Letitia shook my hand. She was mid-forties and had a cold, suspicious demeanor.
“How’s Kevin?” I asked.
“He’s at home with my mother,” Victoria said. “The doctor’s given him some sedatives.”
“I’m sorry,” I repeated with a deep sigh. “I just don’t know what to say.”
“There isn’t anything anyone can say at a time like this,” Victoria replied. “You know that as well as anyone.”
I nodded. She was right. My personal interest in the case was clouding my professionalism.
“Would you like a drink, Mrs. Parker?” Jessie asked.
Victoria shook her head. “No, thank you. I want us to get down to business. I’d like to hire Private. I want you to find my husband’s killer.”
Chapter 12
“Would you mind giving us a minute alone?” I asked Jessie and Rafael.
Letitia looked at Victoria for guidance, and her client nodded. The three of them left the office, and Victoria and I were soon on our own.
I went over to the west-facing window and looked down at the footsteps in the snow-covered park. Pursuing a personal investigation was a very different matter from taking Victoria on as a client, and I wanted her to understand the risks involved. I looked up and searched the city for inspiration, but my attention was caught by my own translucent reflection, which looked like a ghost floating in the January sky. A tired, troubled ghost, I thought as I studied my face.
“What do you want to say, Jack?” Victoria asked. “Karl always spoke very highly of you. He never mentioned you were the type to beat around the bush.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, turning to face her. “I was trying to find a delicate way to say what needs to be said.”
“Do I look like someone who gives a damn about delicacy? If it needs to be said, just let it out. Today of all days.”
“If you hire Private, we’re obliged to share the results of our investigation. Even if they’re ugly.”
“I know my husband, Jack. I’m not worried about what you might find.”
It was the same confidence exhibited by so many clients, but I’d seen too many people break down when shown detailed evidence of treachery at the hands of a spouse, friend, family or business partner. Sometimes ignorance really was bliss.
“If I look into this myself, without taking you on as a client—” I began.
“Then you don’t have to share anything unpleasant with me,” Victoria finished my thought. “But then you also aren’t under any obligation to take my instructions or to report back to me the things I need to know.”
She hesitated, and her eyes glistened as she fought for composure.
“I don’t want to be protected, Jack. I want to know the truth about why Karl was killed.” She choked back a sob.
I nodded. “OK. I’m sorry. I just had to be sure you know what you’re getting into.”
She wiped her eyes. “I appreciate it.”
“Karl seemed to have something on his mind. Something he wanted to tell me. You have any idea what it might have been?”
Victoria shook her head. “He’s been... I mean, he had been really distracted these past few weeks, caught up in his own head. But that wasn’t new. Whenever he had a busy time at work, he’d go into what Kevin and I called ‘the Zone’. Karl would be around, but his mind would be elsewhere, crunching through whatever problems he was facing.”
“He ever talk about any of those problems?” I asked.
“No. Not recently, at least. And I’m smart enough to give him the space he needs—” She caught herself again. “I’m sorry, needed, the space he needed. I just can’t get used to...” She tailed off.
“It’s OK,” I told her. “Nothing prepares you for a shock like this.”
“Not even war?” she asked, wiping away fresh tears.
“Not even war,” I replied honestly. The experience of having watched friends and comrades die in combat didn’t make the death of a loved one any easier.
I gave her a moment before I asked my next question.
“I’m going to apologize for this one before I even ask it,” I said, and a dark smile immediately crossed Victoria’s face.
“I think I know where we’re going,” she responded.
“I’m sorry, but we’ve got to rule out the mundane, and you said you didn’t want to be protected,” I reminded her. “Did you ever catch Karl out?”
“No, I never caught him out. Not so much as a wandering eye. And frankly, with his schedule I’d have been impressed if he’d found the time to cheat on me.”
I nodded, stood and walked to the door, opening it to find Letitia and Rafael chatting nearby. Jessie was leaning against her assistant’s desk, scrolling through her phone.
“Sorry for kicking you out of your own office,” I said.
“No problem, boss,” Jessie replied.
“You can come back in,” I told the three of them. “Thanks.”
They joined Victoria and me in the seating area.
“Mrs. Parker has engaged Private to identify her husband’s murderer,” I said. “Jessie, I’d like you to handle day-to-day contact with Mrs. Parker.”
“I’ll be your point of contact,” Letitia interrupted.
“No problem,” I went on. “I’ll be leading the investigation personally.”
Jessie frowned instantly and Rafael wasn’t long behind her.
“Problem?” I asked.
“Your personal connection to the case—” Jessie began.
“Karl trusted Jack Morgan,” Victoria cut her off, “and so do I.”
Jessie nodded, but she and Rafael exchanged a skeptical glance.
“Jessie, can you issue an engagement letter setting out our terms?” I asked.
“Sure.”
“Whatever you need, you’ve got it. You can do things the police can’t, Mr. Morgan. You get results when others fail, and Karl deserves the best,” Victoria said, choking back a sob. “Our family’s resources are at your disposal. I want my husband’s killer brought to justice. Whatever the cost.”
Chapter 13
A cloud of steam rose from the stovetop percolator, filling the tiny kitchen with the scent of freshly brewed coffee. Dinara Orlova waited until the brew bubbled and spat before turning off the gas. She split the thick black liquid between two travel cups, stirred in brown sugar and heavy cream, and screwed the lids on. She grabbed her down coat from one of the retro American-diner-style chairs that surrounded her red-topped kitchen table, and pulled on her rabbit-fur trapper hat.
“Good morning,” her neighbor, Mrs. Minsky, said as Dinara left her apartment.
Mrs. Minsky had developed a strange habit of spending most of her days sitting in the corridor outside her apartment, reading a book and watching the comings and goings of her neighbors. She had a folding garden chair, matching table and had even put a couple of potted plants in the corridor, treating the tiny space outside her front door as though it was a garden.
“Good morning, Mrs. Minsky,” Dinara said as she edged past the old woman.
“Off to find a husband?” Mrs. Minsky asked.
Dinara couldn’t tell if the hunched old woman was joking, but she suspected not. “Off to work,” she replied.
“Well, don’t let me keep you.”
Russia had a long history of trying to promote gender equality. It had been one of the central tenets of communism, but Dinara often wondered how much of it had been lip service, because she’d been on the receiving end of far too many critical comments about her age and the need for her to get married. Whenever she felt the social pressure of ingrained sexism, she asked herself whether a 33-year-old man would regularly be quizzed about his marital status.
Dinara admired herself in the smoked-glass mirror of the tiny elevator as it took her on a slow and steady four-story ride to the first floor. She wasn’t a woman who needed the reassurances of a man’s compliments. She knew she’d been blessed with great hair, beautiful features and an athletic physique, and was confident that when she set her mind to it, the right man would be found. But who had the time? Her early thirties were when she would make her mark on the world.