Iosef said nothing.
“Ivan will not give you trouble,” Vera repeated.
Iosef certainly hoped this would be true. He had never arrested a giant before, particularly one who might well become the heavyweight champion of the world if he was not in prison for murder.
Olga Grinkova bore little resemblance to the woman who had called herself Svetlana the night before. Iris found the transformation incredible, the material of which prizewinning stories are made.
Olga was no more than twenty, cheeks slightly pink, eyes wide and frightened, hands at her sides, more girl than woman. Her dark skirt hemmed below the knee and her white up-to-the-neck sweater fit loosely. Olga kept pushing her sleeves up and the sleeves kept refusing to cooperate. When she spoke it was with the voice of a shopgirl who had lost her confidence.
Svetlana had been sultry, dark, confident, almost bored, and carefully made up for the evening. Her dress had been formfitting, with the revelation of promising cleavage. Svetlana’s voice had held a promising huskiness not unlike that of a young Lauren Bacall.
They were seated now at a table in the hotel’s small breakfast room. There was a buffet of yogurt, cold cuts, hard-boiled eggs, and cheese. A pitcher of water was surrounded by glasses.
“Room number?” asked the plump blond girl who stood over the table.
Iris tried to imagine Olga transformed into a sultry prostitute named Svetlana.
“Room Four-eighteen,” said Iris. “Does anyone want breakfast?”
“Coffee,” said Sasha, looking at Elena, who met his eyes.
Coffee was agreed upon and the blond girl moved off slowly. There was only one other person in the breakfast room, a well-dressed man of at least seventy who read a newspaper and ate very slowly.
Olga Grinkova kept her hands in her lap to hide their trembling.
“They killed Daniel,” Olga said, forcing herself to speak slowly and distinctly.
“Why?” asked Iris.
“Because he spoke to you,” said Olga. “That is why they want to kill me. You have already been told that. It is not right that they should want to kill me. I did not ask to speak to you. It was Daniel who told me to do it. Now. . I am alive only because I mentioned Pavel Petrov and saw the car, the black American car with the little flag on the. .”
She made a motion that looked as if she were miming the act of pulling a thin piece of string into the air.
“Antenna,” said Sasha.
“Yes,” said Olga. “Antenna. I recognized the car parked across the street from the entrance to my apartment building. It belongs to them, the two men who even Daniel was afraid of.”
“I knew when I saw them,” Olga said. “I knew.”
“How did you know Daniel was dead?” asked Elena.
Olga looked at Elena, who touched her arm and said gently, “Go on.”
“I did not go to my apartment,” said Olga. “I found a cab and went to Daniel’s to ask him why the men in the American car were waiting for me. Daniel lives. . lived not far from where we. . where we work. His apartment is on the first floor. If you work the outside door just right, it will open. I also know where Daniel hid his spare key, under the carpeting on the sixth step at the end of the hall.”
“You have been there many times?” asked Iris.
“Sometimes Daniel wanted one of us to visit him,” Olga said. “He liked me as I am now, not as Svetlana. He treated me gently. He treated us all gently.”
“You found him,” Elena said.
“Yes,” said Olga. “He was. . He had been. . I do not know. Violated.”
“Daniel Volkovich had been stabbed at least twelve times and his throat cut,” said Elena.
Olga closed her eyes tightly and bit her lower lip. She made a small, clipped whimper and shook her head. The blond waitress returned with four coffees and a full hot pot, which she placed gently on an ornately decorated stone trivet. The waitress looked at Olga and then retreated through the door to the kitchen.
“Tell them who owns the black car with the little flag,” said Elena gently.
“Pavel Petrov,” said Olga. “He sat in the back each of the four times I saw the car. He sat in the back behind closed and tinted windows while the two men terrorized us. I saw him when the light hit the car windows just right. I saw him. I saw him today. He was reading a newspaper. The two men were murdering Daniel and he sat reading a newspaper. And if they had gotten to me, I would be cut to pieces like Daniel and he would sit there reading the newspaper. Arrest him. I will tell you everything I know. Arrest him and get me out of Moscow.”
“It will not work,” Sasha said. “She saw no murder taking place, and even if she did, she is a prostitute. Her testimony is worth little. He will not be convicted in any court.”
“Not in court perhaps,” said Iris, “but I can certainly convict him in print. Remember, I have an interview with Pavel in less than two hours. I will put the needle to him and record his confessions.”
“He will kill you,” said Olga.
“No,” said Iris. “I have the police to protect me.”
She patted the hand of Sasha, which rested on the table.
Olga Grinkova tried to pick up her coffee with both hands, but they refused to cooperate. She put the cup back down and said again, “He will kill you.”
Nine police officers, including Iosef Rostnikov and Akardy Zelach, entered the small apartment of Vera Korstov ready for whatever might come from Ivan Medivkin. The blue-uniformed officers, one of them a woman, carried stun guns, electric riot batons, and heavy rubber truncheons. Iosef Rostnikov and Akardy Zelach were unarmed.
Iosef had knocked at the door and announced loudly that the door should be opened immediately. The door had not been opened immediately. Two of the uniformed police threw their shoulders against the door, which opened abruptly with a shattering of wood.
There was no one in the tiny living room/kitchen area and no one in the bedroom. There was, however, a note in small penciled words:
“How far can a giant run without being seen?” asked Iosef.
None of the police had an answer.
“Shall we check every apartment in the building?” the highest-ranking of the uniformed police asked.
“Yes,” said Iosef, looking at the note one more time before folding it and tucking it into his jacket pocket.
Armed and very dangerous, the uniformed police hurried out of the apartment.
Iosef and Zelach could hear the high-ranking officer calling out orders for two people to check all exits and entrances from the building and to secure them. The other four began their apartment-by-apartment search while Iosef and Zelach went down the stairwell and out the front door just as one of the policemen was about to secure it.
On the way into the building, they had seen people on the lone patch of green and under the only tree within sight. This was not a day to be enjoying nature. A fast-rushing rivulet of melting slush ran along the curb on both sides of the street.
Iosef and Zelach approached the people, who were all in yellow sweatpants and sweatshirts except for one old Chinese man who appeared to be leading them in some kind of slow-moving dance.
“Have you seen a giant come out of that building this morning?” asked Iosef.
The old man in blue looked ancient now. His head was bald and dotted with meandering blue veins. He was clean-shaven and smiling. He was in the middle of a movement of legs and hands as he gently urged his extended right hand upward, palm forward. The others were mirroring the old man’s moves.
The old man closed his eyes, dropped his hands at his sides, and bowed his head smoothly forward and
