Page 14 of The Case of the Missing Dancer
Heavy footsteps thundered up the stairs outside. Volkov looked between the front door and the back exit, calculating his options. His companion had already disappeared through the rear door, but Volkov himself seemed reluctant to flee.
"This is not over," he said, his accent thickening with anger. "My niece has taken something that doesn't belong to her, and I will have it back. Whatever the cost."
"Whatever she took," I replied, "it's probably evidence of your crimes. No wonder you want it back."
The office door burst open, and three constables rushed in, led by a sergeant I recognized from Scotland Yard. Behind them came Robert, his face grim with concern and barely controlled fury.
“Catherine,” he called out, his face filled with concern, “are you all right?"
"Yes, though Mr. Volkov was just making some rather concerning threats."
But when I turned back to where Volkov had been standing, the space was empty. He had vanished as completely as if he'd never been there at all.
"Where did he go?" Robert demanded, moving to check the back exit.
"There's a rear staircase," Pemberton said shakily. "Leads down to the alley behind the building."
Robert barked orders to the constables, sending them to search the surrounding streets. I suspected it was already too late. Volkov had the skills of a man trained in espionage. He would know how to make an escape.
Returning to my side, Robert asked, “What happened here?"
I quickly explained about following the trail from Mrs. Whitmore to Pemberton, the booking agent's revelations about Anya's escape plans, and Volkov's sudden appearance.
"He knew about this envelope," I said, retrieving it from my handbag. "Whatever Anya left with Mr. Pemberton, Volkov is desperate to get it back."
Robert examined the sealed envelope carefully. "We'll need to open this at the Yard, with proper witnesses. If it contains evidence of crimes, we'll need to maintain a chain of custody."
"Inspector," Pemberton interjected, his voice still shaky from the encounter, "there's something else you should know. Miss Petrova was scheduled to sail for New York on Friday. But she'd inquired about sailing today.”
"TheMauretania," I added. "She was considering changing her plans.”
“We’ll need to check the passenger manifests immediately," Robert said. "Both for theMauretaniaand theAquitania." He turned to Pemberton. "Did Miss Petrova travel under her real name?"
"She had documentation in the name of Anna Volkov," Pemberton replied. "Said it was her legal name, though she performed under Petrova."
Anna Volkov. So she was definitely Dmitri's niece, not just someone he was pursuing for other reasons.
I thought about the newspaper clipping I'd found in Anya's hiding place, about Volkov's suspected involvement in insurance fraud and warehouse fires.
“Could Anya have evidence of her uncle’s activities?” I dared say no more than that since Pemberton was present.
“If she had, it would be enough to bring down the entire operation. And definitely worth killing for." Robert looked at the envelope. "Which is why we need to get this to the Yard immediately."
As we prepared to leave Pemberton's office, the theatrical agent asked, “What if that man comes back?”
“He’ll be arrested,” Robert said. “We're placing you in protective custody immediately. And we're posting guards on this building."
But even as we made our way down to the waiting police vehicles, I couldn't shake the feeling that Volkov was watching from somewhere nearby. The man had spent years evading revolutionaries and Soviet agents. A few London constables wouldn't stop him if he truly wanted something.
What he wanted was in Robert’s hands—the evidence that could destroy his network and send him to the gallows.
The question was whether we could decode Anya's insurance policy before Volkov found another way to claim it—and silence everyone who knew about it.
As our police escort made its way through London's traffic toward Scotland Yard, I caught sight of a familiar black motorcar keeping pace with us several vehicles back. It maintained its distance perfectly, professional and patient.
The hunt was far from over. If anything, it had just begun.
CHAPTER 8
