There are signs of a struggle in the kitchen and front room, but we don’t find Polasky until we reach the study. He’s crawled across the floor and is lying near his desk chair. The carpet is saturated with blood.
“Oh, my God,” Natalia says, rushing to him. She rolls him onto his back. There are two round wounds in his chest. The openings are small, like bullet wounds would be, but the drops of blood on his shoulder look like they dripped from the weapon. An icepick, I realize. Egorov’s weapon of choice.
Polasky’s breathing is labored, but he’s alive.
“Alexei, your phone. Call for help!” Natalia urges.
I walk to Polasky’s phone instead and use it to call emergency services, disguising my voice as best I can.
“Hang on,” she says to the old man, putting her hands on his chest to try to stop the blood that’s bubbling out. One of his lungs is punctured.
“Chair,” Polasky wheezes. “Help.” His words are garbled, but he points up to his desk.
“Alexei?” she says.
“We need to go.”
“Help you,” he says to her. “Against Egorov.”
“Did Egorov do this?”
“Yes.”
“Natalia,” I say sharply. “Be careful. You’re getting his blood on you.”
Natalia ignores me and tries to help him up. Because he’s lying limp and is basically dead weight, he’s too heavy for her to lift. She looks at me pleadingly.
I take the gun off and set it down, then hoist Polasky into his chair. He’s half slumped over the keyboard, but manages to click on a window he has open. After three keystrokes, he seems to be done. Then he clicks a button to log out.
“Bucket. Under sink.” He wheezes. “Your… for you. Bucket. Go.”
Polasky slides out of his chair, landing like a pile of dirty laundry on the floor.
Natalia seems frozen for a moment, but then she drops to her knees again, trying to help him.
I stalk through the house on a mission. I check under the bathroom sink first, but there’s nothing of interest. Under the kitchen sink, I find an empty bucket and when I flip it over, I see what he wanted us to find. There’s a plastic freezer bag duct-taped to the bottom. I yank it free and return to the study. I wipe my prints from his phone and grab her arm.
Polasky’s eyes stare sightlessly at the ceiling.
“He’s gone. There’s nothing else you can do for him,kiska. Let’s go.”
She stumbles to her feet, and I half pull, half drag her from the house. The sound of sirens draws nearer as we leave the yard.
“Hurry,” I say, running down the block toward the car.
She seems dazed, but it doesn’t stop her from keeping pace. We reach the car, and I put her in the passenger seat before jogging around to the other side. Once we’re in, I start the car, but turn the lights off. It’s all I can do to try to conceal us as I round the corner and drive us away.
I wait until we’re gotten three blocks from Polasky’s to turn on my lights. I steer onto an expressway on-ramp heading northeast.
“Check inside the bag. See if it’s your passport.”
Natalia stares out the window for a moment, then gathers herself together and lifts the bag I dropped in her lap. She tears off the duct tape and opens it.
Her cry is one of happiness when she finds a Russian passport and opens it. “Yes, it is mine! Oh, Polasky.” She kisses the passport, then shakes her head. “Thank God! But why must he die? These foolish men fight over what?”
“What are those other papers?”
She opens them, and her loud gasp raises the hair on the back of my neck.
