“I am Colonel Alena Stanika, and I am in charge of this investigation. Any questions you have will be directed through me,” the woman said.
“No problem,” Leonid replied insolently. “You got a cause yet?”
“What’s your interest here? Who are you?” Stanika asked.
“We’re from Private Moscow, the investigation agency. We think one of our clients might have been inside,” Dinara replied.
“This is Leonid Boykov,” Rudin told Stanika. “He used to be with MUR.”
“I’ve heard of you,” Stanika said with a frown. “And of Private. You must be Dinara Orlova. Who was your client?”
“Piotr Rykov,” Leonid replied.
He was a very good liar and if Dinara hadn’t known better, she would have believed they really had such a client.
“We don’t have that name on the reservation system,” Stanika replied.
“He could have been a walk-in or a guest,” Leonid observed. “So, do you have a cause?”
“No,” Stanika replied. “Could have been a gas explosion.”
“The pattern is wrong,” Dinara said. “Looks like a high-
explosive blast.” She indicated the marker flags. “Debris is scattered too far for gas.”
“Really?” Stanika remarked. “And are you a forensic expert? Or an explosive specialist?”
“Just a concerned citizen trying to help,” Dinara replied dryly.
Stanika eyed them both. “I know what you are, Colonel Dinara Orlova, formerly of the FSB’s Counterterrorism Division.”
“Then maybe you should listen to her,” Leonid jibed.
“If you’ll excuse us, we have an investigation to attend to,” Stanika said as she walked away.
“That’s the Boykov I know. Always winning new friends. Good to see you,” Rudin added without a shred of sincerity before following his superior.
“What do you think?” Leonid asked as he and Dinara watched the police commanders walk away.
“They don’t know anything,” she replied. “Which means we can’t learn anything useful from their investigation. At least not yet.”
“So we’re on our own?”
“Looks like it,” Dinara said. “Let’s see what we can find out about Yana Petrova.”
She stepped away from the warmth of the bright lights, and Leonid followed her into the frozen night.
CHAPTER 20
IT WAS MID-AFTERNOON by the time we arrived at the Leonard branch of the Brooklyn Public Library. The drive from Long Island had been treacherous; for a city that was regularly hit by snow, New York was home to far too many people who didn’t know how to handle the conditions. Drivers without snow chains or winter tires, driving too fast, making no allowances for the poor visibility caused by the falling snow. It wasn’t quite a whiteout, but it was close, and we saw at least a dozen minor collisions and one major accident on our way to Brooklyn.
Mo-bot had spent the journey going through the library book I’d been sent, looking for markings or codes, but the well-thumbed copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland yielded nothing.
The library was a single-story redbrick building located on the corner of Leonard and Devoe in Williamsburg. It looked like an oversized water-pumping station, but there was beauty in its functional symmetry, and a sign by the door informed us of its historic landmark status. Inside, the large open-plan space was warm and peaceful. I could see half a dozen people browsing the shelves which lined the exterior walls. Others were sitting by desks or low tables, reading. The librarian was a young African American woman who was sorting books at a crescent-shaped service counter.
“Can I help?” she asked as Mo-bot and I approached.
“My name is Jack Morgan,” I replied. “I’m a private investigator.” I showed her my credentials. “We’re looking for information on the man who borrowed this book.”