Page 134 of Lethal Torture
A slender woman in jeans and bundled beneath several layers is sitting alone there, reading a book. A knit hat covers her hair, and a broad scarf is wrapped around her face against the cold, so her features are impossible to make out.
I pull out my phone and zoom in, snapping several pictures before I switch to video. I can’t get any audio from this distance, but every clue helps.
Kozlov frowns as he talks to her, his expression growing darker and his words more animated as time goes on. I can’t lip-read, but it’s clear he isn’t happy, and when he puts a fat hand over her thigh and grips it hard enough to make her wince, I have to restrain myself from storming across the park and planting my fist in his face.
Clearly terrified, the girl shrinks away from him and into herself, shaking her head as if protesting against some kind of accusation. Glancing briefly around the park to make sure nobody is watching them, Kozlov thuds his fist heavily into her belly, causing her to double over, gasping for breath.
Then he does it again.
Fuck this.
I’m already crossing the street when I see him stand up and walk away. I veer slightly off course and turn down a side street before he sees me. A second later his car has done a U-turn. I watch the transponder for long enough to know he’s taking the return route back to the warehouse.
The girl on the bench has straightened up, though she has her head in her hands, and even from here, I can tell she’s crying.
I debate with myself for a whole ten seconds. The smart thing would be to follow her, unnoticed, gather as much information as I can.
But fuck the smart thing.
She looks up as I approach, and then her entire body goes very still.
I falter for a moment.
Then I approach the bench and sit down at the opposite end.
“Eva,” I say gently, “why don’t you tell me what is going on?”
“What’s goingto happen to me now?” Eva stares dully at the ground in front of the park bench. Her story has taken us into the dim gloom of the late afternoon, and the park is deserted. I could have taken her to a café, somewhere warm and comfortable, but some stories need to be told in places where they can’t be heard, and Eva’s is definitely one of those stories.
Thin strands of brown hair have escaped her knit cap, and the winter damp has plastered them to her forehead. Her dark eyes are bloodshot from crying and faded with exhaustion. During the time we’ve spoken, I’ve seen the telltale signs of long-term stress that I should have noticed far before now: the trembling hands, nervously plucking at a loose string on her sweater; fingernails bitten down to bloody nubs; red patches of skin where she’s rubbed to self-soothe.
Maybe I did see some of those signs, but just dismissed them as the aftermath of previous suffering.
Now I feel only shame that I never understood the pressure she was still under.
“We need to tell Zinaida the truth,” I say gently. “I know her, Eva. She’ll understand.”
“I betrayed her.” She shivers involuntarily, kicking the ground beneath her feet. “Hacked her schedule, told Kozlov herplans. We both know Zinaida has killed people for less. There’s no excuse for what I’ve done.”
“Kozlov gave you no choice. And Zinaida might be ruthless, but she’d never kill someone who was a victim themselves. I can promise you that, Eva.”
Hunching her shoulders, she turns to look away from me. “I need time to think.”
It’s a bit late for that.I understand how Eva was coerced into betraying Zinaida’s movements to Kozlov. She’s shown me the Minos brand on her shoulder, the coarse bull’s head symbol burned into her flesh as if she was a beast sold at market. She’s told me about the friends still held captive, one released every time she trades information, and about the constant threat she’s faced of being recaptured and forced into slavery. About the threats to bomb Sophie’s House and torture Zinaida herself.
I know Eva truly believes she had no choice. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have a choice now either. She just hasn’t realized it yet.
I try to maintain a steady tone. “You can’t go back to work at Sophie’s House, Eva. Not until we’ve spoken to Zinaida. I will face her with you, and I swear I will keep you safe, but the life you’ve been living is at an end. You must know that,” I finish gently.
Her face is still turned away from me. I watch a lone tear track down her cheek and drip onto her coat.
“Where am I supposed to go now?” Her voice is small and defeated, and despite my relief to finally know who’s been leaking the information, I feel no triumph at all, only sadness.
“I can give you a night,” I say. “One of the Sophie’s House emergency suites is empty. We can put you there for one night.” I inwardly grimace, but force myself to go on. “Sal and Ana will have to be told,” I say gently. “And I’m afraid you’ll be watchedquite closely, which I’m sure you can understand. But at least it will give you time to have some sleep and collect yourself.”
Not to mention time for me to prepare Zinaida for a very uncomfortable truth.
Of all the possible candidates Zin has considered as being the traitor in her operation, I know Eva is the last person she suspects—and the betrayal that will hurt her the most.
