Serafina and the Silent Vampire - By Marie Treanor Page 0,123

combined with nerves, of course, and tonight she had excuse for both.

“And Nell Black, translator,” Lamont finished, “present at the request of Mr. Kolnikov.”

“What are her qualifications?” Gallini demanded at once. “She must be fluent in Zavreki.”

“I am,” Nell said mildly. She reached into her bag and brought out copies of her degrees and diplomas. Although she was aware of Kolnikov’s gaze upon her, she passed the documents to the solicitor, who pushed them nearer to his client, so that they could both view them. In the belief she would now have a free, if brief moment to examine the suspect, she lifted her gaze to his face. Mistake.

It was a bit like falling out of a tree when she was a kid: a sense of dizziness, followed swiftly by a thud that sucked all the air out of her lungs. Not because he was particularly good-looking—although he was, all straight, sharp lines and shaggy blond hair—but because his hard, intense blue eyes were staring right at her, as if he could see into every corner of her existence.

At least there was no “aura” now.

His lips separated, and he spoke in Zavreki. “How come?”

The words were brief, without emphasis, and yet they threw her. Perhaps it was his voice, quiet and deep as dark velvet, that made her shiver.

“How come what?” she demanded.

“How come you speak my language?”

“My mother came from Zavrekestan.”

He picked up the packet of cigarettes from the table. “And they say you can never escape,” he said flippantly.

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Out of the frying pan into the fire,” he observed, placing a cigarette between his lips. His hands were large, but slender, his fingers long and oddly elegant compared to the rest of his flung-together if attractive appearance. He wore no rings, no wrist watch. And the tattoos licking down his forearms to his wrists were flames. Bizarre. Though no reason to arrest someone for arson.

“I’ve told you, there’s no smoking in here, Mr. Kolnikov,” Lamont said impatiently. “Can we get on? I take it you’re happy to have Miss Black as your translator?” He fixed Nell with his gaze, and she almost jumped with the realization that her job had now begun.

Hastily, she translated Lamont’s words and Kolnikov threw the cigarette down on the table. “Hit me.”

Nell translated that as, “He agrees.”

Both the policemen fixed their attention on Kolnikov, although it was to Nell, presumably, that he addressed his words.

“Ask him what he was doing in the burning warehouse in Abbeyhill tonight at five minutes to eleven.”

Nell translated without expression, although she felt a chill run through her bones.

Kolnikov shrugged. “If that’s when I met the police, I was running out of the warehouse before I burned to death. I only went in because it was on fire and I heard someone calling for help.”

Lamont and his side-kick both looked sceptical. “Was that not dangerously reckless? Could he not just have called the fire brigade?”

The solicitor looked as if he’d intervene, then waved one hand as if it wasn’t worth the fuss.

Kolnikov answered. “What can I say? I’m a good citizen. And I did.”

“Did what?” Lamont demanded.

Kolnikov’s hand closed around the cigarette. “Call the fire brigade.”

“We can check on that, you know,” Detective Constable Livingstone warned.

Kolnikov said nothing, just looked at him.

“Did you know who was in the warehouse?” Lamont asked.

When Nell translated, Kolnikov shook his head.

“For the tape, please,” Livingstone intoned.

While Nell translated, Kolnikov’s hard, impenetrable blue eyes came back into focus on her face.

“No,” he said.

Something twisted inside her. It seemed likely he was looking at her to avoid the policemen; and yet just for a moment she imagined his eyes weren’t impenetrable at all, but in pain, almost— desperate. Then his lashes came down, thick and concealing.

Perhaps Lamont caught that instant too. Or perhaps he just scented weakness or lies. At any rate, he leaned forward to ram his point home. “Two people died in that blaze, Mr. Kolnikov. Burned to death so that their own mothers wouldn’t recognize them. Did you start the fire?”

Nell translated, trying desperately to keep any emotion from her voice. Her cold lips seemed reluctant to say the words, but at least her brain kept working.

Kolnikov’s gaze flickered to hers and then on to Lamont. “No.”

“At least one of the victims seems to’ve been Russian,” Lamont said casually. “We found the remains of a damaged passport. Is that just co-incidence?”

“I suppose it must be.”

Lamont sat back. Kolnikov didn’t move, except for the slow play of his fingers on