Landry waited.
“Damn,” she said, looking at him. “My cigarette went out. Do you have a light?”
He walked over, flicked his lighter. She looked up at him from under her brows as she took a deep drag.
“That’s something,” she said on the exhale. “You kicked Gregor’s ass. About time someone did.”
“It wasn’t that hard,” Landry said.
She gave a coquettish laugh and batted her lashes. “You sure you’re a cop?”
“That’s what it says on my ID.”
“My name is Svetlana. Svetlana Petrova. You’re looking for Alexi?”
“You know where to find him?”
She made a pouty frown and shrugged a shoulder. “In hell, I hope.”
“You’re not a fan?”
“He’s a pig.” She turned her head and spat on the ground. Class.
“What’d he do?” Landry asked. “Fuck you and dump you?”
The fire in her eyes told him yes. “Hey!” she snapped, hitting him in the chest with the heel of her hand. “No guy dumps me! I tell him take a hike. He’s cheap, and he fucks around with whores.”
Landry bit his tongue and looked at the door. It was only a matter of time before someone else came out.
“Was one of those whores Irina Markova?”
She made a sour face. “She led him around by his dick. He made a fool of himself.”
“You think maybe he got sick and tired of that? Maybe he decided to teach her a lesson?”
The thought had not occurred to her. “Alexi? Kill her?” She warmed to the idea quickly. “Maybe… He could have. He has terrible temper.”
“Did he ever knock you around?”
She hesitated and glanced down, then back. Whatever she was about to say was probably going to be a lie. “Yes. Many times. But I hit him back.”
“So maybe you just want to make trouble for him.”
She tried to look innocent, something he was sure she hadn’t been in about two decades. “What trouble? I don’t tell you nothing.”
“No? Then I might as well go.”
She reached out and caught hold of his lapel as he started to turn away. “You give up too easy.”
“I’ve got a murder to solve,” he said. “I can’t stand here and play grab-ass with you, honey. If you’ve got something to say, say it.”
She frowned and pouted again. “You’re no fun.”
“Yeah, people tell me that. Was Kulak here tonight?”
“Earlier, for a couple of hours.”
“What was his mood?”
“Pissed off. He’s always pissed off.”
“When was the last time you saw Irina Markova?”
The sour face again. “I don’t know. I don’t look for her.”
“Was she here Saturday night?”
He could see the sudden turning of the wheels in Svetlana’s brain. She narrowed her eyes and fought the start of a smile. “Yes,” she said. “Saturday night.”
“Around midnight? One o’clock?”
“Yes. Yes. I looked at my watch. I saw them arguing.”
Landry turned and started for his car. Svetlana hustled after him, the high heels of her shoes clack-clack- clacking on the concrete.
“What?” she said.
“You’re a liar. Irina Markova wasn’t here Saturday night. I don’t want you if you’re going to lie to me. You’re wasting my time. You haven’t given me one damn thing I can use.”
“Okay, okay. I tell you where he lives. You have paper? Pen?”
Landry handed her one of his business cards and a pen from the inside pocket of his coat. She put the card on the hood of his car, scribbled across it, and handed it back to him. He squinted at it.
“This had better be legit,” Landry said.
“I swear. And it’s a big secret. Hardly anybody knows. Not even cops. Not even feds.”
“And this is his phone number?” he asked.
“No,” she said, looking up at him, moving a little too close. “Is my phone number. Call me. I’ll show you how to have fun.”
Landry stuck the card in his breast pocket, got in the car, and drove out of the lot, leaving his informant standing there hot and bothered. Some mope coming out of that bar was going to be a lucky man tonight.
Chapter 16
“What are you doing in my house?” I asked, wondering what I could get my hands on to use as a weapon. Maybe I could hit him in the head with the stone soap dispenser, except I couldn’t reach back far enough to get it without him seeing.
“You know Irina,” he said.
“What if I did?”
He looked dazed, maybe psychotic, or ill. For all I knew, he had killed her.
“She liked you.”
I said nothing. His eyes wandered away from me for a second. I eased a couple of inches to the right.
“Did you know Irina?” I asked.
He looked at me again. “I loved her.”
Still a 50/50 chance he had strangled her. Maybe better. Nothing could drive people over the edge of violence more than love. He loved her but she didn’t love him. He loved her but she cheated on him. He loved her obsessively and wouldn’t let her go. There were a dozen scenarios.
“Did you know her in Russia?” I asked, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, inching a quarter step ahead.
“She was best friends with my little sister, Sasha.”
That name rang a bell. Sasha Kulak. The friend of Irina’s who had committed suicide because of Tomas Van Zandt, the horse dealer Irina had attacked in the barn.
Kulak. Alexi Kulak. Russians…
“She spoke fondly of Sasha,” I said, slipping the fingers of my right hand into the drawer behind me. He didn’t seem to notice.
“Did she speak of me?” he asked. Inside his open jacket I could see the handle of a gun.
“Irina was a very private person. She didn’t talk about her personal life very much.”
Tears filled his eyes. He appeared to be in a great deal of pain. “I was a ghost to her in this life she led. She shut me out.”
This wasn’t sounding good with regard to motive. My fingers fumbled over something in the drawer. I grabbed hold. A small pair of scissors.
He turned in the doorway and leaned against the frame, eyes closed, his face red as he fought tears.
“What do you want from me?” I asked.
He wiped a square hand across his eyes. There were tattoos on the back of his hand. Prison tats?
When I was a narc, the Russians had taken over a substantial chunk of the heroin trade in South Florida. Rumor had it they had gotten in bed with the Colombians to edge into the cocaine market. They hadn’t ventured into crystal meth then. Meth had still been-and still was-the bastion of white trash.
Alexi Kulak. Russian mob? Had that been Irina’s second job? The job that subsidized her lifestyle among the rich and famous?
