‘It’s hardly relevant, is it? The man’s dead. And they were on his property. Petr Tukhonovich didn’t say anything about forensic examination.’
‘Petr Tukhonovich?’ queried Charlie.
‘Gusev,’ completed Natalia and Charlie remembered the Moscow Militia commander who’d announced the finding of the lorries in the Arbat.
Charlie was disappointed Natalia didn’t see the point of a forensic examination. ‘Provable fingerprints, even of a dead man, would show that the Shelapin people were lying, wouldn’t it? Like any prints could have led you to people with records for whom you haven’t issued warrants yet.’
‘My mistake,’ admitted Natalia.
‘Not your mistake. The mistake of the investigating scene-of-crime officer.’
‘I think the containers have been moved to Murom.’
Handled by everyone and his dog by now, guessed Charlie. ‘Nothing that can be done about it. Who’s convinced everything else is still in Moscow?’
There was a pause. ‘It just seems to be the general consensus,’ offered Natalia, at last.
‘Aleksai led the chorus the other day?’
‘He’s one of them,’ she agreed. ‘Gusev, too. Fomin and Badim seem to have accepted it, as well. Yatisyna’s information was about Kirs, not Pizhma.’
‘I believe some of it, maybe all of it, is being shipped through Warsaw. Probably even gone through Warsaw,’ announced Charlie, flatly.
Charlie waited patiently for Natalia to recover and when she did she matched the professionalism of Balg, earlier, in not demanding proof or sources. ‘It’s already being acted upon?’
‘Of course.’
‘You sure of an arrest? A recovery?’
‘No.’
‘What can I do?’
‘Nothing, practically,’ cautioned Charlie. ‘But use it, carefully. Go on as you did today, with people like Fomin and Badim. At that level – but not the operational group – argue as strongly as you can that Russia can’t operate in isolation; that you need Western involvement and cooperation.’ What he was hoping to achieve would need more than Natalia’s lone voice, although she would have impressed people who mattered by what appeared to be the result of her interrogation of the Kirov gang leader.
There was another brief pause. ‘That excludes Aleksai.’
‘No, it doesn’t,’ said Charlie, reluctantly. ‘Of course I expect you to talk about it to him.’
‘He’ll oppose it, privately as well as publicly. You particularly. He thinks you’ve picked arguments at the meetings.’
For once Charlie was uncomfortable with pillow talk because of whose pillow the talk came from. ‘You know that’s not true.’
‘ I do,’ Natalia accepted, pointedly. Then she said, ‘I feel I should do more, something practical! I just can’t leave it, like that!’
‘You haven’t got a choice,’ said Charlie, objectively.
‘I don’t feel I’m doing enough!’ Natalia protested.
He hadn’t felt that about himself, until the last two days: maybe even less. And he still had a lot to prove to himself, before he even considered trying to convince others. ‘That’s ridiculous! If half of what you got from Yatisyna is true you’ve taken the investigation a long way forward, with further to go when you get Agayans. You’re being brought to the attention of the President, for Christ’s sake!’
She didn’t appear convinced. ‘I’m not comfortable with this.’
‘You could find the key to everything!’ he insisted.
‘I didn’t mean the questioning. I meant this: you and I. Doing this… I feel I’m deceiving Aleksai. Which I am.’
A flurry of responses came to Charlie’s mind. He didn’t want to lose her: lose this link. And it wasn’t just personal, not any more. He needed this back channel. Without it, now that official cooperation was denied him, he couldn’t gauge the moves to make. ‘We’re not deceiving Aleksai: not in any proper meaning of the word. We’re protecting you. And Sasha. And doing everything we can – more than anyone else with whom you’re working – to solve a robbery that could cause a catastrophe. Where’s the deceit, real deceit, in that?’
‘I suppose you’re right.’
‘You know I’m right. Think about it.’
‘Any idea how long you’ll be away?’
‘Just a few days.’ There was an intake of breath from the other end of the line and he expected her to say something. When she didn’t he added; ‘I’ll have to call you, when I get back. It won’t be difficult for you to let me know if it’s inconvenient.’
‘All right,’ she agreed.
‘We haven’t talked about Sasha.’
‘No.’
She was still uncertain, Charlie recognized. ‘She all right?’
‘Fine.’
‘Good.’
‘Learning numbers,’ Natalia volunteered, at last. ‘Not very well,’ she added.
‘She’s only…’
‘… I know how old she is, Charlie.’
‘I…’ he started and then stopped abruptly, before saying he’d like to see her again. Natalia had to trust him a lot more before that would be an easy request. Instead he said, ‘When I get back maybe we should meet: not rely always on telephoning like this?’
‘Why?’
He didn’t like the immediate sharpness. ‘I’d like to.’ Not like: want to. He should have said something better; far better.
‘This is professional.’
‘I know that’
‘So this way is good enough.’
Was it that she was frightened of meeting him alone, not trusting herself? Careful, he told himself. ‘So Sasha’s all right?’
‘I already told you.’
‘There’s nothing wrong in talking about her, is there?’
‘I’m sorry, I…’
‘… This is getting confused,’ he stopped, although he didn’t want to cut her off. ‘I’ll call you when I get back from London.’ And persuade her somehow, some way to meet him again. But not with Sasha. By themselves. He had to take away her apprehension about the baby. He could lie, about London: invent something that sounded professional to get her to agree. He’d cheated her far worse in the past and this wasn’t cheating. Was there any point, he asked himself. He didn’t need to reationalize it, not yet, not now. Just not give up.
‘Do that,’ said Natalia and was the first to hang up.
Charlie was pouring the second scotch, no longer in quite the celebratory mood as before, when the telephone rang again. Hillary Jamieson said, ‘What’s a gal do for fun around here!’
‘Go up and down,’ said Charlie.
‘That sounds interesting.’
‘It’s the name of the best club in town.’ And if everything worked out in the coming weeks, one in which he hoped to spend a lot of time. So tonight was as good a time to start as any. But what was this call about from Hillary Jamieson? More confusion to add to that he already felt.
Hillary Jamieson entered the bar looking sensational in a mid-thigh sheath dress that didn’t waste a single silk thread and a contrasting blue matador jacket, completed by just a single strand gold choker: several glasses stalled between table and lip as she eased towards him. Charlie couldn’t remember seeing anyone move like her and didn’t want the distraction of trying. Eased didn’t describe it: poured was better but still lacking. He was at the bar because all the tables had been occupied when he arrived and poured still fitted the way she got on to the stool. She asked for vodka and said, ‘When in Rome,’ clinked glasses and then said, ‘Here’s to a new day,’ and Charlie decided it was certainly going to be very different from a lot he’d known for a long time.
‘What’s left of this one’s looking good enough.’ Charlie was totally bemused and happy to be so. He still needed to know about Ulitza Volkhonka so he even had the excuse that this was work, not pleasure. There weren’t, he told himself, any limits to which he wouldn’t go for the job.
‘Let’s hope,’ she smiled.
‘So how are you scoring Moscow, out of ten?’
‘Embassy compound accommodation nil. Socially, three and only then when the sun shines. Workwise, ten.’
He hadn’t tried to rush anything, but it was all right with him if she wanted to get work out of the way. ‘The canisters were OK?’
‘Perfectly safe.’ Then, at once, ‘But I was right.’