Marko’s lie only increased my commitment to my mission. My problem was I wasn’t sure what to do next. I sat in the car for fifteen minutes and let my pulse slow down to normal, my vision clear. A thought dawned on me after reviewing all my moves since I’d first started looking into my godfather’s death. Sometimes there was no substitute for a second pair of eyes. What I needed was someone to talk to. I’d promised Mrs. Chimchak I’d keep her apprised of my progress. It was the perfect time to call her.
She answered on the third ring and immediately told me my call was a most pleasant surprise. I asked her if it was too late in the night — it was only 8:30 p.m., and she laughed saying it was never too late for a phone call from her favorite Plastunka. She asked me if I was making any progress. I gave her a brief update on the essential developments.
“Did Marko tell you why he was at your godfather’s house the day he died?’
“No. He avoided the question.”
“And what do you conclude from that?”
“I don’t conclude anything but I have some strong convictions. First, he didn’t kill my godfather.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I asked him and when he answered he was mad that I’d even considered it. I know my brother. He’s not that good an actor. Plus, I’ve known him all my life, and I don’t think he’s capable of killing a man in cold blood.”
“We’re all capable of things beyond our comprehension under the right conditions. But no one knows your brother like you do. If you’re sure you’re not letting your wishes become your deductions, then I trust your judgment.”
“I’m sure. My second conviction is that my brother was my godfather’s partner. If not partner, then business associate, at a minimum. Marko admitted he did one job for him. He probably got paid good money for a few hours of work helping deliver an object of beauty. I know my brother. He’s always looking for easy money. I can see him trying to turn it into a steady thing, and then an even more lucrative thing.”
“That would explain why he was at his house the day he died.”
“He was either getting paid, or there to arrange the next job.”
“But if it were the latter they could have done that over the phone, no? Doesn’t a face-to-face meeting suggest there was something more urgent involved? Something so important to your brother that he was willing to invest the time to go all the way from Willimantic — or divert from wherever he was — to East Hartford.”
I sighed. “Money.”
“A man’s living is an urgent and important thing.”
“That was it then. My godfather was a louse and a cheat. Maybe he didn’t pay Marko on time. Maybe he owed him money. Whatever the reason, Marko went over there to have a confrontation about their business.”
“Good. That’s logical,” Mrs. Chimchak said. “And this is a perfect time to tell you that I found something late this afternoon that might be of help to you.”
“I need all the help I can get.”
I heard the sound of paper crinkling in the background. “I found the copy of a lease for a warehouse in Hartford.”
“A warehouse?”
“On Ledyard Street.”
Ledyard Street was a mile away from the Ukrainian National Home.
“I thought he kept all his stuff in his house,” I said.
“So did I. This is the first I’m learning of it.”
“How did he pay the bills?”
“Probably the same way he paid for his meals at Fleming’s. With cash.”
“When was the lease signed? And what was the term?”
More crinkling noises followed. “It was a one-year lease. Signed almost a year ago.” Mrs. Chimchak paused. “If I’m reading this right… wait… let me check the calendar. Yes. I think I am reading this right. There’s only three weeks left on the lease. Three weeks from Monday.”
“The time period — when he signed it — coincides with the timing of the Crimean business.”
“Which makes me wonder…”
“Is there anything in the warehouse now?”
“Indeed.”
I also wondered if Roxy knew about the warehouse. She hadn’t mentioned it to me. Was it realistic that her uncle would keep it a secret from her? She rose to the top of my list of potential coconspirators. Per her own admission at the Uke National Home, she needed the money, too.
“Did you make any progress on the other front?”
I heard her question but didn’t focus on it. Instead I was imagining myself skulking around a warehouse trying to get a look inside. I doubted there would be a window in front. “The other front? You think there might be a window in back?”
A pause. “I’m not talking about the warehouse,” Mrs. Chimchak said. “I’m talking about the other mystery. The letters in your godfather’s calendar. DP.”
I apologized for not understanding her question. “It must have something to do with his connection. With the man in Crimea. The man who used to run the Black Sea Trading Company before he passed away. Have you ever heard of a man named Takarov?”
There was another pause. This one was longer and much heavier. “Yes.” Always the inscrutable one, Mrs. Chimchak couldn’t quite control the volume of her voice. It was a touch quieter, more solemn, as though she were desperately trying to hide the emotional resonance of my mere mention of the name. “I know the name. Is that the man who bought your godfather the plane tickets?”
“His company did.”
“Then it all makes sense now.”
My pulse picked up. “How does it all make sense?”
“There was a man named Takarov in the camps. He was NKVD. He was the man who had me repatriated.”
This was the second time she’d mentioned her repatriation. I was so curious I had to pursue the story this time. I did so gingerly, praying I wasn’t offending her because she’d been reluctant to discuss it further the first time.
“I don’t want to dredge up bad memories… but if you don’t mind my asking… how did he do that?”
“He showed me a picture of my family. My mother, father, and sister. It was a picture of them at our farm in Ivano-Frankivsk.” I knew from my geography lessons that the latter was a region in western Ukraine. “He said they were looking forward to my return home.”
I waited for Mrs. Chimchak to follow up but she didn’t add anything else. “That’s all he said?”
“That’s all he needed to say.”
“And you believed him?”
“No. He was very charming. Very persuasive. Of course he was. That’s why he was picked for the job. Anyone else, I would have known with one hundred percent certainty my family was either dead or in Siberia. But Takarov had a gift, he knew how to win your trust. He won it by not trying to win it. He did not sell. He was like a priest. He told you what you wanted to hear with a gentle voice and a soothing touch. I knew with ninety-five percent certainty my family’s fate was sealed, which means I knew. I knew, and yet…”
“And yet you went. You went because you had to go. You had no choice.”
“I had no choice. If there was a sliver of hope my family could be saved, I had to go. Truth be told, I knew deep down there was no hope. And yet still I had to go.”