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

by Ty Hutchinson

  She had remarked a few days ago that she had some exciting news that she wanted to share that night. I assumed it had something to do with the paper. Damn that paper. I was sure it would one day bring trouble her way.

  As much as she tried to minimize her efforts with the paper for me, the government had not overlooked her involvement. Deteriorating or not, they were still in control. Twice since being released from jail, she had written damaging articles about government corruption and political scandals. “Stirring the pot,” she would call it. It’s what she loved to do. She said it was one of the reasons why many of Leningrad’s young people were joining up with what the government was now calling the opposition. Thank God she stayed away from the KGB.

  Her guests all arrived on time, at seven in the evening. I had gotten there early to help her with the cooking. I had also brought a few bottles of sweet Georgian wine, my favorite.

  It was a small group of close friends that arrived. Alexander Berezin and Artur Kozar were the two who started the paper—though until Olga came on board, it was hardly what anyone would call a newspaper, more like a newsletter. Now they freely admit that, without her, the paper would be nothing.

  Anna Kurchin and Veronika Shislov were volunteers at the paper. Last was Sveta Chekhov, Olga’s dearest friend from when they were young girls.

  Over a wonderful spread of smoked meats and potatoes and salads and fresh vegetables we ate and talked and ate. Afterward we settled into drinks and more conversation. That’s when Olga finally stood up and commanded the floor.

  “First, I want to thank you all for coming tonight. I am having a wonderful time.”

  Alexander raised his glass. “To Olga! May your future be rich with success.” The rest of us followed suit.

  “Thank you, Alex. Now I have an announcement to make. I’m very happy to say that Alexander and Artur have decided to turn the paper over to me. I will be the chief editor and publisher of the New St. Petersburg, which as you noticed, I’ve renamed to reflect our goal of taking back our cities first name.”

  With the exception of Alexander and Artur, we were all surprised—taken aback really.

  Veronika was the first to speak. “Oh, Olga that is wonderful. If anybody can do it, it is you. But Alexander, Artur I must ask: why are you doing this?”

  Alexander stood up and quieted everybody. “Listen, Artur and I are going away. Not to take away from Olga’s big news but we also have news of our own. We have been selected for a journalist work program in America. We are moving there in one week.”

  More gasps filled the room. This was definitely the night of breaking news. It all called for more drinking and toasts, which we did well into the night.

  It was close to three in the morning when the final goodbyes were said. I opted to spend the night on Olga’s couch rather than brave the chilly walk home. I don’t think I was in any condition to walk anyway.

  “Here’s a pillow, Papa.”

  I took the pillow and then patted a cushion next to me. “Come. Olga, sit with me for a bit.” I waited until she sat before speaking again. “I want to tell you how proud I am of you. You are beautiful. You graduated from the university. And now you are the publisher of your own paper.”

  “Oh, thank you, Papa. I still can’t believe Alexander and Artur left me in charge.”

  “They believe in you. You are the heart and soul of that paper, and always have been.”

  Olga leaned back. Her eyes were dreamy. “Now I can run it exactly the way I see fit,” she said. “I have such big ideas on how to grow readership. I will take action right away. No more baby steps. I can’t wait to get started.”

  “I wouldn’t be a proper father if I didn’t caution your eagerness.”

  “Papa, the government is in a weakened state of affairs. Other countries are already preparing to take themselves back. Look at Estonia, for instance.”

  “Yes well, Estonia was their own country before Russia decided to occupy it. It’s different for them. Leningrad was always a part of Russia.”

  “The people are tired of socialism. We need a new form of governing.”

  “I need you to stay out of trouble. Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  I gave my daughter a kiss goodnight, knowing full well she would do what she wanted.

  Fifteen

  I woke the next day with a slight headache. A note on the table next to me told me Olga had already left. When I checked the clock, I was shocked. It was nearly noon. I couldn’t remember the last time I had slept so late. I fixed myself a cup of chai before leaving a note thanking Olga for the wonderful evening.

  The minute I set foot outside, the sun zeroed in and stung my eyes. I must have walked a block and a half while squinting. On my way home, I stopped by the church to see who was scheduled for the night mass. It was Father Peter. I wondered if he would like the night off.

  I called him from the office. The phone rang four times before Father Peter answered.

  “Father Peter, it’s Father Ferdor. I’m sorry to bother you at home.”

  “No, no, it’s okay. Is something wrong?”

  “Everything is fine. I called to see if I could take over duties tonight.”

  “You want to perform the service tonight?”

  “Yes. I was to have dinner with my daughter but she cancelled and I don’t feel like sitting at home,” I lied.

  “I could use the break. I haven’t had my health lately.”

  “It’s solved. Stay home and get better Father Peter.”

  I hung up smiling. Now, will the Prividenie show himself?

  The church was in between services and only a few people were praying. There wasn’t much for me to do after checking on them. I decided to head home and prepare for my service. As I opened the door to leave, I had a thought.

  I walked over to the wall all of icons and entered the sanctuary behind it. I was curious. How did the Prividenie enter this area without me knowing? That was the question in my head. There were no other doors, only windows, but these windows did not open. They were decorative stained-glass windows that had been in place for sixty years.

  I circled the room slowly, and this may sound silly, but I actually pressed the walls thinking there might be a door to a hidden passageway that I did not know about. I found nothing.

  All I could conclude was that the Prividenie entered through one of the three doors in the wall of icons that separated the nave from the sanctuary. And he did it right under my nose.

  Sixteen

  All through the service I thought about the Prividenie. Was he sitting here listening to the service? Of course not. I know each and every one of these people, but still, I looked at them all very carefully. Somehow between the end of service and when the last person leaves, he will have made his way into the sanctuary. Before the service, I checked to see that it was empty. It was.

  I did whatever I could to push him out of my mind and focus on the task at hand but it was hard. I was too eager to know whether he would show.

  At the end of the service, I greeted and talked to the congregation and slowly ushered them out of the church, trying somewhat to keep an eye on the doors leading to the sanctuary. When the last person had exited and the front doors were closed and locked, I walked over to the wall of icons in a natural, unrushed sort of way, as if I were being watched and my actions conveyed my thoughts. The last thing I wanted to do was appear anxious. I wondered if the Prividenie would be in the sanctuary, waiting for me. Had he made his magical entrance once again? And if he did not show? What then?

  I stopped in the middle of the nave and opened my ears. I took my time and listened for movement, breathing, anything resembling another presence in the church. I could hear nothing but my own heart pounding in my chest. Would the Prividenie be on the other side, sitting in his corner? Would I hear more of what I secretly craved? If so, this would confirm my suspicions. He was watching me.

  I continued to move over to the entrance of the
sanctuary, cautious of the noise I was making. My ears were on high alert. If he were in there, I wanted to know beforehand. I didn’t like that he had the advantage. I wondered what he could be thinking at the moment. Was he snickering at me? Was I entertainment for him? What if I changed my mind? What would happen if I turned around and left the church without checking the sanctuary, leaving him waiting and wondering if the sound of the door shutting was me locking up or leaving?

  That bastard. He had me talking to myself in the middle of an empty church. What an old fool he must have thought I was, a play toy for him. And then just like the wind, there he was, his voice calm and echoing through the empty church.

  “Who are you talking to, Father?”

  “Wha… What?”

  “You are motioning with your hands and moving your lips.”

  I looked toward the middle door in the wall of icons; it was slightly ajar. The Prividenie was here.

  “How did you…? I kept an eye on these doors.”

  “Father, do not concern yourself with the details. You are here. I am here. I am ready to confess my sins.”

  “Why are you following me?”

  “I am not following you anywhere.”

  “Then how did you know I would be here tonight?”

  “Father, all one must do is take a peek at the night service to determine which priest is on duty.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Trust me, Father. You don’t ever want to discover that I am following you. It can mean only one thing.”

  A chill raced through my body. For anyone, the worst possible thing is to discover that this man exists. And yet here I am having conversations with him.

  “Are you saying you stop by every night to see if I’m on duty?”

  The Prividenie said nothing. He had gone quiet. Was it because I was right? I walked toward the wall of icons and entered the sanctuary. There he was in the same corner—a big, oblique shadow. I took my usual seat in the area opposite him. No sooner had the Prividenie begun to confess when I heard the noise.

  Someone was knocking at the front doors of the church.

  Seventeen

  The Prividenie heard the knocking too and immediately stopped his confession. I sensed his body had tightened. He was on alert. “Who is that? Did you tell another person about me?”

  “I did not. I have no idea who could be outside. The church is closed at this time of the night.”

  I honestly was just as surprised as the Prividenie was. “Wait here. I will see what they want. It might be a member of the congregation. Maybe a personal belonging was left behind.”

  I closed the gate behind me, double-checking that it was secured. I hurried to the front of the church, still perplexed at who this could be. The knocking was persistent. I eased open the large, wooden door of the church, enough to see a cold face staring back at me. It was my friend Alexi Litvak. What was he doing here? This was not good.

  “Father, it’s me: Alexi.”

  “Yes, Alexi. Why are you here? The service is over.”

  “I came to see you. Can I come inside?”

  The Prividenie. That’s all I could think of. Would he think I planned this occurrence? What was I to do? This was not a time for guests, no matter how good a friend they might be.

  “Yes, of course. You must be cold.”

  “Eh, nothing a little conversation can’t help.”

  I led Alexi to the office. It was a safe place. We would be out of sight and sound of the Prividenie. I hoped this would be a short visit and I could return to the sanctuary.

  I took a seat behind the desk while Alexi sat opposite me. He and I had been friends for fifteen years. It had been months since I last saw him. He used to be a regular at the services but gradually fell off.

  Alexi was a hardened man. He had experienced much at such a young age; he became a detective at twenty-five. Of course that was a while ago. Alexi was almost fifty-five now. He was big and boxy and perfect for the job. One would not want to be on the receiving end of an arrest. I heard they were painful. I, on the other hand, had gotten to know his other side. He was a decent man, even with his faults. He had his bouts with drinking but now had his weakness under control, supposedly. Doesn’t every man in Russia have their drinking under control?

  I stared at my old friend. He did look different, happier I think. His face appeared softer, gentler.

  “How are you, Father?” he asked.

  “I’m in good health. I can’t complain. Olga is doing well. She has been promoted.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, yes. She’s now in charge of the newspaper. My little Olga, the editor.”

  “That’s very good news. I’m happy to hear of her success. You must be proud.”

  “I am. Of course, I would be happier if she settled down with a nice young man.”

  “She’s a beautiful girl.”

  I playfully wagged my finger at Alexi. “You’re too old for my Olga.”

  “Of course. She is like a daughter to me.”

  I leaned back and folded my hands across my lap. My eyes now focused on Alexi. The pleasantries were out of the way and it was time to talk about the real reason he had suddenly decided to visit. “Alexi, tell me. What brings you here at this time of the night? Not that I don’t want you here. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you no longer attend service.

  “Father, it has been a while. Forgive me for not stopping by sooner. Work, as you know, well… We are a few men short, so there is a lot to do.”

  “Let me guess: It’s only late at night that you can find the time to come and visit?”

  “You are a smart man, Father. My visit however is two-part.”

  “Oh?”

  “And I’m afraid it’s not great news. Let me get to the point. There was murder a few weeks ago, not far from here. A man who spent too much time in a bar was on his way home late at night, when someone decided to take his life. It was very brutal. It’s what makes this case stand out. Rarely do we see this sort of violence. We are stumped. We are spreading the word to local businesses in the area. The church is not far—”

  “Wait, Alexi. I don’t understand. Why are you telling me this? What could we, the church, possibly do to help?”

  “I was hoping you would share this information with your congregation.”

  “I don’t think this is the sort of thing we should be discussing at a service.”

  “As a favor, I am asking that you mention it. If anyone saw anything, even the smallest of things on that night after leaving the late service, it could be of help.”

  I looked at my dear friend. I could see the desperation in his tired eyes. He would not have asked if it were not important; that I know of my friend. One thing I didn’t understand was what made this murder so special, so deserving of this attention. There have been other murders in the past. They come and go with no one knocking on the front doors of the church looking for help. Why now? Why this case?

  “Okay, this one time. I will have to ask Deacon Vitaly but I will make sure his answer is the right one.”

  “Thank you. I knew I could count on you, my old friend.”

  “Alexi, there is something that I don’t understand. Leningrad has seen its own share of murders in the past. Not once have you reached out to the church, at least that I know of. Why come now?”

  “Father, I don’t think you would appreciate knowing the details of the case.”

  “Why? I may be a man of the church but I am not a sheltered one.”

  “So be it. I will tell it to you straight. The face of this man was removed and discarded.”

  I said nothing but my mind screamed, Prividenie!

  Eighteen

  When Alexi left the church, he couldn’t help but think there was something strange about his friend. Father Fedor seemed distant, even upset that he had visited. But Alexi decided it was his imagination. It had been almost five months since he had attended a service. Had they already grown apart?
Nonsense; it had just been awhile. It must have been a shock to his old friend to see him standing outside the church at that hour of the night. In fact, Father Fedor had every right to be angry; Alexi had missed five months of services without any explanation.

  To be fair, Alexi was telling the truth earlier. They were short-handed at the department. There was very little in the budget to fund detective work. Most of the funding was reserved for the rank and file. Manpower out on the street was valued more than men solving crimes. “What’s done is done” was the thinking. Alexi had been handling the caseload of three men; even he would not know if he would receive a paycheck on payday. He had gone a month without payment before. It happens.

  Alexi pulled the heavy wool coat tighter around him. The winter months were still upon them and he could feel it in his bones. He adjusted the fur ushanka on top of his head. It was a favorite of his, made from the pelt of a Siberian Fox. It was a gift he received as a young man many years ago from his father’s brother, a trapper.

  Alexi didn’t mind that the only free time he had from his work was usually late at night. He enjoyed walking the quiet streets of the city. He had her all to himself, Leningrad and all her beauty. He loved exploring the side streets, the alleyways and crooked lanes—all the places where foot traffic was the lightest. Most people lived in Leningrad their whole lives and never ventured into any of these areas.

  As wonderful as these tiny adventures were, they were not without their faults. Alexi’s fascination with these less-traveled paths was what led him to discover the faceless victim he had spoken of earlier. The tiny lane was covered with a fresh blanket of snow that night. The moonlight reflected brilliantly off the white, giving the lane a much brighter appearance. The contrast of the pool of dark red in the sea of white was unavoidable. There was no place for the eyes to go but there. The body, a gray and black bundle, lay lifeless, like a rock. If not for the blood, one could have easily walked by, thinking it was trash. Alexi often found a lot of interesting things on his walks; this was not one of them.