J. Robb - Possession in Death

“Yeah, murder interrupts a lot of things.”

“What murder?” His sneer twisted off his face. “Beata? She's dead?”

“I don't know, but her great-grandmother is.”

“Madam Szabo?” His shock looked sincere enough, and so, Eve noted, did his relief. “Why would anybody kill an old woman?”

“People always seem to have a reason. In this case, maybe because she was getting close to finding out what happened to Beata.”

“Beata left.” He jerked a shoulder sharply. “She didn't have what it takes.”

“To what?”

“To dance, to live life full.”

Eve cocked her head. “Wouldn't sleep with you?”

He tipped back his head to look down his long nose. “I don't have a problem getting women into bed. If we'd danced together for the gala, we'd sleep together. One is like the other.”

“I thought you did dance together.”

“Practice.”

“So it must've annoyed you that she wouldn't have sex with you.”

“This woman, that woman.” He smiled slowly. “One is like the other.”

“Charming. When did you last see Madam Szabo?”

“Just yesterday. She'd visit class, and my mother, a lot. Talk to the other dancers here, and the other studios down on two and three where Beata took some classes. She'd have tea with my mother, sit with my uncle at the piano. She said she felt close to Beata here.”

“And she mentioned something about Beata being close. Being below.”

“She was a Gypsy — and took it seriously. I don't buy into that, but yeah, she said some stuff about it. Didn't make any sense, because if Beata was close, why did she stop coming to class? Why did she bail on the part she got, and screw the understudy position she had? Dancers dance. She took off, that's what she did, to dance somewhere else. Found a bigger brass ring to grab.”

“Where were you today, Alexi? Say from noon to four?”

“Cops.” He sniffed again. “I slept late in the apartment of Allie Madison. She and I will dance in the gala, and she and I sleep together. For now,” he added. “We stayed in bed until about two, then met friends for a little brunch. Then we came here, to practice, then to take class. She's the blonde, the tall one with the tattoo of a lark on her left shoulder blade. I need to practice.”

“Go ahead. Ask your uncle to come out.”

Eve waited until he'd strode off again. “Did you run him?” she asked Peabody.

“Oh yeah. He's got a few drunk and disorderlies, a couple of minor illegals possessions, an assault — bar fight, which added destruction of private property, public nuisance, resisting. He's twenty-six, listed as principal dancer and instructor here at the school, and lives with his mother upstairs on six.”

Got a temper, Eve thought as the piano player stepped out.

“Officer?”

“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody. And you're Sasha?”

“Sasha Korchov, yes. My nephew said you came because Madam Szabo was killed.” His dreamy eyes were soft and sad, like this voice. Like the slow glide of a bow over violin strings. “I'm very sorry to know this.”

“Were you here when she came in yesterday?”

“I didn't see her. Natalya was using the music disc — advanced students to work on dances for the gala. I am in the storeroom, I think, with the props when she was here. My sister tells me I missed her. We enjoyed talking music and dance. I saw her the day before, on the street, not far from here. I was going to the market. But she was across the street and didn't hear when I called out to her. We talked in Russian,” he said with a ghost of a smile. “Her mother was Russian, like mine and my papa, so sometimes we talked in Russian. I will miss it, and her.”

“What about Beata?”

“Beata.” He sighed. “My sister, she thinks Beata ran off to Las Vegas, but no, I think something bad happened to her. I don't say so to Gizi, but . . . I think she knows I believe this. She could see inside if she looked, so I think sometimes she was sad to talk to me. I'm sorry for it.”

“What did you think happened to Beata?”

“I think she loved her family, and to dance, and New York. I don't think she would leave all of that by choice. I think she's dead, and now so is Gizi. Now Gizi will find her, so they will, at least, have each other.”

“Your nephew was interested in Beata — personally.”

“He likes pretty girls,” Sasha said cautiously. “What young man doesn't?”

“But she wasn't interested in him?”

“She was more interested in dance than in men. Pure of heart, and with music in her blood.”

“Can you tell me where you were this afternoon?”

“I went to market after morning classes — I like to go most days. I came home to have my lunch and to play. I opened the windows so the music could go out. I came down to talk to my sister, and play for the two o'clock class. When that's done, we have tea, Natalya and me.”

“Okay, thank you. Would you send Allie Madison out?”

“Will they send her body home?”

“I don't have that information.”

“I hope she goes home,” Sasha murmured, then wandered back inside.

“He immigrated here from Russia with his sister and her kid — Alexi was a couple months old — twenty-six years ago,” Peabody added. “Sister's husband's listed as dead, right before the kid was born. Korchov was thirty-five and had been a big-deal ballet guy until he got messed up in a car wreck. They fixed him, but his career was shot. The sister was thirty, and had a pretty decent career herself. They opened the school. He has his own apartment on six. No criminal record. No marriages on record, two cohabs, both in Russia. The second one died in the same wreck that messed him up.”

“Okay.” Eve watched the willowy blonde glide out.

“You wanted to see me?” She had a breathy, baby doll voice that made Eve think it was Allie's good luck ballet didn't require vocals.

“Just verifying some information. Would you mind telling me where you were this afternoon?”

“Sure. Alex and I had brunch with some friends at Quazar's. Caviar and champagne — it was CeeCee's birthday — which probably wasn't a good idea right before practice. I'm still carrying those blinis.” She smiled easily. “Doesn't bother Alex, I guess, because he jumped right in when we got here. Pushed me through that damn pas de deux until I thought about just sticking my fingers down my throat. But Barinova will skin you for purging, and she always knows. Anyway, I got through it. My Angel to his Devil.”

“His what?”

“Devil.” She lifted the water bottle she carried, took a long sip. “We're performing the final pas de deux from Diabolique. I'm dancing Angel. Alex is Devil. Let me tell you, it's a killer.”

Eve looked past her to the studio doorway. “I just bet.”

“That's what I'd call a devil of a coincidence,” Peabody commented when they stepped out on the street.

“Are you buying it?”

“Not even for the couple of loose credits in my pocket.”

“I want you to check with the other people the blonde gave us, and the restaurant. We'll see if Alexi could've managed to slip away. See what the timing is from the restaurant to the alley, from the school to the alley.”

“Beata turned him down, pissed him off. He kills her, buries the body.” Peabody scanned the area. “God knows where, but that would fit in with the west of the alley, underground deal.”

“She's not dead. She's trapped.” Eve snapped it out furiously, shocking herself as much as Peabody.

“Okay . . . So you think — ”

“It's what she thought. Szabo.” Eve rubbed a hand between her breasts where her heart beat, hard and dull, a hammer against cloth. “I'm saying Szabo thought Beata was alive.”