“Not even close.”
* * *
Eduard Zonov was completely bald with large dark eyes. He wore a plain long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans with heavy work boots. A diamond earring and a silver bracelet were his only adornments. He wasn’t a physically imposing man, standing around 5’8” or 5’9”, not particularly thin nor heavy nor muscular. In fact, except for his remarkable eyes, he was rather ordinary.
Smith escorted him to a chair at the metal table in the interrogation room and Zonov gave him a polite smile, clasped his hands in his lap, and grinned at the two-way glass. This clearly wasn’t his first rodeo.
“Arrogant bastard,” muttered Devan next to Marco.
Marco studied Zonov carefully. He hadn’t asked for a lawyer, hadn’t asked why he was being brought in, and hadn’t shown the slightest sign of concern.
Cho and Simons walked into the viewing room, carrying Peterson’s file.
“We’ve got a problem, Captain.”
Marco glanced over at Cho. “What?”
“Peterson didn’t pick him out of the line-up. He said he didn’t recognize anyone there.”
“Was he lying?”
Simons shrugged. “If he was, he’s a better actor than we thought.”
“What about the neighbor who reported the black Mercedes? Did she get a look at the driver?”
“No, she says it was too dark. She noticed the Mercedes because she saw the Mercedes’ three pointed star on the trunk in the street light.”
Marco looked back at Zonov. “I’ll bet Peterson never met the snake in person. I bet he always dealt with flunkies.”
“You’re probably right,” said Devan.
Rosa rounded the corner of the viewing room, wearing her obligatory FBI black suit, white shirt, and tie with her dark hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. “I like the new assistant, D’Angelo. He’s both efficient and intimidating as hell.”
Marco smiled at her. “He also knows how to answer phones.”
“Well, there’s a bonus.” Her eyes tracked to Zonov and she studied him for a moment. “Sonuvabitch loves this. It’s a game to him. Let me guess, he hasn’t asked for a lawyer.”
“Nope.”
“Who’s going to question him?” She eyed Simons and Cho.
Cho held up his hand.
“Bust his balls if you have to,” she suggested.
“Peterson couldn’t pick him out of the line-up,” said Marco.
Rosa’s attention shifted to him. “Too afraid?”
“I don’t know,” said Cho. “He actually acted like he didn’t recognize anyone.”
“He has brain damage, according to our M.E.,” said Marco.
“Well, that’s going to make this harder. I’ll bet ATF didn’t get anything off the bomb.”
“Not one thing,” said Simons.
“Yeah, well, let’s see what we can get on tape. Maybe you can make him slip up.”
Cho nodded, then led the way into the interrogation room. Rosa rubbed her hands together and leaned on the table next to Marco. “Now you’ll get to see some waltzing, D’Angelo, just watch.”
Marco and Devan exchanged a look. Rosa almost appeared to admire Zonov.
Cho sat down at the table and Simons took the seat next to Zonov. It was a new tactic for them, but Zonov didn’t seem concerned by it. He gave Cho a bland smile.
“Thank you for coming in, Mr. Zonov.”
“I always want to help police.”
“Right. Let me start by giving you our condolences.”
“Condolences? For what?”
Cho’s eyes lifted and met Zonov’s. “The death of your nephew?”
“Ah, thank you, but it is misplace. I warn my nephew he will end bad if he continue his ways. He never listen.” Zonov held out his hands. “That is way of world, is it not, Officer?”
“Inspector.”
“Right, Inspector Cho. You are immigrant too, yes?”
“No. I was born here.”
“Ah, yes, English is good for you.” He placed his hand in the middle of his chest and leaned closer to Cho. “I learn English when I am thirty-two. Is much more difficult then, I think, yes?”
“Yes. Can we talk about your nephew, Mr. Zonov?”
“Is very sad, no? My sister will be…” He made a motion with his hand. “...how you say, devastate.”
“Right.”
“But I tell him, these things you do will end badly.”
“What was he doing?”
Zonov motioned Cho to lean closer. “He offer people…um...protection, I think, yes?”
“Protection?” Cho glanced at Simons.
Simons shrugged. “Maybe he distributed condoms?”
Zonov laughed. “Is good, yes? Protection. Condoms. Is good joke, yes?”
“Did you know Brad Peterson, Mr. Zonov? Did you have dealings with him?”
“Dealings? I run food truck. I sell piroshkies and pork dumplings and blini with smoke salmon.”
Cho opened the folder. “You were also arrested for assault, racketeering and illegal gambling. How’d those things happen?”
“Is what I’m telling you. When I was young, I did not understand about ending badly. As we get older…” He laughed and motioned between Simons and himself. “...we know these things, no?” He nudged Simons with his forearm.
Marco let out his breath.
Rosa glanced over at him. “I warned you. He oozes charm through his sweat.”
“He doesn’t seem to be sweating to me.”
“No, he’s the cat, Cho’s the mouse. Cho needs to give him a nip.”
Marco tapped on the glass.
“Excuse me a moment,” Cho said, then rose to his feet and stepped out of the interrogation room. Simons stayed behind.
“Captain?”
“Push him harder.”
“He’s bouncing everything off. He acts like we’re having a beer or something.”
“Accuse him of planting the bomb under Peterson’s truck,” said Rosa. “Get him off balance.”
Cho nodded and went back into the room. He set the file down and leaned on the table.
“I hope everything is okey dokey,” said Zonov, smiling.
“No, it’s not. I have a dead body in the morgue, who just happens to be your nephew and you don’t seem to give a damn. Your sister’s going to be devastated, but how is she going to feel when you show her you don’t care?”
“Chechen women are strong. They know suffering. They survive.”
“I call bull shit on that. You aren’t okay with the death of your nephew. You wanted revenge, so you put a bomb under Brad Peterson’s truck.”
Zonov leaned back, folding his hands on his belly. “I’m food truck driver. I make piroshkies. I don’t build bombs. You confuse me with someone else.”
“No, we know it was you. We know your black Mercedes was on Peterson’s street.”
“I am food truck driver. How I get Mercedes?”
“Because you’re a bookie. The Mercedes is registered in your name.”
Zonov gave a disbelieving look. “Where is Mercedes then?” He chuckled at Simons, nudging him with his arm again. “I like Mercedes. Gets the women.”
“Peterson owes you a lot of money, so you sent Demetri to intimidate him and make him pay up. Peterson shoots Demetri and now you want revenge, but what I don’t understand is why you blew up the truck and not Peterson?”
“Maybe he’s not very good. Maybe he exploded prematurely,” said Simons suggestively.
Cho gave an agreeable shrug.
Zonov broke into laughter. “Is good, yes? You make joke about sex, yes? I get joke. Is good.”
Cho glanced back at the two-way glass.
Rosa shook her head almost gleefully. “I told you he was slick.”
“Are you enjoying this?”
“Hell’s yeah. You think we haven’t been after this bastard for years? He dances around us the same way. Nice to see it happening to someone else.”
Marco glanced over at Devan. “What now?”
“We don’t have an ID from the line-up, we don’t have evidence from the scene, the witness who saw a black Mercedes recognized it by the logo, nothing else, and Zonov is tap dancing around your cops like freakin’ Gregory Hines.”
“I haven’t thought of Gregory Hines in years. Huh, I’m gonna have to get some of his movies,” said Rosa.
“You’re not helping,” Marco told her.
She shrugged. “You’re not helping me either.”
“Cut him loose,” said Devan, shaking his head.
Marco tapped on the glass again. Cho backed away from the table and turned, walking into the viewing room.
“Cut him loose.”
Cho held up a hand, then let it fall. “I’m sorry, Captain. I tried.”
“I know.”
Cho shuffled his feet, then gave Rosa a stern look. “We needed Brooks for this.”
Marco nodded, watching Zonov smirk at the two-way glass.
* * *
Peyton and Radar started at Charing Cross, showing Charlie’s pictures to everyone they could find. They scoured the platforms, but no one reported seeing him. Getting back on the train, they rode to the Embankment Station, got off and did the same thing. No luck.
Switching to the Circle Line so they could stay in Zone One, they rode to Westminster. Once there, Radar scoured the station with their photos, but when it turned up not a shred of interest, Radar put his hands on his hips and stared up a long flight of stairs where a ray of sunshine beamed down.
Peyton watched the people bustling back and forth, hurrying on their way. Westminster was one of the largest stations they’d seen. “It’s too big for Charlie. He wouldn’t come here, Radar. He’d feel overwhelmed by all of this.”
Radar continued to stare up the stairs. “Come on.”
Peyton followed him as he began to climb. “What are you doing? You’re leaving the station.”
“We’ve been in London a week now and beyond a few pubs and Scotland Yard, I’ve seen very little of this city. We’re getting some air.”
Peyton jogged to follow him, tamping down on her aggravation. She just wanted to get Charlie, turn him over to Scotland Yard, get on a plane, and go home. This wasn’t a damn vacation. This was a case and they didn’t have time for sightseeing.
Peyton’s breath caught as they reached the top of the stairs. The Thames spread out before them, boats carrying tourists up and down her massive width, barges hauling cargo back and forth. They exited the stairwell onto a pale-green bridge choked with traffic and pedestrians.
Before them rose the London Eye, the giant Ferris wheel with observation capsules spaced around the enormous circle. Behind it stood an ornate stone building with a bright green bell tower. Peyton could make out the words London Sea Life Aquarium emblazoned across the semi-circular structure.
Radar pointed to the stone building. “County Hall, where the city council once met. It’s part hotel now. I always wanted to take Mrs. Radar there.”
Peyton smiled at him.
He slowly turned and looked over her shoulder, then he gave a breathless exhalation. Peyton turned to follow his sight and gasped. A massive clock tower rose above them, part of a gothic structure of brown stone, ornate towers, and stained glass windows.
“Big Ben and Westminster Abbey,” whispered Radar in her ear.
Peyton felt tears sting her eyes. “It’s beautiful.”
“Royal coronations, funerals, and weddings have taken place inside those walls.” He leaned on the bridge and just took it in.
Peyton felt dwarfed by the scope of it. The weight of history was heavy here and disconnected from the bustle of red double-decker busses, modern cars and trucks, people taking pictures with their tablets, wearing shorts and t-shirts, all standing in the shadow of a building that was simply ancient.
“How old is it?” she whispered, awed by the enormity of it.
“I asked Tank this morning. He said he believed it dated to the 10th century.” He gave Peyton a wistful smile. “Makes you feel insignificant, doesn’t it?”
Peyton shrugged. “Actually the opposite.”
“What do you mean?”
She returned his smile. “Humans endure. Against all odds, we endure, and sometimes...sometimes, we create things of beauty.”
Radar gave her a nod and they continued to breathe in the sight.
* * *
Marco’s phone buzzed on his blotter and he set his sandwich down, reaching for it. He thumbed it on and saw a text message from Peyton. Pressing the icon, he smiled as he studied the picture of her before Westminster Abbey. Her eyes seemed to glow with pleasure. His expression sobered. She was half a world away, seeing things he never would. Why would she ever want to come back here and settle into a sedate life as the wife of a police captain?
Lee stuck his head inside Marco’s open door. “Captain?”
Marco set the phone down. “Yeah?”
“Tag Shotwell and Drew Holmes want to see you.”
Marco motioned for Lee to let them in. Tag stepped into the office and moved to his desk, ignoring the chairs. Holmes followed behind her. He was a full-fledged inspector now, but he seemed oddly resigned to being Tag’s apprentice.
“Captain, Cho just called. He said to tell you the Petersons are in the wind.”
“Shit. They’re not in Woodside or Nob Hill?”
“Nope. He can’t locate them. Not only that, but a black Mercedes…” She took a paper out of her pocket and looked at it. “...was just found burning at Pier 31. Cho wants us to meet ATF out there and check it out. We’re apparently supposed to contact a Donaldson.”
Marco rubbed his fingers against his temple. “Yeah, he’s the ATF special agent who handled the torching of Peterson’s F150. He’s familiar with the case. What are Cho and Simons doing?”
“Trying to locate the Petersons and this Zonov character. Cho says the car looks like a professional job,” said Holmes. “The VIN number was filed off and the license plates are missing.”
“The bastard didn’t waste any time, did he?”
“Huh?” asked Tag.
“Zonov. He got rid of the Mercedes the minute we turned him loose. This guy’s like an eel. Take Ryder with you and have him go over the car. I’ll call Donaldson and get it cleared.”
“What are we looking for in particular?”
“Anything that can tie Zonov to the car. Fingerprint, hair, toenail. I don’t give a damn, I just want him linked to the car.”
“With no VIN number?”
“Have Ryder take a picture of the plate. Donaldson’ll never let you have the plate itself, but maybe Stan can work some computer voodoo and pull some numbers off it.”
“We’ll do our best,” said Tag.
“Have Ryder go through the trunk. Zonov might have shed some hair or flaked off some skin when he was putting a body in there or something.”
Holmes reared back and Tag made a face. “What exactly are we dealing with here, Captain?” she asked.
“A slick, dangerous character. Have Cho and Simons brush you up on him when they get in.”
“Done.”
Marco’s desk phone buzzed. He gave his inspectors a nod and sent them off as he reached for the line. “Yeah.”
“Carol Peterson’s on the line for you, Captain,” said Lee. “Do you want me to take a message?”
“No, put her through.” A moment later Marco could hear Carol’s breathing. “Carol, where are you?”
“Marco, I’m so glad I caught you. I had to take Brad to Sequoia Hospital last night after you left. He was so shaken up about losing the truck, they had to give him a sedative. I just wanted to know if you have this Eduard character in custody.”
“No, we don’t, Carol. We couldn’t charge him with anything. We had no evidence.”
She paused on the line. Then her voice came back lower than before. “Marco, you need to drop the charges on Brad, so we can get out of here.
We need to leave the state. Brad shot Zonov’s nephew in self-defense.”
“I don’t believe he shot anyone, Carol,” he said, taking a risk. “Why don’t you come in and we can talk about this? Where are you staying? My officers said you weren’t in Woodside anymore. Did you go back to Nob Hill?”
“No, we’re in a hotel. I can’t tell you where. I’ve got to keep us safe. You said you let Zonov go. Why?”
“I had no choice. Tell me where you are and I’ll send an officer to get you. I’ll make sure the two of you are safe.”
“Come into the precinct?”
“Yeah. You can bring your lawyer, but I think we need to lay all the cards on the table.”
“I can’t leave Brad right now. He’s not well, Marco. I told you that before.”
“Which is why we both know he didn’t kill anyone. I get self-defense, Carol. I get defending someone you love, but I need to know the truth. Zonov’s a nasty character and he isn’t going to stop until we get something on him. You need to help me for both your sakes.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. We told you what happened. Brad shot the nephew. It was entirely self-defense.”
“The gun Brad had hasn’t been shot in years, Carol. Come in and we’ll talk about it. Let me send someone to get you.”
“No, it’s not safe.”
“I can track you down, Carol. I can find you and arrest you on obstructing justice. You need to come in voluntarily. You’re in danger out there.”
“We’re in danger no matter where we are. You said you’d help us, but you just kept pursuing the case. Everyone said you’d bump it, everyone said it was self-defense. They all said there wouldn’t be a trial.”
“Who said that, Carol?”
“The police officers. They said it was an open and shut case. Brad wouldn’t even be booked, but that wasn’t true. You want to put him in prison.”
“That’s not true at all. I want to protect the two of you. Brad got himself into some bad business, Carol, and you’re in danger.”
“I know that, Marco. I just didn’t know where the danger was coming from. Forgive me if I don’t trust you anymore. I’ve got to go.”
The phone line clicked off and Marco looked at the display. Shit! He so didn’t need this right now. Pressing the button for Lee, Marco waited, but the assistant picked up on the first buzz.
Werewolves in London (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 3) Page 33
