“Honesty,” he said. “I drink to it.”
And he did. So did she.
“We will get back to that,” he went on. “Do you make much money as a fashion editor?”
“Much? Let us say I do not have to concern myself with the cost of groceries. I get most of my clothing free from designers, and I put all my meals on the magazine’s credit card.”
“But you are not rich?”
“I am not rich. Is there a point to this?” she asked.
“Would you like to be rich?”
She tilted her head provocatively to one side and said, “No, I wish to gradually descend into abject poverty and end my days selling magazines behind a counter at the Gare de Lyon.”
“Seriously,” he said quite seriously.
“I would like to be rich.”
“Someone at a jewelry shop in Paris, a shop whose name you would recognize, is waiting for a beautiful woman to arrive and present him with a package of diamonds. In exchange for the diamonds, the person in the jewelry shop will give the beautiful woman a wrapped gift box. Inside the gift box will be more than two million euros.”
“You have these diamonds?”
“I have these diamonds. Oxana is supposed to deliver them to that shop in Paris, but I am confident she plans to keep the money.”
“As a gift to herself?” said Rochelle.
“As a gift to herself, yes. She plans to keep the money and go somewhere, possibly New York or Singapore or Australia.”
“I hope she does not plan to do this before the layout I have planned.”
“Given our Oxana’s vanity, I am confident she would not miss an opportunity to see pages of herself in your magazine.”
“Why should you trust me?”
“You would be very easy to find and I think that while you wish to be very rich you do not wish to lose your identity and your world of Parisian fashion.”
Her smile answered his question. He was sure he had her.
“I would not be at all surprised if Oxana plans to kill me to be sure I did not come after her. There are great advantages to her killing me.”
“She would not have to fly to Singapore.”
“Precisely.”
He did not add that he planned to kill Oxana so that he could keep all the money and not worry about her threatening him with the revelation of his history of corruption.
“How much of this gift would be mine?” she asked.
“One-third, at least six hundred thousand euros. And there is a bonus.”
She looked at him with curiosity.
“I will come to Paris, where we can celebrate.”
“And that is my bonus?”
“That is my bonus,” he said with a smile.
“And what of Oxana? She just accepts her fate and the loss of the six hundred thousand.”
“She has too much to lose to complain,” he said, finishing the last of his wine and pouring more for both of them.
It was a statement that did not bear close examination, and Rochelle Tanquay did not engage in even cursory examination.
“It is much less likely that a French woman who works for a fashionable and famous magazine would be examined by customs than a Russian national,” he said. “The plan has many advantages.”
“So I see,” Rochelle said.
“To our success,” said Jan. “And to tomorrow morning in my apartment, where I will give you the diamonds and we will have a bon voyage party.”
They clinked glasses as Jan reached over to put his free hand on hers. She turned her hand palm up and held his.
The lone man drinking in the corner watched them and got up.
Jan had just enough time after he placed Rochelle in a taxi. They had kissed as he opened the door, a kiss that suggested to him a passion that was to come in the morning.
He was pleased with himself. Certainly something could go wrong, but he had improvised his way through more than a dozen years as a policeman. He was confident that he could do it for at least the few more days he needed.
When he got back to his office, the Russians were waiting. He shook hands and slipped behind his desk in the small room. His wooden office chair let out a small screech as he leaned back.
“Found anything?” asked Elena.
“Promising leads on your model,” Jan said, looking down at a pad on his desk as if trying to remember her name. “Oxana Balakona. I’m certain we will locate her within twenty-four hours.”
“And the diamonds?” Sasha said.
Jan did not like the haunted way the man looked at him, but until proven otherwise he would assume that the Russian had seen too many ghosts, as had many who dealt with the violence of a big city. Certainly Moscow was still more violent than Kiev, though that might well change in the coming years as prosperity spread throughout the former Soviet states.
“If she has the diamonds, we will get them back for you,” said Jan, confidently folding his hands on the desk and leaning forward with sincerity.
“Maybe she has turned them over to an accomplice,” said Sasha.
Elena touched his leg with her hands out of the sightline of Pendowski. It was a warning that they were dealing with a shrewd adversary in his own country.
“I have a list of modeling agencies if you would like to share it with me,” Pendowski said. “I can take half and you could take half. Speed up the search for Balakona, if you think you can find your way around the city.”
“I am familiar with Kiev,” said Sasha. “My wife was born here. I’ve been here many times.”
“Your wife’s family lives here?” Pendowski asked.
“And so does she,” said Sasha.
Jan Pendowski nodded and said nothing. He knew all this. He had checked the background of Elena and Sasha for information he might use to slow them down or protect himself. Jan Pendowski knew where Maya Tkach lived with her two children. He knew where she worked. He knew the name of the man she was seeing, another reason perhaps why Tkach looked so ghostly.
“Here is a copy of the list of modeling agencies I made yesterday,” said Pendowski. “Two sheets. You take the second. I’ve already started on the first.”
He handed the sheet to Elena. Elena folded it evenly in half and placed it in her bag. She had no intention of calling on any agency on the list. Oxana Balakona had already been found.
The task had now changed. The one to watch was the policeman sitting across the desk.
“Then that is all for now,” Elena said, rising.
“Dinner?” asked Jan Pendowski.
“No, thank you,” said Elena. “We have a report to write.”
“Sure? I know a small Mongolian restaurant where they make a yak dish like nothing you have ever eaten.”
“A roast leg of yak sounds inviting, but not tonight,” said Elena, now standing.
Sasha rose too.
“I will drive you back to your hotel,” Pendowski said, also rising.
“We would appreciate that,” said Elena.
“I will show you a few sights on the way. They will not be out of the way.”
On the trip back to the hotel, Pendowski pointed out sights and kept up an engaging line of patter.
“We are in Andriyvsky Uzviz, a part of the Old Kiev Preserve. Once this was the shortest way to connect the princely Upper Town with the commercial Podil. Now it is a place for outdoor fairs and concerts. There are art galleries, shops, artists’ studios. This is the place to come to find antiques and paintings. You should take some time to come back here. I will be happy to show you around.”
“Thank you,” said Elena.
In front of the hotel, he arranged to meet them in the early afternoon after they had spent the morning on their list. Elena and Sasha agreed. As he drove away, Elena said, “Perhaps we should watch him tonight.”
“Tomorrow morning,” said Sasha. “He seems particularly interested in our spending the morning looking for a modeling agency that is certainly not on the list in your pocket.”
“Tomorrow morning,” Elena agreed.
It was the third day. In two days, if the current team of detectives under Porfiry Petrovich Rostnikov had not made impressive progress in their investigation, they might all be looking at new and not very satisfying assignments.