Chapter 8
Everything hurt. Because of course it did. I looked at myself in the full-length mirror, the only item I liked in that squalid apartment. With a bit of makeup and a long sleeves hoodie no one could tell that I had been tortured for two hours.
"One does not simply walk into Bratva."
I tried to sound like Sean Bean to cheer myself up, and I burst into laughter at the end. That was the result of growing up with internet memes and Lord of the Rings movies instead of Tolkien's books.
I centered myself and began my Tai Chi practice. Pain seared through me even worse. I had a fight scheduled in a few hours and I wished I knew what was broken, crushed, ruptured, or strained. I was fairly sure I didn't have any internal injuries, but I needed a medical opinion, and I wouldn't be caught dead at one of the doctors they used for the girls. Well, I would be caught dead if I went to one of the butchers who patched up hookers and fighters to earn enough money to maintain their coke habit after losing their license to practice medicine.
I couldn't reach out to my handler. They had to still suspect me even after what happened when they had tortured us. Us. I couldn't think of Tatiana at that moment. I had packed up all her stuff and shoved it into a few garbage bags I was going to throw away after the fight that night. I couldn't stand being reminded of her and what she had done to save me. What was done was done and I had to think of myself and find a way to make it another night without blowing my cover.
"You got shot because you didn't want to blow your cover?"
The memory of Nick's voice was not welcome. Anything that had to do with him made me lose by focus.
"I'll wait for you."
Those words had the most chance to break me. They helped me hold on while they were hurting me. The memory of his voice made me want to live even when pain was so intense I was tempted to think that death was the easy choice. I took a couple of pills to dull the pain. They didn't do drug tests where I fought, but I was still a cop and I didn't bend the rules if I didn't have to. Tatiana's stash of painkillers and mood altering pills were the first things I flushed down the toilet when I came back. She wasn't going to need them where she was. She wasn't going to need anything where she was.
A loud knock on the door was followed by the muffled shout of a female voice.
"NYPD, open up!"
Great! The freaking cops were already here. A few thoughts zipped through my head with lightning speed. They were going to be suspicious when they found her clothes in garbage bags. Maybe it wasn't about Tatiana's murder. How stupid could the Bratva be to let her body be found so soon? No, actually they would display her body. She had to be seen as an example of anyone who dared to spy on them.
"Be right there," I shouted back and grabbed a hoodie to cover the signs of torture on my own body.
I was pulling it over my head when I heard the door being broken and the female voice warning me.
"Police! Don't move!"
"What the fuck, lady, let me get dressed!"
Only my midsection was bared and there were no cut marks there. The bruises were easily explainable in my line of work.
"Slowly," she said.
When she wasn't shouting, the voice was all too familiar. Katherine Robinson. That meant that there was someone else in the room. I took an inordinately long time to pull the hoodie all the way down. I kept my eyes closed for a second even after my head was out. A different kind of torture awaited me when I opened them. But I couldn't afford to linger and risk them saying something indiscreet. The room probably wasn't bugged, but the neighbors had keen ears and busy mouths. I hadn't survived torture only to blow my cover in my own home.
"Why did you bust my door for?"
I asked looking at Robinson and Woods. The shock on their faces was just as clear as the recognition. She opened her mouth but Woods spoke first.
"I am detective Woods, this is detective Robinson. This is the residence of Tatiana Urmanova?"
"Yeah. But she's not here," I said.
"We know. She has been found dead."
I took advantage of the news to sit down hard on a chair. My legs were shaking from pain, lack of sleep and seeing him.
"Who are you?"
"Joanna Blanchard. I'm her flat mate."
"Does she sleep here?" Woods asked, pointing at the unmade pull out couch.
"No, this is my room."
"Where is hers?"
Before I could answer he went to the only other door in the room.
"Don't you need a warrant or something?" I asked behind him
"Not to look through a victim's residence, no," Katherine said and followed him.
I tried to think of my next move while they rummaged through Tatiana's room. How dangerous would it be if I let them take me downtown for questioning? Would Fadeyev believe that I betrayed them and have me killed to make sure I didn't speak? In this world, being question by the police was a common occurrence. Most of the Bratva higher ups were well known by the OCD but there was no evidence against them. That was why I was there. After all the blood I spilled for them and the money they made off me in fights, I probably was in a good enough position to gamble my safety for a trip downtown. I really needed someone to look at my wounds.
They came back from her room, with the black plastic bags in their glove covered hands.
"Are these her things?" he asked
I nodded.
"Why are they in garbage bags?"
"She said she found a better place and she was moving out. She didn't even sleep here last night."
"Did she put them in garbage bags?" Woods asked
He reached inside the one he was holding and took out a cornflower blue top. She loved wearing that top when we went out. Its color matched her eyes and made her blonde hair look even more beautiful. I shrugged, a fraction of a second after my jaw clenched. I could lie better than that, but the memory of her death was too fresh and his presence was pushing me off balance even worse.
"You put them," he said. "Because you knew she wasn't coming back."
"How would I know that?" I asked.
"That is a very good question. Let's talk about this at the station."
I shook my head in disgust, but I stood up to follow them. My head spun for a second. I got it under control and rolled back my shoulders, as if I was about to step into the ring. We walked in silence to their car. Katherine's hand was hovering behind my back, as if she wanted to guide me or to stop me from bolting.
I didn't speak until we were safely out of the neighborhood. The problem wasn't actually speaking, the difficult part was to maintain body language. When I felt safe, I let myself on one side, and curled as best I could in a fetal position on the backseat.
"Can you take me to Doctor Bachman without anyone noticing? I don't want anyone to know I'm hurt."
"You're hurt?" Katherine exclaimed. "We'll take you to a hospital."
"Did you not hear the part about not wanting anyone to know?" I almost yelled at her. "If you can't, then fine, let's go directly to interrogation."
I sat up as I said this, already back in full pain masking mode. They were not going to ruin my cover at the very end.
"We can take you to him," Woods said.
Katherine gave him a look that said she disagreed. He answered with a look of his own. She seemed to relent. I witnessed their unspoken conversation with a twinge of jealousy. It must be nice to have someone you can talk to without actually talking.
"How the hell did you guys get a case in this area?" I asked
"The body was found displayed in front of our station."
"Fuck," I said. "Bastards!"
"Who killed her?" Nick asked.
"A couple of thugs. Low level Bratva muscle. Viktor and Ilya. You won't find any biological from them."
"What will we find?" he asked.
"Some of mine. How did you identify her?"
"There was a tattoo on her back."
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to prevent the image of the markings on her skin, and the blood pouring over it.
They took me to the coroner's office, and Doctor Bachman patched me up without any comments. I pulled the hoodie tight around my face when they took me to the interrogation room. So many people in that building knew me. I had to count on the fact that they knew the apple cheeked California girl with blonde hair and perky boobs. Sometimes even I didn't recognize myself in the mirror.
It was so strange to be on the other side of the table from Nick, to witness his interrogation technique live, after watching so many hours of footage. He asked me about Tatiana, and I said as little as possible. I played for time asking for water, pretending I didn't remember details, asking them to repeat the questions. At some point, Nick and Katherine walked out and I could imagine them talking to Captain Jackson on the other side of the mirror. They wouldn't risk jeopardizing my cover by reaching out to OCD. At least I hoped they didn't.
The bastard had left the photos of Tatiana's corps on the table. I reached out with a trembling hand and flipped them over. The memory of her mangled body was too fresh anyway.
They came back in, but they didn't get the chance to ask anything else. The door to the interrogation room opened and an uniformed officer led in a man in an expensive suit.
"Cease and desist, detectives. I am Arkady Dimitrievich, Ms. Blanchard's lawyer. I want to talk to my client in private."
When they left, my lawyer looked at me.
"What did you tell them?"
"That I didn't know anything. Tatiana mentioned she wanted to move out. I didn't hear her come home last night."
"I'll get you out," he said.
"Who sent you? I don't think I can afford to pay you."
He looked at me with the pity one reserved for stupid people.
"The matter is settled by a mutual friend."
"None of my friends has someone like you on speed dial."
"Let's put it this way: you better win tonight."