“What’s the matter with him?” Agafiya asked, gesturing at Jack. “Doesn’t he speak?”
“He’s American,” Dinara replied, and Agafiya’s eyes lit up.
“Ah, American,” she said in English. “We have many American friends who visit us here. Our girls speak excellent English for the best intimate moments. My name is Madame Agafiya, American friend, and I welcome you to my house.”
“We’re just here for answers,” Jack said. “Nothing else.”
Agafiya’s smile fell away. “We don’t give answers,” she said bitterly. “Only pleasure.” She looked at the huge bouncer. “Show them out,” she commanded in Russian.
The bouncer put his hand on Jack’s shoulder, and Dinara saw from the change in her boss’s expression that the man had made a serious mistake.
Jack grabbed the bouncer’s hand and twisted his fingers to breaking point, forcing the huge man to his knees and making him groan in pain.
Jack fixed Agafiya with an unflinching stare. “Answers are our pleasure,” he said.
Chapter 66
“Pleasure costs,” Madame Agafiya said.
“We’re willing to pay,” I replied, releasing the big man’s hand.
He backed away with the insolent look worn by all defeated men: I could have beaten you if I’d really been trying.
I paid him no mind. He could have his bravado and I’d keep my victory.
“Then let us get out of this cold hall and go somewhere warm,” Madame Agafiya said.
She led us into a parlor off the hallway. It was a large room with high ceilings and was furnished with every piece Moscow’s flea markets had to offer. Or at least it seemed that way. There was clutter everywhere, and two green fabric couches stood as islands among a sea of pictures, photos, figurines and tiny collectibles. Was it designed to disorientate her patrons? Or simply to mask the decayed state of the building?
“Sit.” Agafiya gestured at the couch nearest the window.
She settled on the one opposite, and her bouncer watched us from the doorway. Dinara and I did as instructed, and I felt the old springs give as I sat on the frayed couch.
“What answers? And how much?” Agafiya asked as she arranged the layers of her multi-colored dress.
“We’d like to ask you about Ernest Fisher,” Dinara replied. “We were told he came here.”
Agafiya’s hands froze and she studied them as though they were suddenly the most interesting things in the world.
“I don’t know this man,” she said.
I ignored the obvious lie and produced a photograph and showed it to her. “Ernie Fisher,” I said, “but it’s possible you know him by another name.”
Her eyes flashed with indignation when she looked up. Her gaze softened as it shifted from me to the photograph.
“I’ve never seen this man before,” she lied. “Who are you people?”
“Would it make a difference if you knew he was dead?” I asked.
Agafiya looked as though she’d been slapped in the face. “You lie,” she said.
Dinara produced her phone and showed the stunned Russian madam a news article based on the Otkrov blog piece. It featured a photo of Ernie Fisher and gave an account of his death.
“Why would someone do this?” Agafiya said at last. “Ernst was a nice man.”
“So you did know him,” I remarked.
She nodded, and tears formed in her eyes. “He was an old friend. He told me never to say I knew him or that he was here.”
“Where did you meet?” I asked.
“Many years ago. I worked in a bar. He was a customer,” Agafiya said. “Long time ago.”
“How long?”
“Maybe thirty years?” she said.
“In Russia?” I asked.
“Of course,” Agafiya replied. “I’ve never been to another country.”
I was surprised. There was nothing in Fisher’s history to suggest he had any contact with Russia prior to his chief-of-staff posting.
“Did he have a room here?” I pressed. “A private space?”
Agafiya shifted uncomfortably.
“He’s dead,” I said. “Your silence doesn’t protect him anymore. It just protects the people who killed him.”
Agafiya eyed me uncertainly.
“If you help us, we might be able to find the man who murdered Mr. Fisher,” I assured her.
She nodded. “Downstairs. But there’s nothing there.”
“Nothing?” Dinara asked.
“He told me never to go inside, but I did. Just to see, you know,” Agafiya said. “The room is totally empty.”
“Can you show us?” I asked.
Chapter 67
The basement was a vast, damp, dingy space which was accessed through a heavy locked door and a staircase that ran down from the kitchen. The place was ripe with decades of rot.
“You see?” Agafiya said. “Nothing.”
Knotted old floorboards and exposed stonework formed the outer shell of the basement. The house above was supported by rows of stone columns, which had been half encased in wood cabinets. There was nothing else in the room.
“Does anyone else have a key?” I asked.
Agafiya shook her head. “Me and Ernst.”
“Who put the cabinets around the columns?” Dinara asked.
“Ernst,” Agafiya replied. “He told me it was to protect them.”
Dinara and I shared a look of excitement. The structural supports were slightly larger than the safe we were looking for.
“How many are there?” I asked.
She looked bemused. “You Americans can count, surely?”
“So you don’t know?” I said.
“There are thirteen,” Dinara remarked.
“Thirteen,” Agafiya repeated emphatically.
I stalked through the basement, examining the floorboards around the supports, looking for any sign of disturbance.
I found it in the heart of the room. I crouched down and touched a scuff mark beside a column. Scored lines arced across the floorboards. I checked the cabinet around the support and was gratified to feel a catch at the top. I pressed it and the panel directly in front of me swung off a latch and eased open a little. I pulled it wide to reveal a Kaso safe inside the cabinet. I tapped the stonework directly above it, and heard a hollow sound. The stone rising above the safe was a façade designed to fool people into thinking this was just another structural support.
“What is it?” Agafiya asked, hurrying forward. “A safe? Why would Ernst need a safe?”
I produced the key I’d found in Fisher’s apartment, and pushed it into the lock. I felt the satisfying clunk of the cylinders disengaging and the bolts drawing back.
Agafiya whistled when I opened the door. Like Karl Parker, Fisher had a stash of guns, documents and a huge amount of cash.
“For escape,” Dinara observed.
I nodded.
“Why didn’t he use it?” she asked.
I nodded toward a drill that was wedged between the safe and the surrounding panels. There were circular scores near the lock.
“I think he forgot his key,” I replied. It was a mundane mistake, the kind that littered most people’s lives. Unfortunately for Ernie Fisher, he had paid the ultimate price for it. “I think that’s why he went back to his apartment.”
“He was getting very forgetful,” Agafiya said. “And sad. He drank too much.”
“Do you know why?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“We’d better search it,” Dinara said.
She crouched beside the safe and started sifting through the contents.
“What will happen to the money?” Agafiya asked.
“This is your house,” I replied. “How you handle this discovery is up to you.”
Agafiya brightened. “For the first time in many years, fate gives me pleasure.”