Flame Out (27 page)

“And then my son,” Jake said. “My boy, who wanted nothing more than to live a life of honor, giving his life for his fellow soldiers, his country. You tried to make him kill Luisa. For what reason?” The judge opened and closed his mouth, but no words came out. “Don't tell me it was to get justice for your family, for Bernie. You
would have killed her and left our brother to rot in prison for the rest of his life.”

Jake's hand began to shake, an old man's quaver, the muscles worn. “You tried to get my son to do something dishonorable, and he couldn't do it. I wouldn't let him do it. And when you began to think that he might tell the truth to the police, you shot him. You shot my boy.”

Dave raised his gun, pressing it to Jake's neck. “Drop the gun, Jake.”

“You have no idea what you're doing.” Jake craned his neck, trying to look at Dave, who forced the barrel of the gun harder into Jake's jaw. “You stupid child.”

As Jake twisted around, Hale's hand shot out as quickly as a snake's tongue and grabbed the gun. He opened the barrel, let the cartridges fall to the floor, and then threw the shotgun over the porch onto the lawn. “Stupid child,” Lucas said as he pushed the screen door open. “Is that what you thought of me, Jake, when you killed my mother to keep her quiet? Stupid child?”

I holstered my gun and confronted Lucas, chest to chest. He had showered and changed clothes, and his fine hair dripped water onto the collar of his green flannel shirt. He shoved me hard, unaware of me except as an object that stood between him and the person he thought had killed his mother, until I shoved him back.

“That monster,” Lucas said, “deserves to die.”

I watched as Hale slid around Dave, a head tilt letting me know he was going to subdue Lucas.

“Lucas, let me do this,” Dave said, pressing the gun into Jake's side. “I'll make sure Mom's killer gets what's coming to him.”

“David,” Natalya talked over me, her voice calm. “David,
ne vbyty yoho
.”

“What do you mean I don't need to kill my mother's murderer?” Dave's hands shook. “
Teta
, I thought you, more than anyone, would understand.”

“Dave,” I said gently, “listen to your aunt. This isn't justice. This
is revenge. Let me arrest your mother's killer, send him to prison.” I glanced over at the judge to see if he responded, but he sat silent and open-mouthed. “I'll make sure your mother's killer dies there.”

Dave dropped his weapon, handing it to me grip first, and took a deep hitching breath, half sigh and half sob. “You're right. I don't need to do this.”

“No,” Natalya said, looking across the table to her lunch companion. “You do not need to kill your mother's killer. I already did.”

A
KNIFE DROPPED OUT OF THE JUDGE'S HAND AND ONTO THE
floor, clattering across the tile.

“Hemlock,” she said. “I stop planting whole field of fruits and vegetables, and my landfills with hemlock.” She waved to the open field. “Crop of poison.”

Jake's eyes widened. “He's shaking. Is he in pain?”

“Some, I believe. I hope.” She smiled. “Do not feign sorrow, Jacob, unless you grieve because I killed him first.”

Maxim Medved slumped, his breath shallow, his fingertips blue. As Hale spoke quickly into his phone requesting an ambulance, I went to the dying man, grabbing his shoulders, trying to lower him gently to the ground. He smelled of Old Spice cologne and the faintest hint of gunpowder, and I found myself pinned under his bulk as his useless legs folded. Jake grabbed his brother's shoulders and together we laid him on his back, his feet elevated on his folded trench coat, trying to make sure any oxygen Maxim took in got to his brain.

His brother crouched next to him, slapping Maxim's cheeks to get the blood flowing, soft and then hard. The imprints of Jake's fingers on the judge's face didn't disappear, however, and his skin
remained white. His circulatory system was shutting down. I reached across and stilled Jake's hands.

“What form did you use, Natalya?” I demanded. “For the hemlock?”

She pointed to the asparagus spears. “Green leaves? You see?”

“The stuff that looks like parsley?” Hale asked.

“Looks like, but is not,” Natalya said. “Fronds from hemlock. Also, shredded root is in cabbage salad, and the lamb, it also has hemlock.”

“He couldn't taste it?” Dave asked. “You always said growing up that we should never eat the plants that looked like wild carrots if they were bitter.”

“But it takes single frond, barely anything, to kill. And Maxim had appetites. He was greedy, even as a child. Sour apples picked from tree or chocolate bars from American soldiers, he could never get enough.” She looked as if she wanted to spit on him. “Food, power, women . . . never enough.”

“Aunt Natalya,” Dave's voice broke. “Judge Medved couldn't have children. It had to have been Jake, and when Mom tried to blackmail him, he—”

“Jake's violence, it was not in his nature. Maxim nurtured it, directing Jake which men to beat—Maxim was head and Jake was fist. And Jake took punishment. He went to prison—”

“You are proving my point, Aunt Natalya,” Dave said. “Jake was capable of—”

Natalya held up her hand. “Jake was in prison during the time that Lucas was conceived. Maxim was not. Because of mumps, Maxim's wife Sonya was unable to have children. Maxim, he could. There were stories . . .” she moved closer to where I sat next to Maxim, her orthopedic shoe inches from Maxim's ear and pointed down at him with two twisted fingers, “of his proclivities.”

I looked up at Natalya. “Proclivities?”

“Young women, they said, little more than children. A girl from
Odessa, who killed herself in shame when she discovered she was pregnant. A woman who worked at his brother Bernard's factory who had a child out of wedlock, mother and child moving to Utica, and with her stories she told of Maxim's perversions. Vera. These women . . . these girls . . . were called liars, even by me.” She stared down at Maxim like a god at the day of reckoning. “Maxim, he said he owed me his life because I helped him escape Nazis. I decided he should pay.”

“But why not bring him to the police?” Dave said. “Things aren't the same here,
teta
. We would have made sure justice was served.”

“No, you would not!” Natalya shouted, coughing at the last words and limping toward the rail of the porch, again an old woman. “This morning you said you could not, David. You said I ruined all hope of getting justice for Vera. You said I hid purse for too long and if police had found note in 1983 instead of now . . .” Her hands shook as she gripped the porch rail. “But I did not know of note, and Taras . . . even when Vera was pregnant, he said Lucas was his, and I knew no different. He treated Lucas like they shared blood. He would have put down his life for both of you.” Dave nodded along with his aunt, but Lucas only stared down at the Judge, hand clenching and unclenching.

“That day,” Natalya said, “when Luisa and I found purse in Bernard's house . . . and I saw all that blood, I knew Vera had died there, and I thought it was at Bernard's hand and he must be brought low. But I punished an innocent man, wronging him in worst way, robbing him of life. I sent Luisa into exile and condemned you boys and your father to a life of yearning always for a dead woman.” Her hands shook as she gripped the porch. “I had to make it right.”

“By killing him?” Dave yelled. “
Teta
, you are not a murderer!”

“David, Stalin and Nazis stripped away our humanity, rotting our best parts with starvation, murder. Maxim, Jacob, me—” Natalya said.

“You aren't like them,” Lucas said. “You fed the hungry, you protected the weak.”

“I should have let Red Army capture Maxim, let him die in unmarked grave, like millions before him.” Natalya dragged herself back to her chair. “Like Vera, in barrel of basement. Alone. Unmourned.”

Shadows spread across the lawn as the last light faded and in the distance I heard approaching sirens. Dave brushed his shoulder against his brother, but Lucas pushed away, his eyes darting from his aunt to his brother to Maxim, helpless on the ground.

“Anything to say, my boys?” Natalya was panting. “To me or to him. He looks gone, but he can hear you.”

“When you told me to build that wall,” Lucas said, his voice expressionless, “was it some sort of joke to you? Having me bury my mother?”

“He can't answer, Lucas,” I said. “You are never going to know.”

“No. I was talking to Jake. Did you have me brick her in?”

Jake knelt, resting his hand on the seat of the chair his brother had been in, and slowly stood, facing Lucas.

“My brother didn't tell me Vera was in one of those barrels—I didn't even know she was dead until they found her after the fire. It seems that for once, my brother did his own dirty work. But I wouldn't have stopped him. I never did, not even when he asked my son to commit murder.” Lucas pulled his fist back, but Dave grabbed Lucas's hand, pulling his brother away. Jake didn't notice.

“Has there been word on my boy?” Jake asked Hale, who guided him to the far end of the porch.

Sirens whined to a halt in front of the house, and I heard the clatter of paramedic equipment out front.

“There's not much time now, my boys,” Natalya said, reaching out her hand. Dave let himself be pulled close, but Lucas stayed still and watchful.

“Anything to say, Lucas?” Natalya said. “The old man will soon be beyond our reach.”

“Hi, Dad,” Lucas said conversationally. He bared his teeth like an
animal, a mockery of a smile, and I moved closer to him, ready for what I didn't know. Natalya had already done enough damage.

“You thought it was worth it to deny me.” Lucas knelt, and I dropped beside him. “To deny who I was . . .” He took both hands and covered Medved's mouth and nose and pressed down. “To take my mother.”

I tried to grab Lucas under his arms, but he clenched them to his sides, and I was peeling his fingers away one by one when Dave reached around and grabbed Lucas in a bear hug, pulling him free as he thrashed wildly.

“Lucas. Lucas,” Dave said. “Please don't do this. Please don't. You're the only family I have left. If you kill a dying man . . .”

The emergency responders pulled the gurney up the steps, and Dave dragged his brother free.

“Do you have your mouth guard?” I asked the first paramedic. “It's hemlock, and even a blade—”

“We always have our mouth guards,” he said. “Now give us room.”

They strapped Judge Medved to the gurney and asked Hale to force air into the judge's lungs in steady intervals, manually pumping oxygen until they could get him on the ventilator. The metal wheels clattered against the brick steps as the group crashing down to the grass, covering the sound of Natalya's gentle fall.

“
Teta
,” Dave said, his voice hoarse.

“The judge would not eat unless I joined him in meal,” she said. “We always shared food.” Crumpled on the ground, she looked scared. “I had to make it right.”

W
E MADE A DEAL: JAKE COULD STAY AT THE HOSPITAL UNTIL
Brian woke up, but he had to tell Hale and me everything that happened to Luisa. Unfortunately, he was lying.

“My brother promised my son the bar if I killed Luisa.”

The waiting room was packed with people hoping Brian and Natalya would live. Hale and I were the only people who were pulling for the judge to survive because we wanted to question him, although maybe Dave had his fingers crossed: He wanted to keep Natalya out of jail.

Hale, Jake, and I were camped in an empty patient room, propped up on a pair of beds. Could I leave a tip for housekeeping in the hospital? I felt guilty for messing up the sharp hospital corners, but I was too tired to stay standing.

“And you agreed,” I said to Jake, “to cross state lines to conduct kidnapping and murder—”

“A federal offense,” Hale added.

“Over a bar?”

“Sure,” Jake said.

“That's not what you said earlier today.” I stood up and started
pacing. After Kevin's illness, the smell of hospital rooms left me ready to crawl out of my skin. In addition to calming me, I got to throw Jake off balance. He couldn't act nonchalant when he had to crane his neck to see me. “At Natalya's you said your brother coerced your son into committing the crime.”

“You must have misheard. Maxim asked Brian to do it, and my son refused.”

“And you agreed?” I asked. “Aren't you past your head-busting days?”

Jake flexed his arm, although I saw no visible difference in muscle tone. “I can still throw a case of beer around and Luisa didn't weigh much more than that. I knew I could do the job.”

Hale raised one eyebrow at Jake. “But why?”

“When Brian came home from Afghanistan, all . . . broken,” Jake clenched his fists, “I made a deal with the devil: I'd sign over the bar to Maxim, and he'd give me the property and cash for a house.” Jake's eyes darted to the side, and I was beginning to think Jake had a reverse tell: He only made eye contact when he was lying. “My boy was not going to get better trapped on the second floor of a bar.”

“So if the deal gave you what you wanted,” I asked, “why'd you try to reverse the terms?”

“Brian needed a future. And that would only happen if he owned the bar.”

“I don't understand what your brother got out of the deal,” Hale said. “If he'd kept his mouth shut . . .”

“He was running scared. I was the first to spot her—just a flash across the screen. Didn't think anything of it at first, and showed it to Maxim as a laugh.” He shook his head. “Seeing her . . . he turned to stone.”

“Afraid of a new investigation?”

“I didn't think of that at the time, but now . . . yeah, he was worried. When he asked me to go, I signed right up because that bitch? She deserved to die. I was always the one that took care of people who stepped out of line.”

“So walk me through it. Tell me the story of what happened in New Mexico.”

Jake took a deep breath. “I lined up a fake ID, the van, the works, stuff I'd need to kill her and hide the body. But for the first time in my life, I panicked. I grabbed her, threw her in the back and drove back across country. But then I had second thoughts.”

“About killing her?” Hale asked.

“About letting her live. I'd had to listen to her pissing and moaning across 2000 miles, and no way would Maxim trade for the bar if she was alive. So when I got back, I took her and the van over to Sleep-Tite and torched the whole thing.”

“But killing Luisa wouldn't help Bernie get out of jail,” I said.

“It would if I let the cops know who she was.” He jutted out his chin. “And you would have received a call from the Albany Bus Station the day after she died.”

“It's interesting,” I said, “Because if I were going to arrange a hit on someone, I'd probably ask a person who'd been trained to kill. Like Brian.”

Jake smiled meanly. “That's where you're wrong. The army didn't spend a whole lot of time on turning him into some kind of weapon. Him? He's such an honorable kid, they spent time training him to save lives.” Jake smiled to himself. “He defused bombs and . . . he still gets letters. Men who wouldn't be around if it wasn't for him.”

“Something I've made note of,” Hale said, “You haven't once asked if your brother is alive or dead.”

“Because I figure it might hurt my case if I talk about how much I hope he rots in hell. I never got away from my brother, and Brian was going to stay free and clear of him.”

Chief Donnelly pushed open the door, and Jake jumped up. “Brian?”

“Your son is out of surgery,” Donnelly said. “The doctor says—”

Jake sidestepped me, stopping only when the chief threw his arm across the doorway and grabbed the frame, blocking Jake's way.

“No visitors while he's in recovery,” Donnelly said. “But Jake, your son, he has a good prognosis. They got the whole bullet, and he kept both his spleen and his kidney.” He looked from me to Hale to Jake. “How's it going in here?”

“We made a deal he could stay until Brian woke up, but Jake isn't keeping up his end of the bargain.”

“Mr. Medved here,” Hale said, “is being less than honest.”

Jake took offense. “Donnelly, couldn't it be you and me? You know I'd be straight.”

“You know I can't do that, Medved. Look, you've had enough experience with this—you make a deal, even just over a handshake, and you have to live up to your side of things.” Donnelly guided Jake back to the bed. “You're a man of your word, aren't you?”

Jake was not. He spent another fifteen minutes throwing out lie after lie. Finally, I gave up, reaching over and handcuffing Jake to the bed. “We'll let you stay here until we find out for sure how your son is. Then you'll be transported to jail.” I turned to Hale. “I have some questions for the Lawlers and Dave, if he's up to it. Can you watch him?”

“Absolutely,” Hale said, grabbing a pillow and lying down. “And since talking to Jake is going to just be a waste of time, I'm going to use my time wisely and nap.”

The news about Brian had lifted the mood in the waiting room. When I'd left, Dave and Lucas had been on one side of the room, and the Medveds and the Lawlers had been on the other. Now the groups had mixed. I found Bernie, Dan, and Deirdre telling stories about Vera to Lucas. They didn't even notice me when I slipped inside and grabbed a chair in the corner.

“I was a little thing,” Deirdre said. “And quiet as a mouse.”

Dan laughed.

“Shut up,” Deirdre said, but her husband's laughter lit her up.
“You know I was. With all the troubles at home and Bernie in high school, I made an easy target for bullies. They would corner me on the bus, so I'd walk, cutting through backyards to avoid the worst. They still caught me. One day Vera arrived when I was getting the crap kicked out of me—”

“Dee! I'm shocked!” Bernie said in mock horror. I watched as he gauged Lucas's response, upping his gestures to make Lucas smile. “Such language.”

“Shut up, Bern,” Deirdre said. “Anyway, Vera threw rocks at them until they ran away. Then she taught me a great trick. When the bullies are on your tail, and are about to catch you, turn around, stick your arm out straight, form a fist, and let the assholes run smack into you.”

“A passive fistfight?” Lucas's lip quirked up.

Deirdre pointed at Bernie. “He's the Zen master, not me. But here's the thing, after I punched one guy in the nose, word got out, and no one messed with me again. I tried to thank your mother, but she wouldn't have it. Just told me to keep up the good fight.”

Dave gave me a brief wave as he walked in, before going to Lucas and resting his hand on his brother's shoulder. “Who said that?”

“Mom.” Lucas stood. “How's Natalya?”

“It's hard to say,” Dave said. “She didn't get dosed the same way the judge did, but . . . she needs the ventilator.”

“Can I go in now?” Lucas asked.

“Sure thing,” Dave said. “But a warning. There are wires and tubes everywhere. If you were expecting the same bossy
teta
, you are not going to get it.” He shoved both hands in his pockets. “She's weak.”

Lucas touched Dave's shoulder on his way out the door.

“I should go visit the patient, too,” Bernie said, standing.

“Brian's not . . . oh. You mean Maxim,” Deirdre said.

“He's still our brother, Dee.”

“He wasn't acting too brotherly when he set you up to go to
prison,” Deirdre said. She stood, gathering her jacket and gesturing for her husband to follow.

Bernie shrugged. “I barely said hello to him. I should at least say good-bye.”

“Say good-bye for me, too,” she said. “I won't be making a visit.” She walked up to Bernie, placing one hand on his cheek while kissing the other. “You were really the best of all of us.”

“IS IT WRONG THAT I FEEL HAPPY?” DAVE ASKED ONCE WE WERE
alone. “Lucas is a basket case, and Aunt Natalya might not make it. If she does, she's probably going to jail. But I feel at peace. For the first time in a long time. Maybe the first time in my life.”

There was a low hum of activity in the hallway—a doctor being paged by the oncology department, the wheels of a gurney bouncing off the wall, a cry silenced. Normally I wouldn't have brought Natalya's crimes up at a time like this, but he had mentioned it first. “You know, prison is a very real possibility for your aunt.”

“She wouldn't have it any other way,” he said. “Not that we don't already have Deirdre on retainer. Natalya's sense of responsibility, well she is also going to want to face the firing squad.” He looked down at his hands, twisted together in his lap. “Me, too. I did some not-so-great stuff. I hope I don't lose my job, Lyons. My dad and Natalya did right by me, but the best part of myself? Comes from the work we do.” His chin softened, and I thought he might cry. Instead he winked. “Plus Annie needs someone to yell at.”

I ignored his joke. “I hope you get to keep your job, too. But as your friend? Please, please go talk to someone. Get some help.” He laughed, but I kept my face serious. “I mean it, Dave.”

There were whispers from the corridor. I turned around to find Theo being pushed backward through the door by Nate.

“Just talk to him,” Nate said, stepping left and then right to prevent his brother from leaving the room. “You don't have to be best friends.”

Theo tripped back and Nate grabbed his arm, steadying him. Theo turned around, looking past us, his eyes scanning the room. Finally, he spoke.

“Is my father here?”

THE NEXT TWO WEEKS SWUNG BETWEEN NO MOVEMENT AND
rapid progress on the cases. Brian Medved looked like he'd make a full recovery, at least physically. He awoke, calling for his father, but went silent after hearing that Jake was in jail for the kidnapping of Luisa. The Judge remained unconscious. His brain waves read active but his blood oxygen remained low. The doctors couldn't figure out if he was in a coma, or just pretending to be unconscious, their pokes and prods met with absolute stillness.

Natalya was a different story. Her brain waves and heartbeat remained weak, and the ventilator periodically stopped, as if she was holding her breath.

“The doctor's said she's got a 50 percent shot,” I said.

“My aunt is making up her mind, trying to figure out whether she wants to live,” Dave said. “You, me, the doctors—none of us will get a vote if she decides she's done.”

And then there was Oksana. Despite running DMV, Social Security, and tax record searches on the missing woman, it seemed as if Oksana had disappeared off the face of the earth in 1986. We even checked with the Association of Legal Secretaries, but there wasn't a single Oksana on their list. I was ready to take a crack at Jake, currently out on bail, when I arrived at my desk to find a pink slip with Lorraine's perfect Palmer penmanship.

“Tomas Wolschowicz was here. All day.” The words “all day” were underlined three times. I tried his number, but he didn't answer, and I promised myself to call him in the morning.

When I showed up at work the next day at 7:30, Tomas was waiting for me, sitting on a bench in the reception area, quiet and very, very sober.

“My sister,” he said. “Do you have word on the DNA?”

“Let me make a call,” I said. He sat in the chair next to my desk, hands folded, waiting as I dialed Hale's number.

“What can I do for you this fine morning?” Hale said, alarmingly chipper.

“Agent Bascom, I'm looking to see if the DNA results came in.”

“From the basement wall?” Hale asked. “Didn't we get positive ID that it was Vera's?”

“No, not the basement. I'm sitting here with Tomas Wolschowicz and am looking for results from,” Tomas sat straighter, listening in, and I kept my question vague. Asking about the blood in the tub and drain at Bernie's house seemed like a cruel thing to do in front of him. “Do we have the results from the other location?”

“Oh, of course,” Hale said. “Let me call the labs.”

I hung up, explaining that we hoped to have an answer soon.

“I can wait,” he said. I offered him coffee, but he declined, and as I typed up reports, he sat quietly.

I got up to retrieve my first document from the printer. Tomas was looking at the far wall, where “missing” posters were tacked up, sometimes overlapping.

“Would Oksana have had one of those?”

“Oksana did. Jake reported her missing three years after she disappeared, and it's standard to create one.”

Tomas was now standing. “Is Oksana's poster over there now?”

I looked over the wall of smiling faces, mostly teenagers. “Usually those are just the current cases, but give me a second.” I opened up my computer, clicking through until I arrived at the National Missing and Unidentified Persons Systems. I typed in her name, and her face popped up. It was hard to see any resemblance between Tomas and his sister other than their blue eyes, hers bright and alert, his hidden under heavy lids.