“I was a surgeon by profession. But in my heart I was a patriot, and for this I spent twenty years in Novosibirsk. When I was released I came to America, with the help of sponsors like Barbara.” He lifted his broken hands. “I paid a high price for my freedom.”
Sophie’s throat closed and she found she had no words. Novosibirsk was the site of several Siberian prisons. She couldn’t imagine what he’d endured.
He saw her distress and awkwardly patted her knee. “And what do you do, Sophie Alexandrovna, that you have such an expert command of my language?”
I’m an archeologist, a linguist, a historian. But what came out was none of those things, because in her mind she suddenly saw the rapt faces of the children as she’d taught them medieval history through Ted’s tours. This man’s history was every bit as relevant. No, she thought looking at his hands. More.
“I work in a museum. It’s small, but we get good attendance. We try to bring history to life. Would you come and talk to people about your experiences?”
He smiled at her. “I would like that. Now, your detective looks eager to leave.”
Sophie kissed both his cheeks. “Stay well, Yuri Petrovich.”
Vito shook Yuri’s hand, gently. “Thank you.”
“The two people,” Yuri said in English, pointing to Vito’s folder. “They are not well?”
Vito shook his head. “No, sir. They’re not well at all.”
Wednesday, January 17, 6:25
P.M.
Vito waited as Sophie parked her grandmother’s car in the precinct lot. When she got out, he slipped a hand through her hair and kissed her the way he’d been wanting to since she’d crossed the library lobby. When he lifted his head, she sighed.
“I was afraid I’d imagined this.” She leaned up and kissed him lightly. “You.”
They stole a few moments to just look at each other, then Vito forced himself to step away. “Thank you. You saved me hours waiting for a translator.” He took her hand and led her toward the precinct entrance.
“It was my pleasure. Yuri Petrovich said he would come and talk at my museum.”
Vito looked down at her, surprised. “I thought it was Albright’s museum and you were just biding your time till you could leave,” he said, and her lips curved.
“Things change. You know, Vito, interpreters get paid good wages. Overtime even.”
“I’ll try to find some money in the budget.” If I can’t, I’ll pay her myself.
She frowned at him as they walked. “I said helping you was my pleasure.” Her brows winged up. “I was hoping my payment would also be.”
Vito chuckled. “I’m sure I can think of something. So tell me about your day, Sophie Alexandrovna. Any more nasty gifts from Brewster’s wife?”
“No.” Her expression grew thoughtful. “It was actually a very nice day.”
“So tell me.” She did, and her stories of her tours had him chuckling again as the elevator opened to his floor. “Hey,” Vito said to Nick as he and Sophie came into the bullpen. “We hit the jackpot with the library. We were able to get an ID on the old couple.”
“Good,” Nick said, but there was no energy in his voice. “Hey, Sophie.”
“Hello, Nick,” she said warily. “Good to see you again.”
Nick tried to smile. “I see you’re official this time. The badge,” he added.
Sophie looked at the temporary badge they’d issued her at the downstairs desk. “Yeah, now I’m part of the club. I get to know the password and the secret handshake.”
“That’s good,” Nick said quietly and Vito frowned.
“Please don’t tell me there’s another body. That would totally ruin my day.”
“No, not that we know of anyway. It’s that answering machine tape, Chick. It’s bad.”
“Bad like you can’t hear it?”
“No. Bad like you can,” Nick answered heavily. “You’ll hear it soon enough.” He sat up, forced a smile. “So, don’t keep me in suspense. Who are two-one and two-two?”
Vito had been on the phone with Records as he drove back from the library. “Arthur and Carol Vartanian, from Dutton, Georgia. And get this-he’s a retired judge.”
Nick blinked. “Whoa.”
“Sit,” Vito said to Sophie, pulling out his desk chair for her. “I’ll see if we have that photo of the brand on the victim’s cheek. Then you can go to your grandmother.”
She caught the sleeve of Vito’s coat as he pulled away. “And then?”
Nick perked up, genuinely. “And then?” he repeated cagily.
Vito smiled down at Sophie and totally ignored Nick. “Depends on how late I get out of here. I still want to meet your grandmother if I can.”
“Meeting the grandmother,” Nick said. “Does that have some double meaning?”
Sophie laughed. “You sound like my uncle Harry.”
Liz came out of her office. “You’re back. And you must be Dr. Johannsen.” She shook Sophie’s hand firmly. “We’re very grateful for all you’ve done.”
“Please call me Sophie. I was glad to help.”
“Did you get the photo of the victim’s cheek, Liz?”
“No, Katherine said she’d bring it to the meeting. They’re all waiting for us in the conference room, so let’s go. Sophie, can you wait for us in the cafeteria? It’s on the second floor. Hopefully Vito can keep this meeting short. My sitter’s on overtime.”
“Sure. I have my cell, Vito. Call me when you’re ready to show me the pictures.”
Sophie went down the elevator and Liz glanced up at Vito with what might have been a smirk. “You never said she was so young.”
“And pretty,” Nick teased in a singsong.
Vito wanted to scowl, but found he could only grin. “Yeah, she is, isn’t she?”
White Plains, New York, Wednesday, January 17, 6:30
P.M.
It had been a gratifying day. Perhaps he’d had a rocky start, but the end was looking quite fine. He’d started the day with loose ends. As of this moment, he’d snipped all but one. Only one person could keep a secret, a truth his antique dealer had illustrated with dazzling clarity that morning. He didn’t regret utilizing the dealer’s services. After all, one couldn’t just walk into Wal-Mart and buy an authentic broadsword, circa 1422. Special purchases required special connections. Unfortunately his dealer had a supply chain, which increased his exposure considerably.
And since only one man could keep a secret, the whole chain had to go. They’d gone nicely and without much fuss. Now, should the police continue asking about chairs with lots of spikes, they would find no answers. His dealer had been silenced.
“How are you doing back there, Derek?” he called to the back of his van, but there was no reply. If Harrington was awake, it would be a miracle. In hindsight he probably should have cut Derek’s dose. He’d given him the same amount he’d given Warren and Bill and Gregory, and they’d all been twice Derek’s size. He did hope Derek wasn’t dead. He had plans for him.
Just as he had for Dr. Johannsen. He definitely didn’t want to kill her, at least not at the outset. She’d die, but at a time and method of his choosing. She was big enough that he didn’t need to worry about the dose. By midnight he’d have all his loose ends snipped, his queen secured, so that he could focus on what was important.
Finishing the game. Making oRo, and by extension himself, a household name. His dreams were finally within his grasp.
Wednesday, January 17, 6:45
P.M.
“Sorry, everyone,” Vito said, closing the door behind them. They were all there, Jen, Scarborough, Katherine, Tim, and Bev. Brent Yelton from IT had also joined them, which Vito hoped meant good news. “Thanks for waiting.”
Jen looked up from her laptop. “Did you get an ID for the couple?”