Chapter Thirty-Four

 

After leaving the hospital and Martina, Abby checked into a hotel in Timişoara and began reviewing the footage she’d taped since leaving the girls on the coast. She downloaded everything from her camera onto her laptop and was pleasantly surprised by what she found. Before watching all she recorded, she felt like her theory was flimsy and unsupported. Now, assessing her investigation, she realized she had done a far better job than she was giving herself credit for. The interviews with the girls that trained with Ileana, combined with the suspicions of Alex Balan, the intensive care nurse, and the horrible yet detailed description Martina gave of the incident painted a compelling picture. This was no longer a farfetched hypothesis that might make a decent documentary. This was solid if circumstantial evidence that a murder occurred, and the killer was getting away with his crime.

Abby thought about Evgeny Popescu and shivered. What had caused him to do such a repulsive thing? He was an intimidating man, but a murderer? By all accounts, he cared about the girls he was training. Martina said he was the only coach who had never disciplined them physically. Was he mentally unstable? Did he have a nervous breakdown?

If the truth didn’t come out, would it happen again?

She took notes as she watched and tried to detach personally from the story, but it was impossible. Every time her pen stopped moving, the smiling little girl who was now rotting in the ground was her mental image. She thought of how beautiful and talented and pure and vulnerable and strong Trixie was and wondered if Ileana could have lived up to that example. She thought about a family torn apart and the power of friendship and how what should have been the grandest of accomplishments for Shaye and Trixie and the people they loved would now be forever linked with a violent end to a helpless and adored little life. She thought about what would happen if her brother was killed, how her own family would cope. Would they all survive? How would they face the day? Ileana wasn’t without sin, but she was innocent. Her death was like a stone thrust into the center of a pond, and the water was still rippling. The true reaches of this tragedy had not even begun to be felt. Her translator was right. Those in Romania who endeavored to hide the truth should be punished, and the other nations of the world should mourn.

No, this was not merely a project. This was intensely personal.

Abby went over the footage for two hours before picking up the phone to call Veronica Hurgoi and tell her what she discovered.

“Come over for a late dinner,” she offered. “Frank made stuffed ravioli and we have plenty left over. I’d like to see your interview with Martina firsthand.”

The prospect of homemade ravioli was too good to pass up, so she agreed. She decided to take her camera rather than the computer because she wanted to record the translator’s thoughts on the situation.

Abby was glad to have left Fides Funar behind in Deva and be back in Timişoara where her translator lived, and she chatted with Veronica and Frank until ten o’clock, when the boys went to bed. She was glad to be socializing and not mired down in the tragedy she’d been investigating for the past few months. It was easy to forget that most people in the world were decent when she was wading so deep in depravity.

Once they were sure Stefan and Daniel were asleep, Abby hooked the camera into their computer then sipped a glass of wine as they watched the raw material of the interview. When it was over, Frank scrolled back to the beginning, and they wordlessly watched it over again.

“My God,” Frank said when it concluded for the second time.

“You were right,” Veronica whispered. “Ileana was beaten to death.”

“You have to take this to the police,” Frank said sternly.

“Right now, it’s just the word of one little girl against a national hero and four other gymnasts who are too afraid to tell the truth.”

“What about the nurse? What was her name?” Veronica asked.

“Alex Balan. But I can’t ask her to stand on her own, to risk her job and her livelihood. It would be her by herself, and the doctor would completely contradict her story,” Abby explained. “Dr. Crina Suciu already lied to us more than once. I doubt she’d stop because a nurse she could easily fire and discredit calls her a criminal.”

“We can’t let him get away with it,” Frank said, grinding his teeth together, barely holding back rage.

“I’m not. I just need more evidence.”

“What kind of evidence could you get?” Veronica asked.

“A confession.”

She said it with such confidence and determination, neither Frank nor Veronica contradicted her statement. Their faces said enough. “I mean it. I think Popescu’s right on the cusp, you know? I think he’s having a hard time with the cover-up. He was already tired of the bullshit Romanian gymnastics put him through, and he wants the world to share his bitterness. I think he’d rather people know the truth.”

“If that were the case, he would have turned himself in by now,” Veronica said.

“No one has applied any pressure,” Abby argued. “I can get him to talk. I’ll show the video to his girlfriend. She’ll take care of the rest.”

“Or he will go ballistic on the girlfriend and kill you both,” Frank said grimly.

Veronica looked uneasily at her husband. “I know you hired me simply to translate for you, so I hope my advice is not out of place.”

“Never.”

“Tread carefully, darling. Do not forget you are dealing with dangerous people.”

“I’ll probably head back to Deva in the morning.”

“Do you need me to come with you?”

“Not yet. Can I call if I do?”

“Of course,” Veronica said, smiling finally. “In fact, call anyway.”

Frank rang for a cab, and they each gave Abby a hug before she left. She was tired but encouraged. At least she was seeing light at the end of the tunnel.

Soon after she got into the cab, her cell phone rang. “Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Galya. How are you?”

“Still reeling. I can’t believe this is happening. You’ve known Evgeny Popescu for a while. Did you think he was capable of something like this?”

“I didn’t know him except for as a competitor, but I would like to believe I’ve never met anyone capable of something like this. It happens in sports, though. Recently in Japan, a trainer killed his teenage sumo wrestling protégé by beating him with a pipe. Children do not have to be tiny and weak to be taken advantage of and harmed by an adult they trust.”

“I don’t care. It’s no excuse,” Abby said. “This can’t be written off as the price we all pay to create great athletes. It’s too high, and I can’t bear it. It’s murder, plain and simple.”

“I agree, Abby. But you must remember the forces you are up against.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t care about that, either. The decent, loving, moral people of this world who know what’s really important far outnumber those who are willing to sacrifice someone’s life in order to achieve success, and those people will not stand for this. Once they know the truth, they simply will not continue to allow it.”

The taxi pulled into the circle drive in front of the nH Hotel. “Here you go. Keep the change.” She passed the driver his money and slung her camera bag over her shoulder as she exited the vehicle.

Galya said, “I hope you’re—”

Abby didn’t hear the end of his sentence. In the same moment that the cab screeched away, a stranger behind her put his hands on her shoulder blades and shoved her forward. The person’s foot snaked around her ankle, making it impossible for her to stay on her feet. To brace herself for the fall, she released her cell phone, and it clattered to the ground.

Immediately upon hitting the concrete, she expected someone to reach out and grab her under her armpits and pull her to a stand or to crouch down beside her, ask her if she was injured. She didn’t even consider that she was being assaulted.

Because she assumed this was an accident, she took a moment to collect herself.

The person who took her down did not give her as long as she needed. A hand clenched her short ponytail and tugged.

Abby screamed, and though she knew he couldn’t help her, she shouted, “Galya! Galya!”

The attacker dragged her to her knees and leaned close to her face. She could feel hot breath on her neck. When she tried to shrug away from the assailant, a large arm clamped over her collarbone, and she was pulled against the stranger’s chest. Judging by the sheer size of the person, she assumed it was a man, but she was too terrified to notice any other details.

Too shocked to cry, her whole body began to shake, and though she could barely breathe, she opened her mouth and let out a bloodcurdling scream.

It lasted less than a second before the hand holding her hair crammed against her face. She tried to bite the palm, but it was too tight against her lips, and she couldn’t open her mouth.

Next to her cheek, she heard a quick scraping sound and saw a flash of light. It registered that there was a knife blade only centimeters from her eye.

“Shut up,” the man said in a deep, heavily accented voice. His knee connected with the small of her back, and she involuntarily groaned and slumped forward. Her shoulder felt lighter, and she realized the man was stealing her camera.

Was this really happening? Had some hired thug been sent to steal her footage?

For a brief moment, Abby thought of the computer in her hotel room, where every moment of the investigation she conducted since leaving Constanţa was downloaded and secure. When she wasn’t in the room, she kept her laptop locked in the safe. There was no way this guy was manhandling her so easily while lugging around a heavy safe. Even if he were, she saved her footage to a private website. He couldn’t destroy enough to hinder her investigation.

Then again, if he killed her, that wouldn’t be much comfort.

Even if she hadn’t transferred the recordings, she wouldn’t have fought for the camera. It wasn’t worth her life, which she was terrified she was about to lose.

Once she was loose of the bag, she rolled over and tried to scoot backwards, but before she could move more than a couple of feet, the man lifted the camera bag above his head and brought it down over her face.

Abby tasted blood in her mouth. “Galya!” she shouted again.

The second time the man hit her, it was with his fist across her temple. Then she was unconscious.