brows knitted where they met, plunging his eyes into deep shadow. He stared hard and thought about it for a few moments then replied in his slightly Germanic English, ‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘He’s never been in touch with this office? Never made an appointment or something like that?’
‘Not while I’ve been here, I’m sure. Why? Who is he? A prospective buyer?’ Yuri was inquisitive by nature.
‘Maybe.’ Crocker shrugged. ‘But perhaps you could check whether we’ve a record of his name somewhere. If not, it’s not important. Just a name that came up in conversation.’ Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked. He smiled, trying to treat the matter lightly, but he could see Yuri was disappointed not getting the full story. Everyone in Moscow loves a little spletni, as it’s free and often entertaining, and in this case Yuri had hoped for some gossip that could be both entertaining and interesting.
Crocker spent the rest of the morning and the early part of the afternoon on the phone, chasing the frustrated contracts and some possible new sources of materials. He had been in the business of metal trading on and off for a few years but he didn’t like the job and never had. It was his family’s means to an end and he appreciated that.
Looking occasionally through the glass partitioning around his office as he contemplated the situation, he caught Lina stealing quick glances, which didn’t help him to focus on the job in hand.
Boy is she sexy!
Sipping another coffee, Crocker accepted he was nowhere in his search for more information on Paul’s death. He was disappointed but consoled himself with the thought that he had to concentrate on the business if the company and Paul’s family were to survive. And now, Slava’s offer was becoming an obsession. He knew the sooner he got the complete story, the sooner he could get on with some productive work.
The management of Mitsui Mining, a large international conglomerate, had made an approach to discuss a possible ‘buy-out’ of the company, and as a result, a confidential meeting had been arranged for later that afternoon. Crocker anticipated it would be heavy going, like most meetings he’d attended involving the Japanese, requiring a clear head and unlimited patience. It didn’t take Crocker long to make the decision to reschedule. He considered he had his priorities in perspective and as soon as he felt it appropriate, gathered up his papers and said goodbye to each member of staff, shaking hands. He noticed the firmness of Lina’s handshake and the friendly look in her eyes. He touched her arm briefly as he said ‘Do svidaniya.’
With his fur hat trailing from his hand, he raced out into the snow. The Lada was parked not far from the front door, its windows steamed up. Oleg was inside, asleep against the driver’s door, an English phrase book in his lap. Crocker felt bad at having to wake him, but tapped lightly on the window with his fraternity ring. Almost instantly Oleg’s large eyes opened and blinked at the fading sunlight.
‘Okay, Oleg. It’s time we went and had talks with Slava.’
5
Oleg took the short notice in his stride, jumped out and opened the back door for his employer. ‘Moment, please,’ he said.
Crocker knew of his driver’s addiction to tennis and noticed as Oleg stormed away, how sprightly the Russian was despite his scrawny build. He remembered he still hadn’t taken up Oleg’s challenge to a game of singles.
After a quick, five-kopeck call from a nearby public wall-phone, Oleg raced back and took the Lada towards the outskirts of the city as fast as the old car could go.
‘By the way,’ said Oleg, addressing the roof of the car, ‘my brother is greatly looking forward to meeting you. He said he has something very interesting for you.’
‘D’you know what this is about, Oleg?’ queried Crocker, preferring to have some advance notice of the subject matter of his meetings.
Oleg shook his head, making the orange pom-pom quiver.
‘No. I don’t know what my brother is working with.’
‘Well, it sounds good,’ commented Crocker. ‘But I suppose I’ll have to wait and see.’
‘His fingers are everywhere,’ said the driver, giving a nervous cough.
‘How long will it take us to get there?’
‘Not long, Mr Lee. Not long. Less than one half-hour I think.’
But Crocker had experience of Russian ‘half-hours’ and suspected it would take a good deal longer.
He was right.
The journey took them past endless rows of apartment blocks; all seemingly built from the same plan, and differentiated only by the numbers on illuminated blue and white plastic boxes fixed to each corner. Side roads were marked by breaks in otherwise endless rows of parked cars, transformed into one colour by sodium-yellow streetlights. Groups of locals chatted outside illuminated shop windows with nothing on display but origami patterns.
‘See those old people queuing?’ Oleg pointed. ‘I tell you something interesting.’
‘Go on,’ encouraged Crocker.’
‘These old people have nothing to do. So their families put them in any queue they see and they wait; all day they wait to buy anything that is being sold. Anything! It is very simple idea. Yes, Mr Lee?’
‘Why would they do that?’ asked Crocker, scanning the groups he could now see were standing in line in the snow.
‘Let me tell you. In this way the family will have something they don’t want now, to sell or change later. Another day. Not complicated and a good idea. Yes, Mr Lee?’
‘Very, Oleg. Very enterprising.’
‘What is “enterprising” please?’
‘Being clever, I suppose.’
Crocker quickly understood the concept and saw the need for people to live like that. He screwed up his eyes to help see better in the fading light and continued to stare out of the window.
- o -
Building 23, Sokhalinskaya Street, was one of a ring of sombre concrete apartment blocks rising out of the ground like gargantuan ogres, frozen for eternity around a football field of mud and snow.
Oleg stopped the car, got out and pointed through the twilight with a bony finger.
‘That is where Slava lives,’ he said, letting Crocker out. ‘Seventh floor, number 27. Remember; green door. I will wait for you here.’
Crocker stretched his spine and waited for his body to acclimatise to the cold wind as he took his bearings. Even in this open space there was the unmistakable smell of Russian cigarettes.
‘You’ve got enough smokes to keep you warm, Oleg?’
‘Many, many, Mr Lee, thank you.’
Hard snow crunched under Crocker’s feet as he walked. He knew there were eyes watching
