“Why did you not talk to her when you found her?” he asked.
“Before I could go up to her apartment, I saw Pendowski in his car outside,” she said. “He was watching the building.”
“And you decided to watch him.”
“You are paying attention.”
“Nothing could interest me more.”
“I shall try to hold your interest,” she said. “I assumed he was there for the same reason I was, to question Oxana Balakona. Before I could get to his car, he got out and went into the building.”
Sasha was giving serious thought to either strangling or shouting at his partner. He was working out the script for when he saw his children and had another opportunity to talk to Maya.
“. . went into the building,” Sasha prompted.
He opened his eyes wide to demonstrate that he was wide awake and fully attentive. The result, however, was exactly the opposite.
“I waited and watched,” Elena continued. “He came out ten minutes later. I assumed he had confronted and spoken to her. Instead of getting into his car, Pendowski began walking. I followed him.”
“Why?” asked Sasha, knowing that he was supposed to ask.
“His actions were odd,” she said. But not as odd as yours, she thought.
“He walked for ten minutes to a cafe where Oxana Balakona and another woman were drinking coffee. He joined them and received a greeting of great familiarity.”
Sasha looked up, touched his tongue with the small finger of his right hand, and then examined the finger.
“Ten minutes inside the building?” he asked.
“Ten minutes,” she concurred.
“And she was not home.”
“She was not.”
“He entered her apartment and searched for. .”
“The diamonds perhaps?” she said.
“Nothing suspicious about that-besides the fact that he did not inform us as he agreed to do if he discovered anything or found her.”
Elena allowed herself not quite a smile but an inner satisfaction. She had engaged his interest.
“And then,” Sasha said, “Pendowski goes to the exact cafe where Oxana is having coffee with another woman. He knew where she was, knew she wasn’t home when he entered the apartment. What kind of embrace did they share?”
“Familiar,” said Elena.
“They are in some kind of alliance,” said Sasha.
“Precisely.”
“The other woman. Who is she?” he asked. “What did she look like?”
“A model I think. Very elegant.”
“Pretty?” asked Sasha.
Elena went into the canvas bag that served as purse, holster, and location for a collection of things edible and things forgotten. She came up with her digital camera, a gift from Iosef last year, on the anniversary of their engagement. She pushed a button three times and handed the camera to Sasha.
Sasha looked down at the image of Pendowski and the two women at the table.
“Pretty,” said Elena.
“Very. I’ve seen her somewhere before.”
He stared at the woman in the small rectangle.
“Can you make her larger?” he asked.
Elena took the camera back, made the adjustment, and gave it to Sasha.
“Yes,” he said looking down. “I’ve seen her before.”
“She’s probably a model. You saw her in an ad or on television.”
“No,” he said. “I saw her in person.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe we can learn a bit more,” she said. “Pendowski awaits.”
“I’ll remember,” Sasha said.
“Good,” she said.
“Can you make a copy of the woman’s photograph?”
“I’ll have it printed in the morning.”
Sasha seemed to have a burst of energy. He rose and shook his head to scatter the cloud that clung to him. For now, self-pity would have to wait. He could not and did not wish to ignore the call to play the game.
“Let us go,” he said.
Elena rose to join him.
“To a few hours of professional evasion from our Ukrainian policeman. He is very clever, I think.”
“I think so also,” said Sasha. “I would not want it any other way.”
Jan Pendowski allowed himself a grin, but it was a cautious grin. He was no fool, though he knew from experience that he could be fooled. He had never met a man, woman, or bird in the park that could not be fooled. So he was careful.
He would have preferred to meet Rochelle Tanquay in his apartment, but she had called and made it clear that, though he could name the place, she would come only if it were reasonably public.
Jan had made a suggestion and she had agreed on both a time and place. The conversation had been brief.
He had slipped her the note, in French, under the table at the cafe with Oxana sitting directly across from him. He had written it right in front of Oxana in his notebook and said, “Something I must remember to do.”
He had been reasonably certain from the way the French woman’s eyes had met his that she would not reveal the message to Oxana. Jan’s goal was dual purpose. Seduction of course, but also possible business which might have to come first.
Now she approached with a smile, wearing a quite casual black dress with a fashionable white cashmere sweater tied around her neck. He had time as she moved to his table to consider what it would be like to watch her remove those clothes.
The dark bar was not crowded at this early afternoon hour. The sun was going down and the dim light from beyond the small amber windows cast long, soft shadows that were beginning to merge with the darkness. In a few moments, the man behind the bar, who was one of Jan’s best informants, would turn on a few lights, though not enough to alter the mood. There were a few people in the bar: a furtive couple, the man in middle age, the woman quite young; a lone man who Jan looked at twice because the detective felt that he had seen him somewhere before; and an overly made-up woman in her sixties with two full shopping bags. The couple and the lone man who seemed familiar were drinking afternoon wine. The shopping woman was drinking a tall glass of sterner stuff.
Jan half rose as Rochelle reached the table and placed her small handbag on the empty chair next to her. She sat facing Jan rather than next to him.
“A drink?” he asked in French.
“Wine.”
The remainder of the conversation was in French.
A red-nailed finger touched the small earring in her right ear. The last of the sunlight caught a jewel and sent a brief flash of yellow-white. Jan Pendowski was a romantic.
Jan nodded to the man behind the bar, who had been admiring the policeman’s companion.
“Small talk?” he asked.
“A little,” she said. “It delays the scripted seduction you have planned.”
“Good,” he said. “Do you like Kiev?”
“Not particularly,” she said as the bartender brought two wine glasses and a small bottle of his finest, which he poured with panache.
Jan was amused. He said nothing until the man had gone.
“He wanted to get a closer look at you,” said Jan. “He does not usually provide such service. But I am sure you are accustomed to such attentions.”
“Have I had men stare at me with less than brotherly intentions? Yes, and may it never stop.”
They touched glasses.
“Ukrainian wine,” he said.
“Not bad. Not French, but not bad at all.”
“Are we finished with the small talk?” he asked sitting back.
“You are an intriguing man, if not a sophisticated one.”
“My charm lies in my Polish stock. Earthy.”
“And confident,” she said, taking a second sip of wine. “I am not going to bed with you.”
“Then we can come together on the floor.”
“Your persistence is admirable. I will amend my statement. I am not going to bed with you tonight.”
“Tomorrow morning?”
She laughed. He liked it. Her red lips opened and her white teeth spread. And she laughed.
“Perhaps,” she said. “Normally I would expect some effort at seduction but Oxana and I must leave tomorrow, and it has been several months since I’ve been with a man.”