In the Name of a Killer Read Online Free PDF Page A

man’s translation was completely accurate. Pavin took out a notebook and prepared to write. The American in the sports jacket did the same.
    Danilov outlined the finding of a young woman wearing American-labelled clothes earlier that morning, saying nothing about the shorn head, the buttons or the shoes. ‘Has any American employed here failed to turn up for work this morning?’
    Baxter shrugged. ‘Maybe. Personnel aren’t all rostered at the same time. There are usually people sick.’
    Danilov accepted he was going to have to produce the pictures Pavin had collected before they’d left Petrovka. They were good reproductions but the harsh whiteness of the spotlights had made the snarling face even more grotesque. He took the file from his briefcase. There were six facial photographs, each from different angles. He separated them so that all were displayed before sliding them across the table.
    The American in the sports jacket said: ‘Holy shit!’
    Baxter said: ‘Oh dear God!’ and repeated it, three times.
    The young translator blanched and swallowed several times. It seemed difficult for him to do so. When Danilov asked: ‘Is she attached to the embassy?’ it seemed a long time before anyone responded.
    ‘Ann Harris,’ identified Baxter, dully. ‘Her name is Ann Harris. She is a …’ He stopped, to correct himself. ‘… was a member of our economic section.’ He paused again, then said: ‘Oh my God!’
    So the identification had not proved the protracted difficulty it might have been, Danilov acknowledged. A minimal break-through: he was not encouraged.
    The American named Barry said: ‘What else, apart from the hair? Was she violated in any other way?’
    ‘There was no physical indication at the scene,’ replied Danilov, able to remain strictly truthful. ‘There is an autopsy being performed today.’ I hope, he thought.
    ‘You any idea the heat this is going to bring down?’ demanded the man, talking sideways to Baxter. ‘Her uncle is Walter Burden, for Christ’s sake: chairman of the Ways and Means Committee …! He’s got more power than God. And he doesn’t like Moscow …! Oh holy shit!’
    An American Congressman! Politically it couldn’t be worse, Danilov recognized instantly. He went expectantly to the interpreter. Baxter intercepted the look and said quickly: ‘Don’t translate that!’
    ‘Say something!’ demanded Barry. ‘He’s staring at you: they both are!’
    ‘Say we’re shocked,’ instructed Baxter. ‘Horrified.’
    Danilov waited, forever patient. ‘Ann Harris was unmarried?’
    ‘Why?’ The question came from Barry.
    ‘I need all the information possible.’
    Again Barry spoke only to the other American. ‘I’m going to have to take this over, of course. Washington will insist. No investigation could be left to these guys! They’re amateur night, win a balloon and a lollipop if you get past the first clue.’
    ‘Shut up!’ Baxter’s recovery was difficult. ‘We’ll have this sort of discussion later.’
    Danilov decided he’d let it run long enough. ‘Was Ann Harris a single girl?’ he repeated.
    ‘Yes.’ It was Baxter.
    ‘Any relationships?’
    ‘What does that mean?’ Barry intervened.
    ‘Did she have a boyfriend?’
    ‘Why?’ he persisted.
    ‘I’m investigating the murder of a young girl. I have to know as much as I can about her.’
    The words came from Baxter like heavy footsteps. ‘She was single. An extremely popular girl: highly competent and highly respected, from the ambassador down. She did not have a regular boyfriend: any romantic involvement at all of which I am aware.’
    On this occasion the other American’s statement was direct, intended for translation. ‘This is a maniac: a perverted maniac.’
    ‘It would appear so.’
    ‘I tell you, it’s amateur night!’ came the repeated aside.
    Baxter turned to the man, irritably. ‘And I told you to shut up! You’ll get your chance, soon enough.’
    The contemptuous man