Page 93 of Her Darkest Possession

I lower the phone and turn to Roma, who's already reaching for his own device.

"Ivan Yumatov," I say. "Does that name mean anything to you?"

"It does," he repeats, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "That's the name used by Volkovs fixers. Any time they need a man to take care of their dirtier problems, they'll use that name. Has been that way for at least a decade."

"Can you find which man it is?" I repeat, the word feeling heavy.

"It'll take some time, that's for sure," Roma explains, already pulling out his phone. "But we have a start. Vasya can go crack a few heads, and peel a confession out of those who aren't willing to talk."

Then, Roma looks at me with something that resembles admiration in his eyes.

"That was some damn fine quick thinking on your end, Indigo Malcolmovna," he says.

I can't help but smile a little at that, thinking of all the people who've dismissed me over the years. Ryan, Grant, Valentina, and Lola.

"Call Anatoly's lawyer," I tell him. "Pass the word."

Roma chuckles softly as he dials a new number.

"Kaufman?" he speaks up as soon as the call connects. "Tell my brother that an Ivan Yumatov visited Ryan Bennet at the hospital. Have the cops request security camera footage. Threaten them with lawsuits if you have to. Did you get the information I sent you?"

Roma's face falls and he asks. "What do you mean it never came?"

I move closer, watching his expression darken as he listens to whatever Kaufman is saying on the other end of the line. I can't make out the words, but Roma's reaction tells me everything I need to know. Something's gone wrong.

"Chert voz'mi," Roma swears, running his hand through his hair as he taps on the keyboard. "Internet connection’s fucked. Not getting any kind of traffic. Okay. Just... just tell him to hang tight. I'll deliver the data personally. Give me half an hour to get it all together and then another hour to get it to you."

He hangs up and turns to me, frustration evident in the tense line of his shoulders.

"What's wrong?"

"The security footage from the mansion," he explains, shaking his head. "Something’s wrong with the internet. Traffic isn’t going in or out. Kaufman can't do anything without that footage proving Anatoly was here all night."

I understand.

Without proof of Anatoly's whereabouts, the police will continue to build their case against him. Every minute that passes is another minute my husband spends behind bars for a crime he didn't commit.

"Let me help," I offer immediately, stepping forward. "Just tell me what to do. I'm not useless with computers."

Roma glances up at me, seeming to assess whether I'd be more help or hindrance. After a moment, he nods and gestures to the chair beside him.

"Alright. We need to go through each camera feed and trim it down to just show Anatoly clearly visible during the critical timeframe."

"Show me how." I pull the chair closer and sit down. "Put the file up on the screen side-by-side. You take one side, and I'll take the other."

Roma's lips quirk up in the ghost of a smile as he slides a keyboard toward me. "You really are something else, Indigo Malcolmovna."

We sit there in meticulous concentration, working side by side through all of the security footage from the multitude of cameras.

For the next half hour, our fingers dance across keyboards in determination and the only sounds in the room is the soft clicking of mouse buttons and occasional murmured observations of when to stop.

The work is tedious but every successful clip showing absolutely nothing feels like another small victory, another piece of evidence that could bring Anatoly home.

"That should do it," Roma says as he copies the last of the files onto a flash drive. "I've trimmed down what I could It's still a lot of data, but it's done now."

I watch as he yanks the flash drive into his pocket and stands to reach for his jacket.

"How long do you think it'll take?" I ask, following him toward the door. "For Kaufman to get him out, I mean."