The Boy Who Glowed in the Dark (24 page)

N
ADIA AND
S
IMMY
returned to his car after their meeting with Eva’s orthopedic surgeon. Nadia waited until Simmy was seated beside her before checking her watch. She wanted to make sure he noticed her doing so to reinforce her sense of urgency. In her experience, the super-rich boasted short attention spans and mercurial personalities. They were also risk takers content to push timetables to the limit.

“It’s 11:35,” she said. “Four and a half hours left. And that’s if I want to push it. And I don’t want to push it.”

Simmy’s driver handed him a computer tablet from the front seat. Simmy took the tablet and cast a bemused look at Nadia. “Push it? When did I ever suggest I wanted to push anything with you?”

Nadia blushed.

“When someone tells me something,” Simmy said, “I remember it. I don’t need to hear it twice. And when I give my word I’m going to do something, my word is good. I’m going to have you in Vladivostok on time.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Nadia said. “It’s just that dealing with you is even harder than dealing with the president and prime minister of Russia.”

“This I have to hear.”

“Same idea, fifty percent more complicated.”

“How so?”

“You are oligarch, client, and friend. Three men, two ears. That’s fifty percent more man per ear than the president and prime minister of Russia.”

“Is that true?”

“Certainly. It’s a matter of mathematics. Talking to you is—by definition—fifty percent more complicated.”

“No. Not that. Is it true we’re friends? And I don’t mean by American standards for friendship between a man and a woman.”

“What are the American standards?”

“You get the benefit of my private plane. I get the benefit of your beauty and your insolence.”

“That doesn’t sound like any kind of friendship I’ve ever had.”

“I should hope not. You’re a woman, and you don’t have a private plane. At least not yet.”

“I like the sound of that last part. And yes, we’ve become friends by universal standards.”

“What are those?”

“There are times we would rather be together than apart.”

Simmy chuckled. “Always the analyst. Not exactly heart-melting, but remarkably accurate.”

“Get me to Vladivostok on time and my heart will be yours.” The words escaped Nadia’s lips before she could stop herself.

Simmy’s eyes twinkled. “Has any man ever had more incentive?”

“Always the deal maker. Not exactly real and true, but remarkably sweet.”

Nadia pictured her father telling her it was the formula the Russian wanted. She was merely a distraction. What her father never could have contemplated was that perhaps the rich man was merely a distraction for her, too. The reality was she simply wasn’t sure what Simmy meant to her, beyond being her current salvation and a source of excitement.

He shook his head and studied the computer. “My men found Eva’s death certificate. Cause of death was sepsis. From the infection. They also checked the cemeteries in Korosten. It was the logical place for her uncle to bury her.”

“And?”

“They found her. Same name, dates of birth and death match.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean her body is in that grave,” Nadia said. “If her death was staged. If her uncle was trying to protect her from the Zaroff Seven seeking revenge for the death of one of their own. Even if Bobby killed the woman in self-defense, Eva might have been at risk. Her uncle might have taken drastic measures to compel the Zaroff Seven to forget about her. She might still be alive. The grave might be empty.”

“It might. That’s why we’re going to take a ride and pay our respects.”

“Our respects? To whom?”

“To the man who makes the burial arrangements, the one who oversees the actual burials, and the deceased.”

“You want to dig up the grave?”

“Don’t you?”

“I . . . I guess so. Will they let us?”

“My men have already come to an arrangement with him.”

“An arrangement?”

“Yes. An arrangement.”

Nadia didn’t want to unearth a grave and disturb the dead, but excitement and urgency supplanted her misgivings.

“Is there a birth certificate?” she said.

“I’m sure there is, but they haven’t found it yet. For whatever reason it appears there’s more order in death than in life in Ukraine.”

Nadia examined the death certificate. Her uncle was listed as the surviving relative. Eva had not been married, the injury had not taken place at school or at work, and no autopsy had been performed. And why would there have been an autopsy if Eva had died from an illness? Or if she hadn’t died at all? Nadia scrolled through the pages to find the signature.

The death certificate had been signed by Arkady Shatan.

Eva’s death had been staged. Nadia was sure of it. Such a ruse was the stuff she’d been dealing with ever since a man had been shot in the streets of New York and whispered a cryptic clue in her ear a year ago. Dr. Arkady and Eva’s uncle had wanted the world to believe Eva was dead.

And they’d succeeded.

The driver covered the hundred-mile trip from Kyiv to Korosten in less than two hours. They drove past the city limits to the Old Cemetery. The driver pulled up to a square stone building on cemetery grounds. The second SUV parked beside them. A rectangular wooden shed wobbled beside it. The door to the shed was open. A lawnmower lay on its side. A bald man with a heavily lined face emerged from behind it. Grease stains blackened his hands. Caution shone in his eyes.

One of Simmy’s men introduced himself as the man who’d called him that morning. They had a quick chat in hushed tones. The cemetery man nodded throughout the talk. When they were finished, Simmy’s man slipped him an envelope. The cemetery man opened it to check its contents. Nadia watched him fan through a stack of hryvnia. He nodded again. Through the entire process, the cemetery man remained stoic.

Simmy and Nadia followed the cemetery man inside the building. Two of Simmy’s men trailed behind them.

They entered a bare-bones office with simple wooden furniture. Scratches and stains marred the desk. A thermos, telephone, and calendar rested atop it. The chairs facing him had no cushions and looked equally worn. Binders lined a bookshelf. Dust covered the notebooks.

The cemetery man reached for one of them. It was the only notebook not covered in dust.

“I recognized the name as soon as he called and asked me about her,” the cemetery man said. “Eva Vovk. Name like that. Who could forget? Lot four. Plot two hundred forty-six. I know all the names. One thousand two hundred forty of them. These people are my friends. The gravestones talk to me. They talk to me, you know?”

Nadia traded glances with Simmy.

The cemetery man grinned. “You don’t believe me, do you? Probably think there’s something a little wrong with me.”

“No,” Nadia said. “We all have at least one special skill.”

“That’s right, that’s right,” the cemetery man said. He scrunched his eyes together. “What’s your special talent, honey?”

“A lady never tells. Who delivered the body to you? Was there a funeral home involved?”

The cemetery man cracked the notebook open to an earmarked page. “No funeral home. I can’t remember how the body got here. It just showed up.”

“Was the body in a casket?” Nadia said.

The cemetery man shrugged. “Where else would it have been?”

“But if there was no funeral home involved, where did the casket come from?”

“How would I know? The recently departed arrived in a casket. They all do. It’s none of my concern where the casket came from.”

“But it didn’t come from a funeral home,” Simmy said.

“Is there an echo in here?”

Simmy glared at him.

“No. It didn’t come from a funeral home,” the cemetery man said. “I have it written right here. Received directly from hospital.”

“Hospital?” Nadia said. “What hospital?”

“I don’t know what hospital.”

“Are you sure it was a hospital?” Simmy said.

The cemetery man considered the question. “I guess not. Maybe I just assumed she came from the hospital, given there was no funeral home involved.”

“Was there a burial ceremony?” Nadia said.

“There was a small gathering. I wouldn’t call it a ceremony.”

Nadia said, “How many people?”

“Three.”

“For a man who doesn’t remember everything, you seem pretty sure of that.”

“That’s because of her uncle. The departed’s uncle. I knew who he was as soon as I saw him. Staroslav Vovk. Defenseman on the Soviet National hockey team during the seventies. Became an assistant coach later on. I used to watch all the games. He did not age well. Happened to a lot of Soviet athletes once they faded from the headlines. Most people wouldn’t have recognized him, but I was a real fan. I used to watch all the games, you know.”

“Who else was there?” Nadia said.

“Some city type,” the cemetery man said. “Tall, crazy hair going in every direction, spoke real intelligent. Definitely an educated man.”

Karel, Nadia thought. The botanist she’d met in the Zone a year ago. He’d been friends with Bobby’s father, Damian, and Dr. Arkady. He’d helped Nadia and Bobby escape Ukraine, then died a year later. He’d been a friend of Bobby’s, which meant he’d also known Eva. His attendance was to be expected.

“And?” Simmy said.

“A short old man with a cane. Didn’t say much. He paid the bill.”

“If he paid the bill, you must have his signature somewhere,” Nadia said.

“I have better than that,” the cemetery man said. “I have his name right here as the contact for the burial.”

He showed Nadia the ledger. The contact’s name was Dr. Arkady Shatan. Nadia tilted the ledger so that Simmy could see it. He read the ledger but showed no emotion.

“No priest?” Nadia said.

“No. There was no religious ceremony.”

That didn’t necessarily mean anything, Nadia thought, but it was unusual. Most Ukrainians were Orthodox Christians, and there was a strong contingency of Catholics in Western Ukraine.

“The doctor said a few words,” the cemetery man said. “A few raindrops fell—I remember because no one was shedding any tears so the heavens opened up to show some sympathy for the recently departed—and that was that. They left.”

“Any visitors since then?” Simmy said.

“None. Not a single person.”

“How can you be so sure?” Nadia said.

The cemetery man glared at her as though he were offended. “Because she would have told me.”

“Excuse me?” Simmy said.

“The spirit of the departed. Eva Vovk. She would have told me. The dead, you see, they speak to me.”

“They speak to you,” Simmy said.

“Who else do they have to talk to?”

“I see your point,” Simmy said. He pretended to scratch his forehead, shielded his face, and rolled his eyes at Nadia.

The cemetery man replaced his ledger on the shelf.

Nadia and Simmy went outside.

“I find it hard to trust a man who believes he speaks with the dead,” Simmy said.

“As opposed to the corporate men you deal with every day?” Nadia said. “In Russia, England, and America? The ones who run our corporations, with such sterling ethics?”

“I trust them even less.”

“He was lucid, he remembered details about the burial, and he didn’t hesitate when he answered questions. He sounded reliable to me, up until the bit about talking with the dead. Eva died of an infection. Why no funeral home? Why no visitation hours? She had to know other people. Teachers, people who took care of her growing up. People who would have wanted to pay their final respects.”

“Don’t be so sure. She was a child of Chornobyl. You yourself said they were social outcasts. And maybe the uncle couldn’t afford the funeral home.”

“You may be right about that. Still, no priest strikes me as suspicious, too.”

“Not me. She was an orphan. She was buried by two scientists and a former hockey player and coach. If the latter three weren’t religious, why would they want a priest? Why would they pay for a priest?”

“Always the financial angle,” Nadia said.

“Financial challenges are the reality here. That makes it one of the most important angles. My men arranged for him to raise the casket as soon as he arrived this morning. A quick ride and all will be illuminated.”

They drove deeper into the cemetery. Mounds of dirt surrounded a plot. A closed casket rested beside it. The cemetery man arrived in a dilapidated truck with cracked sea-foam paint and blotches of rust. A young protégé with an obvious affinity for beer climbed out of the truck with him. They worked the latches on the casket.

Simmy took an audible breath beside Nadia. “No offense intended, Nadia. I understand your sense of urgency and the danger of Bobby’s current situation. But I must be honest.”

Nadia raised her eyebrows, unsure of what he intended to say.

“This is more exciting than buying low and selling high.”

Nadia breathed a sigh of relief. She feared he was going to confess the entire business was a giant nuisance. “I suspect that depends on just how low you bought and high you’re selling.”

Simmy cocked his head to the side and nodded. “Yes. I guess you’re right.”