Payne stared at Ivan, trying to gauge his honesty. Ivan returned his stare. Never blinking or looking away, he wanted to assure Payne that he was telling the truth.
“You must remember,” Ivan explained, “I grew up in a Russia where we feared police. KGB would knock on door in middle of night and people would not return. Entire families would disappear in blink of eye. Events like these are not forgotten. Or forgiven.”
Payne remained standing, still not satisfied. “When did the police call?”
“Yesterday morning. Questions were asked, but I did not answer.”
“What type of questions?”
“If you sit, I will tell you, and not a moment before.”
Admiring the old man’s spunk, Payne did as requested. But he sat on the edge of the couch, ready to spring at the first sign of trouble.
“Is he always this tense?” Ivan asked Allison.
She smiled at Payne. “From the moment we met.”
“Perhaps,” Ivan said with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, “you should help him relax.”
Allison blushed at the innuendo while Ivan laughed and coughed. After a few short puffs from his oxygen mask, his breathing was back to normal and the smile had returned to his face. He rarely had any visitors and planned on enjoying this conversation for as long as possible.
“Where was I?” Ivan asked.
Payne answered. “The police.”
“Ah, yes. They asked me about Ellis Cooper, a name I did not know. They said he was killed at Peterhof, and my number was found in pocket. They wanted to know why.”
“And what did you say?”
“What could I say? I did not know Ellis Cooper.”
Payne realized Ellis Cooper was probably the name on the fake passport that Byrd had been carrying at the time of his death. Payne wondered what else Byrd might have been carrying.
“When did you realize it was Richard?”
“When police ask about Henry Shoemann. Do you know name?”
Payne grimaced. “No, I don’t. Who is he?”
“Man whose name was written on same paper as my number.”
“Henry Shoemann?” Payne said to Allison. “Do you know a Henry Shoemann?”
She shook her head. “Unless . . .”
“Unless what?”
“Could they have meant Heinrich Schliemann?”
Payne glanced at Ivan and noticed a smile on his lips. A big, broad smile.
Suddenly, everything made sense to Payne. Byrd fell into the fountain at the Peterhof. By the time the cops had fished him out, the piece of paper in his pocket was waterlogged and the ink had run together. The police had tried to decipher the words on the list and had come up with Henry Shoemann instead of Heinrich Schliemann. In addition, they probably had trouble reading the digits of the phone number, which explained why it had taken them two days to call Ivan.
Payne asked, “How many people did they call before you?”
Ivan smiled some more. “I am guessing fifty.”
The answer pleased Payne. He simply wasn’t in the mood to deal with the police. He wanted to complete their transaction and get to Jarkko’s boat as soon as possible.
“So,” Payne said, “I was wondering—”
Ivan interrupted him. “If you do not mind, now I would like to speak to Allison.”
Payne glanced at her. The look in his eye said make this quick. “Of course.”
The Russian swung his gaze to her pretty face. He stared at her for a moment before he spoke. “I was told you are fan of Heinrich Schliemann.”
She smiled and nodded. “Yes, I am.”
“I am as well. I am one of few people old enough to have met his wife, Sophia.”
Her eyes widened in awe. “You met his wife?”
“Yes. My father was professor who believed in showing me as much of world as possible when I was little boy. That included long trip to Athens before air travel was popular. He showed me ruins and explained their importance. I am not sure if he planned it or it simply happened, but Sophia was speaking at one of the museums. She shook my hand and pinched my cheeks and I was smitten for life. I knew then and there that I wanted to work in museum.”
“Wow,” she said, virtually speechless. “That is amazing.”
“Over the years, I had chance to speak to his children as well.”
“Andromache and Agamemnon.”
Ivan smiled at the mere mention of their names. Schliemann was so fascinated with Homer that he had named his children after characters in the Iliad. “It is true. You are fan.”
She nodded again. “Schliemann’s the topic of my dissertation.”
“So I was told.”
Allison paused, unable to let the moment pass. She knew Payne