The Silenced

Chapter 32

Petra visited restaurants and grocery stores and hotels and massage parlors and whatever else she could find that was owned and operated by Russian expats. At first, when they realized she was also Russian, they were friendly enough. But when she showed the drawing of Quinn and started asking more questions, they became wary. Some refused to give her any more answers, while others kept their responses to one or two words.

She knew the look in their eyes well. She’d borne it herself more times than she could remember. It was the fear and suspicion that came with having grown up in the former Soviet Union.

She returned to the apartment just before 9 p.m., unsuccessful and completely drained.

“Mikhail?” she called out.

There was no response.

She sat down at the table and tried calling Stepka, but he didn’t answer. So she left a message, folded her arms, and lay her head down, intending to rest her eyes for a moment.

The sound of a key turning in the lock of the front door made her snap back up. The side of her mouth was damp, and she realized she’d fallen asleep. She glanced at her watch, surprised to see a half hour had passed.

She rubbed her face as she turned toward the door. That’s when she got her second surprise. It wasn’t Mikhail. It was a young woman.

She was beautiful. Long blonde hair that had been clipped in place so that it flowed down her back, bright blue eyes behind a fashionable pair of semi-rimless glasses, and a trim but appropriately rounded figure that would go unnoticed by no one.

“Who are you?” Petra asked, rising from her chair.

An instant later Mikhail entered behind the woman. “Please,” he said to the girl in Russian, motioning toward the table. “Sit down.” The woman looked at him uncertainly, so he smiled and pointed again. “Please.”

Once she’d sat, Mikhail signaled for Petra to join him near the door.

“Who is she?” Petra whispered.

“Her name is Natalia,” he said. “She recognized the picture.”

Petra’s eyes widened as she glanced at the girl.

“I was checking a couple of Russian-run hotels in the West End,” Mikhail went on.

“She saw him in a hotel?” Petra asked.

“Well, yes, but not the one I found her in. She works at two different places. Where I met her, and another in Belgravia called the Silvain Hotel. It’s not owned by Russians, but they employ several of our people.”

“So she saw him there?”

Mikhail led Petra to the table, then said to Natalia, “Tell her what you told me.”

The girl looked nervous. “A man like the one in the picture arrived at our hotel last night.”

“The Silvain,” Mikhail clarified.

“Yes.”

“Describe him,” Petra said.

Natalia bit her lip, then closed her eyes for a moment. “Brown hair, dark and cut short above his ears. I don’t know age, probably less than forty.”

“Height? Weight?”

“Maybe five foot ten. Normal weight. In shape.”

“Did you at least get his name?”

“The last name he used was Shelby. The first name I don’t remember. I wasn’t the one who checked him in, so I didn’t look at his passport.”

Shelby? The name meant nothing to Petra. “Did he arrive alone?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re sure he looked like the man in the drawing.”

“Very close,” Natalia said. “Please, I need to leave. I’m supposed to be at work by ten, so I’m already going to be late.”

“Where are you working tonight?” Petra asked.

“The Silvain.”

Petra looked at Mikhail. “What do you think?”

“It’s worth checking.”

She nodded. It’s what she’d been thinking, too. To Natalia, she said, “Did you see him leave this morning yet?”

“No, but my shift was over at seven a.m. Can I go now?”

“We’ll all go,” Petra grabbed the girl by the arm and started to pull her up. “Come on. We don’t want you to be late.”

Despite her reluctance, Natalia proved more than adequate. Not only did she supply Petra and Mikhail with all the information the hotel had on James Shelby, she also learned from one of her colleagues that Mr. Shelby had left the hotel around 8 a.m. that morning and had not returned.

To top it off, Natalia made a copy of the keycard to Mr. Shelby’s room.

Petra and Mikhail had waited down the street, out of sight, while all this had gone on. When Natalia showed up with the information and the key, Petra paid her the two hundred pounds she had promised her.

“And our rooms?” Petra asked.

“Two,” Natalia said quickly. “In the same part of the hotel as Mr. Shelby, but one floor up. I’ve put them on hold, but you’ll have to check in at the desk.”

“Of course.” Petra handed Natalia an extra fifty for her efforts. “Thank you for your help.”

The girl tried to smile, then said, “I must go now.”

“If we need anything else, we’ll let you know,” Petra said.

It didn’t seem to be what Natalia wanted to hear, but she tried to smile, then retreated back to the Silvain.

“How do you want to do this?” Mikhail asked.

“You check us in,” Petra said. “I’ll have a look at Mr. Shelby’s room.”

Petra entered the Silvain and walked purposefully past the front desk toward the lounge. In the narrow corridor beyond, she found the elevator, and beside it a stairway. She rode the elevator up to the floor Shelby’s room was on, then followed the numbers on the doors until she reached the right one.

Leaning close, she listened. There was dead silence on the other side. She pulled out the duplicate keycard and held it to the lock.

There was a gentle click, and she slipped inside.

The room was dark, not quite pitch black, but close enough. “Housekeeping,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She stepped to the end of the entryway and peeked into the room. The bed was made and empty. She stepped around the corner and nudged open the door to the bathroom. It was even darker inside than the rest of the room, and equally as unoccupied.

As expected, Mr. Shelby was still out.

She pulled a penlight from her pocket. The first thing she checked was the small wardrobe cabinet next to the window. Empty. That wasn’t necessarily unusual. Many people preferred leaving their belongings in their suitcases when they traveled. Of course, that should have meant there was a suitcase in the room. There wasn’t. In fact, there were no bags of any kind.

Petra frowned.

According to his registration form, Mr. Shelby had reserved the room for an entire week. So then, where was his luggage?

She moved into the bathroom. Towels folded and ready for use, fresh bottles of shampoo and conditioner, but no personal items whatsoever.

She touched the sink near the drain. Bone dry. The same went for the shower.

Back in the bedroom, she located the wastebasket. Also empty.

The room wasn’t being used at all, but why? The only reason she could come up with was that he was using it as a safe location, in case it was needed later.

The question now was, would Mr. Shelby come back?