The Final Cut (A Brit in the FBI 1)

Nicholas said, “What’s wrong? We wanted a crook, and we have one.”

“Unfortunately, this guy is dead as a doornail at the morgue. Meet Vladimir Kochen, the dead man we found in Elaine’s apartment.”

21

Thursday, 5:00 p.m.

Nicholas said, “I want to go to Brighton Beach and see Anatoly right now. He’s in this. This Vladimir Kochen character coming to the Met proves it.”

Mike said, “I know, but it’s a forty-minute drive at the best of times. Right now the traffic will be obscene, even with the lights and sirens. We’d never make it there and back in time for the start of the gala. We’ve got to stay here and keep looking.” She paused for a moment, made a decision. “Let me make a quick call.” She called out, “Victoria, will you excuse us for a moment?”

Victoria looked annoyed by the dismissal, but after her little speech about Elaine, Nicholas couldn’t care less if she was pissed.

He stared after her. “You know, I really don’t like that woman.” He turned back to Mike, watched her speed-dial a number.

“Ben? Please send three or four agents, a good show of force, to pick up Andrei Anatoly and bring him in for questioning—have them tell him it’s about the murder of Elaine York. FYI, we just got an NGI hit on one of his men, Vladimir Kochen. Name sound familiar? The bastard was here, at the museum, so you know Anatoly is somewhere in the mix. Right. Thanks, Ben.”

She drummed her fingers on the counter. “Ben Houston is from Art Crimes. He knew Inspector York. About the match—the moment

Dillon Savich identified Kochen as one of Anatoly’s soldiers, I knew he had to be involved in the theft. We need to move quickly. Truth is, Anatoly wouldn’t cop to anything, even to save his own son. And guess what else? We don’t have a shred of proof tying him to this, only coincidence.”

“Tell me about him.”

Her voice went cold. “Anatoly is not a good man. He has lawyers so slimy you’d think they came right out of the primordial ooze. We can rattle his cage, let him know we know he’s involved. But we can’t hold him, not without something solid.”

Nicholas wasn’t used to waiting for his prey to come to him, but he didn’t see that he had much of a choice. He nodded curtly.

Mike’s phone buzzed with a text message. She glanced at the screen. “It’s the crew. They’re at the loading dock. Let’s go down and get them.”

Victoria knocked on the door, opened it. “Mike, forgive me for intruding, but your team is here.”

“Yep, they texted me. Let’s go get them.”

“No, I’ll go,” Victoria said. “I need to get them through security. You two keep doing what you’re doing. About the match on your system, Mike, I know the man. I saw him having lunch with Elaine last week.”

She started to leave, and Nicholas grabbed her arm.

“Talk.”

She stilled and looked down at his hand, at his fingers encircling her arm.

He released her immediately, inclined his head. “Apologies, Dr. Browning. Please, tell us what you know.”

She looked at her arm, her jaw tightened. “I don’t know anything more. I simply saw Elaine having lunch with him here in the museum café. They seemed chummy. I didn’t get the sense she felt she was in danger, but I hardly paid attention. I’ll be back shortly. If I’m allowed to proceed.”

Mike nodded. “Of course. Thanks for the information.”

When she left, Mike said, “I can’t allow you to punch her out, no matter what she says, all right?”

Nicholas paced Bo’s office. “She has all the answers, doesn’t she?” He ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end. “It’s been a long day.”

“Yes, it has. Look, neither one of us has had much sleep, and you’ve lost a friend.”

He was silent, continued to pace. He looked down at the communications center every time he walked past her, as if the answer might magically appear on the bank of screens on the wall in front of them.

“Tell me about the Anatoly crime family.”

Mike glanced at the still-running facial-recognition database and wondered if Kochen had been Elaine’s accomplice, if he’d been the one to plant the device that knocked out all the power. “They’re a pretty typical Russian Mob, loosely organized, not structured like the Italians, and half the time they spend fighting with other parts of the Bratva—the Brotherhood. We’ve gotten them under control in New York, more than three hundred indictments in the past few years, but they’re like rats, they breed in the dark corners. Smuggling, arms dealing, credit card fraud, cyber-crime. They’re opportunistic and lethal—they never hesitate to kill if they’re crossed.