I took a break at noon to stand beside the kitchen window while I ate a slightly overripe nectarine and collected my thoughts. According to Dominick Capra, Aslan couldn’t be in the country legally unless somebody in the Russian government requested a favor of somebody in the United States government. If so, it must have been a very big favor. Aslan’s description of the Russian assault on Grozny was too graphic to be entirely rehearsed. Almost certainly, he’d been there, in his mid-twenties, involved in the fighting. Was he already working for the Russians? Or was he originally a freedom fighter?
That was as far as I got before the phone began to ring. I knew it was from Adele before I picked it up. Adele was the only one who called these days.
‘Hi,’ she said, ‘how’d it go?’
I spelled it out for her, summarizing the facts, my tone neutral. On the prior night, just before I fell asleep, I’d come to a conclusion: I could not have reasonably anticipated the events leading to Barsakov’s release. Neither the presence of Monica Baird, nor the arrival of Barsakov’s lawyer, nor Drew Millard’s chickenshit decision. Any one, or even two, of these elements would not have been enough to spring Konstantine. It took all three.
But if my plan had been sound, that didn’t mean it was the only plan on the table. Far from it.
‘What you might have done,’ Adele pointed out, ‘was take a photo of Barsakov and show it to the witness first. That way, you’d be charging him with murder.’
I was quick to reply. ‘For that matter, I could have brought Clyde with me on the surveillance, let him ID Barsakov right there, then obtained search warrants before Aslan knew I existed. Or even better, I could have held off on serving the warrants until the women came back to Greenpoint on Saturday evening. Hell, by that time, I might have gotten warrants for them too.’
Adele finally brought me to a halt. ‘Alright, Corbin, I’m sorry. I know how you must feel.’
‘Do you mean that?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then why don’t you come home, Adele? Or at least tell me what’s wrong.’ The words were out of my mouth before I could take them back. ‘I know I’m supposed to be a new-millennium kind of guy, faithful and understanding, but it’s been two weeks and I’m starting to lose hope.’
The inevitable prolonged silence followed, during which I paced from the living room into the rear bedroom and back. Then Adele said, ‘Don’t give up on me, Corbin. Not yet.’
I noted the quaver in her voice, almost with satisfaction. Adele rarely displays her emotions. Woman of mystery is more her style.
‘No,’ I said. ‘Not yet.’
Another silence, followed by a change of subject. There was to be no revelation.
‘So, what are you going to do?’ Adele asked.
‘About what, exactly?’
‘About your Jane Doe, Aslan, the women, the children.’
‘Ah, we’re back to them. Well, in the short term, there’s only one thing I can do.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘I have to break the priest.’
A few minutes later, after a goodbye that might have been warmer, I went back to my computer. There was one more item I wanted to research. Several years before, a Catholic priest had violated the seal of the confessional to free a man unjustly convicted of murder. If it happened once, or so I reasoned, it could happen again. I just wanted to know the exact circumstances before I confronted Father Stan.
EIGHTEEN
By one o’clock, I was on my way to the Blessed Virgin Outreach Center, driving along Metropolitan Avenue, over Newtown Creek, through industrial Maspeth, finally into the small residential community surrounding the center. Again, I was impressed with the resolute orderliness of the neighborhood, with the carefully tended yards and the immaculate gardens surrounding the modest homes. Written off decades before, this little piece of Maspeth was as proud — and ultimately defiant — as it was working class.
The outreach center was up and running when I walked inside. Seven adults and at least as many children were gathered around several of the worn couches against the walls. Curiously, there were no children in the play area.
‘Can I help you?’ A young woman in jeans and a tie-dyed sweatshirt rose to her feet from a kneeling position.
‘I’m here to see Father Manicki,’ I said, just as though I’d called ahead to make an appointment.
‘He’s not here today. He’s attending a conference at the Diocese. He’ll be back tomorrow.’
‘Thanks.’ I’d hoped to take the priest by surprise, which was why I hadn’t called ahead, but the trip wasn’t entirely wasted. There was always Sister Kassia and the pressure I hoped she’d put on Father Stan.
The nun took that moment to make an appearance, entering through a door that led back into the church. She stopped when she saw me, stopped to look into my eyes. I suspect she read the message correctly because her own eyes instantly hardened.
‘I need to speak with you for a few minutes.’ I was careful to keep my tone firm. There would be no mea culpas to confuse the issues. I’d come to make a deal which the good Sister could refuse or accept. There was no third alternative.
‘Alright,’ she said after a long moment, ‘let’s go outside.’
We took a slow walk to the end of the block while I related the same sad tale I’d conveyed to Adele only a few hours before. It was a beautiful day. The temperature was in the seventies, the sunlight clear and clean enough to render the cracked roads and worn brick nearly pristine. Above our heads, a steady breeze rattled the leaves and branches of an ancient maple whose roots had broken through the sidewalk.
‘I made no promises the other day,’ I said, ‘with regard to the other women, not to you or anybody else. And I’m not making much of a promise now. Those women are potential witnesses in two homicide investigations. They have a responsibility to come forward and I intend to make sure they honor that responsibility. Nevertheless, I need your help now and I’m willing to put an offer on the table.’
We were interrupted then, by an elderly woman who pushed a walker onto a small porch. The woman called Sister Kassia’s name as she skillfully avoided the spring-mounted door by turning in a full circle. Without a word, Sister Kassia went up on the porch to speak to the woman. When she returned a few minutes later, she seemed less tense. I walked alongside her, from the shade of the maple into the sunlight, then simply continued our conversation as though we’d never left off.
‘I may have to be hard on the women,’ I told her. ‘I may have to make them more afraid of me than of Aslan.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘I’m offering a contract, Sister, and I don’t want to conceal the terms. Ordinarily, I’d ask the DA to incarcerate the women as material witnesses, with or without their children. INS would be notified at that point and deportation proceedings would begin.’
‘But that doesn’t have to happen?’
‘There’s no good reason to incarcerate witnesses who are available and cooperative. Undocumented workers testify in court every day.’
We continued on, to the end of the street, then began to retrace our steps. Ahead of us, a car backed out of a tiny driveway to block our path.
‘I’m going to take those women away from Aslan,’ I said. ‘All I’m asking is that I have a safe place to bring them when I do. Some place other than Blessed Virgin, which Aslan knows about.’
‘I can place them in a temporary shelter easily enough, but if you’re trying to make an offer I can’t refuse, you’re not there yet. You need to spell out my side of the bargain.’
The car finally pulled off and we resumed walking. ‘I need a carrot,’ I said.
‘A carrot?’
‘To go along with the stick.’