Darby Stansfield Thriller Series (Books 1-3 & Bonus Novella)

by Ty Hutchinson

  “You’re always so positive.”

  She was. Ever since she was a little girl, she had been the optimistic one—even when her mother fell ill. She would not let up and believed with all her heart that her mother would recover. She didn’t. Olga was eleven when Marina passed. From then on, it was just the two of us.

  Marina and I had met shortly after we both graduated from the university. It wasn’t long before we were married. I set off to serve my time in the military while Marina went to work for the government as an accountant. I was discharged from the military four years later. None of the jobs I held after were satisfying, and that’s when I started toying with the idea of becoming a priest. I thought serving the Orthodox Church would fulfill my desires, but first we decided to have a baby. Marriage and children were fine, so long as I did this before becoming a priest. We were well within the regulations of the church. Once Olga was born, I set off to attended seminary and my mother helped with our daughter so Marina could continue to work and support all of us.

  I watched Olga stir sugar into her cup. She had the same wavy brown hair like her mother’s that fell just below her shoulders. Her fair skin was always blemish-free, and her big brown eyes could persuade any man to do her bidding. She was her mother’s daughter, that was for sure.

  “How is the paper?”

  “We are still publishing. The government has not shut us down yet.”

  “Yet? It’s unlike you to have any sort of pessimism.”

  “I’m not pessimistic. They can threaten us all they want. I’ll never stop the press. It’s important that people hear the other side of the story.”

  “And your fans, will they come to your rescue if needed?”

  “Papa, they are not fans. They are the young and intelligent, and they have free minds that are fed up with the binding ways of Communism. And yes, I believe they will support me if needed.”

  “Like the way they did when you were thrown in jail?”

  “Papa, what did you expect them to do, break me out?”

  “It was I who convinced the authorities to release you. I’m not so sure I will be able to do that should it happen again.”

  Olga rolled her eyes. She had no fear about being locked up. Nothing could break her down.

  “You’re feisty, much like your mother,” I said.

  “Proud of it, too,” she said with a smirk. She stood and put our cups in the sink. “Come on, I’m hungry. There’s a new restaurant that opened in the center of the city. I was told they serve a wonderful sausage with fried potato.”

  Six

  Our walk to the center was a pleasant one. The hustle of the city was in full force. Black and gray bundles of people moved in varying directions all focused on getting to their destinations. We were the only two who paid attention to our surroundings, taking in the beauty of the city that our walk afforded us.

  As we sat at our table, Olga motioned with her head. “Look at how fast the restaurant is filling.”

  We had beaten the lunch rush. Soon after we sat, every table in the restaurant was filled. I decided to follow Olga’s enthusiasm and order the sausage with fried potato. I was not steered wrong.

  “This is wonderful. I’m surprised to find such decent cooking in a restaurant. Usually food like this can only be found in a home.”

  “Papa, things are changing. People are opening businesses, good businesses. You watch: Soon we will live in a democratic society. It is the government that opens terrible restaurants.”

  “That is true.”

  “So how are you, Papa? How is the church?”

  I had stabbed the last piece of sausage and placed the last bit of potato on top of it. Into my mouth it all went. I swallowed and wiped my lips before answering.

  “Things are fine. The church is the church. It’s the same people every day.”

  “You sound bored.”

  “It’s become predictable.”

  It had. The same people visited on the same days at the same time. They listened to us and we listened to them. Where’s the difference in that? I thought about telling Olga about the Prividenie. I still wasn’t sure if the whole thing had happened. It felt easier to blame a dream, or perhaps my boredom. Maybe I wanted excitement in the church and this was my mind’s way of trying to help. I decided to make it a dream and see what Olga thought.

  “I did have an interesting dream last night.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “I was at the church. It was late, everyone had left and I was locking up when I heard a voice.”

  “Was it Jesus?”

  “No, it was not. It was a man, I think.”

  “You think?”

  “The voice said it had to confess but did not want to be seen.”

  “Papa, a confession is a normal occurrence in your job, no?”

  “Yes, except this man—he confessed to murder.”

  “Murder!” Olga’s mouth hung open. She leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “What is your obligation if someone confesses to murder in real life?”

  “Well, technically we’re bound by the church not to tell anyone. This doesn’t happen often but when it does, it weighs heavily on the mind of the priest who hears it.”

  “What would you do, Papa, if a man confessed this to you?”

  “How would I know if it were true? We have a lot of people who visit and confess because they are lonely and want someone to talk to.”

  “Pretend it was true. The murder was in the papers. A man shows up to confess; he still has blood on his shirt and hands. What do you do—provide a sanctuary for a killer or turn him over to the authorities?”

  I sat there thinking about the conundrum that Olga had presented to me. It was difficult to answer right away. I had taken vows I believed in and swore I would not break. If I were a normal citizen, the answer would be simple.

  “It would depend on the circumstances.”

  “Circumstances?”

  “If this man were truly sorry and wanted to repent, I would keep his secret, but I would then try to convince him to go to the authorities as well.”

  “So if this man showed remorse, you would keep your word. And if he didn’t feel any guilt, you would of course turn him in?”

  “I think so.”

  Olga raised the last sip of her soda. “Here’s to you never finding yourself in this predicament.” She brought the glass to her lips and tilted her head back. I watched the bubbly liquid disappear. I couldn’t help but agree with her.

  Let’s hope last night really was a dream.

  Seven

  Three days passed before I was to work the night shift again. I had almost forgotten about my visitor, until I began locking up the church. It was then I remembered and wondered whether he would return, or if I were being a silly man. But as I locked the last of the doors, I still had not heard the voice call out my name. Perhaps it really was a dream. Part of me actually felt disappointed, as if I wanted this to be true. But why? Why would I wish such treachery to come to pass? Why would I want to be the beneficiary of such disclosure? Why put myself through the unwanted stress that would surely arise with it? I could ask why as often as I wanted but I knew the answer. It was obvious.

  My work at the church had become systematic. It was the same thing, day in and day out. Even the confessions were the same. I had begun to lose track of who was confessing because it all sounded the same. The monotony was getting to me. Boredom plagued my day. I longed for something exciting to walk in through the front doors. Had it?

  I gathered my bag from the office and headed toward the exit near the side of the church. Just as I was about to push the knob forward, I heard the voice. The Prividenie had returned.

  “Where are you going, Father? I have confessions. You promised.”

  I stood at the door for a few seconds before turning around, a bit afraid of what I would face. But no one was there. The nave was empty.

  “Where are you?”

  “Where I wa
s the last time we spoke, Father.”

  I walked over to the iconostasis and pushed the middle gate open. There he was, sitting in the corner waiting for me, just like before.

  “When did you arrive?”

  “That is not important. Sit. I have much to tell.”

  I did as I was told and took my seat in the corner opposite the Prividenie. No sooner had I sat when the shadow began to tell me about his second murder.

  “My first official hire came soon after the last murder, only a weeks worth of waiting time. Nikolai Makarov was the man who summoned me late in the afternoon. He was a stranger to me, as I had only worked with his comrades. I was told he was the boss of a local mafiya outfit.”

  “Were you afraid to meet this man?”

  “No. But many others were.”

  “Why them and not you?”

  “I did not know what he was capable of. It’s only when you know what a man is willing to do that you can begin to fear him.”

  “Go on.”

  “I was hired to kill a man. I was told where he was and that I was to do it right away. They did not care how, only that it was done in one attempt. They told me that if I spoke of this meeting or of them, they would kill me.”

  “How does one knowingly kill a man?”

  “I waited in the shadows until he left the bar. I walked up to him from behind and shoved a large hunting knife into the back of his neck. It popped out of the front, severing his vocal chords. He tried to yell the entire time but no sound came out of his mouth. Between the pain and the fear, screaming was the appropriate reaction. I jerked the knife back and forth a few times like I was putting a car in gear. There were more dull snapping noises in the neck. When he stopped moving, I stopped.”

  “Why were you not afraid of killing back then?”

  “I had a pocket full of rubles. I thought it was easy money. Something I would do every now and then.”

  “What happened?”

  “I started to like it.”

  Eight

  Our talk continued into the early morning. The Prividenie confessed to five more murders that night—a total of six now. My last recollection of the time must have been around four in the morning. It seemed I had just put my head against my pillow when I awoke later that day in my bed. I lay there for a few minutes lost in my thoughts, only to be reawakened by the phone. “Hello?”

  “Papa, it’s Olga. How are you doing? Are you still in bed?”

  “Of course not. I’ve been up for hours.”

  I don’t know why I lied. I’ve never lied to my daughter before. Perhaps it’s because I didn’t want to discuss what happened at the church. It was my secret, something no one else needed to know—not even my daughter. Of course, the real reason is that I knew she would hound me to go to the police. I did not want to. I wanted to hear what this man had to say.

  “What’s this I hear about my daughter’s increased involvement in the opposition? I thought this wasn’t serious.”

  “Oh, Papa. It’s not the opposition. Yes, it’s small, and democratic and another party but I can’t believe we are a threat to the government.”

  “I heard your role is larger now than it was before.”

  “What I am good at is speaking and mobilizing, so the ones running the party have slowly given me more and more freedom to do just this. I look like I’m in charge only because I so often represent the party in public. I’ve become the face. But listen to this exciting news. Over the last couple of months, we’ve increased our membership by 150 percent.”

  “That’s wonderful. I’ll come and visit you in jail.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Olga, I’m serious. The heads of state are not ones to be messed with. They may appear to be weaker nowadays but don’t underestimate what they or the KGB are capable of.”

  “Don’t worry, Papa. I am very cautious and certain plans have been put into place to help me stay out of reach of people I don’t know. Anyway, Papa, I’m calling to let you know that I have to cancel our plans for lunch tomorrow. A rally has been planned at short notice and it’s important that I go.”

  “It’s okay, Olga. Go to your rally. Be with your friends. I will be fine.”

  As soon as I hung up the phone, I started to think about the Prividenie. I wasn’t scheduled for another night shift for three days. I was anxious and didn’t want to wait. I thought of asking the priest on duty tonight if he would like to give up his shift. Would the Prividenie show? Would he know I was there? This made me think of the one thing I never gave thought to before.

  How did the Prividenie know when I worked late?

  The schedule was kept in the office, which was always locked. Surely he wasn’t checking each night to see if I were on duty. But then how? Did he know someone in the church? I couldn’t explain how he knew my schedule. I still couldn’t explain how he slipped by me and into the sanctuary without my knowing. I was bothered more by that than his ability to know my work schedule.

  I got out of bed and moved the drapes in front of my window just the tiniest bit so I could peek outside.

  Was he watching me now?

  Nine

  My curiosity had gotten the better of me. I decided to do a little detective work on my new friend. I visited the state library to see if they would by chance have kept an archive on the state newspaper in Novosibirsk. It turns out they didn’t, but they were sure that the state library there most certainly kept an archive. If they did, they could request the microfiche, but it would take almost two months to have it transferred to Leningrad. I couldn’t wait that long, nor did I want to.

  “Is there anything we could do to speed up delivery?”

  “Impossible,” said the stern librarian. “That is how long it takes. If you know exactly what you are looking for, I could put in a research request, and if they find anything, they can mail it.”

  “How long would that take?”

  “It depends on what you’re looking for and how specific your information is. The newspaper has been published seven days a week for the last sixty years. Of course the archives are probably only kept for the last ten or fifteen years. I don’t know.”

  The Prividenie never told me the dates of the kills, only that he was seventeen when he started. I had no idea how old this man was. He sounded young, perhaps in his mid to late twenties. It would be a guess but I had nothing to lose.

  “I’m looking for information on a man who was murdered outside of a bar, maybe ten to twelve years ago. That’s all the information I have.”

  The librarian looked at me like I was crazy, but took notes. “Check back once a week,” she said.

  I remained at the library for a few hours and researched all sorts of crimes, mostly murders and serial killers in Russia. I could only remember one—The Irkutsk Monster.

  Vasiliy Kulik was responsible for raping young boys and girls, some between the ages of two months and two years, as well as elderly women, the oldest being seventy-five. He was able to kill thirteen people before being arrested on his birthday last year and eventually convicted. His sentence was death by firing squad, which was to take place a year from now.

  Vasiliy was from Irkutsk Oblast, located in the southeastern part of Siberia—very far from Leningrad, yet it was still big news here. It was the age of the victims that enraged people and fueled the manhunt.

  Through my research, I discovered there were two more men thought to be serial killers in Moscow. They call one The Fisher. His victims are boys. The other killer had acquired the name of The Balashikha Ripper—he’d killed two men so far. Both are still being hunted.

  I was very surprised to find that Moscow had not one but two monsters on the loose. Do I live a sheltered life in the church, where news from any place but Leningrad passes me by? It was a bit of a shock, really. I doubted the Prividenie was one of these men. From what he has told me so far, his victims were all in Novosibirsk. And he wasn’t killing little boys and girls.

  As I continu
ed to read about these criminals, I learned that people who become killers are this way because they were born with traits of a psychopath. Couple that with a poor social upbringing and one can see why they are the way they are. Killing animals for fun at a young age was a sign. There was so much information, I decided to take some books home with me so I could read later.

  As I exited the library, I wondered if the Prividenie had had any pets as a child.

  Ten

  I pushed on the large wooden door of the church. The squeak in the hinge was gone. Maintenance must have gotten around to oiling the door. Such a shame. I quite liked it. It served as a doorbell.

  It was a little after three and the church was between services. There were a few people praying near the wall of icons. I didn’t recognize them, so I headed straight to the office to find Father Anton.

  The short chubby man turned around at the sound of his name. His mostly gray beard hung down to the middle of his chest. “Ah, Father Fedor. How are you?”

  “I am fine. And you?”

  “Eh, I could be better. The morning aches in my heels keep me light on my feet. If only I were a dancer.”

  “That is age. It conquers us all.”

  “Father Anton, I was wondering if you would like to relinquish your shift tonight. I would gladly take it.”

  “My shift? No, I’m sorry. I promised some people I would be here later on to speak with them.”

  “I see. Well, I might stay anyway. I don’t feel like heading home at the moment.”

  “Do as you wish.”

  I don’t know why I decided to stay. I did not believe the Prividenie would show up while another priest was here, but something inside of me wanted to prove it. I needed to know if I were the only one the Prividenie would speak to. Could he be speaking to other priests and I not know about it? He would have requested the same silence and they would have given it, most likely.

  I looked at Father Anton, wondering if the Prividenie would have approached him. I decided he wouldn’t make a great candidate. Father Anton was too simple of a man. He would not be able to grasp the magnitude of responsibility that would come with hearing ninety-nine confessions of mortal sin. I doubted he would keep it a secret. He would talk. I know he would.