The Frozen Circle

by Peter Watt

  ‘I was able to quash that story,’ Morgan said. ‘There was nothing in it.’

  ‘Except that a uni department in Sydney has photocopies of documents purporting to prove her existence in Valley View back in the 1920s. Couple that with some leaked photocopied pages from this Captain Larkin’s diary, and I start to smell something as fishy as dead carp on the side of the Murray River.’

  ‘You remember that matter some years ago about the so-called Hitler Diaries,’ Morgan smoothed. ‘I suspect that someone is out to try and make a killing in the collectors’ market with the story of the Russian princess surviving the massacre.’

  ‘Okay, produce the journal and documents and we can have our documents department prove – or disprove – their authenticity.’

  ‘Mrs Harrison denies that she has any documents or diary,’ Morgan lied. ‘It’s all a hoax.’

  ‘I bet she is a sweet old lady who makes scones for the church fete,’ Ken sneered.

  ‘Yeah, something like that,’ Morgan confirmed, taking a sip from his coffee and wondering just how much the senior detective believed of his explanation.

  ‘Mate, if you are lying to me I suspect that you’ll have got yourself in a hole you will not be able to crawl out of,’ Barber said. ‘You just might see the faces of the internal affairs people staring down at you from the top.’

  Morgan flushed at the warning, knowing that the detective was correct. He was hiding information but felt he did not have enough in the way of facts to send the matter any higher. At the back of his mind was the need to keep the matter in a low-profile mode to protect Monique from any unwanted attention from the media, especially considering the sabotage of her car.

  ‘Ken,’ Morgan said, ‘I agree that what happened last night was meant for Monique Dawson. But we don’t have enough to confirm our suspicions.’

  The detective senior sergeant smiled grimly. ‘What else?’ he asked in a way that intimidated suspects but not Morgan.

  ‘There could be some truth in the Larkin journals that Princess Maria of the Russian royal family did live here for a short time,’ Morgan conceded. ‘I also think that she and Joshua Larkin were involved in the disposal of the two bodies on their property which, of course, implicates them in the killings.’

  ‘That doesn’t explain much of what is going on as regards the possible attempt on Ms Dawson’s life last night,’ Barber said.

  ‘Maybe not,’ Morgan answered. ‘But for some dumb reason I get the feeling history is repeating itself. It’s like we disturbed ghosts who are out to settle matters today.’

  A broad grin spread across Barber’s face. ‘Have you been down to those bloody hippie tents and had a touchy-feely session with one of those new age people? Or is it time you applied for a transfer back to Sydney to escape the isolation of Valley View?’

  ‘Yeah, well, laugh if you like,’ Morgan growled. ‘Not everything in the world can be explained by scientific facts.’

  ‘You really believe in ghosts?’ Barber asked with just a touch of wonder in his question.

  ‘Not per se,’ Morgan answered. ‘But I believe that whatever happened here in Valley View almost a century ago has something to do with what is happening now.’

  ‘Okay,’ Ken said, leaning back in the chair, causing it to creak dangerously. ‘So, who is lurking out there threatening Ms Dawson?’

  ‘That is what I am trying to ascertain,’ Morgan replied. ‘And when I do, you will be the first person to know.’

  Barber placed his mug on the table. The coffee was as bad as anything he had drunk at Hume City police station. ‘Do that,’ he said. ‘At this stage I will commence an investigation into the sabotage of Ms Dawson’s car. I doubt that we will be able to keep it out of the papers.’

  ‘I just hope that we don’t get some headline happy journo picking up on the story and speculating a link to the old story of the Russian princess,’ Morgan groaned, foreseeing another wave of media people arriving in town and nagging him for a few facts.

  ‘Not if I can help it,’ Ken said, standing to leave. ‘As far as the media are concerned we will run with the story that it was an accident. By the time the coroner releases the real facts you should have solved the case of who wants to do mischief to Ms Dawson.’

  Morgan knew that he was being sarcastic, but appreciated his help in keeping the lid on the investigation.

  ‘By the way,’ the detective senior sergeant said with a leer. ‘Are you screwing this Dawson sheila?’

  ‘In my dreams, Ken,’ Morgan answered. ‘In my dreams.’

  The departing policeman shrugged and stepped onto the verandah.

  Morgan poured the remains of his coffee down the sink and sighed. He was running out of time to find a suspect. The needle in the haystack seemed as elusive as it had always been.

  TWENTY

  East of the Dvina River

  Northern Russia

  Late August 1919

  Joshua calculated that they were east of the Dvina River and south-east of Archangel. Much of the taiga had given way to windswept plains dotted with small farms and villages that appeared to be caught in the feudal times of Medieval Europe. Joshua had elected to dispose of the rifles they carried as the number of Bolshevik patrols had increased, and from his military knowledge he knew they would soon be coming up against larger concentrations of enemy troops, attempting to cut Archangel off from supplying the Allied troops in the field.

  Maria had suggested that he pose as mute if they were accosted by Bolshevik forces. He had falsified papers identifying him as a Russian worker and their chances of breaking through the enemy lines would be greater if they were not considered anything more than refugees plodding a course to Archangel.

  For seemingly endless days they trudged poorly marked, rutted roads between villages where Maria obtained food and lodgings for them with a stash of silver coins she produced from the linen belt around her waist. Despite the workers’ revolution, both revolutionary and counter-revolutionary still accepted the cash she carried.

  Little conversation occurred between them as they journeyed in the direction of the port city but at nights they would huddle together in some lice- and flea-infested room at the back of a villager’s home. Occasionally they saw Bolshevik troops in the villages and luck was with them as they were able to steer clear of the enemy. But their luck ran out one morning as they were about to leave a village where they had stayed for the night. They were stopped by a roaming patrol of Bolshevik soldiers searching for potential recruits to be conscripted to their army; Joshua and Maria had no warning until they stepped around a corner and into the path of the advancing patrol. The leader shouted something in Russian to them and Maria hissed from the side of her mouth that they were to halt or be shot.

  Standing in the muddy track that was the main street of the unnamed village, Joshua felt the chill of fear even more biting than the cold wind that moaned between the wooden, thatched huts. The villagers had disappeared inside their hovels to peer fearfully at the young man and woman who had spent the night in one of the houses.

  ‘You have papers?’ the commander of the patrol of armed men demanded. Joshua did not like his appearance as he was not one of the typically burly Bolshevik soldiers he had encountered before. This man looked more like a school-teacher with his clean-shaven face, bald head and thin-framed spectacles. There was a dangerous fanaticism burning behind the eyes that appraised them and although Joshua did not understand the conversation between the man and Maria, he had a fair idea that she was pleading with him to accept that they were refugees escaping the former Czar’s loyal troops. Joshua prayed that he would not be searched as he still retained his service issue revolver.

  ‘He is my brother’s friend,’ Maria answered when asked why Joshua did not seem to respond to directions. ‘He is a mute from birth and we escaped the White Army to the east.’

  The commander of the patrol examined the papers Maria produced and held his hand out to Joshua who understood by
the gesture that he wanted his too. Joshua passed him the well-worn documents, which the man examined. It was obvious that he could read.

  ‘These papers do not say that your friend is mute,’ the commander said menacingly. ‘Nor do I accept that you are simple refugees. You speak like a bourgeoisie and you have the manners of one to match.’

  ‘I am the daughter of a landholder,’ Maria replied, desperately seeking a way out. ‘My family were sympathetic to the plight of the people and were killed by the Cossacks of the Czar’s army.’

  The intense demeanour of the commander terrified Maria and she had trouble controlling her trembling. His scrutiny of her was like a searing flame burning the skin. He did not hand back the papers.

  ‘I do not believe you,’ he said coldly. ‘You and your companion will be held under arrest until you are interrogated more fully. Men, escort these suspects to the house at the end of the street.’

  Joshua was suddenly aware that the patrol were pointing their bayonet-tipped rifles at him. He noticed Maria’s despairing glance in his direction. She dared not speak to him as that would have confirmed the commander’s suspicions. He fell into step and allowed the patrol to prod him in the direction of a hovel at the end of the village. They had come so far to be intercepted in the middle of nowhere, Joshua thought bitterly. And they were outnumbered; their chances of escape almost nil. More importantly, if they found his revolver and the money Maria carried in her linen waist belt they would incur the wrath of the Bolsheviks; simple peasants fleeing the civil war did not carry money and guns.

  ‘Go in,’ the commander snarled at them and Maria grabbed Joshua’s hand as a bayonet pricked him in the back.

  They stumbled into a filthy, dark room that stank of animal waste and sweat. The door closed behind them and Joshua could hear the boots of the enemy marching away in the squelching mud. Through a crack in the door he could see that they had left only one guard and guessed that they had continued their search of the village for any other people suspected of not being committed to the revolutionary cause. When Joshua turned back to Maria he was startled to see that they were not alone. Huddled in a corner he saw an old man and two young boys in their early teens staring at them with frightened eyes.

  Maria spoke softly to the three and ascertained that they had been arrested that morning on the riverbank and brought to the village by the patrol currently conducting search operations in the district. They said that they were simply fishermen attempting to carry on their work to feed starving families and were not counter-revolutionaries as they had been accused. The commander was well known to them.

  ‘His name is Grigory Tarasov,’ the old man offered. ‘He was once a public official in a village not far from our own. He knows that we are not enemies but that does not stop him settling a debt against my family. He once accused me of cheating him in a sale of fish to his family and now plans to kill us as his revenge. I am Lazar Sidorov and these are my sons, Kuzma and Ipati.’

  Maria relayed what she had learned of their captor and Joshua nodded in understanding. It figured that there would be men who would use the revolution as an excuse to settle old scores.

  ‘What can we do?’ Maria asked, wide-eyed.

  ‘It seems that our captor is either arrogant or careless,’ Joshua smiled grimly. ‘He has not yet searched us.’

  Maria was hardly aware of this small but vital oversight, such had been the almost paralysing fear that she had felt upon interception by the Bolshevik patrol. But Joshua was right and for the first time since being stopped by the patrol she felt a glimmer of hope. She gazed at Joshua’s face in the gloom and felt her spirits soar. He was her rock and she knew that while she was in his company she would be safe. She had total trust in his proven courage and resourcefulness.

  ‘What do you know about our three companions?’ Joshua whispered, lest he be heard by the guard standing outside the door, only a few feet away.

  ‘They are fishermen who were taken on the river before dawn this morning,’ Maria whispered. ‘They are innocent people.’

  ‘Ask them if they have a boat,’ Joshua said. ‘And if so, where is it?’

  Maria turned to the three other prisoners and relayed Joshua’s questions. The old man rambled off an answer. Maria turned to Joshua.

  ‘They said that they last saw their fishing boat secured to the bank of the river where they were taken,’ she said. ‘The river is only about a mile away.’

  Joshua pondered the answer. ‘Would they be able to guide us to their boat in the dark?’

  Maria relayed the question and Joshua noticed the senior man look at him and nod.

  ‘What if they search us?’ Maria asked fearfully.

  ‘I think that they will inevitably do so,’ Joshua replied. ‘But so far we are safe and for the moment we can conceal the money belt and gun in the straw here.’

  ‘Should not we attempt to escape?’ Maria asked. ‘There is only one guard outside the door.’

  ‘That would not be wise in broad daylight,’ Joshua answered. ‘They would hunt us down easily and kill us. Our only chance is to wait until it is dark and then make our move. God willing, no search will be made of us.’

  For a moment Maria bit her bottom lip. She turned her back on the three men in the corner and slipped the linen belt from around her waist, laying it in front of Joshua. ‘I think that you should carry this,’ she said, flipping over the fabric to reveal rows of multi-coloured gemstones and a few silver and gold coins. Joshua almost gasped at the sight of the small fortune before his eyes; diamonds, sapphires, rubies and emeralds caught the faintest of light filtering into the room and threw off mesmerising fires.

  ‘I have carried this since my imprisonment in the Ipatiev house,’ she continued. ‘Now it has become our means for survival and I will trust it to you for safekeeping.’

  Joshua stared at the sparkling stones. ‘Are you sure that you can trust me?’ he asked softly, closing the linen flap to hide the stones and coins.

  ‘With all my body and soul,’ Maria replied, gazing into his eyes. ‘If it had not been for all you have done until now I would have been violated and killed back at the woodcutter’s cabin. And you saved me from your major.’

  Maria passed him the small satchel containing her identity papers to hide as well. Joshua reached over to squeeze her hand. ‘We will escape from here and you will still have your inheritance.’

  Tears flowed down Maria’s cheeks, pinched with the rigours of their trek. ‘I have not truly thanked you for all that you have done for me,’ she said, squeezing his hand. ‘I have never met a man as kind and brave as you before. No matter what happens I have prayed to God that you will enter heaven with me.’

  Joshua shrugged off the heartfelt gratitude but now completely believed her story of who she was. Who else could be in possession of what appeared to be a royal ransom? ‘We aren’t about to go to heaven for some time,’ he said with a savage grin. ‘There is only eight of them and one of me. I see that as about even odds.’

  Maria wiped at her tears and tried to smile at Joshua’s bravado and she wondered if he was a typical Australian male. If so, they must be a tough and courageous race of people.

  ‘What are we to do?’ she asked.

  ‘We will wait until dark and I will kill the guard. Then we will flee with the Sidorov men, but they will have to trust me, as I do not intend to head straight for the river. Anyone pursuing us might guess that is where we would be going.’

  Maria listened to the plan which depended on two critical points: one, that they were not searched between now and dark; and secondly, that they were left alone until then. She had little doubt that their three fellow captives would agree knowing full well the alternative was to be executed by the vengeful patrol commander.

  The long daylight hours slowly passed and it seemed as if Joshua’s plan might have a chance to work. The guard at the front of the door was relieved by another, but he seemed to pay little interest in their welfare. No
food or water had been offered and Joshua guessed that their captives thought it a waste of time to look after the needs of already doomed prisoners.

  Throughout the day, Maria chatted with the other prisoners and learned much about their families and their lives. She was pleased to find that the men were all loyal to the Romanov dynasty, and felt that their lives would be worse under the new dictators, despite their promises of a workers’ utopia. So far the Bolsheviks had not demonstrated any concern for the individual and they were intelligent enough to see what was ahead in the new order of things.

  Eventually, Maria snuggled up to Joshua for comfort and he held her against his broad chest, stroking her hair absent-mindedly while his mind raced with the terrible things that could go wrong in the next few hours. His unspoken fears came true when, just on dusk, Grigory Tarasov flung open the door of the hovel.

  ‘You,’ he said, pointing at Joshua. ‘Come with me.’

  Joshua did not understand the command and attempted to look dumb and confused.

  ‘I will come with you,’ Maria said, standing unsteadily, leaving Joshua truly confused by what was occurring.

  Maria did not look back but was wrenched from the hut by Tarasov. Joshua watched helplessly as she was dragged away, leaving only the single guard at the entrance. Now he was alone with three other men he could not communicate with and the linen belt and leather satchel Maria had left him. Earlier, he had carefully removed his revolver and hidden it under straw near his hand. Joshua reached for it, realising that an attempt to shoot his way out of the village with daylight remaining was suicidal. He felt tears of frustration in the corner of his eyes. Not for his own life – but for what might happen to Maria.

  The Bolshevik patrol had elected to use a large storage shed as their temporary headquarters. It was filled with bags of grain and had been the last of the villagers’ food supplies. Now the grain was forfeited to the revolutionaries.

  Maria stood under the flickering light of a kerosene lantern while Tarasov ordered his men outside to make a last sweep of the village for any who may have been able to conceal themselves during the day, and attempt an escape under cover of the approaching night.