Dead Man's Rule (14 page)

“Doesn’t sound familiar. I’ve sold to Russians, but no one fitting that description.”

Sergei crossed Dr. Ivanovsky off his list. “How about a big Russian guy, about forty, with lots of tattoos and some missing teeth?”

“Nope.”

“Okay.” Sergei drew a line through Anton’s name. “Last one: a Russian in his early fifties with a light accent, bald, glasses, and around five ten.”

Spender had to think about that one for a few seconds. “Maybe . . . maybe. I’ve sold to a couple of Russians this month, and one of them might have looked like that. I just don’t remember.”

Sergei circled Josef Fedorov’s name. He now had his prime suspect. “Thanks, George.”

After he hung up the phone, Sergei sat in silence for several minutes, considering his next move. After rejecting more aggressive alternatives, he decided on a conservative and straightforward strategy: he would simply put Josef Fedorov under surveillance and wait to see what he was doing the next time the informant called Ben. Sergei was about to call Ben when the phone rang. He picked it up. “Sergei Spassky.”

“Sergei, it’s Ben Corbin. Good news. I just got a package from our informant. He sent me the minutes from a meeting of the Brothers where they talked about buying the box contents from Nikolai Zinoviev. Nicki was actually there for part of the meeting—and he told them he already had a deal with Dr. Ivanovsky. Plus, all four Brothers signed the minutes.”

“Great!” Sergei replied. “I was just about to call you with an update on my search for the informant, but I guess there’s no point in that now.”

“Yes, there is,” Ben said. “I still need someone to authenticate this document in court. All I can tell the judge right now is that some nameless person sent this to me in the mail. I need someone who can testify that this is a real document reflecting a real meeting where Nicki really said those things. I’ll need the informant to do that. Otherwise, there’s no way I’ll be able to get this into evidence.”

Sergei could hear paper rustling in the background as Ben talked. “Ben, are you holding that document right now?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t. I’ll need to check it for fingerprints.”

“Oh. Good point.” Another rustle. “Okay, I put it down and I won’t touch it again till you’ve had a chance to look at it.”

“Thanks. I’m on my way over.”

Sergei wasn’t surprised to find that the only fingerprints on the paper were Ben’s. The informant had used voice-altering equipment on the phone to avoid being identified. He presumably would also be careful enough to use gloves in handling these pieces of paper. The envelope had lots of fingerprints on it, of course, but Sergei doubted that any of them belonged to the informant. Still, he carefully lifted each usable print he found.

Sergei then examined the minutes and envelope for any possible clues. The postmark showed that it had been mailed from downtown Chicago. The envelope was a generic business-size white one, and it contained no hair or other potential identifiers. The paper on which the minutes had been copied was twenty-pound generic copier paper. The stamp was a peel-off sticker, eliminating the possibility of DNA testing of dried saliva on the back. In short, the informant’s package was as clean and anonymous as possible.

“Whoever sent this was very careful,” Sergei told Ben when he finished his examination.

“Any idea who it was?” asked Ben.

Sergei briefly described his research and his tentative conclusion that Josef was the informant. “I was just going to watch and wait for him to contact you again, but I suppose it’s a little late for that now,” he concluded.

“Yeah,” agreed Ben. “He may call me again, but he may not.” He thought for a moment. “In fact, he probably won’t. He’ll think that by sending me this document, he’s given me everything I need.”

“So, where do you want to go from here?” asked Sergei.

“I’m going to call Josef and see if I can talk him into testifying.”

“Actually, it might be best if I talk to him,” said Sergei. “He’s obviously afraid of someone, probably the other Brothers. I can talk to him about realistic ways we can give him security. I also speak Russian and have more experience dealing with people like Josef, so I may be able to get a better result. No offense.”

“None taken. I appreciate your volunteering. Okay, talk to him, but it has to happen today or tomorrow.”

Sergei sat at a small table in a shadowy corner of a food court. Across the street was the old brownstone that held the Brothers’ offices. He looked out through the wall of plate glass, waiting for Josef Fedorov to appear. He glanced at his watch. It was 5:25 and the streets were full of commuters heading home. The Brothers didn’t keep regular business hours, but frequently they did go out for dinner at around 5:30.

Sergei took his eyes off the street for a few seconds to scan the food court. Three of the tables were occupied and about half a dozen people stood at the counters of various fast-food outlets, but Sergei noted with satisfaction that his tail was not among them. Ditching him had been simple—Sergei had merely gone back to his office after meeting with Ben, dropped off his briefcase, and left. He had taken the elevator down to the basement, where his building opened into one of the pedestrian tunnels that honeycombed the ground under the Loop. He had then taken the tunnel to the nearest El station and caught the train to the Brothers’ neighborhood. The tail was probably still sitting outside his building, waiting for him to emerge.

There he was
.
Josef Fedorov trotted down the steps and disappeared into the stream of pedestrians. Sergei rose from his seat and headed out at a brisk walk, his eyes scanning the crowd for Josef. Losing a target was always a danger in heavily traveled areas.

Sergei caught a glimpse of a black leather jacket like Josef’s thirty yards ahead of him and hurried to catch up. Running might attract attention, so he speed-walked with the determined haste of a commuter who was late for his train. He got a better view of the black jacket half a minute later and realized with a start that it wasn’t on Josef. He slowed down and angled toward the edge of the sidewalk, glancing up and down the street as if he was looking for a cab.

Nothing. Josef had vanished. Embarrassed, Sergei turned and headed back for the L station, making plans for catching Josef at his apartment building. He glanced in the window of a little hole-in-the-wall bar and grill that he hadn’t noticed before and saw a black leather jacket hanging on a chair.
Bingo.

Sergei walked in and stood by the door for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the smoky gloom after the bright early-evening sun. When he could see clearly again, he noticed that Josef was already staring at him.

Sergei gave him a friendly smile and walked over to his table. “
Dobry dyen
, Josef,” he said as he sat down.

“Who are you?” Josef asked in English. His face was white and his voice shook.

“Sergei Spassky,” the detective said amicably, “but you already know that. And I’ll bet you also know why I’m here, so I’ll make this short. We appreciate the information you’ve provided about the contract between Nikolai Zinoviev and Mikhail Ivanovsky, but we need you to testify at trial.”

Josef started to sweat. “Get out of here! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Yes, you do,” Sergei said calmly. “Listen, I understand why you’re frightened. We can help with that. We can make security arrangements for you and take care of you.”

Josef leaned forward and hissed in Russian, “If you do not leave now, dog, I will kill you.”

Sergei’s friendly tone didn’t waver as he slipped into Russian. “I doubt that. By the way, testifying isn’t nearly as dangerous as
not
testifying. Either way, we’ll tell the judge that we think you made that call to Ben Corbin and sent him those documents. If you help us, we’ll protect you. If not, we won’t. It’s your decision. Call me or Mr. Corbin.” He pulled out a business card. “Here’s my number. You’ve already got Mr. Corbin’s.”

Sergei got up and walked out, leaving Josef sitting frozen, staring at the card. As Sergei left, he debated whether Josef really was the informant. The man’s fear, shock, and outrage had all seemed genuine, but that could mean either that he wasn’t the informant or that he hadn’t expected Sergei to be able to identify him. Not that it mattered much. Josef would be in almost as much danger if Ben identified him as the probable informant as he would be if he actually testified. Either way, he would need protection, and that meant he would have to cooperate—whether or not he had intended to when Sergei had walked into the restaurant. The detective chuckled as he reflected that even if he hadn’t
found
an informant, he had probably
created
one.

He was in an excellent mood as he went back to his office to wait for Josef’s call. In fact, he was so busy congratulating himself for outmaneuvering the Brothers that he forgot to reenter his building through the basement. Instead, he got off at his usual El station and walked in through the front door.

Across the street from the grill, Anton watched with growing rage as Josef—that treacherous little
suka—
sat talking to the scientist’s detective. They seemed like old friends. He couldn’t see Josef’s face, but the detective was smiling and gesturing as he talked. Now Josef was leaning forward to tell the man some secret, which made him smile again. They chatted for a minute more and the detective put a small card on the table for Josef, then got up and left.

The detective walked out of the restaurant with a satisfied smile on his boyish face. Anton clenched his large fists and visualized how good it would feel to smash that smile away permanently. But of course he couldn’t. He had business to attend to.

Josef picked the card up from the table, looked at it for a few seconds, and put it in his pocket as a waitress arrived with his meal. He ate slowly, paid his bill, and left.

Anton followed him, making sure to stay in the shadows.

Josef started walking back to the office, but he took a wrong turn and walked half a block to a bus station.

Anton waited for half a minute, then followed him in. Josef was standing at a bank of pay phones with his back to Anton, talking quietly. A business card lay on the little stainless-steel counter next to him.

Anton reached into his jacket and fingered his gun. It would be easy to take Josef here. The station was nearly empty, and he could probably get out before anybody could see him. But Dmitry had said that Josef should have an accident, and that was probably right. Anton removed his hand from his coat and slipped out of the station.

He jogged back to the office so he would have time to talk to Dmitry before Josef arrived. After he gave his report, the other man nodded. “You did the right thing. Killing him in public would have caused problems.”

Josef walked in just then. “Evening, Dima, Anton. What’s up?”

“Not much,” Dmitry said. “A little problem came up with that Chechen deal, but we’ve almost taken care of it.”

“Good. Let me know what happens, okay?”

As Josef shut his office door behind him, Dmitry said, “Of course.” He turned to Anton and said softly, “Make him disappear.”