Robert Knightly - The cold room

Only one explanation came to mind. I was witnessing — I was meant to witness — a display of power. Bill Sarney spoke with the authority of the First Dep. The First Dep spoke with the authority of the Commissioner. The Commissioner was obeyed.

I smiled to myself. There was no mystery to Anderson’s presence or to this little prison we occupied. Both were readily available because the First Dep had used them before.

When Aslan came out of the bathroom, Theobold was standing with his feet well apart, the left slightly forward. He was holding the nightstick at shoulder height, with the barrel facing backward at a forty-five degree angle.

‘Turn around and put your hands on the wall,’ he said.

Aslan stopped in his tracks. He looked at Anderson for a moment, wary now. In his Chechen world, the police had almost unlimited power to deal with problems. Commonly, they were problems themselves, there being no clear line between cop and criminal to cross. More like a barely defined no-man’s land where bands of predators competed for scarce resources.

‘I ain’t gonna tell ya but one more time, boy. Turn your ass around and put your hands on the wall.’

Still in control, Aslan slowly complied.

‘Now move your legs back and apart.’

Again, slowly, Aslan did as he was told.

Anderson tossed the nightstick to me, then searched Aslan. Good thing, because he found a throwaway razor in Aslan’s sock.

The strip search that followed was too gruesome to watch. Open your mouth, raise your arms, lift your penis, lift your testicles, bend over, pull your cheeks apart. At some point, the ritual exceeded Aslan’s tolerance for humiliation and he groaned with frustration.

‘What, you are getting big hard-on for once in life?’

Though I assume Aslan was speaking to Theobold, he was looking back at Harry Corbin. I ignored him, as did Theobold, who proceeded to search each of Aslan’s garments, including a pair of boxer shorts bearing a likeness of Pamela Anderson on each buttock.

‘Get dressed.’

Theobold backed away, then reached for the nightstick. I gave it to him and he resumed the stance he’d taken before Aslan emerged. ‘Now ah’m gonna tell ya somethin’, and I want you to listen hard,’ he said. ‘You try to get over on me this one time? I don’t take it personal. I figure that’s jus’ the way it goes. You don’t know me. I might be a chump. But that’s one time. You hear what I’m sayin’? Cause if you do it again, I’m gonna beat your white ass all over the room.’

A few minutes later, when Theobold settled in for a nap, I made breakfast for Aslan and myself. Sandwiches, ham and cheese, and mugs of instant coffee lightened with some kind of non-dairy creamer and heated in the microwave. The coffee was terrible but I drank every drop.

As for Aslan, he didn’t complain. He drank, he ate, he laid back on his cot. Then he suddenly popped up.

‘I wish to make phone call.’

I ignored him for a moment, but not because I wanted to prolong the agony. I needed time to suppress a rush of satisfaction. Aslan’s pressure cooker had finally sprung a leak. It was nine o’clock on Saturday morning, a few hours before his workers were due to be picked up at their jobs.

‘Look, Aslan, the way it’s workin’ out, you’re here until we decide to cut you loose.’ Far from confrontational, my tone was sympathetic. ‘I think you already know that.’

I settled into a straight-backed chair and picked up a two-day-old copy of the Daily News. Aslan held his peace for a good two or three minutes, enough time for me to blow through a story about an accused rapist who’d escaped from a midtown precinct and was still at large.

‘You are knowing nothing,’ Aslan finally said. ‘You are soft American fools. When time comes, Aslan will show you how to die.’

‘Show Detective Corbin? Or show the soft American fools?’

Aslan settled back on the seat and closed his eyes. ‘In beginning it made sense. Chechens hold Grozny. Chechens hold countryside. But we are now nothing. The Russians attack us village by village, burn crops, kill animals. Childrens, womans, old mens, freezing, starving. Even blind man can see end has come. But there is no stopping for great leaders. Fight must be to death. And all the time Arabs say to put bomb in schools. Kill Russian children as our children are dead. Great leaders must listen because Arabs have money, because Arabs supply arms and ammunition. Without Arabs, great leaders would be dead.’

Though I’d put down the newspaper, I remained silent for a moment. Then I said, ‘Did you kill, Aslan? In Chechnya? Did you kill other men?’

‘So soft.’ Aslan’s head shook back and forth. ‘Americans know nothing. In Chechnya, death is every minute coming. Always around corner, in next room. Each day, hear helicopters far away. Will they pass village? Shoot rockets? Will rocket hit house where I am hiding? Will Russian soldiers follow behind rockets? Will I fight free? Or will now be time when I will die?’

‘Listen,’ I said when he finally slowed down, ‘what happened yesterday, at Formatech.?.?. well, you shouldn’t take it personally. I was only trying to provoke you.’

‘Why?’

‘I wanted you to swing on me so I could arrest you for assaulting a police officer. But you didn’t bite.’ I spread my hands, as I stole a glance at Sergeant Anderson. Though his eyes were closed, Anderson’s breathing was shallow, his chest almost unmoving. He was obviously awake. ‘That’s life for a cop, right? Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.’

I let the silence build, hoping Aslan would speak first. Instead, he laid back on the cot with his cuffed wrist behind his head, then closed his eyes.

‘My interest,’ I finally said, ‘is not in Barsakov. Barsakov was a scumbag. My only interest is in Mynka.’

Aslan’s eyes popped open when I said her name. He sat up and grinned at me. ‘What is Mynka?’

‘Mynka worked for Domestic Solutions.’

‘Of this company I know nothing.’

‘So, you weren’t there when she was butchered? You realize, of course, that we found traces of her blood in that bathroom.’ I stood suddenly. ‘Say, I’m ready for another cup of coffee. How about you?’

I watched Aslan’s eyes look up and away. He knew all about the blood, of course. Now he knew that we’d found it. Not a great spot for him. I unlocked the door of his cage to retrieve his mug. As I leaned in, his hands balled into fists. But he didn’t come at me, not when I took his mug, or when I replaced it a few minutes later.

‘So, where were you when Mynka was butchered?’ I asked. ‘If you weren’t at Domestic Solutions.’

Aslan thought it over, then his lips slid apart to form an expression vaguely resembling a smile, a smile that didn’t come within a light year of his eyes. ‘Yes, now I am remembering very well. At this exact moment, I was on rocket ship to moon.’

I didn’t respond and he simply continued on. ‘Womans. In America is all womans. This is why you are soft. Let womans tell you way to have your life.’

‘It’s different in Chechnya?’

‘In whole world, womans is nothing. Always on men they live. Father sells girl for bride money. Uses bride money to buy wife for his son. Woman with no man for protect her is better off dead.’

I pretended to consider this deep insight for a moment, then said, ‘I had a lieutenant once, name of Martha Golson, a real ball buster. All her detectives were men and she was convinced they were out to get her.’ I laughed. ‘And ya know what, Aslan? She was right.’

This was a complete lie, but my only goal, at that point, was to keep him talking.