Panthera Spelaea Ch. 21-30

"Svetlana keeps you calm and happy. You changed because she was in danger, not because you wanted to. Stay here, where you and your cat can be sure she is safe and happy."

I was thinking about it when there was a pounding on the door. "Полиция! Открыть!"

"It's the police," Anna said as she got up to answer the door.

Ch. 26

"Let them in," I told her. I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to Marina, my lawyer, telling her the police had arrived at my girlfriend's apartment.

Anna said something in Russian as she walked to the door. Opening it, she got pushed aside as four uniformed officers and one in plainclothes came in. The officers pushed Anna against the wall, the female officer searching her, while two other uniforms pulled me out of my chair. "Mr. John Cantwell, you are under arrest," the detective said in broken English. I was roughly pushed against the apartment wall and searched quickly.

"где Светлана Севастьяно?" They asked something about Svetlana.

"спит в ее комнате," Anna replied. "She's sleeping."

I didn't see what happened with them as I was cuffed and marched out. I only had on thin nylon shorts and a T-shirt. I didn't even have shoes on as they took me down the stairs and into the police car. I didn't say anything; there was no point. I just had to hope the girls kept the stories straight, or we were all in trouble.

They took me not to the local station but to downtown police headquarters. I didn't see this as a good thing, but the handcuffs were my first clue. It took thirty minutes or so to process into the jail. They took my clothes and possessions, my fingerprints, and photographs. It wasn't just the mugshot; they took detailed photos of my body while stripped down to my underwear. I was happy that the lion in me supercharged my healing because the scars from the bullets were gone now. Bullet wounds would be hard to explain.

Eventually, dressed in prison overalls, one of the guards brought me to an interrogation room and handcuffed me to the table. There wasn't much furniture; a metal table bolted to the floor, a narrow bench to sit on (also bolted down), and two metal chairs on the other side. Above the table was the classic single incandescent bulb without a shade, plus the one-way mirror on the side of the room. I was tired; after all, it was barely five in the morning, and I'd had a rough night. If they weren't going to talk to me, I was taking a nap.

I put my head down on my arm and closed my eyes, but it didn't work. I could still hear the conversations outside, even though my beginner Russian couldn't understand much. I was almost asleep when the door flew open, banging against the wall. "Mr. Cantwell."

Jesus, him again? "Senior Investigator Kaprisov."

"Where were you last night?"

"I want to speak with my lawyer."

"Where were you last night?"

"I want to speak to my lawyer."

He pulled the chair out and sat down across from me. "You are in a lot of trouble, John. A confession will go a long way to keeping you from being executed."

"You can tell my lawyer the charges. I have nothing to say to you."

He tapped the table with his fingertip. "Good. I was hoping you would say that." He set a manila folder on the table. "Thirteen people dead." He pulled out one of the photos and flipped it towards me.

I think he wanted to shock me, but I'd already steeled myself to what a cave lion kill would look like. It didn't quite work because it was worse than I'd imagined. "Jesus Christ," I said as I looked away. It was one of the gang members, his neck torn open to the bone with a big chunk missing. I flicked the photo back his way. "I want my lawyer."

This answer just pissed him off. He slammed the folder back on the table, scattering the photos across the table and into my arm. The pictures were all the same; dead punks missing limbs, heads, necks, or other body parts. The Cave Lion didn't mess around, and he didn't stop to eat. The lion ripped them apart in seconds. "You did this, John. We've got video surveillance showing you and your girls leading these men into the park, right into the trap you set for them. You fucked up, John. I had an officer following you, and he's dead now." He stood up and leaned over the table. "I'm going to enjoy watching as they execute you for murder."

I just stared at him. "You're delusional, and I want my lawyer." I decided to put my head down and wait, which pissed him off even more. He gathered up the photos into the folder and stormed off, slamming the door behind him. I didn't get to sleep, as the door opened and a man wearing a cheap suit walked in. "I want my lawyer," I said as I set my head back down.

"My apologies, Mr. Cantwell. My name is Detective Sergei Kolvana of the Moscow Police Department. I'm part of the task force investigating the deaths last night." I didn't say anything, nor did I shake his offered hand. "I apologize for Investigator Kaprisov's behavior. He's under a lot of stress; the officer who died was his friend, and he was assigned to follow you." That was an interesting tidbit. "I want to clarify something. You have not been charged with anything just yet. You are here because you were the subject of surveillance, and your watcher ended up dead. We think you know why."

I knew enough to say nothing; even saying 'I'm sorry' might be interpreted as a confession. "I will make no statements until I have conferred with my lawyer. Her name is Marina Federov; if you want answers, maybe you should inform her where I am and get her here."

He nodded at me. "Fair warning, this is turning into a circus that makes your Siberian adventure seem like child's play. Thirteen dead inside city limits is big news, and the city is already panicking about the lion running loose. The Mayor and the brass are putting pressure on us to find the killers. Right now, you and your friends are all we have. We know you're an expert on large animals. If you know where this lion is hidden, you need to tell us before this gets out of hand."

I laughed at that. "Detective, I'm an expert on animals that died out ten thousand years ago. I can't help you. Maybe you should be calling the real circus? Lions and tigers and bears, oh my?"

He didn't like that answer. "Think about what I'm saying to you, John. The longer this goes, the worse it becomes for you and your girlfriend."

"My lawyer." He got up and walked back out.

There was no clock in the interrogation room, so my time dragged on. I started to panic a little when I had to go to the bathroom, and no one answered my request. "HEY!" I racked my brain for the Russian word. "Ванная! Ванная!" Thankfully, someone heard me before I pissed myself and took me down to the bathroom, standing guard behind me while I relieved myself. After washing up, it was back to the room. The clock in the hallway said it was after ten in the morning now.

Marina finally showed up, and she wasn't happy. "Sorry I'm late," she said as she set her briefcase down on the table. "It took me hours to find out where they took you. What have you told them?"

"That I want to talk to my lawyer. So far, Investigator Kaprisov has accused me of conspiracy to commit thirteen murders last night. He also told me he had surveillance on me, and that officer ended up dead. Detective Kolvana thinks I'm hiding an African lion somewhere, and both of them are eager to pin it all on me. Meanwhile, I don't know what happened to Anna or Svetlana, and I'm starving." My stomach growled to punctuate that. I hadn't eaten enough of a snack when I got up.

"You might be in here a while," she said. "They won't give me access to any of the evidence, but they are pushing hard for a confession."

"Play some music," I asked. Marina started playing a song on her phone by a Russian female rocker. I leaned forward, and she met me so I could whisper in her ear. "Here's the deal. I was walking home with the girls when the gang blocked the sidewalk. One of them had a gun. I saw an opening, and the three of us took off across the street into the park. It was dark enough for the girls to split off and lose them, and I'm fast enough to outrun them. I didn't see what happened to them. I ran until I was sure I'd lost them, then worked my way back to the road while looking for the girls. That's it. I didn't know about the dead cop or the other guys until I was back at their apartment." All that was technically correct since I blacked out when I shifted.

She turned to whisper in my ear. "Will the evidence back you up?"

"Viktor said they have video of the gang accosting us. After that, I don't know."

She sat back, and I followed. "The police are desperate to make an arrest, even though they know they have no evidence and you couldn't have committed those murders. Don't say anything, John. I'll contact your parents about this."

"I want you to represent the girls," I told her.

She thought about that. "I have to find them first."

"What happens next?"

"They will try to scare you into confessing. When that doesn't work, Kaprisov will try to convince a judge to keep you in jail until a trial. You keep your mouth shut and let me handle it."

Yep, I was fucked. "Tell the girls we should have watched a movie instead." She left, and the guard took me back to lockup. They threw me in a cell with six other guys, so there'd be no sleeping for a while. One inmate recognized me from the Siberian murder coverage. What the others said in Russian, I couldn't follow.

I was in my first fight before lunch. Somehow, I don't think Viktor would mind if I got shanked in a Russian prison.

Ch. 27

The Moscow jail sucked, but my refusal to talk just ramped up the pressure campaign. After lunch, I was shackled, blindfolded, and placed in the back of a transport van. It drove through the Moscow streets for almost an hour before finally ending up in a dark loading area. The back doors opened, and two guards pulled me to my feet. They walked me out of the back and into the processing area. I was unshackled, hosed off with freezing-cold water, and dressed in boxer shorts, shower shoes, and ill-fitting scrub-like prison clothes. "Welcome to Lefortovo," one of the guards said with a laugh as the guards marched me through the door.

Lefortovo was a prison famous for all the wrong reasons. Constructed in Tsar Alexander's time, Stalin made it the center of political repression. Prisoners and dissidents imprisoned there were shot or tortured to death, their families presented the bill for the bullet used. The KGB and later the FSB used the prison for political and high-value prisoners.

Alexander Solzhenitsyn spent time in Lefortovo before his sentencing to the Siberian Gulag. I was the opposite; I spent time in Siberia to end up in Lefortovo.

The guards took me up in a service elevator up several floors. I expected noise and filth when the door opened, but that wasn't the case on this cell block. The beige carpeting was clean, and there was little noise from the cells lining the hallway. As they brought me forward, there were even a few doors open on empty cells.

One of the guards opened a cell with a key, and the other pushed me inside. The cell was slightly wider than the single bed across the back wall with a grating and a heating radiator behind it. There was another metal bed along the right side. Opposite that bed was a small desk with a fixed bench seat, then a waist-high half-wall that separated the toilet from the rest of the cell. A faucet was above a floor drain next to the metal toilet. The door was steel, with a glass window for the guards to look through.

I was unshackled and left alone, the door slamming closed with a hint of its weight. Looking around, I could see the surveillance camera near the ceiling in the corner. It covered the whole cell, meaning you couldn't sit on the toilet without a guard watching you. There was no radio, no television, and nothing to do.

I made my bed, then stripped down to my boxers and started a workout routine I'd developed for when I was on expeditions. Heavy on calisthenics and body-weight resistance, it wasn't a challenge for the strength and endurance I'd gained since my shift. I stopped when a slot in the door opened, and a tray of food came through for dinner.

Quality food it was not, but I ate it all before returning the tray and fork to the guard when he returned.

Time was difficult to track, as there were no clocks. Eventually, I figured out the lights in the cell didn't ever dim, and I rolled over to face the wall as I tried to sleep. Breakfast woke me up, and my next day in hell began.

Later in the morning, the guards came in and shackled me again. I was taken through the prison to a room with a table and two chairs, plus a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. Some things are universal, I thought. The guards pushed me into the chair on the far side, attaching my shackles to the seat of the chair. They left me alone, but only for a minute before my interrogator arrived.

A woman in her thirties walked in the door. She wore a military-style uniform with three stars on the shoulders. Her dark brown hair was in a severe bun, and her face looked like it would crack and fall off if she ever smiled. "I am Senior Councillor of Justice Rozanova, Deputy Prosecutor for the Central Administrative District of the Russian Federation. I am here to take your confession." Her English was excellent.

I looked at her like she was an idiot. "Then you have wasted your time, Senior Councillor. I want my lawyer and a representative of the US Embassy."

She nodded as she opened up her briefcase. "Senior Investigator Kaprisov warned me you would be uncooperative." She set a paper on the table. "This is a confession and guilty plea agreement. Confess your conspiracy to murder a police officer and twelve other individuals, sign the plea deal, and my office will take the death penalty off the table. This offer is one-time-only; if you persist in your claims of innocence, my office will seek the maximum penalty under the law."

"I cannot plead guilty when I am innocent. I want my lawyer."

She tapped the paper. "You've only had a taste of the Russian justice system, so bear with me while I explain your situation. The entire world is shocked at the barbarity of the murders, and you are directly responsible for these deaths. Each count of premeditated murder carries a twenty-year minimum sentence, with the murder of a police officer having a forty-year minimum sentence. Due to the cruelty of the deaths and the multiple counts, the death penalty is a certainty. If I walk out of this room, there will be no plea deal. You've seen a little of Lefortovo, but this isn't the place you will end up. No, monsters like you end up in the Black Dolphin Prison, with seven hundred of the worst criminals in all of Russia. You'll be in solitary confinement, alone in the cell with only books to pass the time. You'll get ninety minutes of exercise in an outside cage each day, also alone. Guards will put a hood over your head when you move between areas, and soon only God will know where you are. A young man like you will go crazy before you are thirty."

"I want my lawyer."

"I'm trying to help you, Mr. Cantwell."

"I thank you for coming, but I must reject your offer."

She put the prepared confession back in her briefcase and closed it up. "Then I will see you at your arraignment. GUARD!" The door opened, and she walked out. The guards that came back in weren't happy with me, and they took the time to work me over. They were professionals, knowing how to punch and kick to cause pain without damage that would show when wearing clothes. The kidney shots were excruciating, but the nut shot made me throw up. They dragged me back to my cell and tossed me inside.

I was hoping the rapid healing I'd experienced after getting shot would take care of it by lunchtime. It didn't. The following day I woke up stiff, sore, and bruised. I felt like I was on a starvation diet, and I prayed my cat would stay hidden.

There was nowhere to go, and cameras were everywhere. I'd never last more than a few minutes before the guards filled me with lead.

Ch. 28

Just before lunch, I got a cellmate. Fyodor Zobnin was a Ukrainian prisoner who spoke heavily accented English; he was in his forties and had black hair, greying at the temples. He was tall and skinny and very chatty.

Within an hour, he'd quietly filled me in on his life and his time in the Russian prison system. Talking wasn't against the rules, but talking too loud would attract the guard's attention. He laid on his bunk while I exercised in the small, open area next to our beds. A thief, he'd been in and out of prison since he was fourteen. I quizzed him about the justice system, and it's fair to say he wasn't a fan. "Everything is against you, including your lawyer," he told me. "If you can't afford one, they'll have one for you, but he won't help you. They work with the prosecutors, not against them."

I had to laugh at that. I told Fyodor about my first lawyer when I woke up, who didn't know English and didn't want to ask me questions. "My parents hired a lawyer for me, and she seemed to be doing a good job. I haven't seen her since my arrest, though."

I didn't trust Fyodor a bit. Thieves had no honor, the saying went, and I didn't trust the jailers either. Why double-bunk a prisoner with me while there were open cells on the block? It didn't make sense unless he was a jailhouse snitch. I was free to talk about my treatment, even my interrogations, but I wasn't going to say a word about what happened before my arrest. I was pretty sure they were recording us. With that in mind, I said nothing about my interrogations or the crimes they were trying to pin on me.

I confirmed my suspicions when he asked me if I knew the dead cop. I'd seen the cells; no radios, no televisions, no communications with the outside. How could he know about the deaths unless the cops told him about me?

I ignored his question and shifted the conversation to soccer.

He became increasingly frustrated with me until the guards took him away a few hours later. I don't know what they promised him, but he got nothing out of me. Would that even matter? He could say I told him anything, and it was my word against his. I'm sure any recordings wouldn't be available to my lawyer to rebut his testimony.

Shortly after, the guards came for me. I went back down to the transport area, where they changed me into an orange jumpsuit. Shackled and hooded, I was loaded into a van and driven back downtown, a police car with its siren blaring as an escort. I could hear and smell the crowd nearby when the van stopped. I didn't need to know much Russian to figure out they weren't happy.

The bright sunlight warmed my skin when the doors open. The guards walked me back, then removed my hood. We were outside a modern-looking building, a crowd of several hundred waiting to get a glimpse of me. Uniformed officers took custody of me, perp-walking me fifty feet towards the building entrance.

The crowd was yelling at me, and with the shackles on, I was focusing on walking without tripping. The chains only allowed me to take short steps. The only good part of the walk was that I could see I had a few supporters in the crowd. My Mom was standing just outside the building, and Anna and Svetlana were standing on either side of her. I smiled at the three and said, "It's going to be all right," even if I didn't believe it.

"I love you," Svetlana mouthed to me.

As soon as I was inside the service door, they took me up an elevator to a conference-sized room. Based on the metal furniture secured to the floor and the benches with rings to hook shackles on, it was a prisoner holding facility. Despite being locked in place, the guard only left when my lawyer arrived. "What's going on, Marina?"