He stared at the woman in the small rectangle.
“Can you make her larger?” he asked.
Elena took the camera back, made the adjustment, and gave it to Sasha.
“Yes,” he said looking down. “I’ve seen her before.”
“She’s probably a model. You saw her in an ad or on television.”
“No,” he said. “I saw her in person.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe we can learn a bit more,” she said. “Pendowski awaits.”
“I’ll remember,” Sasha said.
“Good,” she said.
“Can you make a copy of the woman’s photograph?”
“I’ll have it printed in the morning.”
Sasha seemed to have a burst of energy. He rose and shook his head to scatter the cloud that clung to him. For now, self-pity would have to wait. He could not and did not wish to ignore the call to play the game.
“Let us go,” he said.
Elena rose to join him.
“To a few hours of professional evasion from our Ukrainian policeman. He is very clever, I think.”
“I think so also,” said Sasha. “I would not want it any other way.”
Jan Pendowski allowed himself a grin, but it was a cautious grin. He was no fool, though he knew from experience that he could be fooled. He had never met a man, woman, or bird in the park that could not be fooled. So he was careful.
He would have preferred to meet Rochelle Tanquay in his apartment, but she had called and made it clear that, though he could name the place, she would come only if it were reasonably public.
Jan had made a suggestion and she had agreed on both a time and place. The conversation had been brief.
He had slipped her the note, in French, under the table at the cafe with Oxana sitting directly across from him. He had written it right in front of Oxana in his notebook and said, “Something I must remember to do.”
He had been reasonably certain from the way the French woman’s eyes had met his that she would not reveal the message to Oxana. Jan’s goal was dual purpose. Seduction of course, but also possible business which might have to come first.
Now she approached with a smile, wearing a quite casual black dress with a fashionable white cashmere sweater tied around her neck. He had time as she moved to his table to consider what it would be like to watch her remove those clothes.
The dark bar was not crowded at this early afternoon hour. The sun was going down and the dim light from beyond the small amber windows cast long, soft shadows that were beginning to merge with the darkness. In a few moments, the man behind the bar, who was one of Jan’s best informants, would turn on a few lights, though not enough to alter the mood. There were a few people in the bar: a furtive couple, the man in middle age, the woman quite young; a lone man who Jan looked at twice because the detective felt that he had seen him somewhere before; and an overly made-up woman in her sixties with two full shopping bags. The couple and the lone man who seemed familiar were drinking afternoon wine. The shopping woman was drinking a tall glass of sterner stuff.
Jan half rose as Rochelle reached the table and placed her small handbag on the empty chair next to her. She sat facing Jan rather than next to him.
“A drink?” he asked in French.
“Wine.”
The remainder of the conversation was in French.
A red-nailed finger touched the small earring in her right ear. The last of the sunlight caught a jewel and sent a brief flash of yellow-white. Jan Pendowski was a romantic.
Jan nodded to the man behind the bar, who had been admiring the policeman’s companion.
“Small talk?” he asked.
“A little,” she said. “It delays the scripted seduction you have planned.”
“Good,” he said. “Do you like Kiev?”
“Not particularly,” she said as the bartender brought two wine glasses and a small bottle of his finest, which he poured with panache.
Jan was amused. He said nothing until the man had gone.
“He wanted to get a closer look at you,” said Jan. “He does not usually provide such service. But I am sure you are accustomed to such attentions.”
“Have I had men stare at me with less than brotherly intentions? Yes, and may it never stop.”
They touched glasses.
“Ukrainian wine,” he said.
“Not bad. Not French, but not bad at all.”
“Are we finished with the small talk?” he asked sitting back.
“You are an intriguing man, if not a sophisticated one.”
“My charm lies in my Polish stock. Earthy.”
“And confident,” she said, taking a second sip of wine. “I am not going to bed with you.”
“Then we can come together on the floor.”
“Your persistence is admirable. I will amend my statement. I am not going to bed with you tonight.”
“Tomorrow morning?”
She laughed. He liked it. Her red lips opened and her white teeth spread. And she laughed.
“Perhaps,” she said. “Normally I would expect some effort at seduction but Oxana and I must leave tomorrow, and it has been several months since I’ve been with a man.”
“Honesty,” he said. “I drink to it.”
And he did. So did she.
“We will get back to that,” he went on. “Do you make much money as a fashion editor?”
“Much? Let us say I do not have to concern myself with the cost of groceries. I get most of my clothing free from designers, and I put all my meals on the magazine’s credit card.”
“But you are not rich?”
“I am not rich. Is there a point to this?” she asked.
“Would you like to be rich?”
She tilted her head provocatively to one side and said, “No, I wish to gradually descend into abject poverty and end my days selling magazines behind a counter at the Gare de Lyon.”
“Seriously,” he said quite seriously.
“I would like to be rich.”
“Someone at a jewelry shop in Paris, a shop whose name you would recognize, is waiting for a beautiful woman to arrive and present him with a package of diamonds. In exchange for the diamonds, the person in the jewelry shop will give the beautiful woman a wrapped gift box. Inside the gift box will be more than two million euros.”
“You have these diamonds?”
“I have these diamonds. Oxana is supposed to deliver them to that shop in Paris, but I am confident she plans to keep the money.”
“As a gift to herself?” said Rochelle.
“As a gift to herself, yes. She plans to keep the money and go somewhere, possibly New York or Singapore or Australia.”
“I hope she does not plan to do this before the layout I have planned.”
“Given our Oxana’s vanity, I am confident she would not miss an opportunity to see pages of herself in your magazine.”
“Why should you trust me?”
