by Estelle Ryan
“Do these guys know each other?” Colin asked.
“Now they do, yes. In the beginning each one thought he was the only one under Fradkov’s control, but as time went on, they figured it out. They might be criminals and they might have landed under Fradkov’s control, but they’re not stupid. They suspect there are more, but these five have been able to find only each other.
“Anyway, one of them heard a rumour that Fradkov has been getting a lot of artwork forged. I have no idea what that’s about, but knowing Fradkov as I do, it’s important. Apparently, there are also rumours that he’s in contact with some fringe, fanatic, extremist group in Belarus. No matter how hard they tried, they’ve not been able to verify it. They’re scared to push too hard for intel in case Fradkov gets wind that the men he controls are investigating him.”
“Gets wind means that he might find out.” Colin squeezed my hand and nodded for Justine to continue.
“Gads, I didn’t even realise I’d said that. Huh.” She shook her head. “Anyway, the guys are still looking into this Belarus rumour. It’s not like Fradkov has never taken on a country at war or a country with ties to Russia. There should be no reason for him to withhold this if he has plans for Belarus.”
“Will you let us know if they find anything?” Vinnie asked.
“For you, Vinnie?” Her smile was genuine. “I’ll do anything.”
“And if you have any other pertinent information,” I added.
Her expression sobered. “I’ll give you everything I have as long as you get that fucker. I’ve spent more time in psychologists’ waiting rooms than any grandparent should ever have to. My grandchildren have suffered immensely because of one man. A man who has so much power that he’s managed to never leave prosecutable evidence behind. Or if he has, he’s been able to make it disappear or make his accusers disappear. He should be stopped. Not just because I want him wiped from this planet. But because he’s a threat to the political and economic stability of this planet.”
Justine had nothing else of value to share with us and after three more minutes of her expressing her desire to see Fradkov die and another five minutes of her boasting about her grandchildren, I was desperate to leave. Fortunately, I was not the only one who wanted to get back to the team room. Another long three minutes later, we were in Colin’s SUV, Mozart’s Symphony No.15 in G major quietly filling the interior.
The sound of my phone ringing interrupted the light-hearted music. This morning, I’d used a handbag that I had bought last year and had never used. It was one of the few purchases I’d regretted. In the shop, I had thought the extra pocket worked into the lining would be useful. It had not been. Every time I’d put my wallet or smartphone in my bag, this gaping pocket would get in the way.
The same way it did now when I reached into this bag to get my phone. I glanced at the screen and wondered why Roxy would phone me and not Vinnie. “Hello?”
“Oh, God. I’m so glad you answered. I thought I would have to phone a million times like before.”
“What do you want?”
She giggled. “Are you with Colin? Maybe Vinnie?”
“I’m with both.” I glanced at Colin as he turned off the music.
“Put me on speakerphone. Everyone’s going to want to hear this.”
I tapped on the speakerphone icon and held the phone between the driver and passenger seats. “We can all hear you now.”
“Hi, guys!” She didn’t wait for them to answer. “So, I’ve had an interesting morning so far. I had just waltzed into my office when a nurse came rushing in. They brought in some diplomat who was on death’s door. Ooh, sorry, Genevieve. The guy was a few minutes away from dying. So, off I run to his bed to see what was wrong with him and guess what?”
My eyes widened when her pause indicated she genuinely expected us to guess. I inhaled to tell Roxy precisely what I thought of her inane tactic, but Vinnie spoke first. “What?”
“The man had radiation poisoning.”
“You could make that determination by just looking at him?” I found that hard to believe.
“Well, no.” Her tone was the same as Nikki’s when she was overstating the obvious as if we were dim-witted. “At first it looked like a rash and some exhaustion, but then I remembered that Gallo guy and that’s when I knew. Radiation poisoning!”
Seven months ago, Marcos Gallo had poisoned himself with polonium-210 in a convoluted effort to help Fradkov achieve his goal of causing dissent in Russia. I still shuddered when I thought about the effects of the radiation poisoning on Gallo’s body. “Have you run tests to confirm?”
“I have and here’s the scary part.” She paused for dramatic effect. “It’s polonium-210. The same that poisoned Gallo.”
“What did the man say?” I turned to Colin. “Let’s go to the hospital.”
“Don’t bother. He died two hours after they brought him in.” Even though Roxy tried to hide it, I could hear the distress in her tone.
“Who was he?” Colin asked.
“Aleksei Volyntsev. Apparently some Russian diplomat.”
A myriad of thoughts rushed through my mind. It would be too great a coincidence if this death, this polonium-210 poisoning, was not related to our case. Otto’s murder, Emad’s painting, the Russian diplomat’s death were somehow connected. But how I didn’t know. Not yet.
Chapter SIX
“Doc, I need you to promise me that you’ll be diplomatic.” Manny glared at Colin when he snorted. “Bugger off, Frey. This is serious.”
We were standing on the pavement outside the consulate general of Russia in Strasbourg. After Roxy’s call, I’d phoned Manny and told him about the diplomat’s death. He’d told us to go straight to the consulate general building and wait there for him. Strangely enough, he’d insisted on Vinnie giving his word that the men would keep me in the car and wait until Manny arrived before we spoke to anyone.
“Doc!” Manny wasn’t slouching or hiding his hands in his trouser pockets. He was genuinely concerned. “Promise me.”
“I am intelligent and informed enough to know that France’s and Europe’s relationship with Russia has always been delicate. I also understand that giving offence to someone as important as the consul general would not only be insensitive so soon after losing a colleague, but could potentially block our access to their assistance in this case.” I mirrored Manny’s body language by raising both eyebrows, leaning forward and placing my fists on my hips. I didn’t look in his eyes though. “I will be careful with my interaction.”
Immediately, Manny’s posture lost some of its tension. He stared at me for a few more seconds before he pushed his hands in his pockets, his shoulders slouching. “Good. I’m counting on you, Doc. We don’t know what kind of reception we’re going to get in there and I want to get as much information out of those Russkies as possible.”
“Who’s undiplomatic now?” Colin shook his head. “Jenny’s got this, Millard. Maybe you should worry about not offending the Russians.”
“All I’m saying is that we don’t know why this Alex Volyntsev died of polonium-210 poisoning. Maybe he was poisoned or maybe he worked with it and that’s how he got sick. Maybe he was the poisoner.”
“Too much conjecture.” I hated it. “Our time would be put to better use speaking to the consul general.”
“True dat, Jen-girl.” Vinnie smiled at Manny, but it wasn’t a sincere smile. It was smug and provoking. “Let’s go chat to those Russkies.”
Manny turned to Vinnie, a smirk pulling at his lips. “You’re not going, big guy. Privott only got Frey’s alias, Doc and me in. You’re going to have to stand out here and look pretty. Well, look unpretty.”
“Prissy Privott?” Vinnie didn’t have much patience for the director of public relations for the president of France. At times I agreed that Julien Privott seemed to spend more time lecturing us about political fallout and optics than helping us when the president assigned us a case. Vinnie’s top lip curled. “That litt
le brown-noser will fall over in a light breeze. If I’m not going in, who’s going to protect Jen-girl in there?”
“Since I’m totally useless, I assume Frey will have to do it.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it, old man.” Vinnie’s anger was masking the fear I wasn’t surprised to see.
I stepped in front of him, but couldn’t get myself to touch him. I did manage to move a bit closer than my usual personal space allowed. It got Vinnie’s attention. Most neurotypicals would’ve made eye contact at this point. I didn’t. I stared at the depressor anguli oris muscles pulling the corners of his mouth down. “I’m safe, Vinnie. Colin and Manny are with me. We are going into an official building and as far as I can recall, no murders have been reported at these premises.”
“Ever,” Manny added. “Doc is safe, big guy.”
Vinnie didn’t take his eyes off me. “What should you do when someone starts shooting?”
“I should drop to the floor and seek shelter.” I blinked a few times. “But what I should do and what my brain allows me to do in challenging situations are not always the same thing, Vinnie.”
“Not helping, Jen-girl.” Vinnie swallowed. “You stay safe in there, you hear?”
Neurotypical people often needed lies to placate them. I couldn’t offer this to Vinnie. “I promise to try my best to be careful what I say and be watchful.”
“You do that.” He looked at Colin. “Bring her back, dude.”
“Oh, for the love of all the saints!” Manny looked up to the cloudless sky. “We’re not going into battle.”
“And what about me, Vin?” Colin pressed his palm against his chest, his expression of emotional hurt insincere and exaggerated. “You’re not worried about me? Your best bud?”
“Oh, fuck off.” Vinnie huffed and took a step back. “Just watch your back in there.”
“Love you too, Vin.” Colin slapped Vinnie hard between the shoulders and pointed with his chin to the beautiful building. “So? Are we going in or do you also want me to promise to be a good little boy, Millard?”
“Don’t irritate me, Frey. I only need Doc in there with me. Give me more grief and I’ll leave you with the gorilla out here.” Manny nodded at Vinnie. “Wait here for us, big guy. And stay in touch with supermodel. I’m still waiting for her to send me everything she’s found on Volyntsev.”
I hiked my handbag strap higher on my shoulder and followed Manny to the beautiful wrought-iron gate. A small sign next to the gate stipulated the opening hours. Today was Tuesday, which meant it wasn’t open to the public. Manny didn’t press the button to ring the bell. Instead he looked up at the camera situated above the gate. “Colonel Millard and Doctor Lenard to see the consul general.”
Four seconds later a buzzing sound came from the gate. Manny pushed it open and waved me through. “After you, Doc.”
Colin followed me through the gate and we walked to the large wooden doors. Colin lifted his hand to ring the bell, but didn’t get the chance. One of the two doors opened. The nonverbal cues of the obese man standing in the door did not communicate welcome. His tight lips and narrowed eyes clearly conveyed his displeasure with our presence.
He first assessed Colin, then gave me a furtive look before studying Manny. Either he was under the misconception that women didn’t pose threats or he was uncomfortable with my presence. His lips thinned when Manny hunched over and pushed his hands in his pockets. He stepped back with an irritated sigh. “Mister Millard, I assume. Come in.”
“Ah, that would be Colonel Millard, old chap.” Manny’s smile was wide and would look sincere to someone who didn’t know him or who wasn’t an expert in nonverbal communication. He walked past us and the large man into the entrance hall. “I’m much obliged that you could fit us in so quickly.”
Colin shook his head and gestured that I should follow Manny. The large man was not paying attention to us at all. His eyes followed every movement Manny made. So, I went inside and Colin closed the door behind us.
The rubber soles on Manny’s shoes squeaked on the light marble entrance hall floor. He walked to one of the many paintings on the wall and nodded as if he knew what he was looking at. “Such a pretty picture.”
“It’s a masterpiece. Not a picture.” The clipped words carried no friendliness. “My name is Roman Kuvaev. I’m the head of office and assistant to the consul general.”
“Ah, so you’re going to take us to meet him now.” Manny’s tone and micro-expressions communicated his low opinion of the man in front of us. I wondered why Manny was acting contradictory to the manner in which he had insisted I should behave. He was rude and his passive aggression was inviting loathing from the obese man.
Roman turned to a corridor to our left. “If you’ll follow me.”
Again Manny waited for Colin and me to go ahead of him. When Colin passed Manny, he raised his eyebrows. “What the hell, Millard?”
Manny’s only response to Colin’s whispered question was to slouch even more. I suspected he intentionally dragged his feet so his shoes would squeak even more on the beautiful marble floors.
The corridor was long with doors on both sides. Numerous paintings filled the exposed walls and a few times Colin’s eyes widened in recognition. It would be no surprise if many, if not all, of the paintings were originals.
Roman entered the second-last door to the right without looking back to make sure we were following him. I gave one last look at the corridor behind us before I followed Manny and Colin into a richly decorated office. Roman walked to the desk and waved at the antique chairs lining the wall. “Wait.”
Manny sat down hard in a chair and raised both shoulders when Roman glared at him. I was most definitely going to ask Manny about his behaviour as soon as we left this place. I sat down, leaving a chair open between us. Colin walked to a painting hanging above a small table with a vase holding twenty-six white roses. Again, his eyes widened as he looked at the painting and his lips parted as he leaned in. Another original.
Roman picked up the phone on his desk and pressed a button. It was fascinating to watch the change in his micro-expressions. Where his depressor anguli oris muscles had pulled the corners of his mouth down, they now relaxed until his lips were fuller and lifted in a slight smile. His procerus muscles no longer pulled his brow into a scowl. Now the corrugator supercilii muscles moved his eyebrows slightly into what was called a thinker’s brow.
Combined with the tension in his shoulders, it was easy for me to surmise that he was paying careful attention to someone he held in high regard. My Russian language skills were such that I understood when he replied to the other person, agreeing to making us coffee after he showed us into the consul general’s office. He ended the call and walked towards us, his expression less severe when he looked at Manny. “Tea or coffee?”
“Tea would be grand, old chap. With a dash of milk, if you please.”
Roman nodded and turned to me, eyebrow raised. I just shook my head.
“A cup of coffee would be fantastic.” Colin’s smile was genuine when he turned to face Roman. “It would only add to the pleasure of looking at all these breathtakingly beautiful works of art.”
Colin had said the right thing. Roman’s posture relaxed, his expression softening even more when he focused on the landscape. “Victor Borisov-Musatov was my grandmother’s favourite. We couldn’t afford art, but she had posters of his paintings, including this Still Life with Flowers. All of them were in beautiful frames. This one she put in her bedroom because she said she wanted that beauty to watch over her as she slept. The other two paintings were in the living room. She always made sure our guests noticed and appreciated the paintings.”
“Your grandmother had great taste. Borisov-Musatov is known to be the creator of the Russian symbolism style. He did such amazing post-impressionistic work and was a master of bringing symbolism, realism and pure beauty into each painting.”
Roman regarded Colin for a few seconds, trying to keep
his expression neutral. But I noticed the interest as well as respect his micro-expressions revealed. The large man might not like Manny and might disregard me, but Colin had won him over. He nodded. “I will bring your coffee, sir. If you’d please follow me. The consul general is ready to see you.”
Colin held out his hand to me and waited until I joined him. Then he looked at Manny and scratched his nose with his middle finger. Manny uttered a rude noise as he got up and joined us. Roman walked to a heavy wooden door to our left, knocked once and opened it. He looked at Colin. “Please enter.”
We stepped into a spacious room. To the left was a table with six chairs, clearly designated for small conference meetings. Behind it, a dark wood bookshelf filled most of the wall. Cream and gold curtains hung on each side of the large windows. The cream carpet covering the floor was lush and of obvious quality.
The desk in front of the windows was larger than the conference table. It was void of any clutter. Only a leather-bound daily planner, computer monitor, keyboard and mouse populated the surface. The man sitting at the desk studied us for another two seconds before he got up. “Colonel Millard?”
“That would be me, sir.” Manny straightened, stepped past Colin and extended his hand. “Let me start by offering my condolences for your tragic loss.”
“Nikolai Guskov.” The consul general came around his desk and shook Manny’s hand. “Thank you for your kind words, Colonel. This tragedy came as a great shock to us.”
“Let me introduce my team.” Manny turned to Colin and me. “This is Doctor Genevieve Lenard and...”
“Isaac Watts.” Colin stepped forward and shook the consul general’s hand. “I’m so sorry for your loss, sir.”
“Thank you.” Nikolai Guskov’s brows lowered, the corners of his mouth pulling down. His grief was genuine. He waved at the conference table. “Shall we?”
