“Archibald Chapman. Seems to be the local crime boss, in Shoreditch, anyway. The kid who found Captain Egorov was going to pinch his cap as a souvenir. He found a map folded up inside and took that instead. It showed the route between your embassy and the farms up north you buy supplies from.”
“Scotland Yard didn’t mention any map,” Sidorov said, frowning.
“I thought it might be worth pressing the kid on it, so they brought him back in, with his father.”
“That was smart, Lieutenant Boyle.”
“Even a blind squirrel manages to find a few acorns now and then,”I said. Sergei laughed, and I decided his English was excellent. Sidorov smiled over his glass of tea.
“We did have a large truckload of supplies hijacked on the road to London last week,” he said. “Beef, lamb, and a large quantity of whiskey. We thought it due to the rampant criminal activity associated with a decadent imperialist society. Now it appears one of our own had a hand in it.”
“But what would Captain Egorov get out of it? If he was paid off, how would he get the money home? Wouldn’t a large quantity of English pounds raise suspicions when he returned to the Soviet Union?”
“Yes, but he was not a stupid man. He could convert them to jewels, perhaps, and sell them for rubles in Moscow, or trade them for what he desired.”
“Or maybe he didn’t plan on going back.”
“Comrade Egorov may have been tempted by the lure of easy money, Lieutenant, but he was not a traitor, not to the motherland, nor to his family.”
“There would be reprisals?” I asked.
“That is a ridiculous word,” Sidorov snapped. “We have laws in the Soviet Union. Article 58 of the criminal code makes any kind of counterrevolutionary activity punishable, including the nonreporting of crimes by others. The usual sentence is six months’ imprisonment in a labor camp.”
“Six months in Siberia seems like a very long time.”
“Well, what should we do? Send them to the Crimea for the sunshine? But this has nothing to do with the case. Tell me if I can assist you in any way with your pursuit of Captain Egorov’s killer.”
“Do you still have his body? His clothing?”
“No. His remains were cremated and are being returned to the motherland by convoy. We found nothing of interest on his person; apparently the child found the only relevant evidence. Do you have it?”
“No. Inspector Scutt at Scotland Yard does. Do you want to see it?”
“I don’t wish to cause unnecessary trouble for his family, so it does not need to figure in my report to the Foreign Ministry. But perhaps it will help the investigation. I shall call on the inspector this afternoon. Now, if there is nothing else…?”
“Just a few more questions,” I said. Sidorov seemed to have switched gears, from the charming, tea-sipping commissar to suddenly giving me the bum’s rush. “Have you gone through Egorov’s paperwork? I assume he submitted reports on his activities.”
“Of course, but that information is restricted, as I am sure you understand.”
“But did you find anything that might shed light on his murder?”
“Lieutenant Boyle, that is what Scotland Yard is supposedly for. And now the Americans have assigned you as well. I hope our Allies will treat Captain Egorov’s death with the same importance they would if he had been an English lord.”
“Can you tell me what the business at High Wycombe with the Eighth Air Force was all about?”
“No. If you have to ask that question, you already have been told by your own people that it is top secret. Now, what is your other question?”
“Did Captain Egorov’s duties bring him in contact with the Polish Government in Exile?”
“We no longer have relations with the so-called Polish government in London.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“It will have to do. This interview is concluded.” Sidorov rose and wordlessly escorted me out of the building, all trace of friendliness gone. On the steps, I turned to thank him, but all I saw was the door closing and, out of the corner of my eye, the scarlet Soviet banner snapping in the breeze, like a whip.
CHAPTER NINE
I hoofed it to the Notting Hill Gate, trying to figure out what Sidorov’s angle was. Had he pumped me for information, then given me the bum’s rush when he was done? Or did he have an appointment with his boss, or maybe his tailor? Or someone involved in murder and theft?
I turned before I got to the gate and walked slowly back toward the embassy. As soon as I got within sight of the two front sentries, I stopped and leaned against the trunk of a tree, staying out of their line of vision while watching for anyone leaving the building. I tried to look harmless, just a guy waiting for his date, but this wasn’t the kind of neighborhood where you hung out on a street corner. Nearly every mansion had a shiny brass plaque declaring it some nation’s sovereign ground. I waited for a bobby or a guy in a dark suit to roust me, but before anybody got the chance, I saw what I was looking for. Captain Kiril Sidorov, thankfully walking in the opposite direction, his overcoat as bright as a blue jay’s among the brown, khaki, and dark blue that flowed along the sidewalk.
I followed, keeping the bobbing steel blue service cap in sight. He turned off the road and into Kensington Gardens, walking briskly past the palace with its black iron gates decorated in gold leaf. I wondered if he thought about the czar and his family, all those children gunned down in the name of the people. Probably as much as the czar ever thought about children starving in Russian villages.
He took the bridge over the Serpentine and stopped to admire the view. I had to remind myself that Sidorov was NKVD, and that surveillance was second nature to him. He had picked this route because it gave him a clear field of vision to spot a tail. I kept my head down and tried to blend in with the crowd of uniforms parading through the park. I took a chance and stayed on the opposite bank, walking along Rotten Row, keeping my eye on him across the narrow body of water.
I almost lost him crossing the street at Hyde Park Corner, when he waited until the last second before dashing across. Luckily, a double-decker bus stalled and I darted between slow-moving vehicles, managing to keep Sidorov in sight. He took a side street and emerged in Belgrave Square, where he sat on a bench and casually looked around, as if he were enjoying the winter sunshine. I didn’t think he had spotted me or even suspected a tail. But it did tell me he wasn’t out for an afternoon stroll. He was on his way to a meet, and I had to wonder if it had anything to do with my visit and Egorov’s murder. Or maybe the Poles, or the Eighth Air Force, or who the hell knew. I didn’t have a clue, except for the feeling in my gut that something was wrong with what Sidorov had told me. I had no idea what it was, but his sudden brusque switch hadn’t felt right.
Sidorov got up, circled the small park, spun on his heel, and turned back the way he had come, almost colliding with a woman wearing a blue scarf tied about her head, her hands stuffed in the pockets of her plain beige coat, and her eyes cast down to the pavement as she plowed through the crowd. He put out one hand to steady her, then knelt to pick up the pocketbook she had dropped. He gave her a quick, almost courtly bow before moving on. He had a way about him, a confidence that flowed with every step he took, whether trying to spot a tail or playing the gallant with a woman on a busy London street.
He walked quickly for a few more blocks before entering Victoria Station. The narrow streets in the Belgravia district twisted and turned, hiding what was at the end of each passageway, but I was certain I was within spitting distance of the Rubens Hotel. I waited for a crowd to bunch up at the entrance to the station and mixed in with them. Sidorov was nowhere to be seen. I bought a newspaper and pretended to read, holding it up in front of my face and peering over the top. I stood in a ticket line, scanning the cavernous room, until it came to my turn, and I strolled away, searching for that distinctive coat. At the far end of the room, a giant sign advertised Aspinall’s Enamel, sold everywhere in London. Beneath the sign was an entrance marked REFRESHMENTS, and I went in, looking for steel blue.