Brian Freemantle - No Time for Heroes

‘I’ve been summoned to the Foreign Ministry.’ Before which he could see Larissa, if she was working the day shift at the Druzhba: there was insufficient time before the afternoon appointment to do anything practical in the investigation.

‘If Antipov gets picked up it’ll take all the heat out of any protest,’ Cowley pointed out.

‘I know,’ accepted the Russian. He was glad professionally, but disappointed personally.

‘What about another meeting with Raisa Serova?’

‘Why don’t we try tomorrow?’ suggested Danilov. He’d have to contact the Foreign Ministry escort, he supposed. He frowned and then remembered: Oleg Yasev. Reminded by one new name, he thought of the other three Lapinsk had given him. Pavin would have exhausted criminal records by now. He’d have to ask what progress there was with the ministry personnel registries.

He walked Cowley from the building, to phone Larissa from a street kiosk out of Ludmilla Radsic’s hearing. Larissa, who was working days, wasn’t sure if a room were free. He wanted to lunch, Danilov insisted.

Although there genuinely was no time for anything else, Danilov remained uneasy about intruding his personal affairs into the middle of a day. Pavin’s obvious surprise, when he said he was making a private enquiry but would telephone before going to the Ministry, didn’t ease the feeling. Pavin didn’t know of Larissa, of course, but Danilov was sure he guessed there was another woman.

Another of the reception managers who shared the same vacant room arrangement as he and Larissa recognised Danilov and smiled conspiratorially as he entered the hotel. He would, Danilov decided, be glad when all the deceit was over. Larissa was waiting beyond a curve in the reception area. She walked towards him head high, bringing her breasts up and with her hips undulating, and several men in the lobby turned to enjoy her progress.

‘You trying to tell somebody something?’

She laughed at him. ‘Only what you’re missing. There isn’t a room.’

‘I said I wanted to eat lunch with you.’

She took his arm as they went towards the restaurant: over Larissa’s shoulder he saw the other reception manager smile at them. Because Larissa was managerial staff and recognised they were seated and given menus at once, and the wine Danilov ordered was served within minutes. Russian favour-for-favour philosophy working on automatic pilot, Danilov thought: it seemed a long time since he’d frightened the garage and supply managers at Petrovka. They’d be praying for the murder investigation to last for ever: but then he did not really want it to end either.

‘You look fantastic,’ said Danilov. It wasn’t empty flattery. Unlike Olga, he’d never seen Larissa untidy or uncared for: the clothes always appeared just to have been put on – even after the times they’d practically torn them off – her hair was always perfectly coiffeured, her make-up never blurred. Wrong to compare the two: unfair, as well. Olga didn’t know there was a comparison. Larissa did.

‘How was America?’

‘OK.’

‘Solve the crime?’

‘No.’

‘Saw in the papers you were enjoying yourself.’

It would have been the same photograph of him leaving the Georgetown restaurant to which Olga had referred. He said: ‘What shifts did you work, when I was away?’

She looked at him curiously. ‘Days. Why?’

So Larissa wouldn’t have been working when Kosov had taken Olga to the Metropole and on to a nightclub. ‘I just wondered.’

‘You going to be jealous of me when we’re married?’

‘I’m not jealous.’ What was it he’d felt watching the other men look at her in the lobby?

‘You blushed and looked guilty when Natalia smiled at you from the desk. I saw you!’ she teased.

‘I didn’t,’ he denied, pointlessly.

‘She thinks you’re nice,’ disclosed Larissa. ‘Everyone knows who you are, after what was in the newspapers and on television.’

‘I’ll be taking the American out while he’s here. Socially.’ He stared down at the blubbery pork that was placed in front of him, knowing he’d made a mistake.

Larissa looked up at him questioningly. She’d been more sensible, ordering fish.

‘Olga thought it might be nice if we all went out together: her and you and Yevgennie,’ he went on.

‘I’d like that,’ Larissa said at once. ‘So would Yevgennie: it would make the asshole feel important.’

‘I thought the Metropole, perhaps?’

She pulled another face. ‘Very impressive!’

‘You been there before?’

‘A few times. Yevgennie likes it. He can show off.’

‘Olga liked it, when he took her.’

Larissa stopped eating, her fork poised half way between her plate and her mouth. ‘You’re joking!’

‘Didn’t you know?’

‘No!’ She shook her head, disbelievingly. ‘You’re not serious, are you?’

‘Olga said the Metropole was wonderful: told me about Yevgennie’s new car with dials in the front that light up.’

Larissa pushed her plate aside. ‘Wouldn’t it be the funniest thing! Olga and Yevgennie…!’ She giggled.’Who’s going to tell them we don’t mind, you or me?’

He didn’t like Larissa dismissing it as a joke, which he at once accepted was absurd. After his hypocrisy there would be an almost natural justice in Yevgennie Grigorevich and Olga having an affair. Could they be? Of course they could. Should he mind? Whether or not he should didn’t enter his reasoning. He did. The thought of Kosov making love to Olga offended him and the thought of his making love to Larissa offended him, although Larissa insisted it didn’t happen between them any more and hadn’t for a long time, years in fact. ‘I don’t understand it.’

‘ Does it matter?’ she asked seriously. ‘I thought we had decisions to make when you got back? So? You’re back.’

‘I can’t do anything now. Not right in the middle of this case! That’s unreasonable and you know it!’ He hadn’t intended to sound so indignant.

‘When’s it going to end?’ She sounded indignant in return.

‘I don’t know. It could be soon.’

‘As soon as it’s over?’

‘As soon as it’s over.’ Danilov had the feeling of having said the same words before: but he was sure that if he had, Larissa would have challenged him about it.

‘I’ve decided how we’ll do it,’ she declared. ‘At the same time. We’ll choose a day and you tell Olga and I’ll tell Yevgennie.’ She smiled, sympathetically. ‘It’ll be easier for me. Yevgennie doesn’t care: he’s been fucking everything including knot-holes in wood since the day we got married. Olga doesn’t suspect anything, does she?’

‘She made some remark, a long time ago, that you and I seemed to get on well together. I don’t think she meant anything by it.’

‘It would be nice if we could stay friends, afterwards. With Olga I mean. It probably won’t happen, but it would be nice.’

‘I’d like that,’ agreed Danilov. ‘I won’t say anything to her, about her and Yevgennie. She told me, after all, so it can’t mean anything.’

‘I’m not interested enough to ask Yevgennie,’ dismissed Larissa.

Danilov’s own words echoed in his head. It might not have meant anything to Olga, apart from a rare outing to places she didn’t normally go, but he belatedly remembered Olga telling him Kosov had asked about the Mafia investigation. ‘Yevgennie said anything else about me? About the job?’

Larissa examined him over her wine glass. ‘You think that’s why he took Olga out? Trying to find out something about you?’

Larissa was remarkably astute as well as being beautiful. ‘I don’t know,’ he avoided.

‘He’s taken me to places… restaurant and clubs…’ she offered slowly. ‘There have been people there he’s friendly with. I don’t like them.’ The movement didn’t amount to a shudder, but it came close.