26
Stone had Gala driven to the station early the following morning. “Call me, and I’ll pick you up on the return trip,” he said to her. She kissed him and left.
A little later, Stone’s phone rang. “Hello?”
“Mr. Barrington, it’s Mr. Scott at the Beaulieu Arrington.”
“Good morning, Mr. Scott. Have you found an excuse to throw Boris Tirov out of your hotel?”
“I’m pleased to say that it wasn’t necessary. Mr. Tirov checked out five minutes ago of his own volition. A car came to get him. I thought you’d like to know.”
“I’m very pleased to hear it. Did you have any problems with him?”
“He sent a steak back to the kitchen, saying it was overcooked. Otherwise, he was just the usual guest.”
“Thank you for letting me know.”
—
Stone lunched alone in the library, which had become his favorite room. Geoffrey came in: “Mr. Barrington, Dame Felicity is on the phone for you.”
Stone picked it up. “Hello, there.”
“And a happy noon to you. My request for information on Mr. Tirov has produced unexpectedly rapid results.”
“That was pretty quick.”
“Turns out, it wasn’t very hard to get.”
“What did you find out?”
“There is a Viktor Petrov connection,” Felicity replied. “Turns out Tirov and President Petrov were classmates at the KGB Academy in Minsk, so they go way back.”
“I don’t know if that’s good news or bad.”
“Neither do I. This is raw data, unprocessed.”
“Go on.”
“The two young men served together for some years, then Petrov went into politics, and Tirov got a lucky break.”
“What sort of break?”
“He appeared in a documentary film about the KGB, and someone from the government film studio saw it and took an interest in him—offered him a significant part in a movie. He won some sort of acting award, and he appeared to have a career ahead as an actor. Acting, however, bored him, and he began writing and producing films. After some years of this he got an exit visa and left for Hollywood, taking a script with him that the Russian studio had paid him for. Word is, Petrov personally financed his move to the States and intervened to get him the necessary visas, both Russian and American. The rest, as they say in Hollywood, is history.”
“Any dirt?”
“It’s said that Petrov doesn’t have any friends that aren’t of use. While working in Russian films, Tirov arranged introductions for Petrov to beautiful and compliant young actresses, and the two did a lot of partying together. At the film studio, Tirov was known as Petrov’s pimp, and Petrov rewarded him by pushing him for important assignments.”
“Petrov’s Pimp. I like the alliteration.”
“It has a ring, doesn’t it? There’s more. On several occasions actresses at the studio who resisted Tirov’s charms suffered truncated careers, so his advances took on an air of casting couch or else.”
“Aha.”
“And on one occasion, a young woman who had resisted, but whose considerable ability as an actress rose above his ability to thwart her career, was found, afloat, in the River Neva.”
“That’s nasty.”
“Isn’t it? It’s interesting that her death was coincidental with Tirov’s rather sudden craving for greener pastures in the USA.”
“Do you know her name?”
“Elena Ivanov.”
“I know that actress,” Stone said. “Didn’t she appear in a Russian film that got an Academy Award nomination for best foreign film?”
“Yes, she did. The film was called, ironically, The River, and she received much attention. It was her first big part and her last appearance in a film.”
“What an interesting story,” Stone said.
“And it’s all verifiable from public sources should, say, a journalist take an interest in it. I have dispatched a written account to you by messenger. You’ll have it before the day is out. Oh, and one other thing. Ms. Ivanov was so famous in Russia by that time that even the government could not suppress the investigation into her death. Boris Tirov was the chief and only suspect in her death, and the Moscow police had obtained a warrant for his arrest. He got out of the country in a private jet owned by another friend and former classmate of Petrov. Tirov flew to Paris and waited there a few days while Petrov secured the appropriate visas, then he flew commercial directly to Los Angeles.”
“I don’t suppose that warrant is still outstanding?”
“Suffice it to say that Tirov has not returned to Russia since. Apparently, Petrov made no move to void the warrant. Elena Ivanov was too beautiful and too famous, and given the hullabaloo attending her death, he may have been glad to see the back of his old friend Boris.”
“My dear Felicity, I can’t thank you enough.”
“Of course you can. I’ll see you both this weekend.”
“Lovely idea.”
“And if further dirt comes my way, I’ll let you know.”
They both hung up.
—
An envelope arrived later in the afternoon, and Stone read the half-dozen pages inside. “I believe,” he said aloud to himself, “this is what they call in Hollywood, ‘dynamite.’”
—
Stone got into the Porsche, stuck Felicity’s envelope between his seat and the transmission tunnel, and met the 6:10 from Waterloo Station. Gala got into the Porsche with a huge bouquet of calla lilies but managed a kiss anyway.
Stone pulled out of the station, trying to think of the best way to tell her what he had learned about Tirov. “How was the flower show?”
“Oh, it was just brilliant! I don’t think I’ve ever had such a good time.”
“By the way, speaking of a good time, I spoke to Felicity and invited her for dinner this weekend.”
“Oh, that will be fun!”
“More fun than the flower show?”
She smiled. “After a fashion.”
“Gala,” he said, “changing the subject—do you think you know everything there is to know about Boris Tirov?”
“Probably, but if there’s anything I don’t know, I don’t want to know it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I’m very tired of the subject, and I hope you won’t bring it up again.”
“Well . . .”
“And, Stone, I know very well that you’d like to get back at Boris for the trouble he’s caused us, but I hope you won’t do that. I hope you won’t even think of it.”
“I can’t promise I won’t think of it—that’s involuntary.”
“Then, if you must think about it, don’t tell me what you’re thinking, and if you do something, don’t tell me what you’re doing. If you’re planning to punch him in the nose again, I don’t want to watch or even hear about it. I would prefer to remain ignorant of anything to do with Boris.”
“So be it,” Stone said.