They all shook their heads no except for a woman in the group, who said, “Yes,” so softly that it almost escaped without notice.
“You saw the giant?” Iosef asked the woman.
“Yes. He came out of that building.”
She pointed to the building in which Vera Korstov lived.
“Where did he go?” asked Iosef.
“He got into the car that was waiting for him,” the woman said. “Then the car drove off.”
“What kind of car was it?” asked Iosef.
“Blue,” said the old man.
“Green, definitely green,” said another man. “I saw it clearly. One of those little tiny cars.”
“It was a large dark red car with a significant dent in the left rear fender,” said the old man with calm finality.
“Thank you,” Iosef said with only slightly disguised insincerity. “You have been very helpful.”
As he turned to go back to the apartment building to tell the others that a search was unnecessary, he saw Zelach pause, put his feet together, roll his shoulders forward, and place his open palms against each other pointing skyward. Then Zelach bowed his head slowly. All of the sweat-suited people returned the gesture. It was brief. Zelach and the people exchanged a small smile.
As they walked back toward the apartment building, Iosef said, “What was that?”
“The bow is a sign of respect,” said Zelach. “A sign that you are giving up self-importance.”
Iosef shook his head and grinned.
“Akardy Zelach, you are probably the least self-important human I have ever known.”
“It is good to remind oneself.”
“How do you know this?” Iosef asked as they walked.
“My mother and I used to do tai chi exercises three times a week. We did it since I was eight years old. She is not well enough to do it anymore. She insists that I do it without her, but I do it with an empty heart.”
Now they were standing at the curb, more or less where the car had picked up Ivan Medivkin. There was nothing there to see. Iosef looked back at the Chinese man and the others, who had returned to their graceful slow movements. Iosef could not imagine Zelach doing this, but Zelach was not lying. In fact, Akardy Zelach was the worst liar Iosef had ever known.
“Akardy, you are a fountain of confounding information and new revelations. Now if you could only tell me what color that car was. .”
“It was a large dark red car,” Zelach said as they stepped onto the sidewalk.
“The Chinese man is the only one who got it right?”
“Yes. He is the only one both focused and seeing everything around him.”
Iosef looked back at the Chinese man. His eyes were closed as he moved his arms and hands gently and brought his left leg slowly forward with his foot not touching the ground.
“He is looking at us now?”
“Yes,” said Zelach.
“With his eyes closed?”
“He senses and sees,” said Zelach, looking across the street at the man about whom they were speaking.