15. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
Aurora
On Monday, I ask Anton to drive Misha and me to the library on the east side for a special story time.
Despite the close call with Pavel yesterday, I woke up this morning with renewed hope for the investigation.
Daniel texted to let me know the UFED connection worked, and he’s now able to remotely access Sergei’s files.
The only hitch is that Sergei’s computer needs to be online for Daniel to view them.
When I lift Misha to assist him with getting inside the car, I’m greeted with Anton’s usual wide grin.
“Have you been sleeping any better?” he asks me as he buckles Misha into the car seat.
“Not really,” I admit, fastening myself in and placing Misha’s dinosaur backpack on the middle seat between us.
In addition to worrying about the investigation and my involvement in it, the deafening silence in the penthouse apartment at night makes me uneasy.
Having grown accustomed to the cacophony of cars backfiring, rowdy students shouting late into the night, and upstairs neighbors practicing salsa at odd hours, living so high above the street now offers a quietness that’s unsettling.
I’ve decided to try a noise machine like the one Misha has, but I keep forgetting to order one.
“Is it the silence?” Anton asks as he gets inside the car and starts driving. Ukrainian music blasts through the speakers, but he isn’t bothered by it.
“Yes!” I look at him incredulously. “What’s up with that? You would think I would sleep better in silence…”
“You’ll get used to it,” Anton shouts over the music. “It was odd for me too when I first moved in, but now I sleep like a baby.”
“Oh, that’s right. You and Pavel live in the building too. Was that a coincidence, or…” I trail off, leaving the question hanging in the air.
“Nah.” Anton shakes his head. “Shef likes to keep us nearby in case he needs us. Nadia also lives there.”
I didn’t realize it until now, but it makes sense.
She often joins us for breakfast or dinner, depending on Sergei’s schedule.
Despite living in the building, neither Anton nor Pavel has joined us for a meal yet.
I consider whether this is odd, but Anton honks at the car in front and spits out a string of Russian swear words I recognize now, distracting me.
I shift in my seat. “Do you always drive Misha around?”
“Yeah. I was on Alessia duty, driving her everywhere when she needed me, and since the kid was always with her...”
“Ankledun!” Misha lifts one of his dinosaurs.
“Is that the name of this dinosaur?” I ask.
“Ankledun!” he repeats with enthusiasm, tapping the toy against the window.
“Yes, Ankledun!” I say, matching his excitement. “It makes sense that you always drive them when needed, since Sergei’s car doesn’t have a car seat.”
“When were you in Sergei’s car?” Anton raises an eyebrow.
I’m about to answer, but Misha reaches his little hand toward me and says, “Kakas!”
Anton’s eyes widen, and his brows knit together in concern. “What did he say?” he asks as he finally lowers the music. “Does he need to go to the toilet?”
“Crackers,” I explain with a half-smile, pulling out a small pack of crackers. I hand one to Misha, who promptly drops it.
“Oops!” Misha laughs.
Annoyance flickers across Anton’s face.
“Sorry. I’ll pick it up when we stop.” I hand another cracker to Misha, confirming he has a firm grip before letting go.
“It’s fine,” he says in a tone that implies it’s totally not fine. “I’m used to detailing the car because of him. At least it’s not puke. Man, that shit lingers.” Anton speeds up as he switches lanes.
“He vomited in the car?” I ask in terror. Flashbacks from Dancing Monk’s restroom stall race through my mind. Anything but that.
“Yes, over the summer. Actually, the morning before Alessia…” Anton pauses.
“Misha got a stomach bug or something, and he threw up all over the car seat. She tried to get a bag under him, but she was too late. It was like one of those horror movies where the girl is puking everywhere,” Anton says, using his hands to illustrate.
I wince at the imagery.
He adjusts the mirror, glancing back at Misha. “Kids are nasty.”
I bite my tongue to keep quiet, gently rubbing Misha’s hair. “Let’s not talk about vomit, please,” I say, already feeling lightheaded.
Anton chuckles and turns the AC fan higher. “Just don’t puke on me here,” he jokes with a wink.
As we make our way to the library, I ask more questions about Alessia and Misha, trying not to be too obvious in my probing. Periodically, Misha makes roaring sounds as I stare out the window, letting my thoughts wander.
Misha fell ill the morning Alessia was killed, necessitating Anton to detail the car.
Is there a connection? Could Anton cleaning the car mean something more?
He mentioned he does it often, and he has a valid reason—vomit smells don’t disappear easily.
Daniel said there was no evidence to suggest Alessia was transported, but if Anton killed her, he could’ve dragged something into the car afterward.
What am I doing? Am I seriously casting guilt on Anton, or am I just grasping at anything to shift suspicion away from Sergei?
I shake my head, pushing aside my urge to exonerate him prematurely. Just in case, I decide to bring up the car detailing with Daniel later and see what he says.
Storytime lasts longer than I expected. The librarian reads through all the Blue Tractor books, including the newest release, Blue Tractor’s First Day at School.
Misha sits still, completely enthralled, hanging onto every word of the animated reader.
Afterward, we browse the books, picking out a few favorites to bring home.
When we step outside, I notice Pavel leaning against Anton’s car. He does it with such proficiency that he should consider including leaning against cars on his résumé.
“I thought Anton was supposed to pick us up?” I ask.
“Busy,” Pavel replies, swinging open the car door.
His curtness sends a chill through me, and I tighten my grip on Misha’s small hand. I remind myself there’s nothing to fear as I slide into the backseat, glancing uneasily at Pavel.
“How’s your day going?” I ask, forcing myself to make eye contact with his reflection in the rearview mirror. I try to sound casual, but the effort comes off as strained.
My encounter with Pavel in Sergei’s office only heightened my unease around him. I’m not sure he bought my explanation about needing paper for an art project. I hope he assumes I was snooping out of curiosity rather than searching for incriminating evidence about his boss.
“Fine,” Pavel replies, his tone clarifying that he has no interest in small talk.
When Pavel parks in front of the building, he steps out to help me and Misha. As I reach into the car to grab Misha’s dinosaur backpack and my purse, Pavel opens the passenger door and retrieves something from inside.
“Here,” he says, handing me a thick, heavy stack of printer paper. “For art.” His voice is low and gravelly, carrying an unspoken promise of impending harm.
I manage a forced smile. “Thanks.”
“No more Sergei office,” he adds.
I nod curtly, too stunned to respond.
Busted.