Chapter 37
"So, fingerprints got us nowhere, surprise surprise," Robbery Captain Derek Redding chuckled with an ironic smile as he dropped the file folder onto the desk in the centre of the large office. The same group of detectives from the previous night was assembled and they had been joined by Assistant D.A. Gerry O'Brien and Vice Sergeant Boris Sokolov.
"But on the bright side, we found a Russian-speaking PD," Olsen offered, nodding towards the glass-walled interview room opposite them. "On such short notice, we only have one, so our lovely… guests… will have to share until we can scrape up another one."
Amid the dry, humourless chuckles, Steve and Wilson glanced over; both Vlad and Igor were deep in conversation with a heavyset, grey-haired older man who was furiously taking notes.
"Just so you know," Olsen continued, directing his comments at Steve and Wilson, "as far as anyone is aware, the Feds are still in the dark about what's going on here, but who knows how long that's gonna last. So we're gonna have to move fast."
"We've got 'em dead to rights, fellas," O'Brien took over, "for the assault last night and resisting arrest, but connecting them to what happened to Irene and Mike, and to the other assaults and rapes is gonna be hard unless you can get one of them to turn."
Wilson glanced over his shoulder again at the handcuffed Russians. "I think Igor'll crack if we go at him just right." Steve nodded.
O'Brien inclined his head with a frown. "Igor? You mean to do have their names?"
Steve was the first to laugh, everyone else joining in quickly. "Ah, no, um, I guess I spent too much time watching the Watergate hearings. Bob and I just started calling them Vlad and Igor for brevity's sake… sort of like Deep Throat." He cleared his own throat self-consciously and O'Brien nodded approvingly with a dry chuckle.
"So, anyway," Olsen jumped in, trying to move things along, "they're probably going to clam up and they probably think, and rightly so I would have to agree, that the longer they stall, the more chance there is that the Feds'll show up and whisk them away. So that's the reason I asked Boris to join us."
The older, portly, florid-faced sergeant took a step forward and shook hands with Wilson. "How ya doin', fellas? I'm just gonna stand in the corner and make sure that that mouthpiece of theirs is accurately translating everything they say." He reached for Steve's hand but the younger man raised his bandaged appendage and both men chuckled.
"Our friend Vlad in there really, really wanted to get my gun last night."
"I'm sure as hell glad he didn't," Olsen said solemnly as he led the way across the tile floor towards the interrogation room. He turned and faced the younger men. "Bob, Steve… they're all yours. Don't worry, this entire office is off-limits today, and Dan's gonna hang out in the lobby just in case our friends from Quantico show up. Fortunately, they're easy to spot," he added dryly, and everyone laughed.
His face sternly set, Wilson glanced once at his younger partner before taking a step forward and opening the interrogation room door. He looked quickly at the uniformed patrolman standing beside the door and nodded. Waiting till Steve and Sokolov had entered the room, the patrolman left, closing the door behind him.
The attorney stood up and held out his hand. "Gentlemen, Barry Green, I'm representing both Mister… ah…" He flustered somewhat and stopped talking, his eyes shifting nervously from one cop to the other. Sokolov had moved to the corner of the room behind the table; he looked back at Wilson and Steve with a bemused smile then leaned against the wall.
Wilson, slowly taking the proffered hand and staring unflinchingly into the lawyer's now confused eyes, raised his brows in anticipation and closed his hand firmly. Green winced. Either the lawyer didn't know his clients names or he did and was reluctant to give the cops this new piece of information; Wilson couldn't tell. He smiled coldly. "Sergeant Robert Wilson."
Nodding nervously, Green turned his grey eyes towards Steve, who just held up his bandaged hand once again and smirked before pulling out a chair and dropping into it. "Inspector Steve Keller," he said flatly. Any remaining vestiges of civility disappeared from his face as he stared across the table at Igor, who shot a defiant look at him then dropped his head and swallowed anxiously.
Vlad, who had been looking at his colleague with a cold grin, snorted mirthlessly in what seemed like angry disappointment, then shook his head, allowing his eyes to slowly refocus on Steve, who met the cold blue stare with obstinance. "Kak eto ruka?" The voice was as harsh and cold as the face.
Green, who had sat and was gazing at the pad on the table in front of him, looked up towards Steve. "He asked how your hand is?"
Steve stared unblinkingly at the Russian; in his peripheral vision, could see Sokolov nod slightly. With the slightest trace of a condescending smile, he answered coolly, "Tell him it's fine."
Green's eyes flicked towards Vlad. "Vse normal'no."
Steve saw Sokolov nod again.
Looking up from his perusal of the pad once again, smiling superciliously, Green laced his fingers and placed his hands on the table in front of him. "So, what can we do for you gentlemen?"
With a long-suffering smile, and clearing his throat, Wilson leaned forward. "Well, your clients can start by telling us their names." His stare slid from Green's smiling face to Vlad, who glared back boldly, to Igor, who grunted quietly and looked down.
Green's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, um, you mean you don't have my clients names?" His surprise was totally bogus; Wilson continued to stare as Steve snorted in amusement and looked up, rolling his eyes and leaning back in the metal chair, crossing his arms. His heavy sigh said it all; it was going to be a long day…
"They, ah, they weren't carrying any I.D. last night when my partner and I… interrupted their assault and rape of that young woman… and they weren't very… how shall I say... forthcoming after that." Wilson's tone was pleasant and his expression was neutral but there was no mistaking the steel behind the words.
Green tilted his head and shrugged. "Well, then, I'm afraid I can't be of much help in that regard… attorney-client privilege and all that. And, well, to be perfectly honest, I can't even be sure if I have their god-given names either." His smile was hollow.
"Well, then, you can tell ol' Vlad and Igor here that whether they give us their names or not, they're facing charges of rape, assault, resisting arrest and assault on a police officer." Steve had leaned forward and put his forearms on the table, his stony-eyed stare sliding from one sullen defendant to the other.
At the mention of the two familiar names, their heads had come up slightly and brows had furrowed but neither said anything.
The lawyer cleared his throat. "Well, all that being said, it seems these are pretty cut-and-dried charges. I would've thought that we'd be at an arraignment this morning and not sitting here, in this…cozy little room, talking to you." He sat back and folded his arms. When neither detective proved expansive, he uncrossed his arms and shrugged. "Am I being too subtle here? I'm asking if you have other charges you haven't informed me about."
Wilson leaned forward and smiled dispassionately. "We believe your… clients are responsible for the assaults and rapes of at least five other women, and the assault and rape of a police inspector and the attempted murder of a police lieutenant."
Three pairs of eyes in the room, and several more pairs staring through the glass from the outer office, were focused on the two Russians for the slightly movement, the merest indication that they understood anything that they had just heard.
They didn't make a move.
Green, however, sat back quickly, his eyes widening. "Um, okay, this is all news to me."
"Tell them," Steve ordered with a chilly half-smile.
"What?"
"We brought you in because you speak their language. Tell them."
"Oh, umh, yes, of course." Clearing his throat, he leaned back even further so he could see both his clients peripherally. He began to speak, rapidly and smoothly; Sokolov straightened up again.
Before Green had finished talking, both Vlad and Igor had reacted like they had just been told they were wearing tutus - shaking their heads as they laughed, smirking as they eyed both detectives with disdain. Snorting dismissively, Vlad responded, talking to Green but keeping his eyes on the two men across the table.
When he finished talking, Green leaned forward and smiled. "He says it wasn't them, that they have no idea what you're talking about. And that if you did have any evidence, you would have arrested them for that already."
Steve glanced up at Sokolov. He nodded.
Wilson smiled icily, staring at Vlad, who was grinning callously back at him. "I know you did it," he growled.
Green looked at the sergeant. "Do you want me to translate that?"
"Don't bother," Wilson snarled. "I have a feeling he knows exactly what I mean."
He felt Steve lean forward beside him, and he knew that the younger man had come to the same conclusion that he had. They had nothing to lose. It would only be a matter of time until the FBI got wind of what had happened, and no matter how good Gerry O'Brien and the D.A.'s office were at their jobs, the Feds would take over, and Vlad, for sure, and possibly Igor - for they still had no idea who he was - would be taken from their custody.
Steve dead stare slid from the man opposite him, across Green, who was frowning in confusion, and settled on Vlad. He smiled. "We may not know your name, but we sure as hell know who you are."
The attorney's grey eyes snapped from Steve to Vlad and back again.
"Tell him," Steve ordered once again and Green, keeping his eyes on the cop, did so.
When he finished, Steve continued, "We know you're from New York… Brighton Beach." Vlad flinched almost imperceptibly; everyone tensed. Even Sokolov took a step closer. Green interpreted.
"You were part of the Russian mafia back there. But you turned on them, didn't you? You turned state's witness. You ratted on your friends, on your colleagues." Steve paused, allowing Green to catch up. Vlad's eyes bored into his and he stared back.
"The FBI had to get your ass out of town, didn't they? Or Evsei Argon would've put a bullet in your head, wouldn't he?"
At the mention of the name of the 'godfather' of the New York Russian mob, Vlad's face lost all its colour and he swallowed involuntarily. Everyone noticed. Steve smiled.
Green's voice was soft as he continued to translate, his eyes snapping back and forth between the two. When he finished, Vlad smiled calculatingly and sat back with a studied insolence. He said something to Green.
The lawyer swallowed nervously. "He says you've got the wrong man."
"Bullshit," Wilson said coldly. Vlad's eyes slid in the sergeant's direction and he smirked.
Nobody moved. They heard a commotion in the outer office; there was a quick rap on the door and it opened. Everybody looked up.
Captain Rudy Olsen leaned into the room; he was agitated and he spoke quickly. "Dan just called from the lobby. The Feds are in the building. They just bulled their way past the front desk and they're on their way up to Vice. Let's get these guys out of here, get 'em up to the cells."
Steve got to his feet; he glanced out into the office. O'Brien was on the phone, looking frustrated; Haseejian and Redding were standing anxiously near the outer door.
Green stood up. "What the hell's going on here?" he demanded.
"We're re-locating your clients," Olsen snapped at him. He looked at the two Russians. "On your feet!"
Steve started to cross around the table towards Igor. Wilson hadn't moved; when Olsen had started talking, he had looked back at Vlad and his eyes hadn't left him since.
Steve put a hand on Igor's arm and began to pull him up. Sokolov moved towards Vlad.
Then, before anybody could react, Wilson launched himself over the table. The full force of his weight carried him straight at Vlad, his outstretched hands driving into the Russian's shoulders and catapulting him backwards in the chair. The momentum propelled them both into the wall with tremendous force, the back of Vlad's head slamming into the plaster with a sickening thud. Wilson pulled the limp body away from the wall and slammed the Russian's head against the floor.
Suddenly there was blood everywhere.