Private Moscow

Chapter 63

I felt just shy of useless. A detective who couldn’t speak the language wasn’t much good at canvassing, and I found myself standing idle as Dinara spoke to storekeepers on Year 1905 Street.

We’d drawn the short straw. Leonid was inside Ernie Fisher’s building, speaking to the man’s neighbors, while Dinara and I trudged the snowy streets, checking with desk clerks, restaurateurs and the managers of local stores. We’d been on the hunt for five hours, and my feet ached and my head was pounding worse than ever.

“You look like you could use a break,” Dinara said as we left an antiques dealership.

“I’m fine,” I told her. It was bad enough being useless. I was determined I at least wouldn’t be the one to slow us down.

“The owner recognized Ernest Fisher,” Dinara told me, gesturing toward the double-fronted store on the ground floor of a large redbrick building. The shop’s windows were full of old Russian and Ottoman furniture and art. “He said Fisher bought an armoire from him a few years ago. He came in to have some restoration work done to one of the drawers shortly after buying it.”

“Might have been the one the key was hidden in,” I remarked.

“Maybe,” Dinara agreed. “The owner hasn’t seen Fisher since.”

We walked down the street a little and stood near the corner of Krasnopresnenskaya Naberezhnaya, the Embankment. The light was fading quickly, and the buildings on the other side of the river were already twinkling in the last of the sunshine. It would be dark soon and the stores would close for the day, and we’d be left with restaurants and bars. Despite the canvass being my idea, I couldn’t help but feel we were clutching at straws.

I looked around, searching for inspiration. We’d already canvassed most of the nearby businesses and would soon need to widen the area of our search. I glanced at Dinara, who was pale. The legacy of her ordeal at the hands of Veles and his associates? Or had her hangover finally caught up with her? Or was she simply feeling the effects of a long day trudging the frozen city? We couldn’t carry on for much longer.

I looked down Year 1905 Street and saw a taxi pull into a spot near the corner of the Embankment. It was soon followed by three others, and the four drivers got out and clustered on the sidewalk. Three of them lit cigarettes and the fourth used a vape.

“Come on,” I said to Dinara, and I felt her spirits lift when she registered where we were heading.

The taxi drivers looked as though they were from Central Asia. They all wore heavy woolen coats and thick beanie hats and were laughing and chatting, but when one of them spotted us, he signaled the others and they fell silent.

“Taxi?” the nudger asked.

Dinara replied in Russian, and the man looked blank and held up his hands in the universal gesture of incomprehension.

“English?” I tried.

“Is better,” the man replied.

“Where are you from?” I asked.

“Uzbekistan,” he said uncertainly.

“Do you work this neighborhood?” I said.

One of his companions muttered something and the nudger clammed up.

“Talk is trouble,” the mutterer said. His dark skin was puckered around his mouth and eyes, and his bushy black eyebrows were flecked with gray that almost matched his patched coat. I placed him in his mid-forties, but his eyes seemed older, as though they belonged to someone who’d seen a lifetime of misery.

“We’re not looking for trouble,” I replied. “We’re trying to find people who recognize this man.”

I produced a photograph of Ernie Fisher and showed it to the group. The mutterer took a drag of his cigarette.

“How much?” he asked. “If my eyes see him. How much you pay?”

“If you can give us useful information, we can come to a deal,” I said.

“Deal not money,” the mutterer said, backing toward his cab, an old Skoda. “Time is money.”

“A hundred US dollars,” I offered. “More if you give us something worthwhile.”

He took another drag of his cigarette. “OK. Come,” he said. “Come in taxi.”

“Jack...” Dinara interjected, her concern evident in her voice.

“It’s OK,” I replied.

“Come,” the mutterer repeated. “We take a ride.”