Woman Chased by Crows (29 page)

“I live in Montreal.”

“Aha. You ever run into a diamond merchant, also named Grova, in Montreal?”

“I don't know him.”

“Really? I got the impression you guys all knew each other.” She was still for a moment, looking at both men, a smile on her face. “Stace? How these guys doing so far?”

“Don't seem very well informed about anything.”

“May have to invite them down for separate interviews. I have a feeling Citizen Grenkov is a bit intimidated by his friend Serge.”

“You arresting us?”

“I'm considering it.”

“On what charge?”

“Torture, strangulation and there's that business with some guy named Nimchuk who got himself dead in a sleazy motel room last week.”

“I don't know any Nimchuk.”

“Oh sure you do, Mr. Siziva,” Stacy said. “You two were in the ballet together, weren't you? Along with Ludmilla and Vassili.”

“And one more, isn't there, Detective Crean?”

“Zubrovskaya. Anya Ivanova Zubrovskaya.”

“I hear you two used to dance together,” Adele said. “Back in the day. Before you all became international smugglers.”

“I was never part of that.”

“Not at the end, maybe. You got scared and ran home.” She leaned forward. “Question is, why did you come back?” She turned to Stacy. “You be okay if Mr., ah, Siziva and I have a private chat?”

“Oh sure, Yevgeni and I will stay put.” She looked at the big man. “Won't we?” Grenkov made a noise something like a low growl.

Adele said, “You have an office,
Sergei
?” This time she pronounced it correctly. “Maybe the ladies room? It's probably vacant.”

Sergei didn't blink. “There is a place in the lane.” He straightened his jacket as he rose. “They don't allow smoking indoors these days,” he said.

Adele followed him to the exit. She looked back to see Stacy taking a chair across from Grenkov.

Adele gave the narrow lane a thorough inspection, checked the fire escape above, looked behind the lone dumpster, then walked to the street entrance and back again, stood close to him, forcing him to lean back. She smiled. “You wearing a wire, Sergei?”

“What?”

“Me neither,” she said, patting him on the chest. “You can check if you have to, but don't get familiar.”

He took a step back. “What do you want?”

“I just want us to be comfortable during these negotiations.” She returned to the lane entrance, watched a car or two go by. “It's cards on the table time, Sergei,” she said. She took one more look at the sidewalk. “You feel exposed here? I guess it's okay.” She shook her head and walked back. “When Paulie got his head blown off, you picked up a new partner.” Sergei was staring at her. “Didn't tell you about me?”

“Not much.”

“That's Paulie all right, so cool, but also dead, which sorta leaves things up in the air, right?”

Sergei's manner changed. He relaxed a few notches, settled his jacket more comfortably on his shoulders, adjusted his scarf. “I'm not sure I know what you are talking about,” he said. “What is it you think you know?”

“See? That's the deal. Paulie was one cagey dude. He just gave me a paper bag and told me that if something should happen, which, go figure, something
did
, I'd be dealing with his friend Sergei. He said there was some big money in it for me. It's you and me, pal.” She looked around again, lowered her voice. “And the jewels, of course.”

“You have them?”

“Oh yeah. Coulda knocked me over.”

“How many do you have?”

“How many are there supposed to be?”

“More than you have. What colour are they?”

“What? Let's see . . . I've got a bunch of white ones and a big blue one. What colours did you get?”

“The policewoman inside? She knows about this?”

“Her? Fuck no. She's a hick down from Hooterville. I'm not telling her shit. Let's face it, Serge, I'm kind of on shaky ground here. I've got an envelope full of stones connected to who knows how many fucking murders. You think I'm
talking
to people? Look, if we're going to be partners you'll have to open up. What was your deal with Paulie? Finder's fee, piece of the action?”

“I guess he didn't tell you everything.”

“Dammit, Serge! All right, fuck it. I don't need this shit. I'll just turn the frickin' jewels in to my captain, get a slap on the wrist for turning in some evidence a few days late. So what?”

“But you would prefer not to do that?”

“Well sure, shit, I could use some extra dough. And I don't want to drag my partner's name through the mud if I don't have to. But I won't deal with amateurs. I'm not putting my tit in a wringer because you guys don't know what you're doing. Put a price on what I'm holding. If we can do this quietly, we can make a deal.”

“Did you like your partner, Detective?”

“Hell no. Giant pain in the ass. Do you like
your
partner?”

“A necessary inconvenience. That man who was murdered in a motel room, two weeks ago, he was shot through the head, I believe.”

“This would be that Commie smuggler, Nimchuk, right?”

“You have recovered the murder weapon?”

“Not yet.”

“This would be an important piece of evidence, would it not?”

“Describe the weapon.”

“I believe we are talking about a large calibre revolver. A Smith & Wesson.”

“All right. Sure. I'd like to get my hands on it. Don't want murder weapons hanging around, do we?”

“Of course not. Especially evidence that your partner had been a very bad boy?”

“Right. Tell me something I
don't
know.”

“And in exchange I'm going to need what you have.”

“What? Straight swap? Where's my end?”

“That could be negotiated.
After
I get the gems.”

“Tell you what, Serge, how be we trade for, say, a couple of the white ones. The big blue one I think maybe I'll hang on to until I see some cash on the table.”

“I'm sorry. The item in question is the only card in my hand. If I turn it over I have no leverage whatsoever.”

“Money works. Those sparklers are no fucking good to me. What am I, a broker? No. I'll trade
some
for the gun. But only for Paulie's personal weapon. Understand? I'm not swapping the mint for some Saturday night special you picked up on eBay.”

“It is what I say it is.”

“Good then. You give me the piece, I give you, say, a portion of what I've got, and the rest I'll trade for cash money. Makes sense to me.”

“It takes time to convert items like that into cash.”

“Think about it Serge, you're not in the strongest position here. You're in possession of a murder weapon. Never a good plan. What are you going to do with it? Sooner or later you have to get rid of it.”

“I could mail it to the police.”

“Sure. Fine by me. Go right ahead.”

“Even if it proves your partner is a killer?”

“Even if it proves my partner had improper relations with a hamster. I don't give a shit. You want to hang him with that killing, be my guest.”

“I could involve you.”

“In what? Talking by the dumpster? However this goes down, I'm in the clear. My partner died, I inherited his case, I tracked down some jewels and I found his confidential informant. And then you'll have lots of time to explain yourself. Face it Serge, this is the last chance you're gonna have to talk to somebody who might listen. Once you're in custody, it's out of my hands.”

“How do we make the exchange?”

“Just you and me, pal, what d'ya say? Only thing, it happens
now
, today, no dicking around — hell, bring your big ass bodyguard if it makes you feel safe. I'll bring the stones.”

“Are they close?”

“In my pocket.”

“Let me see them.”

“I don't think so. You can squeeze the envelope. See? Nice big stones inside. That's enough. Let's go get the gun.”

“No, I go by myself.”

“Oh don't be stupid, Sergei. You think I'm going to let you run off to collect a weapon and then show up armed and greedy? That'll be the day. No, we'll go there together, and we'll do an exchange like civilized people, and you'll be very careful because I'm not as trusting as my partner was.”

“So then, Citizen Grenkov, how'd you mess up your hand?”

“I tripped.”

“Really? Over someone's face?”

“The sidewalk.”

“That where you ripped your trousers? Which sidewalk? Local, or a hundred kilometres north of here?”

“I fell down. That's not a crime.”

“Also not an answer.
Where
did you fall down?”

“I don't remember.”

“Okay, let's work it out.
When
did you fall down? Last night?”

“No.”

“Can't be much before Friday night, Saturday morning. Sound about right?”

“Yes.”

“Yes. Good. So where were you Friday night, Saturday morning?” No answer. “You forget?” Sullen. “Okay, I'll tell you where you were, you were in Dockerty, breaking into a doctor's office and putting her in the hospital, then you broke into someone else's apartment. Didn't find what you were looking for, did you? That's why you're still looking.”

“You have no proof of this.” Something caught his attention and he leaned sideways in his chair to see past her shoulder. Anya Zubrovskaya was standing at the table. She had approached so quietly, Stacy hadn't heard a thing. The Citizen gave a low, involuntary moan as he registered yet another inconvenience in a long, unsatisfying weekend.

Anya smiled at Stacy. “Hello, Detective. I am pleased with you. You are good at your job. May I join you?”

“Please do.”

“Your partner is in the laneway talking to that little peacock. I was hoping she was going to shoot him, but no luck, so I came inside. She is very tall, is she not? Like a flagpole. But she did not lose me. I am happy about that.” She smiled at the man across the table. “You can arrest this one for assault. He tried to kill me two nights ago.”

The chair didn't scrape and the table hadn't budged, but Stacy was standing. “That true, Citizen?” She had her cuffs in her left hand. “You might as well turn around. I have to take you in.”

“Because she says so?”

“Because I say so.” As before, when she frisked him, Stacy's tone was calm, polite and unequivocal. “Turn around please, hands behind your neck, fingers interlaced, I'm sure you've done it before.”

“I demand a lawyer.”

“Supreme Court says this week you don't rate one. Last time, turn around, hands behind your neck. Don't make it worse than it is.”

“Go to hell.” Yev kicked over the table and threw a bottle followed by a roundhouse punch at Stacy. She avoided all three without appearing to do more than twist her shoulders and arch her back. She chopped down on his right kneecap with the heel of her boot, dislocating it immediately and rendering that leg unusable. As he lost balance, she hacked his throat with the axe edge of her hand, stabbed him in the solar plexus with a dagger made of stiffened fingertips and swept his one serviceable leg out from under him. He dropped to the barroom floor, retching and gasping. She was on him like a leopard; a hard knee dropped onto the small of his back, an arm twisted between his shoulder blades, and then handcuffs. Citizen Yev was under arrest.

Stacy looked up to see a dozen men, most of them standing, all looking at her. “Please stay back, gentlemen,” she said. “This doesn't concern you.”

Anya was applauding. “Bravo,” she said.

“Do me a favour? Fetch my partner.”

“Of course, Detective.”