The Russian did not return his smile, but instead shook his own head. “I no need lawyer. I do nothing wrong.”
“Well, since you know so much,” Tower said, “do you know that I can hold you until I do identify you? Even if that means sending your prints back to Moscow?”
The Russian shook his head again. “No. Is America. You will set me free.”
Tower chuckled. “Hate to break this to you, pal, but that isn’t how it works. Even here in the Socialist Republic of Washington, we can hold people who commit felonies until they’re identified.”
“What is felony?”
“A crime,” Tower said. “A serious one.”
“What crime? I get scared because girl point gun at me and then men chase. You should arrest her, not me.”
“She’s a cop.”
The Russian blinked. “She is cop, this girl with gun?”
“Yep.”
He shrugged. “But I no do nothing. She is one who points gun at me. Crazy, this girl.”
“What’s your name?” Tower asked again.
The man considered, then shrugged again. “Is fine. I no do nothing wrong, so I tell you.”
“Thank you. What is it?”
The Russian drew himself up in his seat. When he spoke, his voice had a touch of pride in it. “I am Valeriy Alexandrovich Romanov.”
“Your name is Valerie?”
“Nyet. Valeriy.” He pronounced it slowly. “Vuh-LAIR-ey. You see?”
“Here in America, that’s a girl’s name.”
Romanov shrugged. “Many things different between America and my country.”
“Yeah?” Tower asked. “What do they do with rapists over there?”
“What is this word? Rapist?”
Tower raised his hand and made a circle with this thumb and forefinger. Then he lifted his middle finger and thrust it in and out of the hole he’d created.
Romanov’s eyes narrowed. “You think I try make sex on this girl?”
“Didn’t you?”
“Nyet. I no do nothing.” Romanov shook his head. “I no need to do that. I get woman when I want. Many woman.”
“Well, it ain’t about the sex, pal,” Tower told him. “It’s about other things. Like being angry at women. Or being an inadequate. You know, stuff like that.”
Romanov glared at him. “I no do nothing,” he repeated.
“If I run your name through Interpol, what will I find?” Tower asked him.
“Go find out,” Romanov told him. “I no tell you shit.”
“I’ll bet you’ve got a record over there, Valerie.”
“Valeriy,” Romanov corrected.
“I’ll bet that record will tell me a whole lot of interesting things, Valerie,” Tower continued, ignoring his correction. “I’ll bet you’ll have a whole slew of indicator crimes like weenie waving, minor assaults, the whole gamut.”
“What are these things you say?” Romanov asked. “Negavahru po angliscky. I no speak English much.”
“You understand me perfectly well.”
“Nyet.”
“How many women have you attacked here in River City, Valerie?”
“I no do noth-”
“How many did you rape?”
“Nyet. You think I do that, then you more stupid than I first think.”
Tower watched Romanov while they spoke. He knew the Russian was lying about the attempted robbery, but everything he saw told him the man was being truthful about the subject of rape.
Which I already knew, Tower thought to himself. No victim mentioned accents. None mentioned a second suspect. He was wasting his time.
“Maybe you’re right,” Tower told Romanov. “Maybe I am stupid. Maybe you aren’t a rapist. But I saw you try to steal that fanny pack.”
“Nyet. Is not true.”
“I watched you reach right out and try to take it. So did three other cops, including the ‘girl’ you tried to steal it from. Now, are you going to sit there and deny that?”
Romanov gazed back at Tower, his countenance flat. “I no do nothing,” he said.
Tower sighed and stood up. “Well, then I guess you’ll like it here in America, Valerie. Because we throw innocent people who ‘no do nothing’ into jail, too.”
The corner of Romanov’s mouth twitched into a smile. “I very scared at U.S. jails,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “So much worse than Russia.”
Tower waited a moment longer, but could think of nothing to say, so he turned and left the room.
2310 hours
Katie sat in the women’s locker room, her leg propped up on the long bench that ran down the center of the aisle. Her locker stood open, a calendar depicting a lighthouse displayed on the inside door.
I’d like to be there right now, she thought. Yaquina Head Lighthouse, on the coast of Oregon. Surrounded by fog. The smell of salt water in the air. A brisk wind making you glad that the door to the lighthouse was so close.
Of course, she probably couldn’t climb the stairs right now with her throbbing quadriceps. She kneaded the bunched muscle and grimaced in pain. She’d trained in defensive tactics ever since the academy. That repertoire of kicks included one very similar to what the Russian suspect had used on her — a hard, low blast to the quadriceps. Although she’d taken those shots in training, it had never been full force. Usually, she knew it was coming and had time to turn her leg or retract it defensively. There’d been soreness, but never the kind of cramping, pulsating pain this kick had wrought.
A loud knock came at the locker room door. A moment later, the door nudged open a crack.
“All females decent in there?”
Katie grinned. The gravelly voice of Thomas Chisolm always made her feel better. “It’s all clear,” she called back.
The door swung open. Thomas Chisolm strode into the room. He spied Katie in her gym shorts and averted his eyes. “Jesus, MacLeod, you didn’t tell me you were half-naked.”
“Don’t be such a prude. They’re workout shorts.”
Chisolm kept his head turned, but stole a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. “All right, then. I’m just a stranger to what goes on in the women’s locker room. Never know what to expect.”
“Oh, it’s pretty much what all you guys imagine,” Katie said. “When we’re not standing around naked and rubbing lotion on ourselves, it’s a big lesbian love-fest.”
“Save that for Giovanni,” Chisolm said. “Or Sully and Battaglia. They might just believe you.” He looked around. “It is nice in here, though.”
“You want the full tour?”
Chisolm shook his head. “Nah. I didn’t come to compare digs.” He reached into his back pocket and removed a small jar. “I brought you some magic juice.”
Katie squinted at him. “Magic what?”
Chisolm approached and swung his leg over the bench, straddling it at her feet. “Sully said you took a hard kick to the leg?”
Katie pressed her lips together. “Yeah, so?” She wondered if the two of them were yukking it up over the girl getting her ass kicked. Well, at least she hadn’t let the guy get away in a foot pursuit.
Chisolm pointed to her propped leg. “This one?”
Katie nodded.
Chisolm settled onto the bench. He twisted the top off the small container and dug his first two fingers inside. When he removed them, his fingers were coated in a thick gel.
“What is that?” she asked him.
“I told you,” Chisolm said with a grin. “It’s magic juice. Now, where did that bastard kick you?”
Katie shook her head. “No way, Tom. You’re not putting that stuff on me. Not without telling me what it is.”
“Calf or quad?”
“Quad,” Katie said, “but what the hell is that?”
Chisolm fixed her with an amused look. “You don’t believe in magic, MacLeod?”
“No.”
“How about secret medicine?”
“No.”
“Wow.” Chisolm motioned toward her quadriceps. “Does it hurt?”
“Yeah,” she admitted.
“Throbs? Tries to cramp up?”
“Both.”
Chisolm proffered his gooey fingers to her. “That’s what the magic juice is for.”