Chapter 63

THIRTY MINUTES LATER, FYODOR Orlov is sitting at the table in the same interrogation room where Troy had been questioned. Leon Blumenthal sits on the opposite side of the table, facing Orlov. An armed police officer stands watching both men. Orlov has declined his right to have an attorney present.

Bobby Cilia and I are on the other side of the mirror in the viewing room. Will Blumenthal be able to get information from Orlov? Both Blumenthal and Orlov look remarkably calm and determined, given the situation.

“We now know a great deal more about you and your accomplice, Mr. Orlov,” says Blumenthal.

Bobby looks at me and whispers, “That’s a mistake. Detective B shouldn’t call him mister. He shouldn’t be showing any respect for the guy.”

My response to Bobby is a very clever: “Yeah, I’m sure you’re absolutely right.” That’s my personal shorthand for If you knew more than your boss, you’d be sitting where he is right now.

Orlov’s response to Blumenthal is complete silence.

Blumenthal begins talking again. This time he talks faster. As he talks, he builds up even more speed.

“We know, for example, that you’ve been assisted by one of the midwives at GUH, Tracy Anne Cavanaugh,” says Blumenthal.

Orlov’s reaction? A smirk, a sickly smile with twinkling eyes.

I fantasize about crashing through the two-way mirror and choking the bastard. When that thought passes, I’m not very surprised to find that I’m thinking about Barbara Holt and her Louboutin shoes.

“Your partner, your lady friend—we have her,” says Blumenthal. This is, of course, a complete lie. “We” do not have Nina. “We” do not even have a clue as to where Nina is.

“Yeah,” continues Blumenthal. “Your buddy, or girlfriend, or mistress, or whatever the hell you want to call her, is sitting about a hundred feet away from you, down the hall, in a room just like this one. She’s being asked the same questions. She’s just—”

Orlov stands quickly. The guarding officer steps in toward him and pushes him back down onto the chair.

“Cuffs, Detective?” the officer asks.

“No, not yet,” says Blumenthal. “But maybe soon.”

“You are all so fucking stupid!” Orlov shouts. “You know nothing. You know that there are babies going to rich people who so long for what they cannot make themselves, but knowing even that, you still know nothing.”

Blumenthal does not react. He lets an icy silence hang in the air, and it is that one minute or so of silence that seems to agitate Orlov.

The Russian speaks. “You have Nina Kozlova, but you still have nothing.”

I turn and speak to Bobby Cilia. “Well, we now do have one thing. We just got Nina’s last name.”