my cell.
“Do you have any news for me?” she asked.
“Not yet, Faith. But I think that’s a good thing. I’m going to ask you the impossible.”
“What’s that?”
“To try to keep it together tonight. The photograph of Chat may already be on the news.”
“It is. It’s on every station.”
“You’ll make yourself crazy trying to watch it. Have some dinner. You’re not alone?”
“No, no. I don’t think that I could be.”
“Good. Mike and I will be working all night, so you may not hear from us till morning. But we’re on this. There’s going to be a suspect’s name released shortly, with photographs. Stay as calm as you can.”
“You are indeed demanding the impossible.”
“May I ask you something about the Russian Orthodox Church?” I had my back to the window, holding on to the handrail behind me as the train pitched around a bend in the tracks.
“Of course.”
“Do they have a formal position on women in the priesthood?”
“Most definitely. They’re completely against the ordination of women.”
“For a particular reason?”
“Well, most of their teachings claim such an act would disregard the symbolic and the iconic value of male priests, who are a representation of Christ himself, and of course, of Christ’s manhood.”
“That’s all I need to know. Call my cell if you have anything to tell me. And thanks, Faith. We’ll talk with you soon.”
I waited for Mike to finish his conversation. “Is there anything else about your friend Ted that we ought to know? Anything at all you remember?” I asked Daniel.
He answered softly. “No.”
Every trace of Mike’s good humor had disappeared by the time he hung up the phone. I asked Daniel to step away for a few minutes.
“Is it all bad news?”
“Peterson will have state troopers waiting for us in Providence. May even bring in some feds because of the interstate abduction possibility.”
“And the Zukovs? What if they don’t talk to us?”
“Fine with me. They’ll be climbing the monkey bars in the local j ail.”
“No sign of Fyodor?”
“Not him. Not Chat. There’s one Angus truck missing from the lot. The commissioner’s doing a stand-up with the mayor at nine p.m. to release all the photos and ask the public for help. The APB on the truck has gone out to every police department and highway patrol. AMBER Alerts and all that. Maybe the guy’s going home to his roots, to Florida.”
“And the rest of whatever has you so bummed?”
“The Secaucus cops broke open the back of every one of the trucks still on the lot. There’s dried blood in all of them.”
“No surprise. They’re butcher shops,” I said.
“One of them had a sleeping bag in it. There’s blood in that too. Don’t tell me the filet mignons didn’t like the cold. ME’s testing to see if it’s human. It’ll take a while longer for DNA, but this may be where he finished off Naomi or Ursula.”
“Could be he was camping out in one of the trucks, getting handouts from his family. That would still have let him use the train as home base, without anyone else aware he was around.”
We started to walk single file, catching up with Daniel Gersh.
“I need you to go back to your room, Daniel,” Mike said. “Ms. Cooper and I got work to do. Don’t talk to anyone. Not about Naomi or your job or knowing us. Stay put, and when the train gets to Providence, you come out on the platform and look for me. Understood?”
“Yeah. I get it.”
We continued back to the suite that had the Zukov name on the door. Mike opened it and entered without knocking.
In the living area, a man and a woman were sitting on opposite ends of a sofa. The woman cradled a sleeping child in her arms, while both were fixed on a flat-screen TV on the wall, watching a twenty-four-hour news broadcast.
The man rose immediately — I guessed him to be Giorgio, the Zukov brother-in-law — and called out for Yuri and Oksana. “The police are here,” he shouted to them.
The child was awakened by the commotion and started wailing.
Mike rushed back to the closest bedroom, heard the lock click shut from within, and kicked open the flimsy door with his foot.
Yuri and Oksana Zukov, the brother and sister of our probable perp, were being briefed on our intrusion by Kristin Sweeney, the stunt rider from Texas.
FORTY-FIVE
“WHERE’S Fyodor?” Mike asked.
Kristin Sweeney had cost us the element of surprise. Mike directed her back to her compartment, but there was no way for the two of us to secure people or possessions.
“We don’t know where he is,” Yuri said, turning to face us with his arms folded across his chest. That kept his sister positioned behind him while she dried her eyes and tried to compose herself.
“Let me have your phones,” Mike said.
“I don’t have one.”
“Bullshit. Both of you, give me your phones.”
Yuri held out his arms to the side. He was wearing the classic bodysuit of an acrobat or dancer — a leotard and tights, with a zippered sweater over them. “No pockets, Detective. I use the satellite phone only,” he said, pointing to the nightstand next to his bed.
“Coop — take her into the other bedroom,” Mike said, pointing to Oksana. There was no hope of getting information unless we separated them. He was giving me a shot at the weaker link.
“Why don’t you come with me?” I said, smiling at the terrified woman. “Is your room next to this one?”
She didn’t speak, but she nodded.
“You can just do this?” Yuri asked. “You know we’re Americans.”
“Oh, yeah, we can just do this. I don’t give a damn if you’re flying Martians. There are cops from here to Sarasota looking for your brother, and if you want to see him alive, you’d better put on your thinking caps.”
Oksana slipped between Mike and the door without protest and took me into the adjacent compartment she shared with her husband.
“You understand why we have to find your brother quickly?” I asked. I didn’t want to talk about the women who’d been murdered. “If we can save the woman who’s missing, maybe Fyodor has a chance.”
“It’s not his fault, Ms. Cooper,” she said. “None of this is his fault.”
The most tired lines in the perpetrator phrase book. I didn’t care to think about who Oksana would blame. “When is the last time you heard from your brother?”
“I’m not sure. Yuri probably knows.”
“Did you see him this week?”
“This week? What day is today? Maybe Yuri remembers.”
“Here’s the thing, Oksana. Yuri is talking to Detective Chapman, so whatever Yuri knows, he’ll eventually tell. When the train stops in Providence, all your friends will get off and stretch their legs, go out for a drink, get a good
