"Sokolov's detention hearing is tomorrow. But nothing can go wrong." Mike grabbed a French fry and shoved it into his mouth with relish.

"You can never be sure! That Brent Hoover is a cunning lawyer. And Sokolov has his fingers in every pie. What have you been investigating?" Nikki contented herself with a cheeseburger, although the conversation with Esther Wallace had upset her stomach.

She had arranged to meet her husband at her favorite pub, almost directly across the street from the BPD. A quaint Boston pub that seemed to have fallen out of time bizarrely in the age of veggie food, lactose intolerance, and sustainable, regional organic food. And that was precisely why it was so popular. If you came to this pub, you didn't have to talk shop with hipsters about the Boston club scene, get a dirty look if you missed the last concert of some hip indie band whose name you didn't even know, or listen to lectures about which mountain regions of Indochina you should definitely hitchhike through with a backpack, because that was the only way to experience real life and the meaning of being.

In this pub, people ate burgers and greasy fries, grumbled about the New England Patriots' disastrous season, bemoaned the annoying Boston traffic, and mourned TV series that no one under the age of thirty had ever heard of. And whenever the opportunity arose, they sought out a chat with the owner, Dale Mclean, who always included a funny saying with each of his burgers. On the other hand, Nikki was not in the mood for jokes.

"We interviewed the passengers from the steamer," Mike said, a little slurred, as he shoved another fry in his mouth. "They were all booked through a Boston extras agency. They were told it was a prank for a hidden camera show. They received their briefing before the start of the steamboat trip from a man we were unable to identify. Sokolov probably flew him in, especially for this, and immediately made him disappear."

"How were the people paid?" Nikki wanted to know and finally took a bite of her burger.

"Through a company based in Belarus. That's a dead end."

Nikki didn't bat an eyelid. What else could she have expected? Fyodor Sokolov hadn't risen to become one of the most powerful players in international drug smuggling by holding half-hearted meetings with supposed organizations that promised him everything and more. No matter how professional and credible they appeared. Of course, he had taken all precautions in case it was a trap. Even if he hadn't reckoned on the fact that his closest confidant Boris had told the BPD almost every detail of the planned operation in advance, thus enabling them to prepare the mission with the utmost precision.

"Are you sure you'll get him on the driver for the hit? He's very clever, I wouldn't be surprised if he pulled another ace out of his sleeve." Nikki looked around once more, although the pub was rather quiet at this time of the afternoon.

"He's hired the steamer out completely and brought his own crew. All the people he had on board are refusing to testify. And they all got outstanding lawyers from Sokolov. They'd rather go to jail for a few years than betray their boss." Mike's face filled with an expression of contempt.

Nikki laughed bitterly. "They say that Sokolov once had the entire family of a woman murdered in Moscow who had testified in court that he wanted to hire her for a drug deal. But he didn't touch the woman herself. She is said to have taken her own life later."

"There are a lot of stories like that about him, which is why we've never been able to get any of his people on our side. We only got this Boris because he has no family and because we have so much against him that he opted for witness protection rather than prison. But he's our only witness."

"You mean apart from the two of us?" Nikki took a sip of her iced tea.

"Yeah, could be." Mike shrugged his shoulders. "So, how are you getting on with your kidnapping case? Have you found any evidence that Sokolov is involved? Or one of your colleagues from the other states?"

"The colleagues?" She waved him off. "They're just as much in the dark as I am. By now, they're probably all hoping for me and my team!" She pushed her plate to one side; she hadn't even eaten half of it. "Besides, I'm sure by now that the perpetrator wants us to look for him in Boston. He probably only kidnapped the boys across the USA to make his magic trick even more spectacular. He didn't strike twice in Boston by chance, indirectly putting us in charge of the investigation. I've looked into various theories, but I now suspect that he's basing his messages on a double murder that he got away with twenty years ago. And it was here, in Boston. If I'm right in my theory, then I guess I won't be able to get much closer to him via his current murders. The way to the solution is through his earlier crime. He probably tried to tell us something back then, but we didn't understand. And he wanted to be found, but we didn't manage it."

Mike looked at his wife wordlessly, and Nikki had no doubt that he sensed what she was going through. He knew she had barely slept for more than a few hours in the past few nights. And that she had received so much shoulder-shrugging and vague speculation from her colleagues in the task force setup, especially for her case, as well as from those in the identification service, the laboratory, forensic medicine, and case analysis, that despite the considerable number of investigators in six different states, she now felt as alone as an abandoned child in the woods after two weeks of virtually fruitless hard work. He took a deep breath and frowned. "You now doubt that Sokolov has anything to do with your case, don't you?" He looked at his wife uncertainly.

"What a load of crap!" She pushed her plate so far away from her that it almost fell off the counter. "If Sokolov has a hand in this, then he wants us to solve this old case. The new murders would then be nothing more than a means to an end. We're supposed to find out who kidnapped the twins Carl and Dennis. And why! But our colleagues have been working their fingers to the bone for years. To no avail!"

Mike nodded slowly. "Have you been able to talk to the kidnap victims from back then?"

Nikki laughed maliciously. "Perfect joke, Mike! The twins disappeared into witness protection shortly after they were freed. Never to be seen again! The file doesn't even show what hair color the two boys had. Two fucking first names, nothing else. Not a single other piece of information!" She buried her face in her hands and shook her head. "Mike, I know what all this means for you and your investigation!"

Now Mike pushed his lunch aside, too. "This is as close as we'll ever get to Sokolov. Nikki, I know this isn't your fault. And I agree that it smells like Sokolov has a hand in it. But if this whole thing blows up in our faces because of it --" He listened as Nikki's cell phone began to ring. The caller ID indicated that it was the homicide squad line. "Aren't you going to answer it?"

Nikki took a deep breath and answered the call. "O'Laighin. What is it? ... Are you serious? Who is this information coming from? ... Yes, I understand. I'll be on my way immediately. Thank you!" She ended the conversation.

Mike noticed that something significant had happened. "Is this about the kids?"

Nikki looked around, probably for the tenth time since she'd arrived at the pub. Two wildly gesticulating cab drivers were chatting at a table at the back, out of earshot. Nikki turned back to her husband. "The call came from the top. Sokolov's lawyer says his client wants to talk to me. Just with me alone. Off the record. And he says it's about the kidnapped children!"

xxx

It seemed to Nikki that it wasn't Sokolov who was the prisoner but her. He sat there as if he were in the lobby of a luxury hotel and amused himself with a glass of champagne while watching the high society ladies strolling past, showing off their dresses, hats, and jewels. With his legs casually crossed and leaning back in a relaxed manner, he made the worn, creaking chair in the visitors' room of the detention center look as if it were a Corbusier armchair. And probably because he was no longer wearing his massive wristwatch, the gold chain with the diamond on it, and his custom-made designer coat, Fyodor Sokolov, even in his organ-colored prisoner's overalls, radiated something that Nikki had last seen in an old Hollywood movie. In a scene in which Cary Grant had simply walked through a hotel lobby, displaying more suave elegance than any man she had ever seen before.

"How nice of you to be my guest!" Sokolov did not rise from his chair but indicated to Nikki that she should sit opposite him. "I'd like to offer you something to drink, but I'm afraid you didn't arrest my butler with me."

Nikki showed no reaction. "It's not usual for the suspect to summon the detective for questioning. Your defense attorney seems to have used his best contacts." She didn't sit down; she just crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"Detective O'Laighin, I owe you a debt of gratitude! I invited you to show my appreciation."

Nikki almost felt like she was in an absurd dream. The naturalness with which he welcomed her here. The man who, according to his record, had already been in prison four times, although never for very long. Three times as a teenager, always for moderate drug or violent offenses. Later, once again, for assault. He had allegedly beaten the bouncer of a Moscow disco until he was hospitalized because the bouncer had hesitated briefly to allow him in. But the days of juvenile sentences were over; now Sokolov had to fear a murder charge. However, the prospect of life imprisonment seemed to leave him eerily cold. On the contrary, he positively sparkled with charm, even if he added a note of subliminal menace.

"What do you want from me?" Nikki was still standing.

Sokolov smiled as if he was about to read his child a bedtime story. "I discovered that my colleague Boris was planning to double-cross me with your colleague Fisher. Who knows what could have come out of that? But then you came along and interfered in the narcotics investigation. With your frankly entertaining story of a kidnapper who can be in seven places at once. Mr. Hoover has since informed me that the district attorney will not be filing charges against me in this matter."

"I'll find out how you did it. And why!"

Sokolov nodded approvingly. "It's up to you what you waste your time on. It's much more important for me to thank you for your bizarre intervention in Detective Fisher's investigation so that the drug squad now has nothing on me. That was very kind of you; who knows what else could have happened."

How could he be so sure of himself? In the presence of two detectives and a key witness, he had ordered the murder of a man he had previously kidnapped. Sokolov is fucked, and it doesn't help that he hasn't disclosed his distribution channels.

"Is that all?" Nikki tried not to let her anger show.

What was this self-important varnish monkey thinking, having her summoned to this dreary visitor's room and making fun of her as if she were a stupid schoolgirl?

"Don't be in such a bad mood." Sokolov's voice suddenly brightened, sounding almost friendly now. "My lawyer told me about your investigation; he can access the files. This case is quite tricky, and I spent half the night last night thinking about how this kidnapper could have done it."

Nikki took a deep breath and gritted her teeth for a second. "Would you like to tell me what you came to?"

"That's the reason I invited you!" Sokolov straightened up from his almost reclining position. He rose elegantly from his chair, which, despite its deplorable condition, had not managed to rob him of even a tiny part of his aura.

"I don't have all day for you. There are seven boys out there waiting for me to find them."

"I want to help you with that." Now, Sokolov was no longer complaining in any way, arrogantly or sarcastically. "You rescued me from Fisher's trap, so now I want to help you rescue these children. I love children; they shouldn't become victims of some kind of intrigue."

"What are you talking about?" Nikki walked around the table very slowly and with well-placed steps until she stood directly in front of Fyodor Sokolov.

"My father, as you already know, was a great magician. And I like that you came up with me as a suspect. In a way, it honors him as well. Whether I have anything to do with this or not, you'll have to find out for yourself; it's between you and me. But these poor boys have nothing to do with it. Here!" He reached into the right pocket of his jumpsuit and pulled out a small piece of paper, which he handed to Nikki.

"What's this for?" After hesitating, she grabbed the piece of paper and unfolded it. "A cell phone number?"

Sokolov looked around, although no one else was in the room. Then he lowered the volume of his voice so that Nikki had difficulty understanding him, even though she was standing directly opposite him. "If you dial this number, someone will come to you who can help you. Unconventional, but efficient."

Nikki looked at Sokolov as if he had gone completely mad. "What do you think --"

Sokolov widened his eyes and put his index finger over his mouth.

This can't be true! After weeks of investigating in six states, after visiting Ma and Esther Wallace, who probably knows more than she's letting on, this criminal of all people is the first person to offer me his help?

"Detective O'Laighin, you should think about my offer. I made it to you, so it stands."

"I'm doing just fine without organized crime." Nikki crumpled the note in her hand. "Don't think you'll walk out of here any time soon. And even if it was your father - your lawyer isn't much of a magician! At least not big enough to get you out of this murder charge."

She swelled with pride when she threw the wad of paper at Sokolov's chest. He didn't flinch as it bounced off him and fell to the floor.

"You'll take me up on my offer."

"I know you have something to do with this. In whatever way." Nikki turned on her heel and headed for the door.

As she was about to leave, Sokolov called after her: "We'll meet again soon. In here - or out there. Either way, I'm already looking forward to seeing you!"