Private Moscow

Chapter 19

A small crowd of ghoulish onlookers watched the forensic operation on Lesnaya Street. They stood behind a cordon patrolled by two Moscow Second Regiment police officers. There was one news crew still at the scene, and the reporter, a grizzled veteran Dinara recognized, was having a cigarette while his camera operator shot B-roll footage. Beyond the cordon a trio of large field lamps had been arranged around the wreckage of the Boston Seafood Grill. A diesel generator hummed nearby and steam rose from the hot lights, which illuminated a horrific scene.

The restaurant’s street frontage had been torn apart and fire had blackened much of the building. Fragments of furniture, chairs, tables, light fittings, chunks of the bar had been blasted into the snow outside, and each broken item had been marked by a small numbered orange flag. There were dozens of them. There hadn’t been any fresh snowfall, which meant Dinara could still see the outlines and indentations where body parts had been scattered by the explosion. She saw the shape of a leg, an arm, and the tiny shapes of fingers. The dismembered limbs had been removed from the scene but each spot was memorialized by a numbered red flag. There were thirty-five.

“What a mess,” Leonid said.

Dinara nodded. Inside the restaurant a team of forensic scientists sifted through debris and wreckage. Dinara and Leonid approached the cordon, close enough to the huge lights for their heat to take the edge off the freezing night.

“See anyone you know?” Dinara asked.

Leonid scanned the faces of four senior Moscow Criminal Investigations Department police officers gathered outside a mobile command unit. Three men and a woman, all in heavy police-issue coats and uniforms.

“Hey,” Leonid said to one of the officers patrolling the cordon. “Tell Rudin that Boykov wants a word.”

The officer crossed the street and spoke to one of the three men, a gray-haired hawkish figure with the two-star epaulets of a lieutenant colonel.

“We worked a few cases together,” Leonid told Dinara. “He’s a pompous ass, but he’s honest.”

The gray-haired lieutenant colonel approached with the female officer who wore the three-star insignia of a full colonel. She had a chubby, chalk-white face and unfriendly black eyes.

“How’s life in the private sector?” Rudin asked in what was an unmistakably mocking tone. His face was pockmarked by old acne scars. “You a billionaire yet?”

“Still working on it,” Leonid replied. “You got a cause?” he asked, nodding toward the restaurant.

“I am Colonel Alena Stanika, and I am in charge of this investigation. Any questions you have will be directed through me,” the woman said.

“No problem,” Leonid replied insolently. “You got a cause yet?”

“What’s your interest here? Who are you?” Stanika asked.

“We’re from Private Moscow, the investigation agency. We think one of our clients might have been inside,” Dinara replied.

“This is Leonid Boykov,” Rudin told Stanika. “He used to be with MUR.”

“I’ve heard of you,” Stanika said with a frown. “And of Private. You must be Dinara Orlova. Who was your client?”

“Piotr Rykov,” Leonid replied.

He was a very good liar and if Dinara hadn’t known better, she would have believed they really had such a client.

“We don’t have that name on the reservation system,” Stanika replied.

“He could have been a walk-in or a guest,” Leonid observed. “So, do you have a cause?”

“No,” Stanika replied. “Could have been a gas explosion.”

“The pattern is wrong,” Dinara said. “Looks like a high-

explosive blast.” She indicated the marker flags. “Debris is scattered too far for gas.”

“Really?” Stanika remarked. “And are you a forensic expert? Or an explosive specialist?”

“Just a concerned citizen trying to help,” Dinara replied dryly.

Stanika eyed them both. “I know what you are, Colonel Dinara Orlova, formerly of the FSB’s Counterterrorism Division.”

“Then maybe you should listen to her,” Leonid jibed.

“If you’ll excuse us, we have an investigation to attend to,” Stanika said as she walked away.

“That’s the Boykov I know. Always winning new friends. Good to see you,” Rudin added without a shred of sincerity before following his superior.

“What do you think?” Leonid asked as he and Dinara watched the police commanders walk away.

“They don’t know anything,” she replied. “Which means we can’t learn anything useful from their investigation. At least not yet.”

“So we’re on our own?”

“Looks like it,” Dinara said. “Let’s see what we can find out about Yana Petrova.”

She stepped away from the warmth of the bright lights, and Leonid followed her into the frozen night.