Larissa manoeuvred herself next to Danilov and separate from the others as they walked from the restaurant to the car. ‘We’re going to need somewhere to live, aren’t we?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘One of the receptionists knows of an apartment that’s becoming vacant soon, out in Tatarovo: her sister’s getting married. Shall we look at it?’
Danilov felt a sink of uncertainty at making a positive commitment. ‘If you like.’
‘What would you like? You don’t sound very enthusiastic!’
‘We’ll look at it,’ he said, more positively.
‘We’ll need to bribe, because we’re not on the housing list,’ said Larissa, matter-of-factly. ‘I’ll ask my friend how much she thinks it will cost.’
Danilov guessed from her familiar entry that the Nightflight had been the club to which Kosov had taken Olga, while he was in Washington: Kosov was greeted with the recognition he enjoyed and allocated a table at once. Because Olga did not dance there was no problem about the number of times he did, with Larissa. She was excited about the apartment, which was large by Russian standards, with two bedrooms as well as a lounge: Danilov thought it sounded expensive. Olga believed she saw some of Kosov’s friends from the earlier visit but they made no greeting and he said nothing, so she decided she was mistaken. Cowley danced twice, for politeness, with Larissa, but spent some time circulating around the club more than was really necessary, looking at a lot of girls. Lena was not among them. There were a lot of men in suits that shone, smoking Marlboros: as they probably owned the Mercedes and BMWs outside, they wouldn’t need to keep the packs to attract a cab. They ended the evening with renewed promises to go out again soon: Danilov initiated the discussion.
He had to wait until Olga went to bed back at Kirovskaya before he could telephone Cowley, as they had arranged.
‘Where?’ asked the American.
‘The smaller one, with the magnetic base, behind the telephone mounting on the dashboard. The other on the seat strut.’
‘Now it all depends on American electronic technology,’ said Cowley.
‘And Kosov talking a lot,’ added Danilov.
He did.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
They were surprised, although they shouldn’t have been, that the recording started from the moment Danilov attached the microphones on their way to the U Pirosmani, making the initial intercept that of themselves, as well. Everyone sounded drunk after the nightclub, although Danilov and Cowley certainly hadn’t been. There was a lot of Olga’s nervous, please-agree-with-me laughter. Within minutes of Larissa and Kosov being alone, on their way home, Larissa described Olga as dumpy, with hopeless dress sense, and wondered why Danilov stayed with her, which Danilov despised her for saying. Kosov insisted Danilov and Cowley had hopelessly mishandled the murder investigation from the beginning, so that it was now a lost case: that was obvious from the way the American looked, like shit. Danilov smiled: Cowley didn’t.
The clarity of the recording was good that night – Cowley thought it might have been because it was at night – but deteriorated afterwards. It was frustratingly intermittent the following day, when Kosov was alone, but almost at once encouraging. The initial deafening American jazz prevented their hearing the beginning: by the time Kosov turned the music system off, the car-phone exchange had begun. Even then things were lost, entire sentences broken or too faded, even when they wound the tape back and tried again with the volume at maximum.
Kosov began the exchange, from which they assumed he had initiated the call. If there had been any greeting, it was lost in the few seconds before the music was turned off. There was no identification.
‘… thought you’d be interested.’
‘… have been dangerous,’ responded the fainter voice. ‘ You tell him? ’
‘ Made it clear,’ said Kosov.
There was a rumble of static. The only audible word was understood ; the tone made it a question.
‘ Course he understood,’ assured Kosov. It was cocky, I’m-on-top-of-everything talk.
The static recurred, losing at least an entire sentence from whomever Kosov was talking to. The next voice was Kosov’s. ‘ Other ways? ’
‘… shouldn’t interfere…’ came from the other end, with abrupt clarity.
‘… It’s their job! ’ Kosov’s remark was greeted with guffawed laughter from both ends.
‘… want… wrong…’
‘ Nothing will go wrong,’ came Kosov’s voice, enabling the demand to which he was responding to be inferred. It was an eager-to-please assurance, like Olga’s pitter patter laughter, earlier.
The reception was suddenly so good they had to turn the volume down. ‘ You sure you can get there? ’
‘ Quite sure.’
Danilov moved to speak but Cowley shook his head against the interruption.
‘ How’s the car? ’
‘ Fantastic.’
‘ We want it to work. And I don’t mean the car.’
‘ I’ve told you it will! ’
‘ Think of the car: the sort of gratitude there’ll be.’
‘ Don’t need to think. I know.’
‘ We’re relying on you. Yevgennie Grigorevich.’
Danilov nodded to Cowley, at the introduction of an identifiable name.
‘ I wouldn’t have thought you needed confirmation by now.’
‘ We always want confirmation. Three people are dead because we wanted confirmation.’
The silence was so long both Cowley and Danilov thought there had been a complete break. Then Kosov said: ‘ You didn’t need to say that .’
‘ Don’t take it personally.’
‘ What other way is there to take it? ’
‘ You’re being melodramatic.’
‘ I told you it’s all going to work! ’ Kosov’s voice was subdued.
‘ I heard you.’
‘ We’ll go on using this line.’
‘ If that’s what you think is best.’
‘ Safest,’ said Kosov, finding a better word. ‘ Anything else for us to talk about? ’
‘ Just do what you’ve got to.’
‘ What about the rest of it? ’
‘ All covered,’ guaranteed the other man, the strength of the signal fluctuating again. ‘ Not your concern.’
‘ I need to know! ’ The protest was still subdued.
‘ You will, when it’s necessary.’ The contempt leaked over the telephone link.
‘ What, until then? ’
‘ Stay in touch.’
The reply was lost. So was any farewell. There was a high-pitched whine, ‘ That’s right ’ from Kosov, and then the deafening music again: Billie Holliday singing ‘Melancholy Baby’.
‘We’re right there, in his office!’ declared the American. Flat voiced, he quoted: ‘“We’ll go on using this line.” How else is he going to do business but from the guaranteed security of his car phone!’
Danilov found it hard to believe how easy it had suddenly become. ‘Not anyone official.’ It was essential to analyse.
‘Definitely not,’ agreed the American. In further, belated agreement he added: ‘It could have been about the discussion you and Kosov had.’
‘“You sure you can get there?”’ echoed Danilov. ‘That could refer to Kosov thinking he can transfer to the Organised Crime Bureau.’
‘We shouldn’t over-interpret,’ warned Cowley. ‘The conversation can be made to fit, but I don’t think we should be too positive yet.’ Was the reluctance professional objectivity, or personal unwillingness to accept the inevitable?
‘I’d liked to have heard more about “other ways”,’ said Danilov. ‘I can’t guess what that meant.’
Cowley had isolated the remark, too, linking it with what followed about interference, Which had caused both speakers so much amusement. ‘There can’t be any doubt about the three people who died to provide confirmation. But confirmation of what?’