Resnick nodded and placed a hand on her shoulder before walking over to the counter. He found a yellow pages directory, called a glass repair shop and arranged for them to replace the store front window within the hour. Taking another deep breath, he moved to one of the aisles and started doing what he could with the shelves, then stacked the food back on to them.
“What’s going on?” Maguire asked.
“Go check if anything came of the canvassing,” Resnick said. “Give me a half hour, okay?”
“This is ridiculous. Let the old lady hire a cleaning service. And who’s Viktor Petrenko?”
Resnick ignored him and continued methodically restacking the food that had been dumped on the floor. Maguire watched for a moment then, cursing to himself, joined his partner.
*
“I can’t believe you had us do that,” Maguire complained.
Resnick gave his partner a hard stare. “You would leave that old lady alone with the store like that?”
“That’s not our job.” Maguire tried to meet his partner’s stare but had to look away. “Besides, I don’t like being lied to. She’s going to tell me straight-faced that her husband fell when it’s clear as day that someone slammed his head against that counter?”
“She had no choice.”
“Bullshit. And who the hell’s Viktor Petrenko?”
Resnick gave his partner a sad look before turning to talk to one of the cops who had been canvassing for witnesses. “Anything?” he asked. The cop shook his head. “No one saw a thing. At least that’s what they’re saying.”
“I’d like you to go to Lynn Memorial and take a statement from the husband when he wakes up. Okay?”
“Sure, but I’ll be wasting my time. He’s not going to tell us anything.”
“Yeah, I know, but we need to get his statement. Why don’t you wait until those repairmen are done with the window, then you can take the wife along with you.”
“Sure.”
Resnick clapped him on the shoulder before turning towards the Buick he was driving. He unlocked the car. Maguire got in the passenger side.
“You going to tell me what’s going on?” Maguire asked.
Resnick waited until he secured his seatbelt. Then, “Petrenko, among other things, runs an extortion ring in the North Shore, targeting Russian immigrants. He did this.”
“Why didn’t you push the wife some more? She looked like she was ready to start talking.”
Resnick shrugged.
“I mean, Jesus,” Maguire continued, “what’s wrong with these people? If she talks to us we can arrest the bastard.”
“Then he’d have her killed. Not just her, but her husband and any children they might have.”
“That’s bullshit. We could protect her.”
A shadow fell over Resnick’s eyes. “No we couldn’t,” he said. When Resnick got to Essex Street, he took a right, heading away from the station house.
“Where are we going?”
“I guess we have no choice but to introduce you to Petrenko. For all the good it’s going to do.” Resnick drove in silence after that, a darkness clouding his face. Maguire watched him for a minute then looked straight ahead, trying not to let his partner’s mood affect him. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a thin smile crack his partner’s face.
“What?” Maguire asked.
“I was just thinking of something. When you meet Petrenko, make a comment that you think he’s Jewish.”
“Why? Is he Jewish?”
“No.”
“Then what’s the point?”
Resnick’s smile stretched half an inch. “Humor me, okay?”
“Fine. I’ll humor you. What did you mean when you told that lady that people like Petrenko are not protected here?”
“Pretty much what I said.” Resnick’s thin smile disappeared. “Petrenko used to be KGB. In the Soviet Union, that sadistic son of a bitch could pretty much do as he pleased. The Russian community here know his reputation and are terrified of him.”
“How’d someone like that get into the United States?”
“By invitation. Petrenko showed up in Lynn fifteen years ago, right after my rookie year. He started off as a collector, beating the crap out of deadbeat gamblers. I tried putting the arm on him and was stopped cold. I looked into it and it turned out to be someone from the State Department. Petrenko made some sort of deal with them.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I were.”
“Is he still being protected?”
“Not by them, at least I don’t think so. But Petrenko’s smart and living a charmed life. So far I haven’t been able to get anything on hime to stick.”
“What’s the worst he’s done?”
“Probably a couple of dozen murders.”
“Shit! You’re joking, right?”
“I wish I were.” Resnick showed a pained expression as he pulled up next to an auto body shop. “Petrenko’s in there waiting for us.”
“How do you know that?”
“Unfortunately, I know how that son of a bitch thinks.” Resnick paused for a moment. “Be careful in there. We want to get to him, but don’t let him get to you. He’s got very good lawyers. You do anything he can sue you over, he will.”
The body shop, a dirt-stained one-story concrete structure, had both its front and side windows covered with cardboard. Inside the place was lit up by rows of fluorescent lights. The middle bay had two guys attaching a bumper to a Cadillac. Three other guys stood around smoking cigarettes. As the two detectives entered by a side door, all five of the men looked at them for a moment before turning back to what they were doing. Resnick ignored them, knocked on a closed office door, then opened it. Viktor Petrenko was alone in the office sitting behind a desk. He frowned at the interruption.
“Yes?” he asked, his eyes deader than a mannequin’s.
“I need you to answer some questions,” Resnick said.
“You, I know,” Petrenko said, staring deadpan at Resnick. Then looking at Maguire, “I don’t know you.”
Maguire stared back, trying to figure out where he had seen eyes like that before. Maybe inside the reptile house at the zoo. He matter-of-factly flashed his identification in Petrenko’s direction before slipping it back into his wallet.
Resnick said to Petrenko, “The owner of the Kiev Market, a seventy-two-year old man about half your size, was brutally beaten, his store trashed.”
“That is too bad.”
“What happened, Viktor? Were they short this month, or did Mr. Wiseman try standing up to you?”
“Are you accusing me of this?”
“Why would I do something like that?”
“I have no idea. But if you are, I will need to call my lawyers.”
“You don’t need to do anything. Not if you can tell me where you were at ten o’clock this morning.”
A thin smile pushed on to Petrenko’s lips. “I was here, of course.”
“Can anyone corroborate that?” Resnick asked without much enthusiasm.
“Of course.” Petrenko stood up, walked to the office door, opened it and yelled something out in Russian. One of the three men smoking cigarettes looked back at Petrenko, tossed his cigarette to the floor and trudged into the office. The man looked more Neanderthal than human with his thick brow and a mass of black hair that left almost none of his forehead visible. Slouching forward, he ignored the presence of the two detectives and focused his stare in the general direction of Petrenko.
“Ask him,” Petrenko demanded of Resnick.
“Go ahead, beat it,” Resnick told the semi-Neanderthal.
The man gave Petrenko a questioning look and then started stammering that Petrenko had been in his office all morning.
“I said beat it.”
The man waited until Petrenko gave him a nod before leaving the office.
“Do you think any of those men working here will say anything different?” Petrenko asked. “So unless you have someone who will say otherwise, I suggest you stop this harassment.”
An angry laugh exploded from Maguire.
“Did I say something amusing?” Petrenko asked him.
“You’re a goddamn coward, Viktor, beating an old man like that. Someone who could be your own father.”