Read In Sheep's Clothing for Free Online Page A
Authors: Susan May Warren
you?”
Silence.
“Do you need anything?”
“What would I need? A son who stops by and visits once in a while, maybe?”
Right. Okay. Nickolai had his happy face on today. “I’ll stop by later. Do you need some bread?”
He supposed he should be grateful his father still spoke to him after the accident. The old man hadn’t assigned blame, but he didn’t have to. The Santa Barbara reruns and the constant tapping with his metal cane turned the knife with precision.
Silence crackled through the line. “Pop?”
“ Da. Da. Bread is all I need.” He hung up and Vicktor stared at the dead phone.
He was off to a great start this morning. Vicktor kneaded his temple. If his mother were here she’d know what to do. But Antonina had abandoned her men on a snowy night two years ago, and the grief and anger had driven the Shubnikov men apart long before Nickolai’s accident. The Wolf’s bullet had simply pushed them beyond reconciliation.
Steam fogged the room, obscuring the glass windows that separated Vicktor’s office from the rookies on the floor. Vicktor filled his cup and stirred the coffee. It wasn’t Starbucks, which he’d visited more times than he should have in Oregon, but at least it was coffee. Sorta. Okay, it smelled the same.
A cup and a half later, he had read through his e-mail messages and reached for the phone. He hoped Arkady had eaten a full breakfast. He needed the man slightly sluggish when he needled him for information about Evgeny.
“Give us a break! Lakarstin’s body isn’t even cold!”
Nope. Probably had kasha. Even Vicktor would be on edge after a bowl of cold, lumpy mush. “I know, Chief, but what do you know? Tell me, anything.” Please, let him say he was handing the case to the COBRAs. He didn’t want to be caught in the middle of a range war.
Vicktor heard Arkady snuffle, and could almost see him lean back in his tattered desk chair and take a pull on his cigarette. “Well, let’s see what you can do with this, hotshot. His neck was slit.”
“I’m not quite that stupid, thank you. Tell me something new.”
“And he had a wad of paper shoved up his nose.”
“What?”
“You mean you goats in the ‘FezB’ don’t know a mafia hit when you see one?”
“What mafia? That’s not the Russian signature for a hit.”
“It’s a North Korean superstition. They shove the paper up a victim’s nose to keep their spirit from haunting them. Even a rookie would know that.”
Vicktor thumbed his coffee cup handle, ignoring the barb. “What would the North Korean mafia want with a veterinarian?”
Arkady’s chair creaked as the Bulldog shifted his weight. Probably putting out that cigarette.
“That is a good question. Was your buddy into drug smuggling?”
“Now, how would I know that?”
Arkady laughed. Vicktor tensed.
“You said that dog of yours was a bit sluggish…maybe he needed a fix?”
“At Alfred’s age, following a cute poodle just about does him in.”
“Your pal was into some sort of tyomnaya delo, some nasty business, for the mafia to track him down. They were searching for something, too. We found a charred notebook in the garbage can, like he tried to keep something out of their hands.”
Vicktor remembered the orange peels. “Maybe it’s some sort of ledger.”
Vicktor heard the flick of a lighter.
“Are you doing an autopsy?” he asked.
“Cause of death is pretty obvious.”
“Not to the FSB.” As soon as the words left his mouth Vicktor wanted to bang his head on his desk.
A chill blew into Arkady’s voice. “Something you want to tell me?”
Vicktor’s stomach knotted. Why, oh why, couldn’t he keep his mouth shut? “I heard the word mafia and…well, it’s not personal, Chief.”
“Your COBRAs have been banging on my office door all morning. You tell them this is my case and I’ll hand it over if and when I want to.”
“It’s not your jurisdiction anymore.”
“I’ll say what’s my jurisdiction. You
Silence.
“Do you need anything?”
“What would I need? A son who stops by and visits once in a while, maybe?”
Right. Okay. Nickolai had his happy face on today. “I’ll stop by later. Do you need some bread?”
He supposed he should be grateful his father still spoke to him after the accident. The old man hadn’t assigned blame, but he didn’t have to. The Santa Barbara reruns and the constant tapping with his metal cane turned the knife with precision.
Silence crackled through the line. “Pop?”
“ Da. Da. Bread is all I need.” He hung up and Vicktor stared at the dead phone.
He was off to a great start this morning. Vicktor kneaded his temple. If his mother were here she’d know what to do. But Antonina had abandoned her men on a snowy night two years ago, and the grief and anger had driven the Shubnikov men apart long before Nickolai’s accident. The Wolf’s bullet had simply pushed them beyond reconciliation.
Steam fogged the room, obscuring the glass windows that separated Vicktor’s office from the rookies on the floor. Vicktor filled his cup and stirred the coffee. It wasn’t Starbucks, which he’d visited more times than he should have in Oregon, but at least it was coffee. Sorta. Okay, it smelled the same.
A cup and a half later, he had read through his e-mail messages and reached for the phone. He hoped Arkady had eaten a full breakfast. He needed the man slightly sluggish when he needled him for information about Evgeny.
“Give us a break! Lakarstin’s body isn’t even cold!”
Nope. Probably had kasha. Even Vicktor would be on edge after a bowl of cold, lumpy mush. “I know, Chief, but what do you know? Tell me, anything.” Please, let him say he was handing the case to the COBRAs. He didn’t want to be caught in the middle of a range war.
Vicktor heard Arkady snuffle, and could almost see him lean back in his tattered desk chair and take a pull on his cigarette. “Well, let’s see what you can do with this, hotshot. His neck was slit.”
“I’m not quite that stupid, thank you. Tell me something new.”
“And he had a wad of paper shoved up his nose.”
“What?”
“You mean you goats in the ‘FezB’ don’t know a mafia hit when you see one?”
“What mafia? That’s not the Russian signature for a hit.”
“It’s a North Korean superstition. They shove the paper up a victim’s nose to keep their spirit from haunting them. Even a rookie would know that.”
Vicktor thumbed his coffee cup handle, ignoring the barb. “What would the North Korean mafia want with a veterinarian?”
Arkady’s chair creaked as the Bulldog shifted his weight. Probably putting out that cigarette.
“That is a good question. Was your buddy into drug smuggling?”
“Now, how would I know that?”
Arkady laughed. Vicktor tensed.
“You said that dog of yours was a bit sluggish…maybe he needed a fix?”
“At Alfred’s age, following a cute poodle just about does him in.”
“Your pal was into some sort of tyomnaya delo, some nasty business, for the mafia to track him down. They were searching for something, too. We found a charred notebook in the garbage can, like he tried to keep something out of their hands.”
Vicktor remembered the orange peels. “Maybe it’s some sort of ledger.”
Vicktor heard the flick of a lighter.
“Are you doing an autopsy?” he asked.
“Cause of death is pretty obvious.”
“Not to the FSB.” As soon as the words left his mouth Vicktor wanted to bang his head on his desk.
A chill blew into Arkady’s voice. “Something you want to tell me?”
Vicktor’s stomach knotted. Why, oh why, couldn’t he keep his mouth shut? “I heard the word mafia and…well, it’s not personal, Chief.”
“Your COBRAs have been banging on my office door all morning. You tell them this is my case and I’ll hand it over if and when I want to.”
“It’s not your jurisdiction anymore.”
“I’ll say what’s my jurisdiction. You