*****
‘Yours I presume?’
Develin spun around. ‘It was my understanding that our business was concluded, Inspector.’
Yakinchuk shrugged then smiled. ‘I merely came down to ensure that you and yours were safely on their way out of my fair city.’ He paused as Develin sidestepped around him. ‘We don’t like your sort here, Develin.’
Slowly, almost reluctantly Develin turned to confront Yakinchuk, taking in the substance of him in one swift glance. Despite himself, Yakinchuk felt his heart skip a beat as Develin’s eyes met his own. ‘And what precisely do you mean by that?’
‘I had a wee chat with Nigel Rogers; the Chief Coroner. Apparently Miss Kojak had enough semen in her to float a good-size barge. Active it was too - very.’
Develin’s eyes narrowed. ‘I have no time for this. The investigation is concluded Inspector in case you missed the directive from your boss, and the Mayor.’
Yakinchuk continued, despite the warning tone of Develin’s voice. ‘You know, it’s strange. As rich as you are you would think that you could afford two girls; one for you and one for Emery.’ He smiled maliciously. ‘Off night was it for you?’
Develin turned on his heel and stormed across the terminal corridor and through a set of doors to his waiting car - a chauffeur-driven limousine. Yakinchuk followed in his wake. Fifteen feet from the car Develin halted then turned to confront Yakinchuk.
‘The death of Miss Kojak is indeed unfortunate, but as I understand it, she had no family and was in fact a ward of Merhot Capritzo. Is that correct?’ Yakinchuk nodded. ‘I also understand that Capritzo knew of her delicate condition so, perhaps you might wish to talk with him.’ Develin smiled, although there was precious little warmth to it. ‘Capritzo is, I believe, a resident of your fair city so I am sure there will be a natural amity. For my part, I have seen to a proper funeral for the girl. Under the circumstances, I think I have been more than generous. Now Inspector, if you will excuse me.’
‘You murdered her, you bastard.’
‘Be very careful Yakinchuk in your choice of words, particularly when dealing with me.’ Develin reached inside his jacket, pulled out a silver cigarette case and selected a handmade, unfiltered cigarette from the row. He regarded Yakinchuk evenly as he tapped the cigarette on the side of the case before lighting it. ‘I would offer you one but you don’t indulge, do you, in this particular vice?’
‘You know nothing about me.’
‘Please, don’t ever make the mistake of underestimating me.’ Develin blew cigarette smoke out through tightened lips. ‘I could see you coming leagues away.’
‘I could have you arrested now. A sample of semen would prove that it was you who was with Susan Kojak and not Emery.’
Develin took a deep drag from his cigarette. ‘Too late Yakinchuk, the case is closed.’
‘It’s fucking closed when I say it is,’ Yakinchuk snapped.
Develin sighed as he reached once more inside his jacket pocket, this time extracting a small notebook. He opened it. ‘Victor Nicholas Yakinchuk, born Warsaw, Poland, November first, 1940 to Stanis and Marie Yavinchuk - your father changed the family name just prior to arrival in the new world.’ He regarded his adversary evenly as he continued. ‘Despite your father’s considerable intellect and level of education, he took up employment with an obscure shoe manufacturing firm in New Bedford, Massachusetts. Curious, until one realizes that obscurity was just what he wanted, particularly if his activities during the war should come under close scrutiny.’
Yakinchuk started. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘You don’t know?’ Develin smiled. ‘Then I shall tell you, in brief, since the details should, under the circumstances, be addressed by your father. Briefly told, your father collaborated with the Germans. In fact, Stanis Yavinchuk was extremely instrumental in assisting the SS in rounding up more than a representative sample of the Jewish population and seeing them into the ghetto. Anyone who has studied their history knows what happened to the inhabitants of the Warsaw ghetto in 1942.’
Develin drew one final drag from his cigarette before dropping it, crushing its life out with the toe of his shoe. Yakinchuk stared open-mouthed. ‘Of course, if you don’t believe me Inspector then by all means talk with your father but, I would do so soon since, as I understand it, he is not in good health.’
‘You fucking bastard,’ Yakinchuk growled. ‘I’ll have you, you murdering son of a bitch!’
‘Ah,’ Develin erupted, in mild surprise, ‘you continue to skate on the moral high ground, totally oblivious of the danger. Pity. Then you will excuse me if I tighten the screws, but remember no one invited you here.
‘Betty Winston - name sound familiar? She was quite forthcoming yesterday evening perhaps because I entertained her in a style to which she could quite happily become accustomed, given the opportunity. I learned everything I need to know about you, your family and your adulterous activities. If even a portion of that information were to filter back to your wife, you would be in considerable difficulty. On the other hand, if your employer where to find out, you would be unemployed. There is, I believe, a rather crude but accurate American expression regarding the inappropriateness of getting one’s meat where one gets one’s bread.’
Develin and Yakinchuk were interrupted at that moment by Develin’s chauffeur. ‘Sir, is there anything I can do, sir?’
‘Thank you, Paddy,’ Develin said, not taking his eyes from Yakinchuk for a moment. ‘I believe I gave you the telephone number of the Mayor’s office yesterday. You might retrieve it for me in the unlikely event that I may wish to call him on the mobile phone.’
‘Yes sir,’ Paddy replied, backing away.
‘Don’t you try to threaten me,’ Yakinchuk growled.
Develin smiled an almost angelic smile. ‘But I already have tried; and succeeded. I believe you have been told in no uncertain terms to back off. Whether you wish to take that as a suggestion, a warning or an order is immaterial to me; just do it.’
2
Yakinchuk swallowed hard as the memory of his encounter with Develin dissolved leaving him suddenly and inexplicably saddened by the knowledge that this dangerous yet charismatic man was dead.
‘That’ll be five-fifty,’ the taxi driver intoned as he stopped the meter; his lack of enthusiasm for his chosen profession patently obvious.
Yakinchuk gave him six-fifty just to make his day, exited the taxi and stood blinking in the noonday sun like a devotee who had just exited a movie theatre after a matinée performance. The office building in front of him was just like any other office building except that this one contained a small but vital branch of the FBI. There would be no outward signs that such an office existed but Yakinchuk knew because it was run by a university buddy of his – Stan Munroe.
Munroe greeted Yakinchuk warmly, asked after Carol and the kids and signed Yakinchuk in. He handed him a visitor’s pass. ‘Hey, this is great; are you here to buy me lunch, or what?’
Yakinchuk smiled. ‘Actually I’m here to make use of your particular area of expertise.’
‘Okay so we’ll grab something to eat from the canteen and take it upstairs.’
Yakinchuk couldn’t help but smile as he walked into Munroe’s office and saw the huge glass bowl filled almost to the brim with jelly beans.