He has only the subtlest trace of an accent, but what comes through most in his first words is that Nicolai Garkov is ice cold. It’s as if he has read about human emotions but never experienced one firsthand.
If my father thinks that Nicolai Garkov is behind the disappearance of his youngest daughter, he doesn’t betray it. He looks like I’ve seen him countless times, the very picture of learned legal counsel.
“Nicolai, this is my eldest daughter, Ella,” he says. “I believe I’ve mentioned that she recently joined my firm.”
“Yes. So nice to meet you, Ella. Your father has spoken about you so often I feel like we’ve already met.”
My father continues. “The reason I’m here is to let you know that I’m going to ask Judge Koletsky for an adjournment of the trial.”
My eyes are fixed on Garkov, looking for some evidence that he already knew his trial would be postponed. He gives me nothing. Not a twitch or even a blink.
My preoccupation with reading Garkov has caused me to ignore my father’s distress. He has begun to choke up, although I don’t realize it until it occurs to me that he hasn’t yet explained to Garkov why he needs to postpone the trial. When I finally turn to my father, he’s cradling his head.
I reach over to take my father’s hand. He makes contact with me but doesn’t allow me to get a grip. Instead he straightens, ready to take charge of the meeting again.
“Nicolai, I have something very serious to discuss with you,” he says, his voice now trembling. “We’ve known each other a very long time, and I think you know all that I’ve done for you. Now I’m asking for a favor from you.”
“Of course,” Garkov says. “Anything.”
“My youngest daughter, Charlotte, has gone missing. She’s twenty-five years old and was last seen yesterday morning. The police are now investigating. As you can imagine, I’m currently in no mental state to begin a trial.”
“My . . . I’m sorry, sometimes my English fails me. Condolences is not the proper word . . . so let me say that I pray for you, Clint, that your daughter returns unharmed.”
“Yes. Thank you, Nicolai. We are praying for that too. But my daughter . . . she’s the kindest person on this earth. It is hard to fathom that anyone would benefit in the least by harming her. But it did occur to me that you were hoping very much for a further delay of your trial, and now, because of this tragedy in my family, you’re going to get it.”
Nicolai Garkov remains a study in repose. He has just been accused of kidnapping—or murdering—his lawyer’s daughter for no other purpose than to delay the inevitable, yet he hasn’t flinched.
“Mr. Garkov,” I say, “because I’m a partner at the law firm, my father has filled me in about your case, all of it of course subject to the attorney–client privilege. I’m also aware of the issues that caused your prior counsel to withdraw, and so I know that you’ll go to extremes to get what you want.”
He doesn’t offer a word of protest. Nor does his expression change in the least. It’s as if he’s confirming what I’ve just said.
“Given that, I’m sure you can appreciate why it has occurred to us that you might be involved in Charlotte’s disappearance. And if you are—I know I speak for my father, when I say that the only thing we care about is getting my sister back home. So please tell us. There will be no repercussions to you. My father will request the continuance either way, and we’d be disbarred if we ever revealed what you tell us. We just need to get Charlotte back.”
My father’s eyes start to moisten again. He wipes at them with the back of his hand.
“As one father to another,” my father says slowly, “I’m begging you, Nicolai. All I care about is my daughter’s safety. If you have anything to do with this, please, for the love of God, tell me. It won’t leave this room. I swear it.”
Garkov still doesn’t outwardly display any reaction. He looks at me impassively before turning back to my father. Then, in a measured tone, he says, “I understand how this type of uncertainty can make you desperate, which is why I am not in the least offended by the accusation. But I swear to you, on the lives of my own children, I do not know anything about the disappearance of your daughter. If I did, I’d not only tell you, but I’d make it my business to make whoever was responsible pay, and pay dearly, for hurting your family.”
My father looks at me. His eyes are still watery, and it triggers a similar response in me. He’s silently asking whether I believe Garkov.
In truth, I don’t so much believe that Garkov isn’t behind Charlotte’s disappearance as I am convinced that we’ll never find out if he is. Given that the purpose of this meeting was to beg Garkov to return Charlotte, it’s now clear to me that our pilgrimage was a waste of time. Nothing is gained by making an emotional appeal to a man who lacks a soul.
“Thank you, Mr. Garkov,” I say. “As my father said, we’re going to seek an adjournment of your trial. If you’d prefer to retain someone else, we would understand.”
For the first time, Nicolai Garkov changes his expression. A thin smile now comes across his lips.
“Not at all. I’m willing to wait for Clint to be ready. No matter how long that takes.”
At least during the day I had distractions. Back in my apartment that evening, I’m alone. After my mother died, my father immediately left for this big trial out in Dallas, and at the time I was furious at him for not postponing it. But now I understand. He needed to focus his mind on something else.
God, how I miss Charlotte. I’d give anything to talk to her.
Then I remember. Even if I can’t talk to her, she can still talk to me. Clad in my pajamas, I go to my bag, pull out the loose-leaf binder containing her half-completed manuscript, and settle into the sofa to read.
DEAD CERTAIN
A NOVEL
BY
CHARLOTTE BRODEN
For my sister, Ella, because . . . because
CHAPTER ONE
Even in the beginning, I wondered about the end. I could envision only two outcomes, with nothing in between: happily-ever-after with a man I love, or my entire world blown to hell.
I’ve had half a dozen relationships that have lasted more than a handful of dates, and until recently I never found being monogamous to be any great feat. But in the last few months, I’ve had to compartmentalize my love life. Marco, an artist, is my boyfriend; Jason, a student in the musical-theater class for which I serve as a teaching assistant, loves me with the reckless abandon of someone who has never had his heart broken; and I’ve fallen head over heels for Matthew, a banker, who is married and but for that small detail would be reason enough for me to jettison the others.