Page 49 of Nothing More

“Refrigerated or frozen?”

“Frozen, apparently. Something about the ice crystals doing something to the blood vessels.”

He nodded and scanned the rest of the report. “She could have been dead for a long time, then.”

“Yeah.”

Their food arrived, covered pots of rice and dishes heaped with Mongolian beef, chicken fried rice, sweet and sour chicken. Pongo thanked their waiter, and plates were filled.

“Newsome reported her missing when she filed the report for the theft of the diamond,” Melissa continued. “She blamed her, obviously. I did a little more digging, and hopefully didn’t attract any attention in the server, but her family back in Poland reached out to the NYPD six months ago, worried because they hadn’t heard from her.”

“Bet they were helpful,” Toly said, drily.

Her brows quirked in agreement. “Yeah. Apparently, they told them she’d probably pawned the ring and used the money to run off to California with a boyfriend. Only, the ring never turned up at a pawn shop or a jeweler. And, according to her family, she didn’t have a boyfriend here in the States.”

“People lie.”

“Yeah, they do. Her mother insisted she wouldn’t have, but not knowing her, there’s no way of telling.”

It wasn’t much of anything to go on, and Melissa’s let-down face said she knew it as well as he did. “Someone could interview Alicia Newsome, and anyone who worked for her at the time,” he said, without enthusiasm. The chances Newsome knew anything of value about her maid, or could steer them in the correct direction, were slim to none – still worth pursuing, though. He didn’t care about the particulars of poor Antonina’s fate…but it was all too easy – and bone-chilling – to envision Raven still and bloodless, blue from the cold, rimed with frost, laid out in the back of a walk-in freezer.

“I can’t interview her,” Melissa said. “That moneyed crowd likes to call precincts and nudge you along if they think you’re slacking. If I approach her, and she thinks the PD is reopening the case, she’ll want to follow up, and she’ll come down to the precinct, and my captain will find out…” She gestured with her chopsticks. “That can’t work.”

“No, yeah,” Toly agreed.

Pongo, who’d been oddly silent for several consecutive minutes, wiped sticky pink sauce off his mouth and said, “I could do it. What is she, like, eighty? Old ladies love me.” His smile was smug.

“You?” Toly asked, and felt his lip curl.

“Hey, you can’t do it,” Pongo shot back, still grinning. He then adopted a truly hideous fake Russian accent. “Hello, Babushka, I am here to ask you about your fancy jewels. I promise I am not KGB.”

Toly plucked a piece of green onion from his plate and flicked it across the table. It bounced off the end of Pongo’s nose.

“Hey, now, I’m getting better at that.”

“You’re terrible,” Melissa said, without looking at him. To Toly: “It’s not a bad idea, though. He could talk his way into anything.”

“Yeah, even your–”

She shoved an egg roll in his mouth and said, “Swipe to the next sample. It’s more complicated.”

He swiped…and found himself face-to-face with a ghost.

“That’s–” Melissa began.

“The Butcher,” he finished.

“Yeah.” She sounded surprised. “Real name Gedeon Rosovsky. Interpol had a warrant out for his arrest in the suspected slaying of over two-dozen people. A for-hire hitman known to Moscow law enforcement, but never convicted. He gave everyone the slip years ago.”

“He was killed.” Toly’s lips had gone numb. “My Pakhan had him killed.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, frowning.

“Da. I’m the one who did it.”

Silence a moment, filled by shouting from the kitchen, and the loud bang of a pot or pan crashing to the floor.

Pongo whistled. “Dude. Badass.”