“I’ll stay. I can’t miss that, and three hours of sleep will do me.”
Ah, youth!
***
Bram strode in on the dot of one thirty, with Spider at his back. After a glance down the hallway, Spider locked the office door and said, “Let’s talk in the conference room.”
We obediently trooped in and settled at the table. “Spider,” I said, “what have you got? I admit to a sense of alarm since we talked this morning.”
He unzipped a leather portfolio, removed four folders, and handed them out. “Okay,” he said, “this may be nothing, or it may be very serious. Let’s err on the side of serious.” The top page was an image of the knife in Mick’s hand. “See the engraving on the knife?” He flipped to the next page, where it was enlarged and brightened so that the letters contrasted more sharply with the actual blade. A red arrow pointed to a word. “Cyrillic alphabet. Used in Russia, Bulgaria, Serbia, Ukraine. It’s pronounced ‘kor-shun’ and means ‘kite.’ Very popular with the Russian military and FSB—one of the successors to the KGB. Putin carries a Korshun.”
My heart did a little leap and Bobbie blurted out, “Holy crap!”
“Nothing holy about it.” Spider’s voice was emotionless. He flipped to the next page, an enlargement of the tattoo. “Starshina. There were a lot of variants on the design. The last official use was in ninety-one, for Soviet Airborne forces, but it’s still a popular symbol in the military.”
“Is it uncommon outside the former Soviet Union?”
Spider nodded. “I’d say so.”
I raised a hand, causing him to pause. “Repeat the name of the knife, please.” When he did, I nodded. “That’s the trace of an accent I used to notice when Mick Swanson said a word beginning with a K sound, that same throaty sound you used for Korshun. But it wasn’t as obvious.” I pondered for a moment. “How would you go about finding out if a person in the US came from one of the former USSR countries? Or if they were second generation?”
“If the guy was legit, there’d be a paper trail, starting with an immigration visa. The police can determine that.”
“Um, can you?” I knew that Spider could tap into otherwise-inaccessible databases.
“Maybe. But what’s the need, Angie?”
That made me pause. “If I’m being honest, there is none. It’s mainly curiosity on my part. Forget I asked.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that,” he said. “And I’d advise you to stay out of this one, for your own safety. Ever hear of Bratva?”
“No, I can’t say I have.”
“It’s Russian Mafia, Angie,” Bram said. “They began like the Sicilian Cosa Nostra, trying to get justice for the poor in a feudal society. But like the Mafia, they moved into illegal areas. No offense.”
I shrugged. “None taken.”
“They’re entrenched in places like New York, Florida, Chicago, the French Riviera, Spain.” Bram continued. “Anywhere they can make a buck out of illegal activities. Extortion, racketeering, illegal firearms and gambling, drugs, people trafficking. Real bad guys.”
“And that’s why you need to step back,” Spider said. “Way back. They’re vicious and they’ll stop at nothing. And your old man can’t protect you from the inside, if it is Bratva.”
My mind spun for a moment. Mick, a strong gentle man, involved with things like that? Or was he a victim? The knife and the tattoo implied that he was a participant, but… he might’ve been involved and then fled from the life. “Wukowski needs to know this,” I said, “and I don’t see a way of giving him the information without involving you.”
Spider closed his folder. “I don’t mind talking to him off the record. He’s a straight shooter. But I’d rather not have my name on official documents.”
“Understood.” I shuffled the papers and slipped them back into my folder. “I’ll give him this copy, and we’ll keep Bobbie’s for the office in case I need to refer to it again.”
“Angie—”
I interrupted. “I promise that I have no intention of getting embroiled in this. It’s only for the files. You know I’m OCD about record-keeping.”
“That’s for sure,” Bobbie said, breaking the tension in the room and making us laugh.
“Be extra cautious for the next few weeks,” Spider advised. “Don’t go places alone. Carry a weapon. Watch your backs.”
“Because?” Bobbie asked.
“Because we were there fairly soon after the murder,” Bram reminded us. “It’s possible the killer was still nearby and might have seen us.”
For a moment Bobbie’s eyes narrowed. Then he tightened his jaw and said, “Got it.”
As the men rose to leave, I put a hand on Spider’s arm. “Thanks for this. And for caring about us.”
“Always,” he assured me.
“And Spider, if you and Magdalena are ready for a night out, let me know. Aunt Terry would love to help me babysit your trio.”
“Ready? Angie, we’re way beyond ready,” came the instant response. “I’ll talk to Magda and we’ll set a date. Bless you a thousand times.”
I grinned at the joy in his voice. Parenting is not for wusses, I thought.
Chapter 13
It has long been an axion of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important.
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
I placed a call to Homicide headquarters.
“Wukowski. What’s up, Angie?”
“I have information I want to share. Don’t go ballistic on me. I’m not involved in the investigation, simply satisfying my curiosity.”
I hoped the disclaimer would disarm his natural instinct to exclude me from anything that might turn violent. His sister was the innocent victim of a gang execution while a teenager, and his former partner, Liz White, had been kidnapped and brutally killed during a drug investigation. Wukowski reacted to feelings of powerlessness to prevent their deaths by overprotectiveness toward me. He was better at keeping it under control than when we first met, but it couldn’t hurt to preemptively defuse it.
“When I saw Mick’s body,” I continued, “I noticed the tattoo on his wrist. And the knife had a peculiar engraving. I took photos at the scene and sent
