I ended the call before the words could take root.
Lev entered a minute later with two of my men and the gambling-room contact between them.
The contact was in his thirties, narrow-faced, sweating through a cheap gray shirt under a black jacket that didn’t fit. His eyes found the glass wall first, then the door, then me. Men like him always measured exits too late.
He tried to speak before I sat. “Mr. Sorin, I didn’t know Petya was yours.”
I rested my hand on the back of the desk chair. “Petya Yelchin is under my protection.”
“I didn’t know that part.”
“You knew he was being guarded.”
He swallowed. “I knew someone had him.”
“You took a photograph.”
“Kask told me to prove location. He told me the kid owed. I didn’t touch him. I only watched the street.”
“Who gave you the address?”
His eyes flicked toward Lev.
Lev stared back without expression.
The contact looked at me again. “A man from the old room sent it. Kask wanted the sister scared.”
“Say her name.”
His throat moved. “Nadia Yelchin.”
“Again.”
“Nadia Yelchin.”
“You’ll remember it when you tell me who carried Kask’s payment to the auctioneer.”
His mouth opened.
I waited.
The room pressed around him until sweat slid from his temple to his jaw.
“I don’t know the auctioneer,” he said.
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No, I know. I know.” His hands lifted, then dropped when one of my men shifted behind him. “The money didn’t go direct. It went through the same old room. Kask used a driver and a sealed envelope. I saw the envelope go out before the auction, and I saw Kask’s man take a call after. He said the lot order was fixed.”
Lev set a phone on my desk. “The messages are here. We also have the auctioneer on his way to the club.”
The contact’s knees almost gave.
I looked at Lev.
“He’s alive,” Lev said. “He’s ready to answer questions.”
Gennady had built his leverage from dirty pieces and assumed shame would hold them together. He’d used the debt marker, the photograph, the bribed auctioneer, and a demand written like Nadia had been property damaged in transport.
