CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
“It wasn’t me.”
“Then who?”
“Do you believe me?” I said.
“If you tell me, of course,” said Tolya, but I could see he didn’t believe me, not completely.
“Will they believe me at home?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who, Artyom?”
“Grisha Curtis. You were right, it began in London, you can get anything here, buy anyone.”
The housekeeper came in with a tray of drinks, but Tolya shook his head.
“I must go,” said Tolya, barely reacting to the information about Grisha. “We all travel too much now,” he said. “Russians feel they have to keep moving or somebody might take this right away again,” he added. “Don’t worry, I’m okay,” he added, but it was hard for him to talk and he caught his breath constantly the way you might catch your clothing on a thorn.
“You should eat.”
“It’s all right. I’ve had everything,” said Tolya. “I’ve had my share,” he added. “I’ve had all the good things.” He left the room again, and I listened to the music until he came back, carrying a black raincoat and a small bag.
I asked him again where he was going.
“Where is Curtis? Is he in Moscow?”
“I don’t know. You’re going after him?”
“What do you think, Artyom? To Moscow?”
“Probably, yes,” I said, and regretted it as soon as I did. In that instant I knew Tolya would go after, him and in Moscow Tolya would be in bad trouble.
“What else?”
“Curtis knows I have stuff on him, he knows I got it from his office, that I can make the connection that he hired this Terenti creep to kill Val, and Terenti got it wrong and killed Masha by mistake, and then Grisha took over. He knows I can make the connection to Valentina. I think he was furious when this Terenti shit got the wrong girl and killed Val himself. If he went to Moscow it’s because the Russians won’t let the Brits extradite, he probably thinks he’s safe there.”
“I see.”
“Do you?”
“Then he killed her twice, once with the Polonium, the second time because he suddenly thought about her suffering horribly, and so he suffocated her and laid her nicely on the bed. And I believed it was you. Oh God,” said Tolya. “I want you to stay here for a little while, please. To be safe. I’ll call you as soon as it’s safe.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’ll call you.”
I ran out of the house and caught him near the car. He was bent over, trying to catch some air, to get a breath. I took his hand.
“What’s the matter with you, what’s wrong?” I put my hand on his shoulder.
“It’s nothing,” he said. “I’m just tired.”
“Where’s he going?”
“He didn’t tell me,” Larry said. “He asked me to go to New York to look after things there for him.”
“I thought Fiona said you were in danger, that you should have already left England, wasn’t that it, what happened?”
“I didn’t go,” said Larry. “I had to be where Tolya could find me if he needed me. I’m not such a coward as you might think, Artie. But now I’ll go to New York for him. And you must stay here. He said if you went to New York now, there would be questions about Val’s death.”
“Is he going to Moscow? He shouldn’t go to Moscow, it will be bad for him. He’ll act crazy.”
“I can’t stop him. Look, I’m going to have to leave myself,” said Larry. “Do you need any money?”
“I don’t know. Yes.”
“Then just take it.” He held out a wad of cash. “Anything else I should know? I might be able to help.”
I told him I beat up a creep near Moscow Road with a gun.
“God, Artie. That means your prints are in Valentina’s room in New York, and also on some creep in London. Did you kill him?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll make some calls. Chances are it was just a hood nobody will give a fuck about. Was he black?”
“No.”
“Islamic?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“If he was Islamic, you’d be in better shape. The cops here personally feel one less is a better thing. It doesn’t matter. But they’re not crazy about guns here, at least not officially, and there’s only so much I can do, so just stay put, right? Just a few days. Don’t make calls. Don’t take any.”
“What about Fiona Colquhoun?”
“What about her?”
“She’ll wonder where I am.”
“I’ll let her know as much as I can.”
“How well do you know her?” I asked Larry.
“We’re friends,” he said.
“How good?”
“Good enough. It’s fine. You don’t need to know anything else about it, just stay here, Artie, okay? Just stay until we know it’s okay for you to go home to New York.”
“Until when?”
“Until I call you. I’m on your side, you know.”
I stayed overnight at Larry’s. I swam in his pool. I tried to sleep. I knew that Tolya had followed Grisha Curtis to Moscow. But I had seen the look on his face when I told him I thought Curtis had killed Valentina and had then gone to Moscow. Tolya had nothing else to lose, I knew if he found Grisha, he would hurt him, or kill him.
In spite of what Larry said, I had to know. I tried Tolya on half a dozen numbers. For two days, I worked the phone. But he had vanished.
It was true, I was in bad fucking trouble, my prints on a gun I had used in London. My prints all over Valentina’s room. My pictures were in her room, or had been.
I thought about calling Fiona. I knew I was on the edge, dancing at the very edge of an open manhole cover and I could fall into the sewer. Fiona Colquhoun had access and I trusted her, more or less. I gave it one more day. For one day, I’d go quiet. Maybe two.
I stopped answering e-mails. I turned off my cellphone. I bought a pay-as-you-go phone and gave Fiona the number but nobody else.
Stay out of London, she said. I felt crazy from waiting. I swam in Larry’s pool, I swam so much, my skin wrinkled. In a shop in the little village near Larry Sverdloff’s house, I picked up a couple of books, one or two spy novels, and sat in the pub reading, drinking a little beer, keeping to myself.
In spy novels, in the Bourne movies, that kind of stuff, guys always leave false traces; they use different names; they have extra passports and money in Swiss banks.
I thought about moving into some remote hotel, but they’d ask for my passport. At night I went through the papers I had taken from Grisha’s office, following the dates, the e-mails, working out when he had been in America.
By Wednesday, two days after I’d seen Tolya, I was going nuts. The weather had turned hot and outside the pub, a couple of boys kicked a football around. I walked back to Larry’s, and on the way I called Fiona Colquhoun from a public payphone. From inside the red box I watched an old lady bicycle past.
Fiona told me to wait for her near the village post office, and half an hour later, her green Mini pulled up.
“Grisha Curtis is gone, we think he’s in Russia, as you probably guessed” she said. “The last we have on him is his buying a ticket. We don’t know if he boarded the plane, but we have to assume it. We have our people in Moscow on it. You always believed he killed Valentina Sverdloff?”
“Yes.”
“But now you’re sure.”
“Yes. He hired a thug to do it who messed up and killed another girl, Masha, and when Grisha saw how he butchered her, he had to kill Valentina himself. He couldn’t stand the idea of Val ending up like Masha, wrapped in duct tape, left in a playground.”