_____
Miles and Darby were washing the dishes from a late morning breakfast when Miles’s phone rang. Earlier that morning, he’d told Darby what he knew of Violet and Simon. Apparently Violet had never intended to tell the boy of his true father, but circumstances—and Miles wasn’t sure what they were—had intervened. “I don’t know whether he’ll even want to meet me,” Miles had said. “It’s a lot to absorb, just the same.”
Miles picked up the ringing cell phone and glanced at his display. “It’s Jagdish, about Russia,” he said. “Finally.”
Darby rinsed the pan they had used to make scrambled eggs, dried it, and went to sip another cup of coffee on the couch, next to Miles. She heard him asking about Mikhail Kazakova and the FSB, watched him taking notes, nodding, and furrowing his brow. When the call was over, he turned to her with a look of amazement.
“Kazakova has not set foot in Russia for at least three years,” Miles said. “Jagdish says that all of his money is held in off-shore accounts in Cyprus or has been put in foreign real estate. He’s not even considered a resident of Russia.”
“You’re kidding! Then where is he flying off to when he’s not in New York?”
“His other properties?”
Darby thought a moment. “I wonder how he liked the idea of Natalia marrying a Russian businessman?”
“Jagdish says the scuttlebutt in Moscow is that Mikhail owed Alec Rodin some kind of favor—something having to do with his fertilizer companies in the Ural Mountains. He says there’s no real evidence, but it’s widely believed Rodin greased some wheels for Kazakova—something that helped him achieve his vast wealth.”
“Or maybe he hushed something up?”
“Perhaps. Jagdish did mention an environmental scandal at a factory. He didn’t have much information on that, but what he did talk about was Rodin and the FSB.”
Darby leaned forward. “And …?”
“He said Rodin made a big show about being a real estate developer in Moscow, and other Russian cities, but that it’s long been rumored that his real work is with the new and improved KGB.”
“The FSB.”
“Exactly. They have their fingers in so many bowls of borscht it isn’t funny. Selling the old palaces of the exiled nobility is just a sideline, Jagdish said.”
“Hmm. Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t Natalia’s story focus on the real estate?”
“Yes.”
“Then why do you think Alec got so upset when he read the story? Doesn’t it seem as if he overreacted?”
“Maybe his actions had nothing to do with Vera’s allegations after all.”
“That’s what I’m starting to think. Alec didn’t care that she was talking about the palaces or exiled royals. He didn’t want her talking about the FSB.”
Miles nodded. “We may be on to something.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to go, love, but I’ll be back shortly after lunch. Meet me here?”
“Sounds good.” They kissed, tenderly, as if nothing could come between them.
_____
As Gina and Natalia made their way back to Central Park Place, Gina posed the question she’d been wondering for a while. “Natalia, what happened to your mother?”
The girl stopped and stared.
“I’m sorry,” Gina blurted. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Natalia began to smile. “I am not upset, only stunned. You don’t know how often I long to talk about her, and yet no one ever breathes a word.” She sighed. “It is as if she never existed.”
Gina thought of her own experience as an orphan. Her adoptive parents had gone out of their way to honor the birth parents that Gina would never even know.
Natalia took a deep breath. “Are you sure you want to listen? Once I begin, I may find it hard to end.”
“Please. I’d like to know about her.”
“Okay.” Another breath. “First: her name. It was Irina. She was smart—a good student, and not afraid to work. She met my father when they were in college.”
“What was she studying?”
“Medicine. She became an obstetrician. A good one.”
Gina smiled.
“My father,” Natalia continued, “was studying business, and they fell in love and got married. I was not born until my mother finished her schooling. My father does not talk about it, but my grandmother told me that they were quite happy.” She paused. “We were quite happy.”
“How did she die?”
“A car accident, when I was nearly four. She was driving home after delivering a baby. Perhaps she was tired, or found a patch of ice on the road. It was nearly spring but the pavement was still slippery, especially late at night.”
“A truck driver found her car, smashed against a guardrail. She died instantly, they said.”
“How awful for you, and your father.”
“Especially my father. After all, I was very small. It was then that he became very fearful for me, for my safety. I think he felt that he had not protected my mother, and so he was going to make sure I was constantly guarded.” Her eyes drifted to Sergei, standing nearby. “If anything, his obsession with me has gotten worse.”
“I suppose it’s understandable, although I don’t agree with it,” said Gina.
Natalia sighed. “My father is not a bad man. Here in America I think people assume that because we are Russian and wealthy that Papa made his money by stealing from poor Russians. It’s true that many of the billions made during the 1990s were created in just such a way. But my father did not do that. He built his company from the bottom up during this century, and he gave jobs to a great many people. When he sold it, his only crime—if indeed it is a crime—was in taking his money out of Russia.”
“I see. Was that because he didn’t feel it was safe?”
Natalia nodded. She glanced quickly at her cell phone. “Gina, I did not notice the time. I’d better get going to my class. Thank you—for the conversation, and the friendship.”
They were now in front of the building, and both little boys were asleep.
“My pleasure. We’ll have to do it again.” Gina watched as Natalia headed toward Sergei, who hailed them a cab. She waved as they got into the car and sped off.
A voice by her elbow made her jump. “Are you the Gina who wants my jumpers?”
She turned and saw the rugged face of Miles Porter.
“Yes! I’m glad your girlfriend told you.”
“She did. Darby also mentioned that you two have been putting your heads together regarding Alec Rodin’s death. She’s in the apartment now if you want to chat.”
Gina nodded. “I’ll bring my little men home and head over. Which one are you in?”
“Nine-thirty. I’ll text her and tell her you’ll be coming by.”
He headed for a cab and Gina pushed the stroller toward the building.
_____
Gina made the boys some lunch and tidied up before the afternoon nanny, Allie, arrived. By the coffee machine she spotted a cell phone, the red indicator light blinking to show messages. She picked it up. It was Penn’s phone, and he was probably irate over leaving it home.
That’s what happens when you start the day angry, Gina thought, feeling as if it were something the nuns at the orphanage might have said. Out of curiosity, she touched Penn’s screen and it sprang to life.
That’s odd, Gina thought. You would think that with all of his sensitive info he’d have his phone password protected. It had opened right up to text messages, and without really intending to, Gina could read many of the headings. She shrugged, went to put the phone down, when one of the headings caught her eye.
DODGED A BULLET.
What a strange heading. Gina listened to hear if Allie was coming, but heard nothing. She touched the screen and saw a long conversation between Penn
and an associate at his firm named Jack. She was about to close the screen when a name jumped out at her.
RODIN.
Gina gasped. This was too strange. Knowing that Allie could arrive at any moment, she tried to speed read the line of texts.
WAS GOING TO BE MESSY.
IMPLICATED THE FIRM.
And then, at the end: SO LUCKY HE’S GONE.
“What are you doing?”
Gina dropped the phone and it clattered onto the counter. She whirled around, her heart beating fast.
“Jeez, Allie, you scared me!” The noon nanny was five minutes early. “Penn forgot his phone and I just found it. I was checking to see if I could find his work number to let him know.”
“They’re on the bulletin board, Gina.” She said it with an air of superiority, as if she knew everything and lowly Gina was a complete dolt. Gina smiled sweetly. She happened to know she made more money than Allie, and she loved the fact that Miss High and Mighty didn’t have a clue.
“Gosh, you’re right. Thanks loads.” Gina called Penn’s office and left a message with his secretary, alerting her that the phone was at home, in case he was concerned.
She gathered up her backpack, hoping Allie could not see the odd mixture of emotions flitting over her face, and hugged the boys goodbye. “Thanks again for your help, Allie.”
“Yeah, whatever,” she replied, collapsing on the couch and opening a magazine.
Gina slipped out the door before Trevor could start calling her name.
twenty
On Tuesday morning, Peggy Babson called Columbia University and said she was sick.
She wasn’t really sure why she’d done it. She wasn’t sick at all—she felt fine, but the idea of getting to the train and slogging through a full day of work, only to take the train home again did not have any appeal.
She supposed that the reason she did not feel like going to work could have something to do with the bloody butcher apron. She had a sneaking suspicion that her plan had failed, that the detectives had ignored the evidence linking Miles to the murder of the Russian man. She wasn’t positively sure why law enforcement was choosing to look the other way, but she had an inkling that it had to do with secret trade agreements with the Queen.
Peggy decided to make herself a cup of tea, but it was getting more and more difficult to find a clean mug. It didn’t occur to her to wash one of the dozen mugs that were crowding her counter. Instead, she took a small bowl down from the cupboard.
Yes, she thought. This will do nicely.
When the water had boiled, she pushed aside piles to find the familiar plaid box, pulled out a bag, and placed it in the bowl. She poured in some water and waited for it to steep. Poor Pete was following her around, looking for his morning meal, but so far she’d been unable to locate his dog food. “We’ll get you something in a bit, Sport,” she said.
Sport. That was something that her Dad would have said. She smiled, thinking of him and her mother. This had been their house, up until their death, and since moving in Peggy had tried her darnedest to keep it just as nice and tidy as they had done.
But the compulsion to collect was getting stronger. Even as she removed the tea bag from her bowl and prepared to throw it away, she felt the urge to save it instead. “Why?” she asked aloud. Almost immediately she heard the answer. You never know what will happen …
It was true! You never did know what would happen. One day you lived in beautiful Rockaway with your neighbors, and the next a terrible storm had blown in and destroyed the place forever. Oh sure, individual houses survived, some of them anyway, but the spirit of the town was broken. A tiredness settled on the people like a fine sprinkling of dust.
Peggy put the damp tea bag on top of a stack of boxes. She’d try to remember it was there, in case she needed it.
_____
Gina walked into Charles Burrows’s apartment and immediately saw the sticky notes that were still on the coffee table. She read the names aloud: “Rodin, Natalia, Mikhail, Sergei, Vera Graff, Rona Reichels.”
“Crap, you guys are serious about this!” She took off her back pack. “Good. Give me that marker, I’ve got two more names.”
Darby watched as she wrote down “Sherry Cooper.”
“Your boss?”
Gina nodded, still scribbling. “And her husband, Penn.” Triumphantly she handed Darby the two notes. “Sherry has wanted to live in the Kazakovas’ penthouse for four years. The first thing she said when we heard Rodin was dead was that she was calling Rona Reichels to see if it was free.”
“Interesting,” Darby said. “Go on.”
“She has Thursday afternoons off and is used to getting what she wants.”
“And Penn?”
“His firm was in some sort of litigation with Alec Rodin. I don’t know much about it, but they were relieved when he died. One of them said they’d ‘dodged a bullet.’”
Gina wasn’t about to tell Darby how she’d obtained this information, and the real estate agent didn’t ask.
“Excellent. We’ll need to dig deeper on that, see if we can find out what that litigation was about.” If Darby was thinking about her own pending lawsuit, she didn’t show it.
Gina lifted two of the squares and waggled them in front of Darby.
“I don’t think Natalia killed him, nor do I think it was Sergei.” She told Darby about her conversation with Natalia, especially the remark that Sergei would have used his bare hands if he’d been the one to kill Alec. “I suppose we need to keep them on the list, but I don’t think either one of them did it.”
“What about this new friend of Natalia’s? Jeremy?”
“She didn’t even mention him when we talked today. I don’t think they are very serious, but perhaps we should put him down. I’ll ask her about him next time we talk.”
Gina took the marker and a square and wrote down Jeremy’s name.
Darby remembered what Todd Stockton had told her earlier. “Did you hear about Rona’s daughter? She died on Sunday night of an accidental overdose.”
“You’re kidding.” Gina couldn’t recall ever meeting Devin Finne-gan, but she knew the Coopers would take the news hard. “That stinks, but I still see Rona as the number-one suspect. She’s the only one we know who had a real reason to hate Rodin.”
“Besides Natalia?” Darby teased.
“Good point.”
“What about Mikhail? We heard that he owed Rodin something, some kind of payback to do with his fertilizer factories in Russia. Did Natalia say anything about that?”
“Only that her father is a good guy, and that he’s a self-made man who did not pillage the country to amass his fortune.” Gina’s phone buzzed and she picked it up. “How sweet. Sherry Cooper is my new friend on Facebook.” She clicked on something, scanned it, and then sat bolt upright. “Sweet Lord! You are not going to believe this!”
Darby felt her scalp tingling. “What is it?”
Gina’s eyes were wide. “Guess who was a champion collegiate fencer?”
_____
Rona emptied her pockets back in her apartment. Devin’s cell phone, her set of keys, and the money all went on the table. Rona sat down heavily and looked at the items.
Cash was cash, Rona figured, and Lord, did she need some. Where it came from was of little consequence. She needed money, and she’d look at this windfall as another little gift from Devin.
The keys. Rona picked them up, noticing the little tags affixed to each one. 677. 834. 515. 930. 1822 …
Why in the world had her daughter possessed so many keys?
She froze. The numbers … they were familiar.
She looked at the sequence again. And then it hit her.
The numbers were units she had sold in the building.
This building. Her building.
Rona felt
her blood run cold. If anyone knew these keys existed, her real estate license could be in jeopardy. How had they found their way into Devin’s apartment?
She stood up, tried to clear her head. Somehow Devin had gotten her hands on keys from her old listings. The Graff apartment, Charlie Burrows’s, the Coopers … but how?
She looked down at the keys. And then she knew the answer.
Devin had made copies.
It would not have been that difficult. Rona had always kept the keys to her properties together, on a sterling silver key ring, neatly labeled so that she could get into a listing at a moment’s notice. Devin could have taken a key, had it copied, and then returned it to the ring.
But why?
Rona racked her brain. She could almost hear Devin, a senior in high school, asking innocently, “What properties have you sold?” Had the girl copied the keys because she was thinking ahead?
Of course, some buyers changed the locks the minute the ink on their deed was dry. She thought of the Coopers. Surely these keys would no longer work in apartment 1822. Others, Rona knew, never changed their locks, putting their faith in doormen and God knew what else.
Like Vera Graff.
The phone on the coffee table vibrated, making Rona jump. Someone was trying to reach Devin. Someone who did not know she was dead.
Perhaps her mysterious new friend?
Rona looked at the phone, wondered if there was any way in the world she could answer it. The vibrating continued, insistent. She shook her head. No …
It vibrated again.
Rona reached down and picked up the phone.
_____
“We need to tell Detectives Benedetti and Ryan what we know,” Darby said, letting the implications of Gina’s words sink in. Sherry was an expert fencer. Sherry knew how to handle a sword …
She looked over at Gina, who was hugging her knees to her chest, as if she were trying to make herself very small. “You okay?”
Deal Killer (A Darby Farr Mystery) Page 22
