Private Moscow (Private 15)
“So what next?” Justine asked.
“We’re going to talk to Elizabeth Connor and find out exactly what she knows about Karl Parker’s death,” I said as the elevator doors slid shut.
CHAPTER 30
THE RICH SMELL of solyanka soup announced Leonid’s arrival before he rounded the corner. Dinara was sitting at her desk in Private Moscow’s open-plan office on the second floor of the Schechtel Building on Lyalin Lane, a street of beautiful old residences that had been robbed of their majesty by the revolution. Grand old villas had been turned into industrial yards, and ornate apartment blocks had been converted into functional offices. The Schechtel Building was a Russian Revival villa, an imposing, traditional structure of columns and arches that looked more to Russia’s past than its future. The lease had been agreed by Lev Vesnin, the former Russian Army officer who used to run Private Moscow, and Dinara longed for the day she could leave the dilapidated offices and move to surroundings that were more in keeping with Private’s cutting-edge international brand.
The office was just one of many issues that had resulted in Lev falling out with Jack Morgan. The most significant source of contention was Private Moscow’s precipitous decline in fortunes. At its peak, the Moscow office had employed twenty-three people, but by the time Dinara joined, they were down to two investigators and Elena Kabova, the middle-aged administrator and office manager, who kept everything ticking over. The two investigators had objected to working for a woman and left, so Dinara had hired Leonid to replace them. Business hadn’t picked up enough to employ anyone else.
Dinara couldn’t help feeling as though the Yana Petrova case was her last roll of the dice. If they didn’t solve Petrova’s murder, the office would have to close. Jack Morgan couldn’t keep subsidizing them forever.
Leonid sauntered over with a plastic bag full of food containers.
“One solyanka,” he said, taking out a plastic bowl and wooden spoon.
Elena left her desk in the little corner space they’d turned into a lobby, and joined them.
“Solyanka with chilli sauce,” Leonid said, handing her another container and spoon.
“Thanks,” Elena said.
Dinara had a lot of time for the quiet office manager. She never complained, always smiled, and went out of her way to make their lives easier. Firing Elena would be much harder than letting Leonid go.
Dinara took the lid off her soup and checked the progress of the cracking program Maureen Roth had sent her. It was crunching its way through the laptop they’d discovered in Yana Petrova’s apartment, trying to force its way to her password.
Elena and Leonid each sat at an empty desk, and Dinara turned to fa
ce them. She’d instituted team lunches in an effort to keep up morale, but now they just seemed like sad little daily interludes, and the three of them often had to search for something they could all talk about. At least they had a case today.
“Any luck?” Leonid asked.
Dinara glanced back at the laptop, which was still refusing to yield to the cracking program. She shook her head.
“It’s good to have a case,” Elena said. “Even one that’s a secret.”
Elena’s pointed remark wasn’t lost on Dinara or Leonid. As their administrator, she’d always had the details of investigations so she could process paperwork and assist with low-level background, but this case was different. Maxim Yenen was connected and if Yana Petrova really was Otkrov, or had some link to the conspiracy blogger, they’d be on extremely dangerous ground. Elena’s ignorance might help keep her safe.
“We’ll give you the details when we can,” Dinara responded. “It’s nothing personal, Elena.”
A low tone signaled the cracking program had succeeded and Dinara turned to see the laptop come to life. The computer’s background image was a photograph of Yana Petrova holding a white card that read, “#IAmOtkrov.”
“Otkrov?” Elena asked, craning toward the machine.
“Lots of kids posted pictures of themselves with this hashtag,” Dinara noted. “Can you give us a minute?”
Elena picked up her soup and reluctantly returned to the reception area around the corner.
Dinara clicked the Explorer icon and found a list of folders. She opened one called “Completed Cases” and discovered a number of sub-folders. She recognized many of them as significant stories Otkrov had published: a Kremlin corruption scandal; the “truth” behind a nuclear-submarine accident; a military sex ring; and so on. There were other stories Dinara hadn’t heard of, but she wasn’t an avid follower of Otkrov’s blog.
“I recognize some of these,” Dinara said.
“Me too,” Leonid replied. “Looks like it could be her.”
Dinara went up to the main folder level and ran the cursor down the sub-files until she came to one called “Pending Cases.” When she clicked the icon, she discovered the Pending Cases sub-folder contained only one file called “Boxing.” Dinara opened it and found pages of typed rough notes.
“It looks as though she was investigating match-fixing,” Dinara said as she skimmed the text.
Leonid leaned over her shoulder. “She seems to think Spartak Zima threw his world championship title challenge, and that the mob was behind it. Solntsevskaya Bratva, maybe?”