In the Name of a Killer cad-1

by Brian Freemantle

‘Stalin’s unintentional legacy,’ disputed Pavin, with rare cynicism. ‘And Paul Hughes isn’t Russian.’

  ‘Then no.’

  ‘What about the press conference?’

  ‘An intrusion now,’ said Danilov.

  ‘You’re not going to say anything there?’

  ‘Not publicly,’ said Danilov, although an idea began to germinate. ‘Far too early for that. But Lapinsk must know. The Prosecutor, too.’

  ‘What about postponing the conference?’

  Once more Danilov examined the Major’s question, acknowledging the point and wondering whether he had been right in thinking, as he was sure he once had, that Pavin would forever remain at his current rank. Danilov said: ‘It would be convenient. But wrong. It would convey the impression of a sudden development: build up expectation.’

  ‘I would have thought …’ Pavin started, but stopped at the intrusion of the internal telephone.

  Danilov nodded to the announcement and said to his assistant: ‘The American, on time as ever. He’s learned the Marlboro trick.’ When the escorted Cowley was shown into the room, Danilov was instantly aware of the immaculately pressed suit and the hard-starched collar of the shirt, pin-secured, that he so much envied.

  At once Cowley said: ‘I think this press conference is going to be difficult. Your people have agreed to Senator Burden taking part. God knows why. Or what the point is. It’ll be a circus.’

  The Western ease in criticizing politicians, so new in his own country, still surprised Danilov. He was quite uninterested in any press conference now. Feeling his superiority, he said: ‘You haven’t discussed it, with the Senator?’

  Cowley regarded the Russian sourly, ‘I have been instructed not to divulge anything of the investigation, to any outside party.’

  Danilov’s germinating idea flowered, but he decided to give the other man one opportunity. ‘How about me?’ he said.

  ‘You?’

  ‘In an hour I am going to introduce you to my Militia General — someone I suppose you would call the Moscow police chief. And to the Federal Prosecutor: Attorney General, if you want a comparison. I’ve no idea how they will want the press conference to be conducted, but I think they’ll expect you and I to be in agreement with each other: know precisely where we are in the investigation.’

  ‘I’m sure they will,’ said Cowley, smoothly. He didn’t like the evasion. Although he did not altogether trust Danilov — he put trust on a different level than this present consideration — he genuinely liked the rumpled Russian with his tight haircut and his permissible pride in his ability to speak English, which he supposed matched his own in the ease he had found with Russian. He didn’t feel he had any choice in the deceit. The forensic results that had arrived overnight in the diplomatic bag had provided far better evidence than he’d expected — even though the unnecessary elimination stuff had to be gone through — and he anxiously needed further guidance. Which he’d already asked for, before leaving the embassy that morning. And until he got Washington’s reply — although he was sure he could predict what it would be — it was impossible for him to confide anything.

  ‘So you believe we do?’ pressed Danilov. ‘That we both know where we are?’

  Danilov did have something! It was poker with strangers whose game he didn’t know, all cards face-down, unsure of the value of his own. ‘I’d certainly like to think so …’ A pause. ‘Wouldn’t you?’

  The familiar, evasive response, Danilov recognized. It had been Cowley’s choice, not his: the man had been given his chance, chosen the course he wanted to follow. ‘Yes,’ he said, heavily. ‘I would have liked to think that. You’ve shared everything with me?’

  Cowley nodded, wanting to use the directness. ‘And you’ve shared everything with me?’

  Danilov nodded agreement back. Confrontations to come, he thought: some sooner rather than later. ‘Shall we go?’

  It was only when Pavin turned from Stolesnikov Street towards the conspicuous Marxist-Leninist Institute on Pushkinskaya that Danilov appreciated the ironic coincidence of Ann Harris’s apartment being in the same thoroughfare. Danilov expected Pavin to park in the Institute’s facilities, but at the adjacent Prosecutor’s premises the Major sounded sharply on the horn. The signal was instantly answered by the high iron gates swinging open to admit them. Pavin put their car next to General Lapinsk’s official, freshly washed Volga.

  Their smooth and quite unexpected reception continued inside. A uniformed attendant ushered them to the second floor and into a reception room where Lapinsk and Nikolai Smolin were already waiting. Danilov knew he and the American were fifteen minutes ahead of their appointed time. He went through the introductions, assuring the other two Soviet officials there was no problem in any discussion being conducted in Russian. For several moments after the formal greetings, the four men stood in an uncertain group, no one certain how to proceed. At last, with ill-concealed reluctance, Smolin took nominal charge, which had to be his role for the conference.

  ‘There have been over a hundred journalist applications to attend today,’ the Prosecutor said. ‘And the television teams all have support staffs. We’ve arranged simultaneous translation. The television companies have also asked for individual interviews, after the open session …’ The Prosecutor hesitated, indicating Lapinsk. ‘I have all the police reports, up until yesterday. Is there anything else I should know?’

  The first of the confrontations, thought Danilov. He looked briefly to Cowley, unsure how the American would react, before saying: ‘We know who was in her apartment the night she was killed. And he’s lied, not admitting that he was there. His name is Paul Hughes. He’s an American economist, her superior at the embassy.’

  There was absolute silence in the room, each of the other three men staring fixedly at Danilov. The American’s face was impassive.

  Smolin said: ‘The proof’s incontrovertible?’

  Danilov recounted the evidence in the order of uncovering it. He itemized the prints of the twisted finger on the glass and elsewhere in the apartment, a deformity from which Hughes visibly suffered, and set out the proof of Hughes and the girl being at the Trenmos on the evening of her death, the table reserved in Hughes’s name. And finally disclosed the positive identification by the other taxi drivers of Hughes being a regular client of Vladimir Suzlev. Danilov nodded, to include Cowley, and said: ‘There hasn’t been a formal accusation. But in a preliminary interview, he lied. He denied being particularly friendly with her — certainly didn’t admit being in her company on the night of her death. He also lied about the reason for after-hours telephone calls. He insisted the conversations were all official, connected with their work. They weren’t. I have the complete transcript, every word they exchanged. There’s no question of their not being lovers: in two he openly refers to pain, to hurting her.’

  The attention was still absolute but the expressions were changing. Smolin was looking around the small group, as if for guidance. Lapinsk was frowning, concentrating upon the American at the obvious disclosure of Russian telephone interception and recording. Cowley was almost imperceptibly shaking his head, a gesture of disappointment: Danilov wondered about what. He hoped it was at the American’s realization of his mistake in not sharing whatever it was he had independently discovered.

  ‘There’s a lot to consider,’ said Smolin, stating the unnecessary obvious in the manner of a profound statement.

  When Cowley began to speak, his voice wavered, high and low. He coughed, clearing his throat as Lapinsk was also doing, creating a frog-like duet. Stronger-voiced, Cowley said: ‘I was asked by Washington, before coming here today, to express again our gratitude at your not publicly suggesting there could be an investigation within the embassy into these killings. And to thank you, too, for keeping separate the murders of the woman and Vladimir Suzlev. I think there is a real need for these things to remain unpublicized.’

  Lapinsk rattled more coughs. ‘This man Hughes. You say he hasn’t b
een formally interrogated? Had this new evidence put to him?’

  ‘No,’ said Cowley. How could he have believed he was ahead? All he’d had — having recognized at that hostile embassy meeting the obvious significance of Hughes’s twisted finger — was forensic proof returned in the diplomatic bag that morning of a lateral pocket loop print from the glass in the Pushkinskaya apartment matching those on the memo pad and matryoshka dolls in Ann Harris’s office. Cowley could understand Danilov holding out: he’d been doing the same himself. What he couldn’t explain was that having done so — having found the proof by himself — the Russian had then presented it all to the police chief and the prosecutor not as an individual coup, to gain all the personal credit, but as a joint discovery, the way they were supposed to be working.

  ‘And how is it going to be done?’ asked Smolin, quietly, focusing upon the political difficulties.

  ‘I don’t know. I will have to take advice from Washington,’ Cowley admitted.

  ‘Clearly there can’t be any premature disclosure at today’s press conference,’ said Lapinsk.

  ‘Which leaves us with little to say,’ Smolin pointed out.

  ‘And which was the situation until thirty minutes ago, before we were told this,’ argued the Militia General.

  The Federal Prosecutor looked intently at the FBI agent. ‘There is probably a diplomatic argument against any Russian involvement whatsoever in the questioning of this man, Hughes?’

  ‘I would expect so,’ Cowley conceded. ‘That’s the sort of advice I was talking about needing, from Washington.’

  Smolin nodded. ‘You’d agree with me, wouldn’t you, that the murderer of Ann Harris is also the murderer of Vladimir Suzlev?’

  ‘There can be little doubt.’

  ‘A Prussian victim, as well as an American one.’

  Cowley was as intense as the other man, trying to isolate a manoeuvre he could not at the moment see. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I want a bargain,’ declared Smolin, sure of his strength. ‘I will agree to there still being no disclosure today of the Suzlev murder. I will also agree to there being no reference at the press conference to this man Hughes. And I will further agree there should be no move against Hughes until you get complete guidance how it should be handled from Washington …’ The Russian Prosecutor hesitated, the concessions presented. ‘In return for which I want a positive undertaking that when you interview Paul Hughes we — the Russians — have identical and complete access in that confrontation.’

  ‘There will be objections,’ Cowley anticipated, feeling he had to make the point.

  ‘That has to be our agreement,’ insisted Smolin.

  ‘Or you will announce the Suzlev murder? And that the fellow American with Ann Harris on the night of her killing is to be questioned about both?’ Cowley had no counter-arguments, nothing with which to resist the pressure.

  ‘I’m not going to issue ultimatums,’ said the Federal Prosecutor, having literally done just that.

  ‘It will have to be a Washington decision,’ said Cowley.

  Smolin gave a nod of acceptance. ‘I think you should also advise them that the government here in Moscow would take the strongest exception to any effort being made unexpectedly to repatriate Hughes to the United States.’

  ‘I think you’ve made your position exceptionally clear,’ said the American. He — and the embassy and even Washington — were hog-tied.

  Smolin smiled, a surprisingly youthful expression. ‘I’m glad we understand each other so completely! Does Senator Burden know anything of this?’

  ‘No!’ said Cowley.

  The Prosecutor’s smile became one of further understanding, at the quickness of the reply. ‘You don’t intend to tell him?’

  ‘Senator Burden is highly regarded, held in great esteem in Washington,’ said Cowley, seeing a pathway to safety. ‘I believe he is in daily communication with my Director, through the embassy.’

  Smolin momentarily lowered his head, in contemplation. Looking up he said: ‘Would it be wise for me — for one of us — to indicate a possible early conclusion to this investigation?’

  ‘Not at all!’ said Danilov, quickly. ‘Any suggestion like that would create enormous pressure for us to say more. And not just from the press; from the Senator and his staff.’

  As if on cue the attendant who had escorted Danilov and Cowley reappeared to announce the arrival of Burden and his party. Danilov saw that the interpreter from his one visit to the American embassy had been assigned, to assist. The interpreter clearly recognized Danilov but gave no indication. Probably the young man was offended, like all the others. Danilov intercepted a look directed at Cowley by Burden, and thought other people appeared to be offended by each other as well. He stared curiously at Cowley for a reaction but the American detective showed nothing. There was a flurry of introductions. Burden allowed Danilov a minimal handshake, but said: ‘You’re the investigator who speaks English, right?’

  Danilov guessed it was Baxter, at the embassy, who had issued the warning: he saw the man for the first time at the rear of the group. Also at the rear was an extremely attractive blonde woman, who gave the briefest smile. ‘Yes,’ said Danilov.

  ‘So tell me, in English, how we’re doing on this.’

  The interpreter positioned himself to translate simultaneously and Danilov was conscious of Smolin’s frown of irritation, at being ignored so soon after learning from Cowley that Burden was briefed at the highest level. For Smolin’s benefit he said in Russian: ‘I think the Federal Prosecutor should advise you,’ and at once repeated it in English, for the American politician. Burden’s eyes came open, in quick outrage, but Baxter, forever the professional diplomat, actually stepped forward to intercede, moving the introductions on. Momentarily Danilov thought Burden was going to refuse to move away, but abruptly the man turned to Smolin and Lapinsk. Because of the need to translate everything, Danilov was able to listen and to consider everything that was said and he was impressed — and surprised — by the way Smolin handled the encounter, which he knew to be something completely new for the man. Burden fired questions rapidly, hardly allowing one to be interpreted before posing another, his head slightly sideways to a young, fresh-faced aide who frequently prompted the Senator. They were still engaged in the exchanges when one of the Russian attendants came into the room to announce the press were assembled. Burden insisted at once that the press could wait (‘I want to hear more’) but Smolin saw the escape from the American pressure, leading them out towards the lecture room.

  As they began to move Cowley came alongside Danilov and said: ‘We need to talk, directly after this.’ His face was tight with what Danilov inferred to be anger.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Properly,’ said Cowley.

  ‘That’s what I’ve been waiting for us to do,’ said Danilov. He hadn’t intended the discussion between Cowley and the Prosecutor to turn out as it had — he hadn’t anticipated at all how Smolin would react — but he wasn’t dismayed at what had happened. He enjoyed not feeling inferior any more.

  A raised dais had been erected at one end of the hall, split laterally by a baize-covered table. The seating put Smolin, Lapinsk, Cowley and Danilov in a line, with the row continuing for Burden to sit between John Prescott and James McBride. The rest of the American party, including Baxter, stood at the side of the dais, but lower, at the level of the hall. The room was packed. The area directly in front of the platform and the table was a snakepit of wires and cables, feeding microphones and TV units already arranged. Among the wires hunched camera-laden photographers: at the follow-my-leader entry on to the stage there was an explosion of flash-guns and television lights flared on, making it difficult to focus upon any of the assembled journalists seated in the main body of the hall. There was a simultaneous translation booth at the far end of the table, and through the glare Danilov could make out many of the journalists holding ear-pieces to their heads. Further along the table Burden and his aides were
doing the same.

  Smolin had a presentation prepared. Practically at dictation speed he read out a statement of the facts of Ann Harris’s murder: name, age, position at the American embassy and circumstances of her body being found, although omitting the bizarre details. Russia was grateful for the offer of American investigatory help and an agent from the FBI was liaising upon scientific matters here in Moscow. The investigation was in its very preliminary stages but as the Federal Prosecutor he had no doubt of its eventual successful conclusion. He also welcomed the presence in Moscow of Senator Walter Burden, uncle of the dead girl, to whom on behalf of the Russian Federation he expressed his deepest sympathy.

  Danilov was conscious of the shifts of impatience from the journalists he could see in the first few rows during the Prosecutor’s opening. There was the briefest of pauses when Smolin stopped talking, no one appearing sure whether he had finished or not, and then a babble of shouting. For the first time the control of the unpractised Smolin wavered. The Prosecutor sat confused on the dais, looking to Lapinsk for help. But it came from McBride, the media expert. The American stood to take charge, yelled several times ‘OK guys, let’s calm it down and get started, shall we?’ and after a while re-established some sort of order. And then, remaining standing, picked out the questioners demanding attention: sometimes he did so by name. The opening questioning centred upon the progress and content of the investigation, which McBride referred to the Prosecutor or Lapinsk, who in turn signalled either Danilov or Cowley to respond. Cowley most of the time deferred to Danilov, whose discomfort increased, particularly when the third or fourth question demanded his identity, which he gave haltingly. Cowley was called upon immediately afterwards to identify himself. In response to the same question asked several different ways Danilov insisted that inquiries were progressing routinely, but Cowley caused a fresh barrage of demands by saying that there were certain lines of inquiry that were being pursued. At once aware of the mistake, the American withdrew, denying there was any expectation at this early stage of an arrest.