Siren of the Waters: A Jana Matinova Investigation

by Michael Genelin

  Chapter 44

  The Musée des Beaux-Arts had been the grand mansion of a Russian princess who had arrived in Nice before the overthrow of the Tsar and the slaughter of the Russian aristocracy. She had stayed on to live in splendid comfort as the titular head of the Russian community. Her art collection, not the greatest in the world, but a tourist attraction when combined with the royal showcase of her home, was irresistible to the local politicians, who turned it into a museum when she died. Once a year, as provided by the princess’s will, and as a condition of the bequest she had made, the city had to allow the Friends of Russia to hold a ball in it for the Russian community. Virtually the entire old-line Russian community would then descend on the palace in their finery.

  Being Russians, of course, they invited friends, who invited other friends, and soon anyone who could afford the price of a ticket came. Who would turn down the opportunity of saying they had been guests of the last remnants of royalist Russia?

  The highlight of the evening was the toast to the dead princess, followed by a toast to the Tsar. Then everyone could go home, having lived their fairy tale, floating on a dream enhanced by good vodka and better champagne.

  Jana and Levitin were early. It was not that they were impatient. It was just good police work. They had to know the layout of the palace to assure themselves that they had tracked and identified all the guests they could, and, most of all, to get a lead on Sasha’s current whereabouts. Too many roads led to the party. There would be linkages if they were able to read them.

  Levitin had rented a tuxedo, looking quite comfortable in his shirt with studs and black bow tie. Jana had surprised herself by renting an evening gown at a shop off the Rue de Rivoli, a short distance from the palace. Now she was uncomfortable, constantly moving, trying to ease her discomfort, wishing she had had the courage to arrive in her business suit. Their budget prevented them from renting a limousine. Instead, they had taken a local taxi to the front stairway of the palace. The stairs were lined by a row of liveried servants carrying lit torches to escort the guests inside.

  At the grand entrance doors, a footman checked their tickets, then passed them over to another even more resplendent servant who gave each of them the opportunity to take a tulip glass filled with champagne from a tray.

  At this hour, the building was virtually empty of guests, so empty that Levitin was convinced the ball was going to be a failure. An hour later, it was filled to capacity. Jana and Levitin tried to waltz on a ballroom floor packed with women in ballgowns and medal-bedecked men. Levitin assured Jana that all the medals were fakes, part of the necessary costume for the party. Jana, remembering the freedom with which the Russians had given out medals in Slovakia, wasn’t so sure.

  “You see the duchess with the tall hairdo, dancing with the balding man in the general’s uniform?” Jana led the slightly resistant Levitin, just enough so he was facing the couple.

  “Men are supposed to guide when they dance with women,” Levitin reminded her.

  “I wanted you to see them.”

  “I see them,” he grunted.

  “I saw her standing on a corner on Rue de Rivoli. She didn’t have the hair, and was selling toy bears that performed acrobatics. The bald man had a stall a short distance away. He had plastic spiders that he threw high up on a wall, where they stuck, working their way down to the ground inch by inch. The spiders were rather grotesque.”

  “Our toy-sellers have come up in the world,” Levitin allowed. “No spiders; no dancing bears. No need to be on the street. They will find it hard to go back to the spiders and bears tomorrow.”

  “Tonight everybody is dreaming.”

  They danced away from the couple.

  Levitin saw Mikhail first. He had never met the huge policeman before, but the sight of Mikhail dressed as a Cossack, towering above the crowd as he came into the ballroom, was enough to catch anyone’s eye.

  “I have just seen the largest Cossack in the history of the world,” Levitin declared.

  Jana turned to look, immediately recognizing Mikhail. “He’s Ukrainian, not Cossack.” She broke away from Levitin, walking toward Mikhail.

  Levitin quickly caught up with her. “A performer in our play?”

  “If that’s what you want to call him, yes, a performer.”

  Mikhail saw Jana and made what was, for the huge “Cossack,” a small gesture with his head indicating that she should follow him.

  Mikhail walked out of the ballroom. Jana increased her speed to catch up with him, Levitin keeping pace.

  They moved through the spectators at the edge of the floor, then out of the ballroom itself, to a marble statuary-lined grand staircase that ascended to the second story of the palace. Mikhail stood at the top, waiting for them. Unlike his usual openness, Mikhail was subdued, his face rueful. He was not happy with himself. He hugged Jana, but without much enthusiasm.

  “Hello, Jana.”

  “It is always wonderful to see you, Mikhail, even though it is a surprise to see you here.”

  “I hope you don’t dislike surprises too much, Jana. But I had to come.”

  Levitin tried to introduce himself. “I’m Levitin.”

  “I know who you are.” Mikhail didn’t take his eyes off Jana. “You’re the Russian Jana is traveling with.”

  Jana looked down the stairs. A little man in paint-spattered overalls and a beret was looking up at them.

  “My cousin,” Mikhail identified him. “He’s an artist. He brought me here.”

  “He needs a better costume,” Levitin commented.

  “He wouldn’t put one on. Artistic integrity, he said. It would be false if he wore anything but his own clothes. I had to pose for him.”

  “Oh?” smiled Jana, an eyebrow raised.

  “Not like that,” assured Mikhail. “In my uniform.”

  “I’m glad it wasn’t embarrassing.” The tiny man and the huge Mikhail together presented a very humorous picture, particularly considering the possibility of Mikhail posing in the nude for the little artist.

  “Nobody would ever think you would do anything embarrassing, even for the sake of art,” Jana announced, trying to assuage Mikhail’s fears. She glanced at Levitin, her warning look telling the Russian to shut up.

  Mikhail shuffled his feet before coming to the point. “I have not told you the truth, Jana.”

  “I know, Mikhail.” She sat down on the top step, patting the spot next to her for him. He eased his huge body down beside her. “Remember, old friends forgive.”

  “Thank you, Jana.”

  “I know about the club.”

  “Vadym’s?”

  “The explosion that destroyed the club, you set it off.”

  “Yes.”

  “You had a device in your pocket, and when Grisko began to walk back to his club . . . boom!”

  “I am ashamed, Jana.” His lower lip quivered like a little boy’s. “I had to do it.”

  “I know, Mikhail. You also tried to help me.”

  “Yes.”

  “You couldn’t set it off when I was inside. You didn’t want to kill anyone, so you made sure even the employees were warned to get out.”

  “You knew?”

  “There was no one else who would bother to save me. And there was no one else who could have set the bomb off at the right time to make sure that even Grisko was not killed.”

  “It was hard to let him survive.”

  “Not a nice man. I don’t blame you.”

  “I got in too deep, Jana.”

  “Your apartment, and the one downstairs. You own them both?”

  “A police pension in Ukraine: a pittance. They let you starve when you get old.”

  “So you took graft. And bought the apartments.”

  “I took a little. Nothing huge. Just enough to buy them.”

  “The apartments now own you?”

  He nodded.

  “The grafters, the big ones, they held it over your head.”

  H
e nodded again. “Grisko was one of them. He was squeezing too hard. So I tried to scare him off. Koba gave me permission.”

  Levitin jumped at the mention of Koba’s name. “Koba let you bomb the club?”

  “He suggested it. Grisko is on the other side.”

  “There is another side? Two groups?”

  Mikhail nodded. “I don’t know much. Just that there is a conflict.” His face fell even further. “And your friend, Mikhail, is now a gangster.”

  “Mikhail, you are too nice to be a true gangster.” Jana patted his shoulder in reassurance. “I am glad you came to tell me.”

  He ran a huge hand through his hair. “I came for another reason.”

  “To warn me?”

  He looked at her, surprised. “You know that, too.”

  “It would take a very strong reason to bring you all the way to Nice, Mikhail. You traveled here to help an old friend.”

  He nodded again.

  “Thank you, Mikhail.” She leaned over, stretching up to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Who has come here to kill me, Mikhail? Koba?”

  “Not Koba. My wife told me to tell you that you were in danger; that I had to come. Then he called. He told me to warn you.”

  “Koba did?” Jana found it hard to digest that piece of information. “Why would he help me?”

  “Not to help you.” He gestured at Levitin. “To help him.”

  It was Levitin’s turn to be surprised. “Why would he help me?”

  “Apparently you are valuable.”

  “To Koba?”

  “That was all he said.”

  “Mikhail, have you seen Koba?” Jana took his huge hand in hers. “It would be very helpful if we could identify him.”

  “I have never seen him, Jana.”

  “Then how do you know it’s him?” Levitin demanded.

  “Oh, I know,” Mikhail smiled. “You always know it’s Koba, even if it’s just a phone call. If you talk to him, there is no doubt. There is never any doubt.”

  “And the warning, Mikhail? The warning that Koba gave you for us?”

  “Watch out for the Manager. That was all that he said.”

  Levitin didn’t quite understand. “The Manager?”

  “Yes.”

  “Nothing else?

  “That’s all.”

  “Good. You must now go home, Mikhail,” Jana patted him one more time. “Go home to Adriana.”

  “I should stay. I could try to protect you, Jana.”

  “Better to go home. That would please me, Mikhail.”

  “You are sure?”

  “Absolutely.” She pushed at him. “Now, Mikhail. Go, and give your wife my love.”

  The giant got to his feet, helping Jana up. “Thank you, Jana.”

  “My thanks to you, Mikhail.”

  They watched him walk down the steps. At the bottom, he was joined by the little man in paint-spattered coveralls and a beret. The two of them walked out of the building together.

  Chapter 45

  Sasha eased out of the limousine and walked up the stairs as if she were the Princess Kotschoubey returning to claim her palace. She had begun to come back to herself for the first time since Pavel had been killed. As ordered, she had checked into her suite at the Negresco without any problems, taken a wonderful bubble bath, had a massage, then a facial, and ordered a stylist sent to her room to do her hair. It was much better than sitting under the stands at the Carnival parade. And she had eaten. Oh, how she had eaten, ordering half of the menu from the hotel’s storied restaurant, then desserts, enhancing everything with a choice of five or six wines from the cellar.

  It was not that she ate and drank it all, or even a large portion. She nibbled: a bite of an appetizer, then a pick at the Beef Wellington or Salmon in Aspic. She tried a dark, rich chocolate cake with Grand Marnier-laced fudge frosting; then an ice-cream dish flambée she had no recollection of ordering. By the time she dressed, luxuriating in her stylish clothes, she had a lightheaded feeling from the wines, but a newfound confidence that there was now a chance, even though slight, that she might survive. The man whose name nobody wanted to speak was her sponsor, at least for the moment.

  The liveried servants could see the poise of the masked, beautiful woman as she walked to the top of the stairs leading down into the ballroom. Perhaps they were feeling the spirit of the princess in the air; perhaps this was the princess herself come back to earth on ball night? Whatever it was, they jumped to escort her, were disappointed that she refused champagne but appreciated her graceful gesture when she rejected the glass, allowing one of them to remove her coat, then favored the man who took the coat with the slightest of smiles. When she moved among the crowd in the palace proper, her bearing showed that she fully expected women to curtsy and men to bow as she passed.

  What we think we are, we are; the moment you believe will occur does. You cannot just wish it; it must be yours, firmly and without question. As Sasha passed her, a woman, perhaps playing a role as all of them were that evening, bent her knee in obeisance. Sasha acknowledged it with a slight nod. The woman’s companion, a bearded hussar with a shako under his arm, perhaps to please his companion, bowed, too. Not to be outdone, others picked up the gesture. An aisle opened up for her to pass through, everyone genuflecting, others running up from all parts of the museum-cum-palace to enjoy this unexpected moment. The small orchestra went silent, then broke into the Tsarist national anthem, the musicians straining to catch a glimpse of royalty as they played.

  Jana and Levitin had already descended and were watching, wondering who the woman was. As she approached the two of them, Levitin reacted to her presence with agitation. Jana saw his tension building. She put her hand on Levitin’s arm to stop him from blocking the princess’s progress through the aisle of her loyal subjects.

  “It’s Sasha,” Levitin mumbled, as much to reassure himself as to give Jana information. “She has come back.” He tried to pull away. Jana was now forced to hold him in check with both hands.

  “Stay away from her, Levitin.”

  “She’s my sister.”

  “She is at the party for a reason. Look at her, Levitin. Sasha is here to show herself; to show that she is not afraid. It is important to us for her to succeed. Leave her alone.”

  Reluctantly, Levitin watched her pass, aching to speak to her. Sasha’s glance flitted past Jana and Levitin, never hesitating as she conquered the room. One of the liveried servants brought a high-backed chair to the dais at the end of the room, the dais supposed to be used later in the night by the master of ceremonies, and placed the chair on it. The chair became a throne as Sasha regally sat on it, comfortably assuming her proper place in the world.

  The audience broke into spontaneous applause. Sasha looked down at the upturned, expectant faces, then raised a hand to the bandmaster. The small orchestra began to play again, more vigorously now, having been given the royal imprimatur. Reluctantly, the princess’s subjects began to dance again. Sasha nodded approvingly, then looked to where Levitin and Jana stood, nodding to them as well.

  Sasha had seen her brother.

  Chapter 46

  For the next hour, a steady stream of “courtiers” approached the stand. The liveried servants quickly brought red velvet ropes, which they hung on gold stanchions to guide the line of those wishing to pay respects to their new royalty. Levitin kept muttering uncomfortably, wondering how his sister was going to continue to keep them satisfied. Idolaters would chat with their “Princess” for no more than two minutes. Then, guided by some inner clock that governed protocol, they would make their smiling departure, now slightly more erect, more prestigious to themselves for having spoken to her.

  Jana watched Sasha only intermittently; she was more interested in the crowd. There was no question in Jana’s mind that Sasha was here for an event. No, Jana corrected herself, she was here to create an event by her presence. Whatever the event, Jana was determined not to let it escape her, hoping to take advantage of
the circumstances. The least she hoped to get was information.

  Levitin’s cell phone rang. He pulled it from a tuxedo pocket, answered it briefly, and then handed it to a surprised Jana. “Trokan. For you.”

  “Having fun?” was Trokan’s first question. “How much did it cost?” was his second. When she started to answer Trokan cut her off. “I couldn‘t reach you. Your cell phone is off.”

  “There’s no room for a cell phone in what I’m wearing.”

  “Then you shouldn’t be wearing a dress like that. It’s probably sinful.”

  “Sin. Yes, something new and wonderful for me.” The cell phone had static on the line, so along with the music and the crowd noise, it was difficult to hear Trokan. She slapped the cell phone, then held it tightly to her ear. “I’m having trouble with reception. Talk like you are yelling at a new cadet.”

  She stepped through tall glass doors and onto a nearby outdoor balcony to get away from the noise. Trokan’s voice became louder. “Why do I always have to shout when I talk to you? Listen closer.”

  “I’ve been carefully listening for years.”

  “Then why does your beloved commanding officer think that you do not?”

  “He is insecure?”

  “Careful, Matinova.”

  “Always, Colonel.”

  “Seges has been trying to reach you. He gave me some information to forward. He contacted the Irish police. The file that they had on the murder of this man named Walsh was purged some years back. Too old to keep any more. The investigator on the case died of lung cancer a few years ago. So they have nothing for you.”

  Jana involuntarily winced. If there was anything more to Moira Simmons’s trial for murder, she was not going to find out about it. Trokan rolled on, back on his favorite topic.