“I knew him.”
“Was he also from Kaliningrad?”
“I think so.”
“All these people from Kaliningrad. Maybe it’s a matter of perspective. I read a story once about a man who fell in love with a one-legged redhead, and from then on he saw one-legged redheads everywhere.”
Anya said, “We would ask you to join us but we know how busy you are chasing ghosts.”
Arkady pulled up a chair. “No, no, I’ve all the time in the world; that’s the thing about ghosts. They’ll always be there.”
At a nod from Alexi, a waiter brought another glass. Such service! Arkady thought it was good to be a Mafia chief, until you were shot.
He was interested in how Anya would play this encounter. He noticed a necklace of amber the color of honey that hung around her neck.
“Very nice.”
“A gift from Alexi.”
“Take a closer look,” Alexi said. “In the centerpiece, you’ll see a mosquito trapped sixty thousand years ago.”
“Even longer than you’ve been an investigator.” Anya blew smoke Arkady’s way.
The serious journalist Anya seemed to have been replaced by Anya the gun moll. What Arkady did not understand was why Anya was wasting time with a would-be Mafia chief like Alexi when she was supposed to be writing an earthshaking article about Tatiana.
“You and Anya are old friends,” Alexi said.
“Our paths have crossed.”
“So Anya told me.” Alexi’s smile was like a hook in the mouth. “Is it true that you don’t carry a firearm? For what reason?”
“I’m lazy.”
“No, really.”
“Well, when I did carry one I hardly ever used it. And it makes you stupid. You stop thinking of options. The gun doesn’t want options.”
“But you’ve been shot.”
“There’s the downside.”
“Cheers!” Anya said.
They drank, listened to thunder and poured some more, as if they were old friends gathering before a storm. A waiter coasted by with menus.
“You know, I’ve never actually eaten here. Recommendations?” Alexi asked Arkady.
“Wait for my partner Detective Orlov. He’s an epicure. So, Alexi, who do you think killed your father?”
“You’re very rude for a man without a gun.”
“I’m simply wondering how you expect to take over your father’s varied business interests.”
“I will put things on a genuine business setting. This country is run like an Arab bazaar. There have to be rules and norms. How can there be investment when there is no future, and how can there be a future when there is no honesty?”
“Alexi has plans,” Anya said.
“My father was a great man, make no mistake, but he lacked a business strategy, an overall plan. I’ll correct that.”
“But first a little revenge?”
Alexi softly drummed his fingers on the table.
“Your friend is joking,” he told Anya.
“I’m joking,” Arkady said.
“Because you’re jealous,” Alexi said. “You see your beautiful woman with me and you’re jealous. Cherchez la femme, right?”
“He’s after a different femme. Someone he lost,” Anya said.
“Anyone I know?”
“Tatiana Petrovna.”
“The journalist? I heard she jumped out a window.”
“Arkady has dark suspicions,” Anya said. “Did you ever meet Tatiana?”
“All I know is that she wrote a good deal of lies about my father. She probably got what she deserved.”
“Then you don’t think it was suicide, either,” Arkady said.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Of course not.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Arkady got to his feet. He decided he didn’t want to be a spoilsport any longer. Anya had her own game to play. Perhaps it had something to do with marrying a millionaire.
Besides, Victor had arrived with a recommendation.
“Try the soup. I think they stir it with a mop.”
• • •
Victor’s car was parked half over the curb outside the courtroom door. In the backseat was a cardboard box that rocked and howled.
“Don’t open it,” Victor said, and showed Arkady the bloody scratches on his hands.
“Snowflake?”
“Snowflake.”
The box was open just enough for a maddened green eye to peer out.
“It’s white?” Arkady asked.
“Take my word for it.”
“You found it in the care of some sweet old lady?”
Victor leaned on the car. “Not quite. I found Snowflake in the arms of a skinhead called Conan at the construction site next to Svetlana’s. Apparently, they had a relationship. A skinhead and a prostitute; could love be far behind? She left Snowflake in his keeping because she was going home.”
In the box, the green eye retreated, replaced by a swipe of claws.
“Where is home?”
“Kaliningrad. Nothing more specific.”
“Did you get a true ID on him?”
“No.”
“What does he look like?”
“Like a Conan. Lots of time in the weight room, leather vest, abs you could crack clams on. Plenty of tattoos, but Nazi, not Mafia. I promised him I would find Snowflake a home with ample mice.”
“Why would he give you the cat?”
“He was going on a bike ride. He left there and then on a black Harley. I wasn’t close enough to catch the license.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
“He mentioned Central Asia.”
“Look on the bright side, you did find Snowflake.”
“Now all I need is a suit of armor to open the fucking box.” Victor looked at the Den. “What is Anya up to with Alexi Grigorenko?”
“Research.”
“His father’s not around to protect him anymore, so I hope she works fast.”
Night and day, Arkady thought.
When Victor got in the car, Snowflake produced a genuine growl. Victor rolled down the window to say, “One other thing. Conan liked Tatiana for helping Svetlana. He thought she was a saint.”
• • •
Arkady’s apartment was a battlement against the storm. Sometimes it sounded as if nature was laying siege
