Perri O'Shaughnessy - Unlucky in Law

“There are a thousand factions and every opinion under the sun when it comes to politics there. My only interest is in restoring the Church,” Giorgi said. “I want a government conducive to traditional religion, that’s all.”

“We’ve been doing some research. I know there are a number of people who are Romanovs left in the world, and I know the country is-searching for something.”

Giorgi forced another laugh. “You mean, to install a new tsar in place of the president? Well, America’s done worse, I guess.”

Van Wagoner frowned, obviously not liking the political insult. Then he shook it off and even smiled, saying, “Sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind today. How about this thought: is it possible someone took the bones hoping to prove Constantin was not the page, or not who he said he was?”

“Why ask me?”

“Okay, then let’s go back to Alex Zhukovsky. Why would he lie on the witness stand, invent something that would convict someone else? Unless he murdered his sister?”

“Listen to me. Alex Zhukovsky didn’t kill anybody.” Giorgi made a big point out of looking at his watch. What would it take to unstick this disturbing tick?

“I’ll let you drink your coffee in peace in just a minute,” van Wagoner said. “Just a couple more quick questions.” The investigator scratched his head and shifted his legs. He seemed to have lost interest. Father Giorgi expelled a silent prayer of thanksgiving.

“You do know Sergey Krilov, don’t you?”

How smoothly this was asked, as the man looked idly at a girl standing at the counter ordering coffee. He would never stop asking that question, Father Giorgi realized, and he suddenly felt very tired. “I knew him years ago in St. Petersburg. He doesn’t spend that much time in the U.S.”

“What does he do for a living?”

“He’s involved in his family businesses. He does whatever they need done.”

“I’ll bet. He follows people, he breaks into cars…”

“What?”

“Never mind. Is he blond? Short and built like a brick shit house?”

“He is a big man, but not tall. The Krilov I knew came from a well-known family who managed to make a lot of money during the Communist years, money they squirreled away in foreign accounts. Unfortunately, they squandered it on American biotech stocks and lost most of it when the market fell so drastically a couple of years ago. They are reactionaries who are very unhappy with the current government.”

“They miss Communism because it was profitable? That’s a twist.”

“These people are not ideologues. They want only two things, power and money. They are looking for a way back in. They would happily kiss the president, but he won’t let them near. Therefore they would like to see him gone.”

“Is Krilov involved in some revolutionary activities?”

“I wouldn’t know.” He hoped God would forgive him for all these lies. He lied too much; he knew it.

“Christina Zhukovsky went to Russia to be with him, didn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“While she was there, did he get her mixed up in his politics and put her in danger?”

Giorgi stared at Paul without speaking. “I wish she was here, and could speak for herself. Christina was a woman with her own agenda, her own dreams. Let’s just say Sergey was part of her education. In the end, she broke with him, remember that. I thought he returned to Russia long ago, but you say he’s here and he followed Alex last night?”

“I’d put fifty bucks on that,” the investigator said. “Now will you tell me why?”

“No.”

Van Wagoner smiled a little and shook his head. “Your call,” he said. “Okay, let’s go at it another way. Alex Zhukovsky wanted his father’s bones. Did he tell you why?”

“I can’t answer that.”

“You know, Father,” the man said. “This guy Krilov, or whoever the man is who followed Alex Zhukovsky up here and left me this note-he might think you were told pertinent things last night. You should be careful. He let Alex go, and he stayed around the church. I don’t know where he is now.”

“Don’t worry about me.” Giorgi squeezed his paper cup and tossed it toward a trash can, missing. He got up to stuff the cup into an opening. “I’m a man of God.”

But then he remembered that Alex had told him there were still bones remaining that had not been cremated after their recovery. A woman in Sacramento was testing them. Krilov wouldn’t like that. He felt cold with fear. He wished he could ask this inquisitive stranger to help him, but the price was so high. He wanted too much. In the end he decided to say nothing. The man finally gave him a quizzical stare, thanked him, and went out the door.

Giorgi left, too. He hadn’t eaten a bite of his biscotti, so he wrapped it in a napkin and tucked it into a pocket for later. He looked everywhere for Krilov on the street, but saw no sign of him.

Back in his room, he picked up the phone and called Alex Zhukovsky.

“Don’t pretend you can’t see the danger. Whether you like it or not, you’re linked with Christina, as her brother. My advice is, talk to Krilov. Tell him you’re no threat.”

But Alex was not Christina. He didn’t want to talk to Krilov or anyone else. He wanted it all to go away, to have it buried forever with Christina. Hadn’t he learned from Constantin’s bones that you can never bury an unfinished past?

Wednesday 9/24

“THIS PRIEST IS THE MOTHER LODE,” PAUL TOLD NINA THAT AFTERNOON, calling on the phone from San Francisco, leaning against his newly repaired car, which he had just retrieved from the nearest garage for the princely sum of sixteen hundred fifty dollars. “I’ve told you what he said, now let me tell you what he didn’t say. What he didn’t say is that Alex Zhukovsky spilled his guts to him, and both he and Zhukovsky know something Krilov wants to know. I get the impression that Krilov is going to pick one or the other to go after. And he didn’t follow Alex.”

“He drove off?” Nina asked.

“Yeah. But maybe only around the block.”

“I’ll send Wish over to Alex Zhukovsky’s place. He lives in Carmel Highlands on Fern Canyon Road. If Wish sees Krilov hanging around, he can call the police.”

“What are they gonna arrest him for? Loitering? If he sees Krilov he should tail him, and if Krilov tries a break-in or anything, then he can call.”

“I should call Alex Zhukovsky,” Nina said.

“And say what? We don’t know diddly-squat. It’s a feeling. They’re all such liars. The priest-what’s he up to? He should be ashamed.”

“Let’s subpoena him, just in case,” Nina said. “Do you have a spare subpoena in your car?”

“Sure do. Issued and signed. So what do I do now? Serve his ass and come home? Or stick around?”

“I need you up there. One more night, okay?”

“I’ll get a decent hotel room tonight, then. Last night’s Travelodge was more like a mosh pit,” Paul said. “Hear the bells? He’s conducting some kind of service as we speak, so I can get away for a few minutes. Nina. How long should I stay?” A wind had kicked around the corner and he thought longingly about his leather jacket, which of course he had left at the condo.

“We’ll decide in the morning. I’m frustrated, Paul.”

“Of course you are. You miss my warm body.”

Nina let out a laugh, then said, “I mean about the case. Jaime’s just as frustrated. He’s running this prosecution without two pieces of information that would help it make sense: why bury Christina in her father’s grave? And what motive did Stefan Wyatt have to kill her?”

“Alex and his father-confessor know,” Paul said. “Driving up here, following him, I couldn’t make up my mind. I made Zhukovsky as the killer of his sister, but it’s a deep situation, and Krilov could be a professional.”