“What about the spine?” he asked. “They might’ve tucked it inside there.”
“That’s where I’m going next.”
To get to the spine, I used the scalpel to slice along the inner joint. It wasn’t quite as painstaking as the earlier task, and within minutes the inner spine was separated from the text block.
“Nothing.” He slid off the stool and walked back and forth with his arms folded across his chest. “Now what?”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, love. But it’s frustrating. I was hoping the book held the key.”
“I still have to check inside the back cover.”
“Right. Of course. Let’s do it.”
I repeated the process, but twenty minutes later, we’d arrived at the same outcome. There was nothing hidden inside the Kama Sutra covers that even vaguely resembled a flash drive of any size.
I stared at the sections of book laid out on my table. “Could it be affixed to one of the pages or is it too thick?”
“Too thick,” he muttered.
“That’s what I figured, but thought I’d better ask, just in case.”
Since the pieces of the book were spread out anyway, I tore off a sheet of butcher paper from the roll I kept on the counter and laid it on my worktable. I placed the book’s pieces on the paper to help establish the “map” that would be invaluable in putting the book back together. I drew boxes around the spine and bits of leather, boxes around the threads and text block, then wrote names, notes, and details inside the boxes so I wouldn’t forget or lose track of anything. Finally, I took more photos of individual items as well as one big picture of the entire tabletop.
I hadn’t bothered removing old glue from the inner spine or the boards. That was something I could do once I was alone and back to my day-to-day work. But I pulled out my woodblock press and left it on the worktable in anticipation of really going to work on this book.
Because I was curious, I grabbed my magnifying glass to examine the diamonds that made up the peacock’s crest on top of his head.
As I’d already determined, there was no way I could remove them and return them to their original state. Each gem was wrapped in a thin band of gold, then inset into the leather. I would simply remove as much dirt as I could by rubbing everything with a lightly dampened cloth.
“May I see?” Derek said.
“Sure.” I handed him the magnifying glass and watched as he studied the cover up close.
“It’s a beautiful book,” he said after a moment. “I hope our search hasn’t caused extra work for you.”
“Not really. I wanted to check the batting for mold, so I would’ve done this anyway.” There was nothing else we could do, so I covered everything with a soft white cloth and put my camera away.
As we left the workroom, Derek said, “What time are the cleaners due at Robin’s tomorrow?”
“Not until after lunch, around twelve thirty.”
“Good. That’ll give us a chance to do one more search of her rooms tomorrow morning.”
“Us?”
“Yes. After that, we might take a drive over to Alex’s apartment and see what we can find.”
“We?” I held back a smile.
He turned. “Am I to believe you’re not interested in going with me?”
“Absolutely not. I’m just a little astounded that you would include me without my insisting.”
“Darling, we’re partners,” he said, wrapping his arm around me as we strolled into the kitchen. “I wouldn’t dream of breaking the law without you by my side.”
I brought candy corn for sustenance.
Derek called his office to let them know he wouldn’t be coming in at all that day. Since he didn’t have meetings to attend or pending crises to deal with, he wanted to spend time trying to clear up Robin’s mess. I assured him I would be eternally grateful for his help and he let me know he’d hold me to that promise.
So on the off chance that Alex actually had hidden the flash drive somewhere inside Robin’s place, we were going to spend the next two hours searching through every nook and cranny possible. First, Derek gave me some pointers on the fine art of covert searching; then he set me loose in the second bedroom, which Robin used as a sculpture studio. She normally locked this room, because it held her treasured sculptures, so it hadn’t been trashed like the others. I knew where she kept the key, so I unlocked and opened the door, thankful that no blood had been tracked inside.
Standing in the doorway, I tried to figure out the best place to start. The bookshelves along one wall were jammed with art books held upright by clay molds of human hands and feet, a cow skull, jars of old paintbrushes. The top shelf was home to more than twenty clamps and a heavy-duty pair of cable cutters.
One long table held sculptures in various stages of completion. Most were heads or busts, but there were also a few torsos. Male and female, all life-size. There were more paintbrushes of every size and shape, many of them standing upright in glass jars filled with clear liquid. Coffee cans held rulers and dozens of tools for carving, shaping, and cutting. A mallet hung from a hook off the side of the table. Everything was splotched with dried liquid clay in shades of beige or sage or gray. Under the table were stacks of rags and ten or twelve plastic buckets of different sizes.
Abstract pen-and-ink drawings were tacked on the wall. Streaked wood pallets were piled precariously next to four large wrapped chunks of clay in a corner. In another corner were her potter’s wheel and a sturdy stool. On a pedestal in the middle of the room was a wonderful, life-size sculpture of a dancing goddess.
I’d been in here countless times, but I was struck anew by the odd beauty of all the assembled bits of junk. From any angle, there was a compelling still-life portrait. How in the world was I supposed to find something so tiny in the midst of all this? I decided to get started and see how far I got.
“Are you sure it’s a flash drive we’re looking for?” I asked as we drove away from Robin’s house two hours later.
Derek gave me a sideways glance. “I’m sure.”
“Just checking. Because if it’s not a flash drive, I’m going to be very annoyed with your informant.”
“I’ll alert him to watch his ass.”
The crime scene cleanup service had arrived, and after letting them know exactly what we needed them to do, Derek and I left them to their dirty work in Robin’s apartment and drove across town to Alex’s place in the Richmond.
We hadn’t found a flash drive in Robin’s home, no surprise. But in the interests of leaving no stone unturned, we’d given it our best shot.
Derek turned off the GPS after I suggested we take the scenic route up Market to Portola. We wound around Twin Peaks, catching dramatic views of the city around every turn, then descended into the Sunset District. At 19th Avenue, we turned right and entered Golden Gate Park. Once inside the park, I asked him to turn on MLK Drive, then cut back on JFK so we could enjoy the green.
“It’s the long way around,” I explained. “But if we stayed on Nineteenth, it would feel like any other busy thoroughfare in the middle of town.”
“This city is a constant surprise,” he said, gazing right and left as we drove past green meadows and thick groves of trees.
“There’s a pretty lake in the middle of the park,” I said. “We can go and rent a lazy rowboat sometime.”
“Sounds delightful,” he said, and squeezed my hand.
We’d both been feeling frustrated and worried about finding the flash drive before Robin got back to town, but the brief change of scenery lightened our spirits.
We exited the park, winding up on 30th Avenue in the Outer Richmond. Alex’s apartment was on 26th, three blocks from the gold-domed Russian Orthodox church that served the many immigrants who had moved to this area in the last twenty years after the collapse of the Soviet Union.
Derek had wangled the address from Inspector Jaglom, so we drove slowly past the apartment first, then parked a block and a half away.
“I can’t wait to see how you’re going to get us inside this place,” I said as I shut the car door.
“Watch and learn,” he said cryptically, and took my arm.
“Yes, Sherlock.” We walked the first block past rows of uniform, three-story Marina-style flats. The architectural style was named for the Marina District where they were first built and proliferated. On this street, each small building had a garage on the ground level, with one apartment each on the second and third floors. Most tended to feature spacious rooms, hardwood floors, and bay windows.
We crossed the street and approached Alex’s place just as a woman exited through the gated front entrance, then turned to lock it.
I gasped and whipped around, pulling Derek over to the nearest wall. Using him as a shield, I whispered, “Kiss me, please?”
He obliged. A moment later, he murmured, “Not that I’m complaining, you understand, but why am I kissing you?”
I exhaled in relief that I hadn’t been seen. “The woman who just walked out of Alex’s place? It’s Robin’s attacker, Galina.”
Derek craned his neck to watch her. “She’s going the other way. Just got into a car. Looks like a Jetta.”
“What’s she doing out of jail?” I groused, mentally kicking myself for not having followed up with the police on her whereabouts. “I can’t believe it. She almost killed Robin and now she’s walking around as free as a bird.”
“She’s driving away,” he said, and then a few seconds later, “Let’s go.”
I tried to act casual as we strolled to Alex’s entry gate, but my nerves were on red alert. Derek removed some thin tool from his pocket and slipped it into the keyhole. After a moment, he turned the knob and we walked inside.
“That was a little too easy,” I said in a low voice.
“No, I’m just that good,” he said, leading the way up the steps.
I chuckled and a tiny bit of tension left my shoulders. But I couldn’t quite brush off the sense of impending doom. What if Galina returned for some reason? I really didn’t want to deal with her.
When we got to Alex’s door, Derek worked his magic again and whisked the door open within ten seconds. He took one cautious step inside, and I followed.
“Christ almighty,” he swore.
“What?” But he turned and I saw for myself.
“Go.” He grabbed my shoulders and pushed me out the door. I went willingly.
“Call the police,” he added, drawing his gun from his shoulder holster. “We’ve got another body.”
Chapter 15
“You should come with a warning label, Wainwright,” Inspector Lee said, then snorted at her own joke. I wasn’t laughing. Her comment hit a little too close to home.
It wasn’t like I went looking for dead bodies, although I could see how it would appear that way to the police.
According to the passport inside the dead guy’s pocket, his name was Stanislav Ostrovsky, a Ukrainian. Not surprising, since he was found inside the place rented by Alex, another Ukrainian. I’d seen only a flash of Stanislav’s body before Derek pushed me away, but it was enough to make me sick, and not just in a physical sense. No, this one hurt my heart. He looked too young and innocent to be caught up in all this spy-versus-spy nonsense. For a few moments, I speculated that he might be Alex’s younger brother. Otherwise, maybe they were recruiting spies out of high school these days. What did I know? But I concluded sadly that he had to be involved in the same operation that Galina and Alex were caught up in. Why else would he have been found here in a place Alex used as a cover for his intelligence activities?
The Ukrainian connection fed into Lee’s theory that this whole mess was related to the escalating turf war. Once again, Derek and I kept mum, but I wouldn’t be able to be quiet much longer. We were withholding evidence, and all those levels of government jurisdiction didn’t matter to me as long as Robin was still in danger. If the police knew we were looking for a mysterious missing flash drive, they would freak, and I wouldn’t blame them.
I knew Derek wasn’t in favor of telling the police. He’d obtained the intelligence on the flash drive from his sources at Interpol and knew there were people at the highest levels of the U.S. government who were aware of the situation and would step in if and when they felt the need to do so.
I didn’t share with him that confidence that our government officials would play fairly. Besides, I had a personal relationship with Lee and Jaglom. I didn’t want them coming out of this with egg on their faces because their higher-ups didn’t feel a need to keep them in the loop.
“At least we saw who killed the guy,” I said to Inspector Lee in my defense, lame as it was.
Lee and I stood on the small balcony outside Alex Pavlenko’s apartment. She and Jaglom had been first on the scene, beating the uniformed guys and the medical examiner. Now Jaglom and Derek were talking inside while we all waited for the medical examiner and the crime scene specialists to show up. Two uniformed officers were already knocking on neighbors’ doors, looking for witnesses.
Lee smirked. “So you’re saying you saw Galina Shirkova pull the trigger?”
So that was her last name, I thought, then sighed. “No, I didn’t exactly see her do it.”
“You hear a gunshot?”
“Okay, no. But—”
“All you really saw was Shirkova walking down the sidewalk and driving away in a car.”
“Maybe so, but she was in there,” I said, pointing at Alex’s door. “Then she left, drove away. Two minutes later, we get up here and, oh, look, there’s a dead body.”
“Still not good enough.”
“Oh, come on,” I retorted. “She’s a menace who never should’ve been let out of jail. I don’t know why you’re hedging about her. If I’d done the same thing, you’d already have your handcuffs out.”
She pulled them off her belt and twirled them around her finger. “That’s because you would look so good in these.”
I regarded her askance. “Okay, that’s weird.”