I came in, looking pleased with himself.”
“A gruesome image.”
“I heard Bobby hired you.”
“He offered to. I didn’t know the market price for an investigator.”
“You’re no Pasha. He would have known.”
“I tried to reach Timofeyev. He’s not available. I suppose he’s picking up the reins of the company, taking charge.”
“He’s no Pasha, either. You know, business in Russia is very social. Pasha made his biggest deals in clubs and bars. He had the perfect personality for that. People liked to be around him. He was fun and generous. Timofeyev is a lump. I miss Pasha.”
Arkady took the seat beside her and relieved her of the vodka. “You designed this apartment for him?”
“I designed it for both of us, but all of a sudden, Pasha said I shouldn’t stay.”
“You never moved in?”
“Lately Pasha wouldn’t even let me in the door. At first I thought there was another woman. But he didn’t want anyone here. Not Bobby, no one.” Rina wiped her eyes. “He became paranoid. I’m sorry I’m so stupid.”
“Not a bit.”
The robe fell open again, and she pushed herself back in. “I like you, Investigator. You don’t look. You have manners.”
Arkady had manners, but he was also aware of how loosely tied the robe was.
“Did you know of any recent business setback? Anything financial that could have been on his mind?”
“Pasha was always making deals. And he didn’t mind losing money now and then. He said it was the price of education.”
“Anything else medical? Depression?”
“We didn’t have sex for the last month, if that counts. I don’t know why. He just stopped.” She stubbed out one cigarette and started another off Arkady’s. “You’re probably wondering how a nobody like me and someone as rich and famous as Pasha could meet. How would you guess?”
“You’re an interior designer. I suppose you designed something for him besides this apartment.”
“Don’t be silly. I was a prostitute. Design student and prostitute, a person of many talents. I was in the bar at the Savoy Hotel. It’s a fancy place, and you have to fit in, you can’t just sit there like any whore. I was pretending to carry on a mobile-phone conversation when Pasha came over and asked for my number so I could talk to someone real. Then, from across the bar, he called. I thought, What a big ugly Jew. He was, you know. But he had so much energy, so much charm. He knew everybody, he knew things. He asked about my interests—the usual stuff, you know, but he really listened, and he even knew about design. Then he asked how much I owed my roof—you know, my pimp—because Pasha said he would pay him off, set me up in an apartment and pay for design school. He was serious. I asked him why, and he said because he could see I was a good person. Would you do that? Would you bet on someone like that?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, that was Pasha.” She took a long draw on her cigarette.
“How old are you now?”
“Twenty.”
“And you met Pasha…”
“Three years ago. When we were talking on the phone at the bar, I asked if he preferred a redhead, because I could be that, too. He said life was too short, I should be whatever I was.”
The longer Arkady stared at the screen, at Pasha’s hesitation on the threshold of his apartment, the less he looked like a man afraid of a black mood. He seemed to dread something more substantial waiting for him.
“Did Pasha have enemies?”
“Naturally. Maybe hundreds, but nothing serious.”
“Death threats?”
“Not from anyone worth worrying about.”
“There were attempts in the past.”
“That’s what Colonel Ozhogin is for. Pasha did say one thing. He said he had once done something long ago that was really bad and that I wouldn’t love him if I knew. That was the drunkest I ever saw him. He wouldn’t tell me what and he never mentioned it again.”
“Who did know?”
“I think Lev Timofeyev knew. He said no, but I
“A gruesome image.”
“I heard Bobby hired you.”
“He offered to. I didn’t know the market price for an investigator.”
“You’re no Pasha. He would have known.”
“I tried to reach Timofeyev. He’s not available. I suppose he’s picking up the reins of the company, taking charge.”
“He’s no Pasha, either. You know, business in Russia is very social. Pasha made his biggest deals in clubs and bars. He had the perfect personality for that. People liked to be around him. He was fun and generous. Timofeyev is a lump. I miss Pasha.”
Arkady took the seat beside her and relieved her of the vodka. “You designed this apartment for him?”
“I designed it for both of us, but all of a sudden, Pasha said I shouldn’t stay.”
“You never moved in?”
“Lately Pasha wouldn’t even let me in the door. At first I thought there was another woman. But he didn’t want anyone here. Not Bobby, no one.” Rina wiped her eyes. “He became paranoid. I’m sorry I’m so stupid.”
“Not a bit.”
The robe fell open again, and she pushed herself back in. “I like you, Investigator. You don’t look. You have manners.”
Arkady had manners, but he was also aware of how loosely tied the robe was.
“Did you know of any recent business setback? Anything financial that could have been on his mind?”
“Pasha was always making deals. And he didn’t mind losing money now and then. He said it was the price of education.”
“Anything else medical? Depression?”
“We didn’t have sex for the last month, if that counts. I don’t know why. He just stopped.” She stubbed out one cigarette and started another off Arkady’s. “You’re probably wondering how a nobody like me and someone as rich and famous as Pasha could meet. How would you guess?”
“You’re an interior designer. I suppose you designed something for him besides this apartment.”
“Don’t be silly. I was a prostitute. Design student and prostitute, a person of many talents. I was in the bar at the Savoy Hotel. It’s a fancy place, and you have to fit in, you can’t just sit there like any whore. I was pretending to carry on a mobile-phone conversation when Pasha came over and asked for my number so I could talk to someone real. Then, from across the bar, he called. I thought, What a big ugly Jew. He was, you know. But he had so much energy, so much charm. He knew everybody, he knew things. He asked about my interests—the usual stuff, you know, but he really listened, and he even knew about design. Then he asked how much I owed my roof—you know, my pimp—because Pasha said he would pay him off, set me up in an apartment and pay for design school. He was serious. I asked him why, and he said because he could see I was a good person. Would you do that? Would you bet on someone like that?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, that was Pasha.” She took a long draw on her cigarette.
“How old are you now?”
“Twenty.”
“And you met Pasha…”
“Three years ago. When we were talking on the phone at the bar, I asked if he preferred a redhead, because I could be that, too. He said life was too short, I should be whatever I was.”
The longer Arkady stared at the screen, at Pasha’s hesitation on the threshold of his apartment, the less he looked like a man afraid of a black mood. He seemed to dread something more substantial waiting for him.
“Did Pasha have enemies?”
“Naturally. Maybe hundreds, but nothing serious.”
“Death threats?”
“Not from anyone worth worrying about.”
“There were attempts in the past.”
“That’s what Colonel Ozhogin is for. Pasha did say one thing. He said he had once done something long ago that was really bad and that I wouldn’t love him if I knew. That was the drunkest I ever saw him. He wouldn’t tell me what and he never mentioned it again.”
“Who did know?”
“I think Lev Timofeyev knew. He said no, but I
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