Straker saw that the house was set some way back in the middle of its grounds, in its own clearing among the pine trees. A mature garden showed further investment in horticulture, with a profusion of ornamental trees and shrubs right across it. Straker's stroboscopic glimpses between the tree trunks allowed him to snatch an impression of the house itself – which, at that moment, was bathed in sunshine.
Architecturally, Straker would have likened it to a Bauhaus take on a traditional design. It had neo-classical references: a triangular pediment, columns that stood over two storeys in height and a magnificent set of stone steps leading down to the circular sweep of the drive. But instead of decorative baroque-style flourishes, it had a cold line in plain function. To either side of the main facade, stretching off left and right, were two wings whose frontage was in the same style as the central section, again in classical proportions, but these hosted numerous windows. Glass even seemed to take up more space than the white-painted walls in between. Upstairs, each window had its own balcony. And that was when Straker's interest in real estate ended.
Almost like silhouettes, two black figures stood out on the central left-hand balcony.
‘Look at that,’ he said pointing through the window. ‘There are “security” people all over this place.’
They lost sight of the house as the density of the trees increased again. Straker's taxi reached a junction in the forest road. He instructed the driver to turn right, and so the car was soon running down a second side of the Baryshnikov property. Some distance along there, they came across something else.
‘That's interesting,’ said Straker. ‘Would that be some sort of service entrance?’
McMahon asked the taxi to pull over on the opposite side of the road. Straker was able to study what looked like a back gate. This was much smaller than the main entrance, even though it, too, had its pillars and walls. But instead of wrought iron, this entrance had solid wooden gates – and looked much more workaday. To one side, set in the wall, was a narrow pedestrian doorway with an accompanying grille, camera and intercom.
Straker turned to McMahon: ‘I have an idea, which you may not like. After that conversation you had when you rang this house, I’d like to see whether any of our suspicions are justified.’
McMahon looked apprehensive.
‘The moment you feel uncomfortable, though,’ said Straker, ‘just turn and walk away, yes?’
The Brandeis lawyer nodded with hesitant determination.
‘I would do it,’ offered Straker, ‘but I can’t speak Russian. Behave as you did when you stopped those policemen impounding the Ptarmigan motor home – and you’ll be fine!’
Managing a forced smile, McMahon climbed from the taxi and, checking the road for traffic, crossed the forest lane.
Straker watched McMahon as she approached the pedestrian gate. He could see her press the intercom.
He then saw her leaning in towards the grille.
A conversation seemed to take place.
After less than a minute McMahon was hurrying back across the road; she grabbed open the door.
‘Drive,’ she snapped in Russian to the driver.
With no delay the driver fired up the engine and pulled sharply away.
‘I was threatened.’
‘Shit, for doing what?’
‘Trespassing on police property.’
‘Police property? How is this police property?’
McMahon opened the window and breathed deeply.
‘I said I was a friend and was worried because I usually popped in to pick up Tatiana's prescriptions from the doctor.’
‘That's good,’ offered Straker.
‘I asked whether she was all right. The thug on the intercom said it was none of my business.’
‘Shit.’
‘I then asked: “Can you at least reassure me that Tatiana is okay.”’
‘What did he say to that?’
‘Otvyazhis!’
‘Eh?’ he asked.
‘“Fuck off”, in Russian.’
Straker placed a hand gently on hers. ‘Sandy I’m so sorry.’
She smiled apologetically and shook her head. ‘Don’t be. At least we do know something.’
‘What's that?’
‘Mrs Baryshnikov's definitely in there.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because, through a gap in the gates, I just caught sight of an ambulance … being unloaded.’
Straker didn’t look convinced.
