"I love you," he said, fighting for his calmest expression, wanting to transfer hope, to let her draw a sense of serenity from him. "It's all over. We'll have you home soon. Grace is fine, can't wait to see you. We're all fine. Kevin is fine. Everybody is fine." He talked in a rush, knowing that words were too weak to climb the wall of her anguish. Saying them was the only thing.

Babsie held up a picture of Zina.

"Was this the woman who kidnapped you?" she said. "Just nod if you can, Kate."

"Not now, Babsie," Eddie said, but Kate was nodding furiously.

"It was this woman?" Babsie said, confirming her answer.

Kate went on nodding and trying to raise her left hand. She got it up a few inches and held her fingers in the V sign.

"Two?" Babsie said. "Two people?" She could see in Kate's frustration that there was more. But with tubes down her throat and her mouth covered by a square patch of blue material to secure the tubes in place, she couldn't speak. Enough, Eddie thought. She's too fragile.

"Let's do this later," Eddie said.

"She's stronger than you think," Babsie said, overruling him as she'd done for eleven days. "Two women?" Babsie asked as it suddenly came to her. "Two women." Kate nodded. Two women.

She kept reaching for Babsie's notebook. Babsie put the pen in her left hand. She held Kate's arm as the young woman scrawled letters over the page sideways. Four shaky letters, but unmistakably the word ship.

"A ship?" Babsie said. "They kept you on a ship."

Their five minutes ended in three; Eddie wanted the questions over with. Kate's heart rate set off alarms. "Let her calm down," he said. He and Babsie went back to the hallway. The hospital PA system reeled off a series of names: doctors summoned here and there. He recognized none of the names from his days and nights in this hospital. Times change, he thought. Your past evaporates in change.

"I thought your pal Boland had the Coast Guard looking at Borodenko's freighters," Babsie said.

"Doesn't matter now."

Babsie grunted something clearly sarcastic, then walked away, talking on her cell phone, ignoring the sign that prohibited that practice. A wheelchair was ordered for the cardiac unit; a priest was summoned to the OR.

Doctors had assured Eddie that barring unseen complications, she'd be fine. Everyone is fine. The next twenty-four hours are critical-another old hospital saw. We all resort to cliches at a time like this. How about closure? he thought. Why doesn't this feel like closure?

"Believe it or not," Babsie said, snapping her phone closed, "Martha went to pick up Grace from school. You might have to rethink some of your opinions of that woman. She's a tough old bird."

"The cops still with her?"

"Of course. Martha just thought a family member might reassure Grace. It was a nice idea, Eddie."

"How's Kev?"

"Critical, but stable. He knows about Kate, and that perked him up. Probably gonna downgrade him tomorrow."

"The next twenty-four hours are critical."

"Always are," Babsie said, searching his face for whatever that meant.

"We're never going to feel safe until we get Zina," he said.

"When Kate gets a little stronger, she'll be able to tell us more. You're right, though. We don't want to push her right now. Let's hold off until she can handle it. Until then, we'll put a couple of cops here, around the clock. I'll get Yonkers to supply a body."

"Sophie Borodenko knows where Zina is hiding," Eddie said.

"Like she's gonna implicate herself and tell us? Yuri's calling in all his lawyers now. If she's not already on a plane to Moscow."

"Let's go over there."

"Borodenko's house? He has no reason even to let us in the door."

"He'll let us in. I'll tell him who killed Sophie's mother."

"Nunez and Vestri," Babsie said.

"They pulled the trigger. I know who killed her."

Chapter 43

Friday

4:00 P.M.

"I wonder how much bootleg gas it took to start this bonfire," Babsie said.

Thick black smoke drifted up through the upper scaffolding of the Cyclone roller coaster. Police diverted traffic on Surf Avenue into one lane, steering them around fire hoses strung through an empty lot and down to the boardwalk. Eddie slowed down to see the blaze that fully engulfed the two-story frame building on West Nineteenth that housed Coney Custards. The entire building was too far gone, swallowed up in flames. Firefighters stood back and dumped water on it, trying to protect the surrounding buildings.

"Yuri destroying the evidence," Eddie said.

"That's why he's not going to let you near his wife," Babsie said. "He'd burn down half of Brooklyn to protect her."

The front door of Yuri Borodenko's home had the same ornate carvings as the door of the Mazurka. Eddie pressed a button and the chimes rang out a few notes of a song he didn't recognize. Before he could ring again, a voice came over an intercom. Eddie pressed another button and gave their names. He said he needed to speak with Mrs. Borodenko. He had important information about her parents. They waited over five minutes, then an Asian man in a white Nehru jacket invited them in. A set of Gucci bags was stacked just inside the door.

"Women's luggage," Babsie said.

They were led into a room lined with books. The books were arranged too neatly to have been read by anyone. Borodenko came in immediately through another door. He was much shorter than Eddie had thought, but he'd only seen him seated. The Russian introduced himself. Not a bodyguard in sight. There had to be video security throughout the house; thugs close by, ready to pounce. Babsie sat on a red leather sofa. Eddie refused a seat, wandering around instead, looking for the portal with the hidden rifle pointed at him.

"You have information for me," Borodenko said, getting right to the point.

"First, I want to thank you for finding my daughter."

"Your daughter?" he said, looking surprised. "Your daughter is in the hospital, am I correct? I heard on the television. Doing well, I hope."

"A little rough right now, but it looks good."

"I'm happy for that, Mr. Dunne. But don't thank me. I had nothing to do with your daughter's return. From what I've heard, you worked tirelessly to find her, as I would in your position. I cannot imagine what lengths I would go to in order to save my wife or child. The most extreme, I can assure you."

"I'm not here to hurt Sophie, if that's what you're thinking. Or to rehash these past twelve days."

"Very noble of you. I'll pass your thoughts on to her."

"I need to talk to Sophie in person," Eddie said.

"That's not possible. You'll just have to forgive my wife's absence. Rest assured I will relay your message."

"Then ask her where I can find Zina Rabinovich."

"Sophie doesn't have that information."

The room was far less gaudy than Eddie had expected. It could have been the library of an Ivy League dean. A huge red-and-black Oriental rug centered the room. Dark wood all around. The paintings on the walls appeared to be the work of Russian artists. Eddie recognized an oil by Konstantin Lomykin, a favorite of Lukin. Snow-covered roofs in Odessa, the scene as desolate and sad as a hollow in Appalachia.

"I know who Sophie is," Eddie said. "I know all about her."

"And just what do you know about my wife?"

"I was the detective handling her parents' murders."

"I've read your reports."

"Then you haven't read the truth."

Borodenko was less imposing than Eddie remembered. He'd gotten paunchier, and balder. The cardigan sweater, though a soft expensive wool, gave him a frumpy look. His face showed the ravages of the long trip from Moscow and a marriage to a troubled woman half his age.