1993 dead meat, p.17
(1993) Dead Meat, page 17
‘Stick him in the raven, and bring him down to the Big House,’ he said. ‘I’d take him myself only I don’t want to get any blood on my upholstery.’
‘Right you are, sir,’ said the sergeant and, taking hold of the Georgian’s blood-stained shirt collar, he shoved him towards the van as it pulled up beside them.
It was after two o’clock by the time they got back to the Big House. The Georgian, whose name was Ilya Chavchavadze, was not saying a thing, so they locked him up in the old police gaol underneath the Big House and turned their attention to Pyotr Mogilnikov. Sasha unlocked his handcuffs and sat him down on a chair in front of Grushko. ‘You know,’ he said, lighting the man a cigarette, ‘another few seconds and that Georgian would have had you.’ He tipped his own cigarette towards the lighter.
‘My lucky day, isn’t it?’
‘I’d say so. I don’t suppose you have any idea why he wanted to kill you?’
Mogilnikov pushed his chair back on to two legs and rocked it with insolent nonchalance.
‘Who knows what goes through that sort of sick mind?’ he said.
‘How about if you were to hazard a guess?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine.’
‘Better, I shouldn’t wonder,’ said Grushko.
Mogilnikov smirked.
‘So why are you asking me?’
‘Oh, I just thought that almost being murdered might have helped you to see your priorities.’
Mogilnikov tugged the cigarette from his lips and stayed silent.
‘So tell me, why did you make a run for it?’
‘I thought you were with the other guy, of course. How was I to know you guys were the fairies?’
He let the chair down on all four legs, reached forward and flicked his cigarette ash at the tin lid on the desk. Grushko caught his wrist and whistled loudly.
‘Now that’s a very nice watch,’ he said, ‘eh, Sasha?’
‘Looks expensive, sir.’
Grushko scrutinised the brand name on the watch face.
‘Rolex. Is it a real one?’
‘Nah, of course not,’ said Mogilnikov. ‘It’s one of those fakes. From Hong Kong. How could I afford a real one?’
‘How indeed?’ Grushko unbuckled the gold and stainless-steel strap. ‘Do you mind if I have a closer look?’
Mogilnikov shrugged uncertainly and then drew his hand out of the bracelet. Grushko turned the watch over and inspected the underside of the case.
‘Amazing,’ he said. ‘I’ll bet that only an expert could tell them apart.’ He pursed his lips and nodded. ‘You know, I’ve just thought of something. Maybe that’s why the Georgian wanted to knife you: to get his hands on this watch. Those Georgians, they like flashy looking stuff like this.’
‘You don’t say.’
‘What do you think, Sasha?’ Grushko tossed him the watch.
‘Hey,’ protested Mogilnikov, ‘be careful.’
‘Sorry,’ smiled Grushko. ‘But after all, it is a fake.’
‘Fake or not, it still cost money.’
‘Nice, very nice,’ said Sasha, nodding appreciatively. ‘Looks too good to be home-made.’
‘So who are you?’ frowned Mogilnikov. ‘The militia’s resident watchmaker?’
‘No, but he will give you a pledge,’ said Grushko.
‘Oh? And what might that be?’
‘That it was you who fingered Vaja Ordzhonikidze.’
‘Vaja who? Look, what are you talking about?’
Sasha tossed Grushko the watch. Mogilnikov sighed and shook his head.
‘You phoned him up,’ said Grushko. ‘You offered to sell him this watch.’ He dangled it in the air as if he had been teasing a cat with a piece of fish.
‘You’ve been sitting on someone’s needle.’
‘You told Ordzhonikidze that you’d washed this off some foreign tourist’s arm, didn’t you?’
‘I never heard of the guy. And I didn’t steal that watch.’
‘That’s the real reason you were booked on the midnight plane from Georgia,’ declared Grushko. ‘You set Vaja up to get murdered.’
Mogilnikov continued to shake his scrawny head.
‘Just like it was you who helped to turn over Mikhail Milyukin’s place,’ added Sasha.
‘Mikhail who?’
‘Maybe you helped to shoot them both,’ said Grushko. ‘Either way you’re looking at the maximum fifteen years in the zone, strict regime. Felling timber in Perm…’
‘Freezing winters,’ said Sasha, ‘blazing hot summers, miles away from anywhere. Even the guards don’t want to go there, it’s so remote. The camp there covers thirty-eight whole regions of the country. The place is vast and so empty that you might think the world had forgotten all about you.’
‘You don’t scare me,’ said Mogilnikov.
‘Good-looking fellow like you —make some zek a nice boy-girl,’ said Grushko with malicious pleasure. ‘If the mosquitoes don’t drive you mad, or TB doesn’t kill you first.’
‘You bastards,’ snarled Mogilnikov.
‘Of course, the chances are,’ added Grushko, ‘that you may never even get there —not now that the Georgians have marked you down for the top tower. You could be in sit at Kresti and they might still tickle your ribs, son. Isn’t that so, Sasha?’
‘Nothing easier. Those Georgians have got friends in every gaol in Peter. Price of killing a man when he’s in sit is a couple of bags of scratch. Or maybe a loan of someone’s boy-girl for an afternoon.’
Sweat started on Mogilnikov’s pale forehead. He rubbed it away with his hand and then tore the cigarette from the corner of his trembling mouth. Ash fell unnoticed on to his trousers.
‘Who put you up to it?’ Grushko’s voice sounded harsh and impatient. It was early in the morning and he wanted to go home.
‘Nobody —’
‘Who were the two men you went to Milyukin’s flat with?’
‘I —I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Why did you kill Milyukin?’
‘I never killed anyone.’
Grushko sighed wearily and leaned back on his chair. He held the butt of his cigarette to another one and then screwed it out in the ashtray.
‘You know, your life isn’t worth five copecks unless you start talking to me, son.’
Mogilnikov smiled a nervous, sarcastic sort of smile.
‘And if I do? How much will it be worth then? Maybe less than that. It could be I am in danger, but I’m dead meat for sure the minute I open my mouth to you bastards.’
Grushko shrugged, looked at the Rolex and then put it into his desk drawer.
‘Hey, give that back,’ said Mogilnikov.
He was starting to stand until he met Grushko’s hand, which pushed him back down on to his chair.
‘Stay where you are,’ he said. ‘You’ll get it back when I say. But only if you’re a good boy.’
Mogilnikov shook his head impatiently.
‘I’ve got no time for your games,’ he said.
Grushko laughed harshly.
‘Son,’ he said, ‘you’ve got nothing but time.’
It was nine o’clock in the morning and they had just taken Pyotr Mogilnikov down to the lock-up when I arrived. Grushko explained the night’s events while he shaved with an ancient electric razor. It looked like it had been designed to shear sheep.
‘We’ll transfer him across the river to Kresti later this morning,’ he announced. ‘Perhaps a stretch on remand will persuade him to change his mind. Organise it, will you, Sasha? But let’s have someone keeping an eye on him. I don’t want any accidents. And if we do manage to charge those Georgians we’d better make sure they’re remanded somewhere else: Shpalerny or Nizhegorodsky, anywhere but Kresti.’
He glanced round at me and grinned.
‘Talking about Georgians, that reminds me. You’ve got a visitor.’
17
Oemyon Sergeyevich Luzhin was a brisk, small man, bald on top, with a short sandy-coloured beard and thick black-framed glasses, more like a university professor than the Mafia’s favourite lawyer. He wore a checked short-sleeved shirt, grey flannel trousers, and was smoking a small cigar. I guessed him to be about fifty. I found him waiting in my office. He was reading some international law journal that was written in English but I decided that he probably did that just to impress me.
‘Ah, there you are,’ he said and stood up politely.
We did not bother to shake hands, and although I knew exactly why Luzhin was there, I decided to let him earn his fee. So I sat down behind my desk and reached for my cigarettes. Luzhin offered me a cigar from the tin he had laid open on top of his papers, but by then I already had the cigarette alight. I said nothing and watched him get ready to make his move.
He shuffled his papers, disposed of the cigar, glanced at me over the top of his glasses and finally spoke in a firm baritone, his manner brisk and businesslike.
‘Now I understand that you are holding my clients,’ he said and proceeded to name every one of the seven Georgians, patronymics included, and all without consulting any of his notes.
That did impress me. Some of those Georgian names were a mouthful.
‘You seem to know them very well,’ I said. ‘And you’re very well-informed. We’ve only just picked them up.’
‘I’m on a permanent retainer with Mr Gankrelidze and his colleagues,’ Luzhin said without a hint of embarrassment. ‘A friend of Mr Gankrelidze contacted me late last night and informed me that they’d been arrested. I thought it best that I come straight here this morning.’ He paused and waited for me to say something, but when I merely shrugged at him, he smiled politely and added:
‘I presumed that at some stage during the day you would observe the normal protocol whereby the suspects are re-acquainted with the charges that are facing them, in the presence of their advocate. Well, I am here and I am at your disposal.’
‘Thank you, Mr Luzhin, that’s very helpful of you,’ I said. ‘But I’m not sure we’ll be doing that until I’ve asked the State Prosecutor’s Office for a search protocol.’
‘May one inquire what you are looking for?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
The fact of the matter was, I hadn’t much of a clue what we could look for that was specifically related to the firebombing of the Pushkin Restaurant. I could hardly have asked Voznosensky for permission to search for some empty vodka bottles, some assorted rags, a can of gasoline, oil and a box of matches. The whole idea of a search protocol was simply a delaying tactic. I knew it. He knew it.
‘And when will you be going to see the State Prosecutor?’
‘Some time today,’ I said vaguely.
He made a note with his gold pen and lit another of his small cigars with a slimline gold lighter. I noticed that it was the same kind of lighter that Grushko had. Then I saw the gold watch and the gold wedding ring to match. Maybe he had a sensitive skin, I said to myself: one that could not bear the touch of any metal except gold.
‘And what are the charges facing my clients?’
‘Racketeering, extortion, arson and murder.’
‘Can you be more specific?’
‘Not without compromising our witnesses. But I’ll certainly keep you informed, Mr Luzhin.’
‘Please do,’ he said, and taking out his crocodile leather wallet he handed me his business card. It was printed on both sides, in Russian and in English.
‘Now then. I understand my clients were arrested early yesterday afternoon,’ he said. ‘That gives you fifty-three —well, let’s be generous, say fifty-five —hours before you must either bring charges against my clients or release them.’
‘No, let’s just say fifty-three,’ I said coolly. I didn’t want any favours from this snake.
‘Fifty-three it is then,’ he said, without sounding insulted, and made another note. ‘Naturally if my clients are charged I shall be applying for bail.’
‘Which I will oppose.’
He smiled patiently.
‘Might I see the interrogation protocols? I merely wish to ascertain that my clients’ rights under Article 51 have been observed.’
I opened my drawer and took out the file.
‘Sometimes these fellows in Criminal Services can get a little carried away,’ he added by way of an apology.
‘Not in this particular case,’ I said, handing him a sheaf of paper. ‘One protocol for each of the seven dwarves. I think you’ll find everything’s in order, Mr Luzhin.’
‘Thank you,’ he said and inspected them carefully. When he was satisfied he returned them to me and puffed several times at his cigar, almost as if he had been about to light a length of fuse.
‘You’re not from St Petersburg, are you?’
‘Moscow.’
‘You’ll like it here,’ he said confidently. ‘It’s a very civilised sort of city.’
I thought of the firebomb sailing through the window of the Pushkin Restaurant, the bodies at the monument to the Heroes of Leningrad and outside the cinema on Nevsky, and nodded politely.
‘Much friendler than Moscow. Let me know if I can be of service to you.’
He collected up his papers and placed them inside a smart black leather attache case. Then he lingered as if there was something else he wished to tell me.
‘It’s several years since I went to Moscow,’ he announced.
The last time was in 1987. Margaret Thatcher was on a visit to the Soviet Union. I saw her when she was walking round the city.‘
I smiled. Luzhin just wanted to be able to talk to another lawyer, someone who wasn’t a criminal at least. I wondered if Thatcher’s trip to Moscow had also been the occasion of Mikhail Milyukin meeting her.
‘That’s a very great lady,’ he said. ‘A very great lady indeed.’
This was not an uncommon view. Most Russians were of the opinion that ‘little Maggie’, as she was affectionately known, would have made a great Russian premier.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘but don’t forget: the British had the same opinion of Gorbachev.’
Grushko had disappeared when I returned to his office. Nor was there any sign of Nikolai or Sasha. But Andrei was in his usual seat, staring at the telephone; however on this occasion he was looking rather pleased with himself.
‘Where’s Grushko?’ I asked.
‘Gone out with Nikolai,’ he said. They’re checking out a lead.‘ He grinned proudly. ’Something I turned up with that telephone inquiry.‘
‘Well done,’ I said. ‘What was it?’
‘You remember that body they found the other day —Tolya?’
‘The one with the electric-iron burns? I could hardly forget it.’
‘Turns out he worked for one of those Anglo-Russian joint-venture companies. An outfit called Anglo-Soyuzatom Transit. One of their truck-drivers apparently. They’re in the nuclear-waste-disposal business.’
‘Grushko told me they just dumped the stuff in the ocean. I guess he must have meant the low-level stuff.’
‘You mean there’s more than one type?’
‘Low-level, intermediate and high-level. You need a proper disposal programme for the intermediate and high-level stuff.’
‘Sounds like you know something about it, sir.’
‘Only what I read in the papers, and see on TV.’
‘Then maybe you can tell me,’ he said, consulting his notebook. ‘Radio-biology: is that anything to do with nuclear?’
I shrugged.
‘Haven’t we got a dictionary round here?’
Andrei laughed and shook his head. ‘We haven’t even got a telephone directory.’
‘Well, isn’t there a library in this building?’
‘Not that I know about.’
I picked up the phone and asked the operator to put me through to Colonel Shelaeva’s office in Scientific Research. When at last I was connected I explained my problem to her.
‘Radio-biology?’ she said. ‘It’s a branch of biology that is concerned with the effects of radioactive substances on living organisms. Why do you ask?’
I looked at Andrei.
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘Well it might just be a coincidence,’ he explained, ‘what with this Tolya fellow working for Anglo-Soyuzatom Transit, but there’s a Dr Sobchak in Mikhail Milyukin’s address book. She works at the Pavlov —the Medical University here in Peter. Well, when I rang up to speak to her they told me that she was away on holiday. And so I asked what kind of a doctor she was and they said a radio-biologist.’
‘Did you hear that?’ I said to Shelaeva.
‘More or less,’ she said. ‘And you can tell that detective something important from me. Tell him that it’s always a mistake to dismiss things as a coincidence in a criminal investigation. Coincidence is what this business is all about.’
With that advice she rang off.
‘What did she say?’
‘Radio-biology: it’s to do with the effects of radiation on living organisms. And she says to tell you that coincidence is what this business is all about.’
Andrei pulled a face.
‘Bitch,’ he said. ‘Now you know why I didn’t phone her myself. You risk a bloody lecture every time you ask for a lousy fingerprint. Reckon it’s worth calling Grushko on the car phone and telling him? I mean about Dr Sobchak.’
‘Why not?’ I said. ‘Maybe the people at Anglo-Soyuz will have heard of her.’
I lit a cigarette and watched Andrei write down the definition as provided by Colonel Shelaeva.
‘Where is this joint-venture anyway?’ I asked.
‘About seventy-five kilometres west of here, along the coast on the road to Sosnovy Bor.’
I glanced at my watch.
‘Then I may be gone by the time they’re back,’ I said. ‘Look, I’ve got to go to Moscow this afternoon. To pick up my car. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind telling Grushko that I’ll be back tomorrow, mid-morning with any luck.’
‘Sure,’ said Andrei. He lit a cigarette and gave me a sideways sort of look, as if trying to gauge what kind of character I was. ‘Mind if I ask you a question?’
‘Go ahead.’
