Page 7 of The Case of the Missing Dancer
“I do.”
“I’ll be glad to help. Please take a seat.”
After I’d done so, I handed him the letters I’d found. I watched his face carefully as he examined them. His expression darkened almost immediately.
"These are . . . most disturbing," he said quietly. "The handwriting is that of an educated man, but one consumed with rage." He looked up at me. "You say these were addressed to a young woman?"
"A ballet dancer named Anya Petrova. Though I suspect that may not be her real name."
"Ah." He nodded grimly. "Many of us who fled Russia adopted new names. For safety." He returned to the letters,translating as he read. "This first one . . . he calls herlittle doveand says she has beenfoolishto run away. He demands she return to settle what he calls family obligations."
"What sort of obligations?"
Professor Levkin's mouth tightened. "The word he uses . . . it can mean debt. But in this context, it suggests something more sinister. A blood debt, perhaps. Something that cannot be forgiven."
He moved to the second letter, his frown deepening. "This one is more threatening. He says he knows where she is, that London is not so large that she can hide forever. And here . . .” He pointed to a particular passage. "He mentions photographs. Says she was foolish to take them, that they belong to the family."
My pulse quickened. "The photographs I found showed a young girl with a stern man in a military uniform. Family portraits, it seemed."
"Hmm." The professor studied the letters more carefully. "The name he signs . . . Dmitri Volkov. Do you know anything about this man?"
"Only that he's apparently under investigation by Scotland Yard for insurance fraud. And that he claims to be Anya's uncle."
Professor Levkin was quiet for a long moment, then moved to his bookshelf and withdrew a thick volume. "I keep records," he said softly. "Names of those who fled Russia, those who did not survive, those who . . .” He trailed off, flipping through pages of handwritten notes.
"Ah, here." His finger stopped on an entry. "Volkov, Dmitri Mikhailovich. Former colonel in the Tsar's secret police. Known for his brutal interrogation methods. After the revolution, he was suspected of stealing imperial treasures and selling them to fund counter-revolutionary activities."
A chill ran through me. "Secret police?"
"The Okhrana. They were not kind men, Miss Worthington. Volkov, in particular, was known for his cruelty. He fled Russia in 1919 with several family members, including a young niece whose parents had been killed in the revolutionary fighting."
"That could be Anya."
"Very likely. But here is what concerns me most." He returned to the letters. "In this third letter, he mentions others. He says she is not the only one he is tracking down, that there aredebts to be settled with all who betrayed the family honor."
"What does that mean?"
The professor removed his spectacles and cleaned them slowly, clearly troubled. “If this Dmitri Volkov is truly from the old Okhrana, you are dealing with a very dangerous man. These were not ordinary policemen. They were trained killers, experts in intimidation and torture."
"But surely in London, with Scotland Yard watching him?—”
"Do not underestimate him," Professor Levkin said sharply. "Many of these men have formed criminal organizations here in London. They prey upon fellow Russian émigrés, blackmailing them, threatening their families back home. Some have even been involved in political assassinations."
The room seemed to grow colder. "Political assassinations?"
"There have been several suspicious deaths among the Russian exile community. Men who opposed the old regime, who might have had information about stolen imperial treasures or war crimes. The authorities suspect a network, but proving it . . .” He shrugged helplessly.
I thought of the newspaper clipping about the warehouse fire. "Professor, if Anya had evidence of Volkov's crimes, would that explain why he's so desperate to find her?"
"Absolutely. And it would explain why she is so frightened." He handed the letters back to me. “If this young woman hasevidence that could expose Volkov's network, her life is in grave danger. But so is yours, if he discovers you are investigating."
"What kind of evidence might she have?"
"The photographs you mentioned. If they show Volkov with other Okhrana members, if they document meetings or transactions, such things could be devastating. Many of these men have built new lives here, assumed respectable positions. Exposure would mean prison, or worse."
I tucked the letters back into my handbag, my mind racing. “Do you know anything about current Russian criminal activity in London? Where these men might operate from?"
He hesitated, then leaned forward. "There are rumors of a group that meets in the Russian Orthodox Church on Ennismore Gardens. Not for religious purposes, you understand. They use the community as cover for their activities.” He gripped my arm. "Promise me you will not go there alone. These are not men who show mercy to those who threaten them."
