Page 9 of Dead Fall

Carolan stood, covered the body back up with the tarp, and peeled off his gloves. Motioning to a spot away from the cops, he began walking and signaled for her to follow.

Once they were out of earshot, he said, “Over the phone, you stated that Burman was a critic of the Russian government.”

“And then some,” Fields responded. “He was particularly outspoken about President Peshkov and the war in Ukraine.”

“Enough to get him noticed by Moscow?”

Fields nodded. “Lots of posts on social media and several interviews that have gone viral. That’s why I wanted you here to assess the scene.”

“So, we may be looking at a case of Sudden Russian Death Syndrome.”

Once again, Fields nodded. “Gravity does seem to be the number one killer of Peshkov’s critics.”

“And even more so since he invaded Ukraine.”

The Russians weren’t shy about political assassinations. It had been a favorite tool in their bag of tricks dating all the way back to the Bolshevik Revolution.

Russians killing Russians was one thing. Russians killing an American citizen, however, was something entirely different.

Not to mention the fact that Burman, if he had been murdered and this wasn’t a suicide, had been killed in the capital of the United States, only a mile from the White House.

A hit like that would have taken gigantic balls, even by Russian standards. Moscow would have known that there’d be hell to pay for such a move.

What form that hell would take was above Carolan’s pay grade. His job right now was to gather the facts, find any loose threads, and start pulling on them.

“So, what’s next?” Fields asked. “Want to head up to the condo?”

“Have you seen the building’s CCTV footage yet?”

“I did. Our guy can be seen entering via the front door, walking through the lobby, and getting on the elevator, all of it alone, about an hour ago.”

“What about exterior cameras?” Carolan replied.

“The camera in front is working. The one in back has been out for about two days. They’re waiting on a replacement from the security company. Supply chain issues.”

“Was our guy dropped off or on foot?”

“On foot.”

“Anyone else in the vicinity? Same side of the street? Opposite side? Following him via a slow-moving vehicle?”

“Not that I could see,” stated Fields. “I’ve got to tell you, if Russian Intelligence is behind this, they did a good job staying out of sight. That said, I’ve had a copy sent to our office and we’ve got agents out combing the neighborhood for all additional footage.”

“I don’t like that the rear camera was down. If he had unannounced visitors upstairs waiting for him, that’s the most likely point of entry.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “Do we know if our guy kept a vehicle here in the building?”

Fields nodded. “Bought a new Tesla a few months ago. I already went down to the garage looking for it. His parking space is empty.”

Interesting, Carolan thought to himself.Maybe it’s in the shop.

On the edge of the perimeter a handful of people loitered, drawn like curious bugs to the flashing red and blue lights of the D.C. police vehicles. And, as was his habit, the FBI man scanned their faces.

It wouldn’t have been the first time a killer had stood outside a crime scene watching. He also wouldn’t have put it past the Russians to send someone along to observe how Burman’s death was being handled and which agencies had been activated.

Had he been thinking further ahead, he might have tasked a plainclothes agent to mingle with bystanders and capture their images. Hindsight was always twenty-twenty.

Carolan paid attention for any telltale signs—cheap suits, badhaircuts, and/or known staffers from the Russian Embassy. Thus far, nothing screamed Kremlin spy.

The only person who did capture his attention was an unkempt, redheaded man in his early thirties with a bushy beard. There was something about him that seemed off.

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