Traffyck by Michael Beres Page B

of Government.”
    “Politician?”
    “Low in the chain of command, but he is honest and I like him.”
    “Are you sure?”
    She put her hand on his. “Yes, Janos. I am sure. I enjoyed last year in the Carpathians, and the rest of it.”
    She stood, her eyes watery, and walked out of the room. The slacks hugging her legs reminded him of the night in camp. For a moment, he heard a violin crying to the moon as Svetlana danced upon the table. Then he stood and went to see Nikolai Kozlov.

    Nikolai Kozlov was short, with a receding hairline and plump cheeks. His smile made him look like a food market worker. Kozlov was a necessary evil, the man a chief investigator keeps around to put on cases not to be solved.
    Janos sat across the desk from Kozlov. He felt melancholy after being dumped by Svetlana. The finality of it, and the fact Svetlana felt it necessary to tell him about her new man, affected him more than he expected. A Gypsy breaking camp, leaving his spoils behind, never knowing how much he will miss her until she leaves…
    “So, what can I do for you, Janos?”
    “The video store case, the one that burned down—”
    “The case did not burn down. The video store did.”
    “I am not here to meddle in your investigation, Nikolai. You, as a professional, should know this. To be honest, Viktor Patolichev’s widow asked me to check some things. So, if we could discuss the case—”
    Kozlov’s smile widened. “Very little to discuss. I received the arson report this morning. The fire was started with gasoline ignited at the same location the two bodies were found, inside the back room near the BMW. Patolichev wanted to burn down his business, and your friend Aleksandr Vasilievich Shved walked in on him. Perhaps they fought over the gasoline can. We can never know the details when the bodies are burned to crisp bacon.”
    “What was Shved doing there?”
    Nikolai gave him a conspiratorial look. “I’ve speculated, but it seems to be coincidence. I believe Shved was there as a customer.”
    “Aleksandr Vasilievich Shved purchasing dirty movies?”
    “We found films hidden in his office. He was what one would call a closet voyeur.”
    “This is unbelievable, Nikolai.”
    Kozlov reached out and patted Janos’ arm. “My friend, it is sometimes like this.”
    Janos wanted to shove Kozlov’s hand away and tell him to go to hell. But he remained calm, at least on the surface.
    “Are you certain there’s no evidence Shved might have been taken there?”
    “After he was dead?”
    “Dead, alive, knocked out.”
    “No evidence whatsoever.”
    “Was his car there?”
    “Yes, down the street. We have it impounded.”
    “Can I see what was in it?”
    Kozlov leaned back in his chair. “You know I would need permission for this, Janos.”
    “So, I am asking, Nikolai. Permission should be granted because he was my friend and I might have information relevant to the case.”
    Kozlov looked annoyed. “The case is clear. Patolichev started the fire after increasing his insurance.”
    Janos must have looked angry, because Kozlov waved a hand at him and stood up. “But I will speak with the chief investigator. Do you want to stay here?”
    “Yes. I need to make some calls.”
    Kozlov reached out, turned his desk phone around, and smiled like a fool. “Here, Janos, use my phone.”
    But after Kozlov left the office, Janos did not use the phone. Not right away anyhow. All he could think about was that Shved was dead and he was alive. Several years back, when they were still in the militia, he and Shved had faced death together. Shved had saved his life, taking two bullets meant for him. And now, here he was in the same building, down the hall from the office he and Shved shared when they were in the militia.

    The phone rang six times before Mariya Nemeth’s voice said to leave a message. Her voice was businesslike, noncommittal, but sensual as he visualized her sitting across from him in the airport lounge. Four