Part 10 (1/2)
Viktor said, ”Sergei, you can't go back, you will be shot if you go back.” And what did you say, Sergei? You said, ”No, you will be shot, you little piece of s.h.i.+t. Your life is worth nothing any more. I will tell them what you did, and they will send someone, and they will find you, all of you.”
And they did send someone. Didn't they, Sergei? They sent you.
Orwell's wife never called him at work, except for emergencies, and never simply to chastise him, that was an indulgence she reserved for suppertime, but he had just been severely castigated (unfairly, he was certain) for his part in the latest domestic drama. The wedding was off.
His first emotion had been umbrage. ”How can it be my fault?”
”I said not to push,” Erika began (he could see her shaking her finger), ”but you pushed anyway, you are always pus.h.i.+ng.”
That was an exaggeration, he was certain. ”I didn't push, I offered, we offered, a piece of land for them to build a house on.” He stood, as if to address a courtroom. ”Was that a crime?”
”Did you even ask your daughter, privately, first, if it was such a good idea? No. Not you. You have to stand up at the dinner table and make a big announcement like Orwell the Beneficent that you want Patty and her intended, whose name you can barely remember . . .”
”Gary. Gary. Gary.”
”. . . that you wish to bestow . . .”
”I never used the word bestow.”
”. . . upon them a generous parcel of ten acres for their wedding present.”
”h.e.l.l's bells, it's better than a waffle iron.” He was starting to get steamed. This attack was most unwarranted.
”That's not a present. That's an obligation.”
”Don't you want her to have it?”
”Now you are being offensive. What she wants, not what you want.”
”Of course, that goes without saying.”
”The day you go anywhere without saying, I will phone the newspapers.”
With that she had hung up, leaving Orwell staring with unfocused eyes at the aerial map of Newry County on the far wall. From where he stood he was sure he could make out a pulsing red spot where his farmhouse lay.
”Chief?”
”Yes, Dorrie?” he said wearily.
”Detective Crean is here.”
”Oh good.” He rubbed a hand across his face and dome. ”Police work. Yes, right, that's what we're here for, isn't it? Get her in here.”
The door opened. ”A minute, Chief?”
”I'm all ears. One of them scorched.” He pointed at a chair. ”Anything turn up about Delisle's missing piece?”
”Not yet. But a Sergeant Hurst, Peel Division, says the guy who was shot down on the Queensway - Sat.u.r.day night, not last week - a Viktor Nimchuk, was most likely shot with a .357 Smith.”
”Oh my goodness.”
”But they don't have a good bullet.”
Orwell shook his head. ”My my.”
”Yes, sir,” she said, hauling out her notebook. ”And that ain't the half of it.”
”Enlighten me.”
”Interviewed the dance teacher. She tells me that Nimchuk was mixed up in some kind of smuggling deal back in '81, when they defected. He stole some jewels in Russia, and people have been trying to get them back ever since.”
”Since 1981?”
”She says they were pretty famous jewels.”
”They'd have to be, wouldn't they? Thirty years. These jewels still around?”
”According to her they're all gone now. Nimchuk had whatever was left. He was the last one standing.”
”Last of how many?”
”She says four. She wasn't one of them, she said, but she was tarred with the same brush. They had a regular little thing going when they went on tour and once in a while she took part in it.”
”Okay, so back in '81, four dancers . . .”
”They weren't all dancers, Chief.”
”. . . all right, four members of a ballet company, five if you count her, smuggled some jewels into the country . . .”
”A famous necklace or something. They broke it up and sold the individual stones.”
”And Nimchuk was one of them.”
”He was the main guy, the one who did the actual stealing. The others sort of got caught in the net.”
”Who were the others?”
”I've got the names, Chief.” She checked her notebook, p.r.o.nounced the names carefully. ”Ludmilla Dolgus.h.i.+n, Sergei Siziva, Va.s.sili Abramov, Viktor Nimchuk.” She looked up. ”They'll be in my report, Chief.”
”Good.”
”I've started a search, see if anything pops up about the other three. She figures they're dead, but she didn't have anything definite - dates, places. They might not have even been using those names. I'll go back at her tomorrow, start pinning her down on specifics.”
”You think she's hiding things?”
”Definitely. And I think she's scared. She's acting like she figures she's next.”
”Why, if the jewels are all gone?”
”Couple of possibles, I guess. The whole thing is a big fairy tale. Or if there aren't any jewels left, it's just payback for whoever was involved . . .”