leg. “Have you any iodine?”
Sheila looked at Larson, then at Kostov, then again at Larson. She walked outside,
onto the south terrace.
Moments later, she burst back inside. She looked down at Larson again and breathed
deeply. “Is it true you took the bullet? Intentionally took the bullet?”
He didn’t reply.
She shook her head. “It is true, isn’t it? What can I—” She covered her face and ran
to the stairway.
Chapter 34
Larson tucked the handset under his chin and pressed 911 with his good hand. The response was immediate. “Nine eleven. What’s your emergency?” “We’ve had three killings and—”
“Where are you?”
“Sheila Rubenstein’s house.”
“What number?”
“Number? I don’t—”
Sheila took the handset. “3592. The top of Davis Mountain.”
“Right. Got you on the screen. Right. And you’ve had what?”
She handed the handset back to Larson.
“Hello. You’ve had what?”
“Three killings. And two people wounded. Gunshots. Neither critical.” “What happened?”
“Doctor Rubenstein was attacked by five people. A friend of Doctor Rubenstein’s
managed to kill three of them. A fourth may have escaped and a fifth seems to have escaped.”
“What about the wounded?”
“I was shot in the shoulder. Colonel Kostov was—”
“Colonel?”
“Yes. A colonel in the Russian security service.”
“Your name?”
“Larson.”
“Got it. We’re—uh, we’re sending a cruising deputy sheriff your way right now and the EMS right behind him.”
“Thank you.”
“And then we’ll notify Sheriff Poteete. He’ll be in charge.”
Larson was lying on a couch, dozing, while Kostov stretched out in an Eames chair, his eyes closed and his leg elevated, when they heard the sirens.
“Finally,” Larson said. “I’ll go meet them. Stay where you are.”
He met the lead cruiser at the top of the road. An older man in a short sleeve shirt leaned across the driver. “Want to come around to my side?”
Larson nodded.
“Now, who are you and what do we have here. The folks at 911 were a little sketchy with their information. We don’t get all that many multiple homicides hereabouts.”
“I’m Sam Larson and—”
“You’re the one who called?”
“Yes. The house belongs to my business associate, Sheila Rubenstein. We were attacked by—”
“Who’s we?”
“Me, Ms. Rubenstein, and a friend of mine, Ivan Kostov.”
“Who were the attackers?”
“Four Russians and an American. Criminals. The Russians are—were—members of a Moscow mafya. The American was a former business associate of mine, now working for the Russians. The Russians are dead, the American is gone. I—”
The sheriff raised his hand. “Hold on for a minute.” He climbed out of the cruiser and extended his hand. “I’m Sheriff Bailey Poteete.” He pointed at his deputy. “Bubba Zimmerman.
“Now before we go inside, tell me what this has to do with whatever is going on down hill at Parrot’s?”
“There was—”
A second cruiser interrupted Larson. The Sheriff motioned for the driver to join them. “This is Jim Stevenson.”
“Some hill,” Stevenson said. “I wasn’t sure I was going to make it.”
Poteete started toward the house. “We got a call from Sara Beth. We couldn’t make out what she was saying, so I sent Dixie to take a look. We passed him on the way here and—” He turned to the newcomer. “Jim, call Dix and see what’s going on.”
“I know what happened,” Larson said. “Sara Beth called Ms. Rubenstein.”“Tell me.”
He described the call.
“And Ms. Rubenstein is here?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“She and my friend Ivan Kostov are inside. She’s okay, but she’s gone to her room.” He hesitated. “It was a lot for anyone to take.”
Po teete scanned the house and grounds. “I’ve heard about this place. Different.” Larson nodded.
He gestured toward Larson’s shoulder. “Hurt a lot?”
“Getting worse.”
“The 911 folks have two EMS crews on the way.”
Larson nodded.
Poteete entered though the south door. “Damn! The outside was something, but it
didn’t get me ready for this.”
“It’s quite a house.”
“Now, tell me where—” He saw Romanidze’s body. “Two in the chest. Might both
be heart shots.”
He glanced at Kostov. “That your pal?”
“Yes.”
“Sit and tell me all about it.
Larson told what he knew.
Poteete looked around the room. “Got two more dead, you said?”
Kostov stood. “Yes.”
“What’s your name?”
“Ivan Arkadyevich Kostov.”
“Ain’t from around here, are you?”
“I am a colonel of the Federal’naya Sluzhba Bezopasnosti. Seconded to the Finance
Ministry of the Russian Republic.”
Poteete shook his head. “This’ll be one for the North Georgia News. Take me to the other two.” Poteete pushed Naveeva’s head with the toe of his boot. “Broken neck. S he look any better than this when she was alive?”
Larson smiled. “No.”
“Where’s the other one?”
Larson turned on the north side exterior lights.
Kostov led Poteete outside.
He tapped Dreshchensky’s head. “Broken neck.” He bent closer to the corpse. “And something closed his windpipe.”
“Yes,” Kostov said.
“Who—”
“I executed these e’cume. Scum.”
Poteete shook his head. “I can’t wait to hear your story.”
Larson stepped between them. “I—”
The sheriff laid his hand on Larson’s good shoulder. “Don’t worry none, son, I don’t jump to conclusions. And what’s more, I don’t think I’m going to be asking the questions here. Let’s get back inside so I can call Cleveland. If ever I saw a case that belonged to the Georgia Bureau of Investigation, it’s this one.”
“Quincy, you on call again?
“Hey, Bailey. What’s up?”
“I’ve got one the GBI was made for.”
“Go.”
“You know how the folks in Atlanta are always moaning about we don’t call you in
soon enough.”
“Uh, yes.”
“Well, let the record show that we called you on this one as soon as we could. I need
you and at least one of your crime scene people right away.”
“What do you have?”
Poteete explained.
“And where is this?”
Poteete gave him the directions.
The Sheriff chuckled as he replaced the handset. “Quincy’s on his way. You and I
can relax, Bubba.”
“Three bodies are three too many for me to do much relaxing, Sheriff.” Five minutes later Poteete cupped his ear. “Hear that siren, Bubba? That’ll be Clary. He’s not happy unless he has that thing running. You suppose he’s got to clear out a lot of traffic on that godforsaken path up here? Hustle out there and show him where to park. No stretchers.”
Three men and a woman entered the house.
Clarence MacRae glanced around the room. “Like wow! What happened here? Who are—”
“You’re not a tourist, Clary. Get these two fixed up.” Debbie Peters completed bandaging Kostov’s leg, then nodded to MacRae. “Neither of these are life threatening, Sheriff,” MacRae said, “but they both
have
to go to the hospital. Tetanus shots and a chance for one of those high-priced doctors to get his two cents worth in.”
“Get them ready to travel, but hold up.” Quincy Pilcher’s on his way and there’s no way to know how he wants to handle all this.”
Deputy Stephenson reported the events at the store below. Poteete nodded. “That’s what Mr. Larson here said. Do they need any help?”
“Didn’t say so.”
“Get on the horn to Ray Soper and tell him to round up his ghouls and three—no, make it four—body bags and get on up here.” He hesitated. “And one for Wilf Parrott, too, if Dix hasn’t already called.” He paused and shook his head. “Goddamn!”
Twenty minutes later another automobile was struggling as it completed the climb. GBI Agent Quincy Pilcher walked in.
“Thanks a lot, Sheriff!”
“How have I disturbed the GBI this time?”
“You neglected to tell me where this place is. I looked at the number on my map and
decided that my Dakota would be enough. I was almost wrong.”
“I thought you knew the territory.”
“I know more now than I did. What’s the big—” Pilcher looked at Romanidze’s
body. “Never mind.” He kneeled. “No burn marks. Nice shooting.”
“We have more.” Poteete led him to the other two bodies.
“And there’s one down below.”
“Skip the riddles, Bailey. What do you mean by down below?”
“One was shot and fell off a cliff at the edge of the property.”
“One of the bad guys?”
Poteete gestured at Larson and Kostov. “According to these two.”
“Sounds like he can wait for a while.”
Deputy Zimmerman laughed. “Unless the bears get him first. We got an old he up
here name of Big Tom. Carry that fellow away if he gets the chance.”
“We’ll take that risk.” Pilcher opened his cell phone. “Better get the boss on the
way.” He pressed the coded button for David Connor’s residence.
“Connor.”
Pilcher explained the circumstances. “And I don’t have any crime scene people here
yet. Terrabon’s on the way, but he won’t be enough. I recommend two more.” Pilcher listened, then hung up and smiled at the sheriff. “I think the whole gang’s
coming. Ought to be fun.” He winked at Poteete. “About your new friends.” “Yes?”
“The clothes.”
Poteete smiled. “I’m not up on lowland dress, but I think they’re golfers—a long way
from the clubhouse.”
Quincy smiled. “Good. I thought at first they might be a little light on their feet.” Ray Soper, the Union County coroner, arrived half an hour later.
Pilcher extended his hand. “Evening, Ray. How’s Alice and—”
“Never mind all that. This ain’t no social call. What’s up?”
“Three customers.”
“Three?”
Pilcher pointed at Romanidze’s body.
“Shot.”
“Very good, Ray.”
“I’ll just—”
“No, your part is limited to representing the County on the scene and providing the
body bags.”
“Oh?”
“We’ve got crime scene people on the way. They’ll handle the examinations.” Soper smiled. “I’m hurt the way you’re treating me, Quincy, but I’ll survive.” “Good. Take a seat.” He gestured around the room. “Read one of these zillion
books.”
“Sheriff,” Pilcher said, “what would you think of having one of your lads drive the two wounded to Union General?”
“Glad to.” He nodded at Deputy Zimmerman.
“Bring them back ASAP,” Pilcher said. “We’ve got lots to talk about.”
“Before we go,” Larson said, “let me tell you about Doctor Rubenstein. She’s upstairs.”
Pilcher nodded.
Larson explained the circumstances. “I imagine she’s asleep. I don’t know how long it’ll take her to calm down, but I recommend letting her take as much time as she needs. Even considering our wounds, the incident was much worst for her.”
“Agreed. Do we need a doctor for her?”
“Not a medical doctor.”
Zimmerman led Larson and Kostov to his Crown Victoria.
Sylvester Terrabon arrived without fanfare. He knocked on the south side door. “Come!”
“Sil-theTerror. At your service, Quincy. Why’d you drag me up—” He saw the
corpse. “Looks dead, don’t he?”
“You’ve been studying again, Syl.”
“I’d say one in the right ventricle and one in the left atria.”
“I think you’re right.”
“No powder burns. Pretty fair shooting. Who did the deed?”
“Some Russian colonel. Gone—”
“Russian!”
“Gone to the hospital for some repair.”
“Thought I saw Bubba headed the other way. Want me to get started?”
“Yes. Juanita and Ray Lippincott will be along in a while, but they have customers of their own.”
“Two more?”
Pilcher nodded.
“Shot?”
“Broken necks.”
“Necks. Quince, can I switch and take one of those? Never worked on a broken
neck—except for accidents, of course.”
He nodded to Romanidze’s body. “No, let’s get this one underway.” At ten o’clock GBI Agent in Charge for the Northeast Re gion David Connor, GBI Agents Bacci and Deland, and Crime Scene technicians Narcal and Lippincott arrived.
“I see Syl’s at work.” Connor said. He turned to the technicians. “Juanita, you and Ray go find the other two bodies.”
He nodded at Pilcher. “Let’s get into it, Quincy. You and the sheriff bring us up to speed.”
Pilcher and Poteete shared the responsibilities.
Connor smiled at Poteete. “Thank you. I think that’s all for your people, Bailey, though you can stay if you like.”
“I think I’ll head on. I’ll drop by tomorrow morning.”
“I expect we’ll still be here.
“Now, Quincy, tell me about the woman upstairs.”
Pilcher repeated Larson’s recommendation.
“I agree, but don’t let her wander off. Now, tell me about the fourth guy?” “Shot, fell over a cliff onto a pile of broken gneiss.”
“And this Russian saw the body?”
“So he said.”
“Have you looked?”
“It was after nine. There’s a dark shape that doesn’t look like a rock, but—” “Let’s go. Bacci, find a flashlight.”
The mist was heavy below the cliff.
Pilcher stopped and got his bearings. “This is where I was standing. According to the Russian, it’s thirty feet to the bottom. I yelled, but didn’t hear anything. It’s too risky to make the climb until the mist clears.”
“I agree, but let’s get someone down there as soon as it’s light.”
“And—”
“Bacci, sit here and flash your light down there occasionally. Let me know when the mist clears up.”
“All night?”
Connor smiled.
Back inside, Connor surveyed the efforts of the three crime scene technicians. “ How much longer, Syl.”
“You want the full, first class, no holds barred, damn the cost procedure?”
“Have you ever, ever seen a scene that deserved it more?”
“The old collect weapons and process? Make more measurements than you can believe possible? Find and collect blood samples, including splatters from all around the room, take—”
“Terrabon, quit fiddling around. I think this job may be too—”
“Take as many photographs as you have film and then send out for more? Take charge of the perp’s vehicles and—”
/> “There isn’t a perp’s vehicle. Just this lady’s old jeep.”
“No vehicle? How the hell did everyone get here?”
“Helicopter, for one group.”
“Helicopter! Makings of something for True Crime, ain’t it? Well, to continue, sweep the floor and gather the sweepings? Strip my man here with the two holes in him and bag the clothes? And, after that, we’ll have to—”
“Terrabon, I’ve lost interest in your soliloquy? How long?”
“Twelve to eighteen hours—assuming that I get some relief and don’t fall face forward into a pool of blood.”
“What about the other two?”
“Haven’t even seen them, but they sound easier.“
Conner found Narcal working over Naveeva’s body. “You picked the female, Juanita?”
“No, Ray took one look at her and went for the guy.”
“Got to be a first for him.”
“Maybe, but it was an understandable decision. Look.” She uncovered the woman’s face.
“Ugh! I understand his choice. How long for this one?”
“Not much to do here. Somebody jabbed her in the throat, punched her in the gut, and chopped her neck. Very professional, I’d say.”
“So, how long?”
“Photos, measurements—not much else. Couple of hours.”
The other technician, Lippincott, was taking photographs when Connor and Pilcher found him outside. “What do have here?”
“Just like we were briefed. First stroke crushed the windpipe, the second rapped the back of his neck. Died about the same time he found out he couldn’t yell.”
“How long to finish?”
“Another hour. Maybe less.”
“Pay attention to details. This doesn’t look complex, but who knows.”
Two hours later, Zimmerman led Larson and Kostov inside.
“How did it go?” Pilcher said.
“No problems,” Larson said. “The emergency room crew said that I’d be ready to
play tennis in maybe four months.” He jerked his thumb at Kostov. “They said they wouldn’t even put him in for a medal.” Kostov shook his head. “My wound is not serious.”
“That’s excellent.” He pointed to Connor. “While you were gone, our boss arrived. Gentlemen, this is Agent in Charge Connor. David, I’ll bet you can pick out which one is Colonel Kostov.”
Connor extended his hand first to Kostov. “May we know what’s happened while we were gone?” Larson said. He glanced at the balcony.
“The lady hasn’t come down yet,” Pilcher said, “and what we’re doing here is what we call processing the scene, a major data collection of all physical aspects of what occurred.”
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