Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN IN RED
The woman was not Anya.
That was the first thing Detective Reyes proved.
It took twelve hours, two archived family photographs, one old immigration record, and a fingerprint lifted from the gold foil around Sophie’s uneaten chocolate.
Her name was Irina Volkov.
She was Anya’s cousin.
Same dark eyes. Same sharp cheekbones. Same family smile that looked almost amused even when it wasn’t.
And in the oldest photograph Reyes found, Irina stood beside Anya at twenty-two, both women wearing matching gold bird necklaces.
Sophie had not seen a ghost.
She had seen family resemblance through four-year-old eyes.
That should have made me feel better.
It did not.
Because Irina Volkov had vanished from every normal record six years earlier.
No current address. No tax filings under her own name. No social media. No recent employment. Nothing.
People with ordinary lives leave ordinary trails.
Irina had erased hers.
Reyes met me at my apartment the next afternoon.
Sophie sat on the floor with crayons while I made tea. A plainclothes officer waited downstairs, not outside my door, exactly as agreed.
Alexei was still in the hospital.
Stable. Angry. Discharged soon.
Those facts traveled through Dmitri in text messages that had become increasingly strange.
HE IS BREATHING.
HE IS FURIOUS.
HE ASKED IF SOPHIE ATE BREAKFAST.
I had not answered the last one.
Reyes placed a file on my table.
“Irina’s mother and Anya’s mother were sisters.”
“Alexei knew her?”
“Barely. He says he met her twice before the marriage.”
“Viktor?”
“Claims he hasn’t seen her in years.”
“Do you believe him?”
Reyes looked at me.
“I believe evidence.”
Good answer.
“What about the chocolate?”
“Same brand as the box from the study.”
“Hazelnut.”
“Yes.”
“Was Sophie’s piece tampered with?”
“No evidence of anything beyond the product itself.”
I looked at my daughter.
She was allergic to peanuts, not hazelnuts. The candy still could have been risky for a child with food allergies, but it had not been a custom poison aimed at her.
That mattered.
A little.
“Then why give it to Sophie?”
“We don’t know.”
Sophie looked up.
“Red lady said save.”
Reyes and I froze.
“What did she say, baby?”
Sophie colored a purple circle.
“She say, ‘Save for Mommy.’”
My heart changed speed.
Reyes crouched.
“Did she tell you to eat it?”
Sophie shook her head.
“No. Save.”
“Did she say why?”
“Because grown-ups forget.”
Reyes looked at me.
I sat.
Irina had not tried to feed Sophie the candy.
She had used her to preserve one.
A sample.
Evidence.
That was reckless.
It was also very different from attempted harm.
“Why a child?” I whispered.
Reyes answered. “Because whoever was watching the kitchen may not have searched her.”
I hated the logic because it worked.
Sophie held up her picture.
“Purple doctor.”
“Beautiful.”
She returned to coloring.
Reyes lowered her voice.
“The kitchen camera captured part of Irina’s entry.”
“I thought footage was deleted.”
“The hallway camera was. Kitchen backup wrote locally for thirty-seven minutes before deletion propagated.”
“What does it show?”
“Irina enters through the service door at 1:18 p.m. She’s wearing a catering jacket.”
“Who let her in?”
“Temporary vendor badge.”
“Created by?”
Reyes turned one page.
“Dr. Leon Markov’s office.”
Alexei’s physician.
One of the four people who knew the allergy.
My stomach turned.
“Markov created her access?”
“His clinic’s vendor coordinator account did.”
“Could someone else use it?”
“Yes.”
Again. Evidence. Not certainty.
“What does Irina do in the kitchen?”
“She sees the chocolate box on a preparation cart. Opens it. Takes one piece. Then Sophie enters.”
I could picture it.
My daughter wandering because she had been bored upstairs while I cleaned.
Irina recognizing opportunity.
“Then?”
“Irina gives Sophie the piece, speaks to her, and leaves.”
“Does she put anything in the box?”
“No.”
That mattered too.
“So she wasn’t the one who brought it.”
“Not on the footage.”
“Who did?”
“The cart entered from the service elevator at 1:06. Pushed by a man in a cap.”
“Face?”
“Mostly hidden.”
“Badge?”
“Medical courier.”
I laughed without humor.
“Of course.”
Reyes nodded.
“The courier company denies sending anyone.”
“Fake uniform.”
“Probably.”
“Viktor signed for the delivery.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“His lawyer says he signed for several packages at the gate because Alexei’s assistant was unavailable.”
“Convenient.”
“Convenience is not a crime.”
I liked Reyes less when she was sensible.
My phone rang.
Alexei.
Not Dmitri.
I stared at the screen.
Reyes raised an eyebrow.
“You can answer.”
“I know.”
I answered.
“Mara.”
His voice still sounded rough.
“You’re supposed to be resting.”
“I am resting while calling you.”
“That is not how rest works.”
“Where is Sophie?”
I looked at her.
“Coloring.”
“Did she eat?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
I almost laughed.
“You nearly died yesterday and now you’re auditing a four-year-old’s breakfast?”
“Yes.”
“Cereal.”
“What kind?”
“Alexei.”
He went quiet.
Then: “Reyes is there.”
“How do you know?”
“Dmitri.”
Of course.
“Put me on speaker.”
“No.”
Silence.
Reyes smiled.
I continued. “If you want Detective Reyes, call Detective Reyes.”
“You enjoy this.”
“A little.”
He coughed.
Then said, “I am being discharged tonight.”
“Good.”
“I’m not returning to the estate.”
That surprised me.
“Why?”
“Because the estate failed.”
A man describing his fortress like broken equipment.
“Where will you go?”
“Hospital-owned recovery apartment for forty-eight hours, then somewhere police approve.”
I looked at Reyes.
She nodded.
“Good.”
Another pause.
“I want to see Sophie.”
My chest tightened.
“Why?”
“Because I did not thank her.”
“You did.”
“No.”
He was right.
Calling her doctor was not the same.
Still.
“She is four.”
“I am aware.”
“She doesn’t need to carry the idea she saved an adult.”
Silence.
Reyes looked impressed.
Alexei’s voice softened.
“What should I say?”
I did not expect the question.
“Tell her she noticed something helpful. Tell her real doctors did the emergency work. Tell her grown-ups are responsible for grown-up emergencies.”
He repeated it quietly, as if memorizing.
“Fine.”
“And don’t give her money.”
“I was not going to—”
“You were absolutely going to.”
He went quiet again.
Then, incredibly: “Maybe.”
Reyes covered a smile.
We arranged a brief visit the next day at a police-approved medical office.
Neutral.
No estate.
No armed hallway.
Alexei arrived wearing a dark coat and irritation.
Two detectives remained nearby.
Dmitri stood outside the room.
Sophie walked in carrying her doctor kit.
Alexei crouched carefully.
His throat was still bruised.
“Doctor Sophie.”
She smiled. “Mouth small.”
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
I nodded.
Alexei returned his attention to her.
“You noticed I was sick.”
“Yes.”
“That helped the adults know what to tell the ambulance.”
“I fix you.”
He paused.
“No.”
Sophie frowned.
He continued. “You helped. Real doctors fixed the dangerous part.”
She considered.
“Team?”
Alexei looked surprised.
“Yes.”
“Like Paw Patrol.”
He looked at me.
I shrugged.
“Apparently.”
Sophie accepted that.
Then she pressed her toy stethoscope to his chest.
“Heart there.”
He smiled.
For one second, I forgot why we were all afraid.
Then Detective Reyes entered.
“Mr. Petrov.”
Alexei stood.
“What?”
“We found Irina Volkov.”
The room changed.
“Where?”
“She contacted us through an attorney.”
“Alive?”
Reyes stared.
“Obviously.”
Alexei almost smiled.
“Sorry.”
“She says she’ll give a statement under protection.”
“About Viktor?”
“About your wife.”
Alexei went still.
Reyes continued.
“She says Anya knew someone close to you was planning to use your allergy against you.”
My skin went cold.
“When?” Alexei asked.
“Five years ago.”
“And she never told me?”
Reyes’ face changed.
“She tried.”
Alexei looked at her.
“What does that mean?”
“Irina says Anya was on her way to meet you when she died.”
Silence.
“And the evidence she was carrying disappeared from the crash scene.”
Alexei’s eyes went to Sophie.
Then me.
Five years ago, his wife died carrying a warning about the exact method someone had just used against him.
This was no new attempt.
It was an old plan finally completed.
Almost.
If Sophie had not noticed his mouth, it might have worked.
After Reyes left, Alexei remained in the neutral medical office longer than he needed to.
Sophie built a tower from tongue depressors a nurse gave her.
He watched.
“Why does she trust people so quickly?” he asked.
“She doesn’t.”
He looked surprised.
“She trusts patterns,” I said. “People who get down to her height. People who explain before touching. People who keep promises that make sense to a four-year-old.”
Alexei looked at his hands.
“I am bad at all three.”
“You can learn.”
He almost smiled.
Sophie’s tower collapsed.
She gasped, then started rebuilding.
Alexei said, “Most adults in my world would blame the table.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
He reached for one wooden stick, then stopped before entering Sophie’s space.
“Can I help?”
She nodded.
I noticed the question.
So did he.
For ten minutes, a man people feared across Chicago built a crooked tower with a preschooler while two detectives stood outside reviewing an attempted murder case.
Nothing about the scene solved the danger.
That was why it mattered.
Life was still allowed to contain something other than the investigation.
When we left, Sophie waved.
“Bye, Mr. Alexei. No eat bad chocolate.”
He looked solemn.
“I will do my best.”
She pointed at him.
“Read label.”
“Yes, doctor.”
Then she looked at me.
“He learn.”
May you like
I laughed.
Maybe.
