Page 100 of Cruel Demands

“So did a thousand parishioners.”

“No.” She steps away from the door, rubbing her palms against the sides of her skirt. “I mean the photographer.” Arkady looks at the pictures. Taylor points toward the photograph closest to the edge of the desk but doesn’t approach it. “That picture is looking down at her. The photographer wasn’t on the street.”

Arkady picks it up. I look at it again. She’s right.

“The café,” Arkady says. I look at him. “There’s a café opposite the cathedral. Second floor overlooks the entrance.”

Taylor reaches for the door and slips out. For several seconds, neither Arkady nor I speak. Through the darkened glass, I watch Taylor cross the outer office with her arms held close to her body. Viktoriya says something as she passes. Taylor shakes her head and continues toward her desk. She doesn’t look back at me.

Arkady is still holding the photograph. “She noticed it before either of us.”

“Don’t start.”

“I said nothing.”

“Send men to the café,” I say. “Quietly. Get the security recordings before anyone knows we’re interested. Check every Sunday for the past month.”

Arkady gathers the photographs. “And Orlov?”

“Take the shipment.”

“And the nephew?”

“Let federal narcotics have him.”

“Alive.”

“For now.”

“That phrase again.”

I ignore him. Arkady slides the photographs into the envelope, then pauses. “The page she found last night.”

My attention shifts back to him. “How did it end up in the benefit paperwork?”

“One of my folders was brought through this office yesterday afternoon. Someone mixed a loose sheet into the wrong stack when the conference room was cleared.”

“Someone.”

“I’m finding out who.”

“Find faster.”

“I generally do.”

Through the glass, Taylor has reached her desk. She sits down beside Dima without looking toward my office.

“She heard more than she should,” Arkady says.

“She saw more than she should last night.”

“And now she knows Orlov is connected to whatever frightened you enough to treat her like one of your soldiers.”

I look at him. Arkady slips the envelope inside his jacket. “She’s more observant than most,” I say, watching Taylor through the glass. “It’s becoming inconvenient.”

“For whom?” Arkady asks.

I don’t answer.