Black Knight in Red Square Read Online Free PDF Page B

began, and the trembling started in her lips. She had probably come here directly from the airport, and the disaster was still new and alien. She had taken on a competent exterior as defense, and while it stood, she was of little help. Rostnikov had been trying to chip away at it, and now the pieces were beginning to fall away. It was, he knew, a cruel and unfair battle, but her defeat and subsequent cooperation were necessary and inevitable.
    â€œI think you must sit,” he said, stepping forward and taking her arm firmly. She wore some Western perfume and smelled quite nice, he thought. Her arm was firm and she started to resist, but Rostnikov was a strong man. With his free hand he pulled over a nearby chair and guided her into it. She looked up at him, surprised by his action and strength.
    â€œIt could have been in the food,” he said, looking down at her. “It could have been simply an accident. It could have been he was murdered but one of the other men was the intended victim. You understand?”
    She nodded, her eyes now wet, but not so wet that she needed a handkerchief.
    â€œFrom you I need to know what your husband was doing here. Who he talked to. Who might want to harm him dead. If you will think and answer and not hate me in place of the person who may be responsible, we can be finished quick. You understand?”
    â€œI understand,” she said.
    â€œGood,” sighed Rostnikov, pulling up a chair for himself so he could get some relief for his leg. “Then we start again.”
    All four bodies had been gone for half an hour when Rostnikov finished questioning Myra Aubrey. The attendants had taken one of the Russians second, Aubrey third, and then the other Russian. Rostnikov had discovered that Warren Harding Aubrey had been named for a U.S. President who was in ill repute in American history. The idea and the name fascinated Rostnikov, but he could find nothing in Mrs. Aubrey’s tale that might indicate a reason for her husband’s death.
    â€œI’d like to have my husband’s things,” she said when Rostnikov finished questioning her. “He didn’t have much with him.”
    â€œWhen we have looked through them, I will suggest that they be returned to you,” he said. “You will be staying here?”
    â€œIntourist has me at the Rossyia,” she said, not looking at the table where her husband’s body had been. “I don’t…”
    Rostnikov touched her shoulder. She didn’t shrug his hand away.
    â€œYou are strong,” he said. “Call upon that strength while we discover what has here taken place.”
    The line had come from some American novel he had read years before. He had always wanted to use it, but now that the time had come it felt awkward. Above all, he did not want this woman to laugh at him.
    â€œThe Rossyia is a marvelous hotel,” he said.
    â€œIt is a massive joke,” she replied. “My God, I can’t believe I’ll never talk to him again. It’s like seeing a movie and having the film tear.”
    The analogy made no sense at all to Rostnikov but he nodded knowingly nonetheless.
    Miraculously, perfectly, the Intourist woman Olga Kuznetsov reappeared and guided Mrs. Aubrey out the door. She had recovered her composure and turned to remind Rostnikov that she wanted her husband’s things. He repeated that he would do his best to get them for her. Then she was gone.
    A search of the rooms of the four dead men revealed little. The Japanese had more than a dozen rolls of exposed film in one of his suitcases. He also had a number of pamphlets in Japanese with what appeared to be stills from movies that bordered on the pornographic. Rostnikov wondered if there was a market in Russia for such films. Where would they be shown? Among private collectors?
    Investigation of the rooms of the two Russians revealed that one of the men had a small supply of English pounds hidden in his