Silent Mercy

FORTY-FOUR

“WE need to talk to Fyodor’s family,” Mike said.

“I’ll ask them if they’re willing to—”

“You’ll ask them nothing, Mr. Delahawk. It’s almost time for dinner. Pour yourself a nice stiff drink, stay off the airwaves there — no intercom warnings — and we’ll pay them a visit. No illusionists or jugglers. Don’t send in the clowns. Do I make myself clear?”

“But I’ve told them not to talk, Detective.”

“I can be very persuasive, sir,” Mike said. “C’mon, Daniel. You’re with us.”

As we retraced our steps through the narrow corridors toward the Zukov suite, we stopped in one of the vestibules between cars. Mike called Lieutenant Peterson and I turned away from him to speak with Faith Grant on my cell.

“Do you have any news for me?” she asked.

“Not yet, Faith. But I think that’s a good thing. I’m going to ask you the impossible.”

“What’s that?”

“To try to keep it together tonight. The photograph of Chat may already be on the news.”

“It is. It’s on every station.”

“You’ll make yourself crazy trying to watch it. Have some dinner. You’re not alone?”

“No, no. I don’t think that I could be.”

“Good. Mike and I will be working all night, so you may not hear from us till morning. But we’re on this. There’s going to be a suspect’s name released shortly, with photographs. Stay as calm as you can.”

“You are indeed demanding the impossible.”

“May I ask you something about the Russian Orthodox Church?” I had my back to the window, holding on to the handrail behind me as the train pitched around a bend in the tracks.

“Of course.”

“Do they have a formal position on women in the priesthood?”

“Most definitely. They’re completely against the ordination of women.”

“For a particular reason?”

“Well, most of their teachings claim such an act would disregard the symbolic and the iconic value of male priests, who are a representation of Christ himself, and of course, of Christ’s manhood.”

“That’s all I need to know. Call my cell if you have anything to tell me. And thanks, Faith. We’ll talk with you soon.”

I waited for Mike to finish his conversation. “Is there anything else about your friend Ted that we ought to know? Anything at all you remember?” I asked Daniel.

He answered softly. “No.”

Every trace of Mike’s good humor had disappeared by the time he hung up the phone. I asked Daniel to step away for a few minutes.

“Is it all bad news?”

“Peterson will have state troopers waiting for us in Providence. May even bring in some feds because of the interstate abduction possibility.”

“And the Zukovs? What if they don’t talk to us?”

“Fine with me. They’ll be climbing the monkey bars in the local j ail.”

“No sign of Fyodor?”

“Not him. Not Chat. There’s one Angus truck missing from the lot. The commissioner’s doing a stand-up with the mayor at nine p.m. to release all the photos and ask the public for help. The APB on the truck has gone out to every police department and highway patrol. AMBER Alerts and all that. Maybe the guy’s going home to his roots, to Florida.”

“And the rest of whatever has you so bummed?”

“The Secaucus cops broke open the back of every one of the trucks still on the lot. There’s dried blood in all of them.”

“No surprise. They’re butcher shops,” I said.

“One of them had a sleeping bag in it. There’s blood in that too. Don’t tell me the filet mignons didn’t like the cold. ME’s testing to see if it’s human. It’ll take a while longer for DNA, but this may be where he finished off Naomi or Ursula.”

“Could be he was camping out in one of the trucks, getting handouts from his family. That would still have let him use the train as home base, without anyone else aware he was around.”

We started to walk single file, catching up with Daniel Gersh.

“I need you to go back to your room, Daniel,” Mike said. “Ms. Cooper and I got work to do. Don’t talk to anyone. Not about Naomi or your job or knowing us. Stay put, and when the train gets to Providence, you come out on the platform and look for me. Understood?”

“Yeah. I get it.”

We continued back to the suite that had the Zukov name on the door. Mike opened it and entered without knocking.

In the living area, a man and a woman were sitting on opposite ends of a sofa. The woman cradled a sleeping child in her arms, while both were fixed on a flat-screen TV on the wall, watching a twenty-four-hour news broadcast.

The man rose immediately — I guessed him to be Giorgio, the Zukov brother-in-law — and called out for Yuri and Oksana. “The police are here,” he shouted to them.

The child was awakened by the commotion and started wailing.

Mike rushed back to the closest bedroom, heard the lock click shut from within, and kicked open the flimsy door with his foot.

Yuri and Oksana Zukov, the brother and sister of our probable perp, were being briefed on our intrusion by Kristin Sweeney, the stunt rider from Texas.