Chapter Forty-Three

 

Despite staying up late the night before, Abby was awake at five o’clock, too excited to sleep. She’d fallen asleep in the bedroom with the girls and spent a few minutes in the morning watching them sleep, recording some B footage. Lying side by side, chests rising and falling harmoniously, it was difficult to imagine them as highly competitive rivals. As crazy as it sounded, she understood what Evgeny Popescu said about gymnastics being a solitary sport. It was the only reason why these two could be the other’s toughest opposition and also best friend. Neither could play defense. Therefore, if they lost, it wasn’t because they got beat. It was because they were not quite as good.

Abby had grown to love them both. She loved Shaye for her strength and determination, but beneath it all, she had a soft heart and wanted nothing more than to ease the suffering of the people she loved. She was tough and compassionate at the same time, and she never tried to be anything other than exactly what she was.

Trixie was a different story altogether. She was deeply wounded and attempting to hold her life together with both hands, but she still managed to carry herself with dignity and grace. She kept her head held high and was not intimidated by better financed, better coached, and less traumatized gymnasts. As simple as it sounded, her ability to keep moving forward when she had every excuse in the world to stop was inspirational. Abby knew she learned a great deal from both girls, and whatever happened to her career after she was finished filming she owed to them.

After showering, Abby wanted to put on a business suit so she would look professional, adult, and official, but the weather called for temperatures in the mid-nineties, and this far inland, it was a stifling and oppressive heat. Instead she zipped herself into a blue skirt, slipped on a white sleeveless blouse, and stepped into open-toed heels. As she was pulling her hair into a ponytail, she noticed how dark her skin had become over the past few months. It made her smile to think how her father would disapprove. The second she thought it, she pushed the thought to the back of her mind. She couldn’t think about her parents or Cruz today.

When she was ready, Shaye and Trixie were still sleeping. Normally they were getting ready for their run by this time, but they had been up late the night before, and besides, she knew they were emotionally exhausted. She let them sleep.

Veronica’s room was across the hall, and Abby knocked on the door. She answered it fully showered and dressed. “You couldn’t sleep either.”

“I suppose not,” Veronica replied. “Want to go out for breakfast?”

They went to a bakery for coffee and croissants, and halfway through the meal, the translator became very quiet.

“What’s going on?” Abby asked.

“I feel like I should say something to you, but I’m not sure how to say it without sounding disrespectful.”

“To who?”

“You.”

“What’s up?”

“Whatever happens, today or in the future, you cannot lose your temper with the police.”

“Why would I lose my temper?”

“I guarantee Andrei Tatarescu is, as you would say in America, circling the wagons. All of a sudden, none of them are going to have a clue what you’re talking about. They’ll humor you, but it will feel patronizing and belittling.”

“It doesn’t matter. I have enough on video to make whatever they say moot.”

“I doubt it. This is their country, not yours. Try not to forget that.”

* * * *

When they’d had that discussion, Abby thought Veronica was being melodramatic. Four hours later, she was ready to scream. They spent the entire morning in a hotbox room, showing two detectives the various videos they collected. Abby limited the footage to scenes that specifically applied to the case she was attempting to get them to investigate: the meeting with Tatarescu and Dr. Suciu; the eerily similar stories of the girls at the gym; Martina’s narrative; and finally Evgeny Popescu’s confession. She played these videos four times each. This was after she told the entire story twice and gave them copies of her permission to be in the country, passport, driver’s license, social security card, press credentials, fingerprints, basically everything short of a urine sample and complete DNA genome.

Throughout the entire interview, Inspectors Florin Moisuc and Anton Lupul remained inscrutable, and she was beginning to truly despise the Judet Inspectorate. If there were anyone else she could go to with her information, she would have. However, they were the only two detectives working, and the Inspector Principal was in a meeting until the afternoon.

At twelve-thirty, they took a break. Abby was drenched in sweat and needed to change her clothes. She was done attempting to impress the police, so she changed into a breezy sundress that wouldn’t be damp against her skin the way silk was. She was fuming over the salad and Coke she got for lunch.

“Be calm,” Veronica advised.

“How can I be calm? Those pigs are either corrupt or completely incompetent. Either way, what they’re doing is ridiculous and wrong.”

“What do you want to happen?” Veronica asked.

“I want Popescu in jail for the rest of his life. I want Tatarescu prosecuted for attempting to cover it up, which in my mind makes him as guilty as Evgeny. I want Dr. Suciu to lose her license and be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law, and I want the police to either get their act together or face charges for being complicit in this whole mess.”

“Abby, you need to relax. This isn’t helpful. You have done everything you can reasonably be expected to do.”

“I’ve barely scratched the surface of what happened to Ileana with the police, and they’re already trying to poke holes in my theories, make me believe I’m just some hysterical female spinning yarns for my own amusement.”

“You’re forgetting why you came to Romania in the first place. It was to find the truth and tell Ileana’s story. You can do that now. Bringing people to justice was never part of the plan.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not what I said to the Dalcas, and walking away is sure as hell not something I can live with. I gave up too much for that.”

“I’m not saying you need to walk away, but you do need to come to terms with the fact that there is not much more you can do than what you are already doing.”

Abby dropped her fork onto the plate and put her head into her hands. “This is impossible.”

Veronica reached across the table and ruffled her hair. “Cheer up. Eventually, the police will talk to Martina. And they’ll talk to Alex Balan. Evgeny won’t get away with this.” She said nothing about Tatarescu or Dr. Suciu because she was well acquainted with reality.

An hour later they returned to the police station. Instead of being greeted by the two officers who had been interrogating them all morning, they were met by a lawyer named Tereza Dobrescu. She was wearing a business suit and didn’t seem at all bothered by the heat. Abby felt her heart drop at the sight of her. She was tall and thin, with close-cropped steel gray hair, subtle but precise makeup, and a shrewd and observant look in her eyes. Given the climate of sexism in Romania, this woman must have put up with a lot when she went through law school thirty years ago, and Abby felt intimidated. Also, she was sitting at a table with Andrei Tatarescu and Evgeny Popescu. That in itself was enough to throw her off her game.

“What’s going on?” Abby asked.

“Have a seat,” Tereza Dobrescu said, pointing at the chairs across the table.

“Where are the police?” Abby pressed.

“They’re watching. I thought we could have a chat.”

She looked at Veronica, who gave her a slight nod. The women sat down at the table, and Abby pulled out her video camera.

“The inspectors said you would not be recording in the station.”

“No, I said I wouldn’t record my conversations with them. Mr. Popescu and Mr. Tatarescu already agreed to be filmed. I have their signed releases.”

“You don’t have mine.”

Abby gave her a hard, cold stare. “Then either sign a release or this chat is over.” She pulled a sheet out of her knapsack and slid it across the table. The lawyer realized she was going to have to sign it if she wanted the interview to continue, so she hastily scribbled her name. Abby pressed the start button on the camcorder.

“My client hopes to clear up this misunderstanding.”

“Which one is your client?”

“Mr. Tatarescu. Though at this moment, I am representing both their interests. I assume you would also like to settle this amicably.”

“Well, you’d assume incorrectly,” Abby said, leaning back in her chair. “What I want is for these two to be arrested. After that, I’ll leave it up to the courts.”

“Ms. Vicari, I think you are overreacting to a simple misunderstanding.”

“Ms. Dobrescu, I think you are under reacting to murder.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Tatarescu said with a genial chuckle. “Slow down. Ms. Vicari, I understand why you are upset, but I can assure you, Ileana’s death was an accident.”

“You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t lend much credibility to your assurances.” Abby felt like she was not in control of her mouth. She had become a good interviewer, usually willing to wait for the subject to get comfortable and start talking on his own. But despite Veronica’s advice, she was out of patience, and she was under no illusions that this could be considered “her” interview.

“She was attempting a dismount from the beam. She stumbled forward and hit her head. Because there was no brain surgeon in Deva, the delay ultimately caused her death.”

Abby could only stare. She was expecting to hear the company line from Tatarescu, but she was stunned Evgeny could deliver it with a straight face. Even Veronica, the voice of reason throughout this entire ordeal, looked shocked.

“Last night you admitted what you did,” Abby said after a spell of silence. She could not mask the rage simmering just below the surface.

“I was drunk and stoned on pain pills,” he said. “I was trying to please Fides, say what I thought she wanted to hear.”

“Yes, because what woman doesn’t want to hear her boyfriend is a child killer?”

The lawyer said, “Ms. Vicari—”

“All that is bad enough,” she interrupted, leaning forward and pointing her finger at Tatarescu. “But you, instead of standing up and saying what was done and taking responsibility for sanctioning brutal training techniques by RGF coaches, you strong armed the doctors and nurses at the hospital into lying and intimidated a group of little girls into silence. You fabricated a tale of a tragic accident to cover a vicious homicide and did it all so boldly and without compunction I can only imagine this is something you’ve done before. Successfully.”

“What exactly are you accusing us of?” Tatarescu asked, his outward cordiality dissolving rapidly to reveal a hard inner shell.

“I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m stating the facts. Evgeny Popescu beat Ileana to death, you pulled all the necessary strings to cover it up, and you are still lying about it.”

“Nothing of the sort happened.” Though he was obviously fuming, he managed to keep his voice calm. “It never has. It never will.”

“I guess we’ll just have to dig up Ileana’s body to prove it.”

That statement managed to suck all the air out of the room. The blood drained from the faces of the men, and Tereza Dobrescu gave them stern looks, clearly stating they should keep their mouths shut.

“It would not matter,” she said without emotion.

“I know some experts who might say otherwise.”

“It would not matter,” she repeated. “There were no documented injuries consistent with the kind of attack you have described. Even if the body was exhumed and injuries discovered, we would argue they occurred postmortem, either in the process of moving the body or after burial. Too many hands have touched this.”

“Professionals can tell if injuries to bones occurred before or after death.” Abby was almost positive that was true, and she was certain they’d be able to tell if an entire kidney was removed premortem. “And it’s not the body. It’s her body. It’s what’s left of Ileana. Show some respect.”

Dobrescu’s voice was soothing when she spoke again. “I apologize. You’re right. Somewhere along the way, some of us forgot a little girl is dead. We all want to know why.”

“I know why.”

“We cannot make up stories simply to fill the gap of not knowing.”

“See, you almost had it, but then you rode it right off the rails there, Tereza,” Abby said, feigning disappointment. “Where you missed the mark a little was when you said I was making up stories. Here’s the thing. I didn’t make up anything. Neither did Alex Balan or Martina Năstase. The only people here writing fiction are the men sitting next to you.”

“Ms. Vicari, Evgeny has been through a great deal over the past year. Why would you want to ruin what little he has left?” Tatarescu asked.

“We don’t get to commit transgressions because life dealt us a crappy hand. You don’t get to take your pain out on innocent people. I don’t care what happened to him. Nothing excuses him from what he did. He needs to face the consequences.”

“I can see you are not going to change your mind,” Dobrescu said. “That is fine because this meeting was mostly called as a courtesy to you.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“These gentlemen wanted to give you a chance to say what you felt you needed to say to them. They understand how emotionally invested you are and wanted to respect that.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Abby said under her breath.

Dobrescu ignored her. “However, from this moment on, the police will be handling the investigation. They have copies of your footage and will call you if necessary. This is no longer your concern.”

“I’ll wait until the cops tell me that.”

It was the wrong thing to say, and Abby knew it as soon as the words were out of her mouth. She watched helplessly as Dobrescu summoned the Chief Inspector. Vasile Raducan entered the room, and with his presence, Abby’s confidence deflated. She was beat, and she knew it.

Worse, they knew it, too.

Inspector Prinicpal Raducan began speaking Romanian to Dobrescu in a hushed voice. Veronica leaned over and discreetly translated what she could hear. “He’s saying he believes there is some validity to your story and he is going to investigate it, though he doubts it will ever get so far as accusing anyone of murder. He says there’s no way he’ll ever get the doctor to incriminate herself, but the nurse’s testimony is compelling.”

It was Dobrescu’s turn to whisper back. “Whatever the case,” Veronica interpreted, “the nurse could have been motivated by any number of things, and her story can easily be discredited. As can the girl’s. You can do the right thing, the smart thing, and the simple thing all at the same time.”

“This is bullshit,” Abby said but couldn’t work up the energy to muster her earlier outrage.

Dobrescu and Raducan finished their conversation, and he reached out his hand to Abby. She took it numbly, barely feeling his skin against hers. “My English…not good.”

Veronica rattled off something in Romanian and said to Abby, “I told him I would translate for you.”

The gist of his side of the conversation was he had copies of her investigation thus far, and the police would call her if they needed anything more or had questions.

Abby only had one question. “You’re not going to do anything to them, are you?”

She didn’t get a response. She wasn’t expecting one.

Tereza Dobrescu, Evgeny, and Tatarescu stood up. Abby didn’t bother looking at the lawyer or the president of the RGF. Instead, she bore her eyes into the coach’s and stared until he grew so uncomfortable he was forced to look away. Veronica put her hand on her shoulder and gently guided her toward the door. She thought about leaving quietly, but she couldn’t do it. She had to stop and lean close to Evgeny, her lips practically touching his ear.

“Whatever happens, you and I both know exactly what you did. When push comes to shove, Tatarescu is going to throw your carcass in front of the bus and drive right over it. Your life was over the minute you slammed Ileana’s head against the balance beam. When you’re alone in your little apartment at night, all you’re going to hear is my voice in your head, and all you’re going to see is Ileana’s face. For the rest of your life.”

When they left, Veronica didn’t drive her to the hotel. They went a few miles out of their way so they wouldn’t run into any police officers, and she led a bewildered Abby into a bar. She ordered a beer for herself and a Coke for Abby and sat quietly as she waited for her to speak.

“I can’t believe I failed,” Abby finally said. “I just can’t believe it.”

“Abby, you came here to make a movie, and you have enough footage to make a great one. If it weren’t for you, no one would ever know the truth. You didn’t fail. The only failure will be if you don’t finish the movie and show it to anyone willing to watch.”

“Evgeny Popescu won’t go to jail. Tatarescu, Dr. Suciu, no one is going to get what they deserve. Least of all Ileana.”

“You don’t know that. Raducan seemed competent. He might surprise you.”

“I put Trixie and her parents through so much pain.”

“They were already in more pain than anyone could imagine. There was nothing you could do to hurt them more. And as far as Trixie goes, you saved her. Without your help, Shaye never would have been able to come to Romania, and I think we both know she would have been in bad shape without her friend here. Plus, being here kept Shaye out of the circus her father’s arrest could have created were she still in New York.”

Those words managed to break through her self-pity. “What if I can’t do it? What if I can’t make the movie work?”

“Three months ago, you didn’t think you were capable of doing any of this. You should have seen yourself in there, standing up to those people. Even after you were attacked. Even after Cruz left. You are so much stronger than you give yourself credit for. Your movie will be great.”

“I hope so. Otherwise it means I lost Cruz for nothing. I shouldn’t be so surprised. You warned me.”

“I didn’t want to be right.”

Abby took a deep breath. “Enough. I’m okay. I mean, I’m not, but I’ll be okay.”

“You did a good job, Abby,” Veronica reiterated one last time.

Abby wanted to believe her, but in the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but wonder if she failed at the only thing in her life she’d ever put any real effort into. If that were the case, and if she’d lost everything important to her in the process, she wasn’t sure what she was going to do once the Olympics were over.

For the moment, however, she was going to forget about all that and celebrate the end with her friend. Real life could wait, at least for one night. No matter what she did over the next few hours, it would change neither the past nor what was going to happen with the investigation, and she was tired of thinking about it.