Sergey Baksheev
Secret Target
Fonts by «ParaType»
Translator Boris Smirnov
© Sergey Baksheev, 2019
© Boris Smirnov, translation, 2019
The Russian Investigative Committee entrusts its most difficult cases to Detective Elena Petelina. Now the detective faces yet another mysterious murder. Each person associated with the crime has his or her own secret, and somehow one of these secrets involves Elena’s own father as well as her brother who disappeared many years ago…
ISBN 978-5-4496-1535-0
Created with Ridero smart publishing system
Contents
53
10
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50
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52
17
18
19
13
57
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2
3
1
70
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Translated from the Russian
by Boris Smirnov
Annotation
The Noose is a series of detective novels about a woman detective. Protagonist Elena Petelina is a tenacious, creative and decisive woman with an unsettled personal life. Besides investigating crimes, she must solve the problems afflicting her loved ones and delve into the secrets of the past — all while she strives to love and be loved.
Book1: Secret Target
Book2: Dangerous Evidence
Secret Target. The Russian Investigative Committee entrusts its most difficult cases to Detective Elena Petelina. Now the detective faces yet another mysterious murder. Each person associated with the crime has his or her own secret, and somehow one of these secrets involves Elena’s own father as well as her brother who disappeared many years ago…
Copyright © Sergey Baksheev, 2019
1
What’s keeping her? How much longer till that skank gets back?
Pressed flush against the steering wheel, Inna watches the green gates to the private residence. The autumnal dusk helps conceal her car, as does the roadside brush she’s parked behind.
What if I got the address wrong?
She looks around frantically. The address post by the gates reads «24.» The street sign at the intersection reads «Dorozhnaya Street.»
This is the skank’s house alright. She’ll be back from work soon. Come on, what’s keeping her? And what if she’s working late tonight?
Inna checks her watch for the hundredth time. Its hands tick with the urgency of molasses and a new fear grips her tighter than the last.
Maybe it’s me who’s late and she’s home already? Then all is lost!
But at long last something stirs in the vacant, suburban street. Inna wipes the cold sweat from her forehead with the palm of her gloved hand and sinks back into her seat. Through her sunglasses and the steering wheel, her eyes follow the approaching xenon beam as it glides along the fence. A car turns onto the silent street. The tires rustle and the beam splits in two, tracing a smooth arc over the bushes until it comes flush up against the closed gates. Inna recognizes the Volvo’s silhouette. That’s the car she’s been waiting for. In the twilight it looks darker, but as the door opens, the interior light rewards her anticipation.
The car is red.
The automatic gates remain closed.
Everything is as it should be.
She’s so on edge that her body feels like a seated statue. Unblinking, she watches the woman emerge from the car. The headlights illuminate her little ankle boots, their thin heels, but Inna is not interested in such details. The woman presses up against the gates and begins pushing them open. Now she’s fully in the lights’ glare.
She’s a blonde! It all fits!
As sensation returns to Inna’s limbs, she slips her hand into her purse and feels cold steel through her the fabric of her glove. Her eyes scan the little street one last time.
It’s still empty. Now is the time.
Inna throws open the car door and makes her way toward the gates. Her gaze is drawn taut, riveted to the back of the woman’s head, and it’s like she’s been attached to some invisible cable, gliding toward her target with the implacability of a counterweight. As she approaches, her right arm rises shoulder-level and extends. Inna’s two, bloodshot eyes are now joined by the gun’s empty barrel — all three straining at the blonde’s neat ringlets.
The owner of the house is rolling back the unruly gate when, suddenly, she stops mid-motion. Surely she’s heard Inna’s rapid footsteps. Surely she will now turn and — but it’s already too late. Nothing will save her. Inna walks right up to her and takes aim at her head.
No words — just pull the trigger.
She squeezes. The shot is deafening. Inna shuts her eyes from fright. When she opens them, it’s all over. The blonde is lying on the ground, her head across the gates’ threshold. The toes of her splayed boots cast long shadows, while the headlights’ glare creeps crassly up her rumpled skirt.
You earned it, you bitch.
Inna backs away, drops the handgun and runs back to her car.
Away from here! Home!
The drive from Aprelevka back to Moscow passes as in a fog. But there at last is her street. She turns into her building’s driveway. She feels the car come to a stop, and as it does so, a savage chill seizes her. Inna begins to shiver. Tears stream down her cheeks. In her mind, she’s still there, outside 24 Dorozhnaya Street. Murky spots float before her eyes. A green gate, a red car, bleach-blonde hair and — a horrible gunshot. The memory strikes her like an electric shock — her tears, her shivers cease.
Gather yourself. You’re only halfway there.
She gets out of the car, walks to the front entrance, notices the trash bins.
Almost forgot! Dump the clothes — there’s gunpowder on them.
She tosses her gray coat and gloves into the trash. The oversized sunglasses follow. Now she’ll buy herself some slim ones to change her look. She’ll have her bob trimmed short and buy a bright colored jacket. No one will recognize her.
Inna enters the building lobby and wearily ascends the stairs. One little pull of the trigger — but how exhausted it’s made her! Here’s her apartment. She already knows what’s inside and begins to grow afraid all over again.
But there’s no way back now. Have to make it through this too.
A deep breath — she holds it — then exhales. The door is unlocked. Inna crosses the threshold. Pop music blares from the television — starlets howling in unison about being humped and dumped — and Inna feels like screaming: «What’d you expect? A plastic doll?» But there’s a heavy lump in her throat that wants to come out, and it’s too early to start screaming anyway. She’s got to take at least a look first.
She takes three steps and comes across her husband’s slippers, lying forgotten in the middle of the hallway. And there is he who once wore them. Bare male legs stick out of the bath, heels up. The water burbles, the pop singers squeal and a dull drill hums tediously inside her head. Inna latches onto the doorjamb and peeks inside with rising horror. The back of her husband’s new blue bathrobe is smeared with whitish lumps of something revolting. Her gaze rises higher to the horrible gash on the back of his head. Dirty blood glosses the tile around the cleaver, little dried hairs stuck along its blade.
Inna wants to take a breath but cannot. The lump is choking her from within. Her eyes grow dim. She swoons and collapses onto the corpse — her hand flops into the pool of blood.
2
As Major Elena Pavlovna Petelina entered the lab, her heart tightened in rueful expectation. This is how it was each time some young man’s remains from the mid-’90s were uncovered. Eighteen years of searching. In the beginning, she would visit the morgue to identify the bodies. Back then, new ones would turn up as often as several times a week. She saw it all. By the age of seventeen, the gangsters’ cruel executions had been chiseled into the young girl’s memory not by the newspapers’ terse type but by the sight of broken bodies, gunshot wounds, burned flesh. And by the smell — of rot and decay. Thankfully, these days, the victims’ remains took on a more palatable appearance and were subjected strictly to DNA identification.
Mikhail Ustinov, the young forensic expert, was too busy fiddling with an electron microscope to notice the detective’s entrance. Unruly tufts of hair billowed out and over his large headphones. Misha rode his motorcycle year-round. His giant helmet, along with his brainy, longwinded explanations, which he inevitably introduced with the phrase «allow me to explain,» had earned him the jocular nickname «the Tadpole.»
Pushing away from the lab table, Misha rode his office chair over to the computer. His left hand grabbed a metal mug, while his right began to clatter on the keyboard. A DNA helix rotated in one corner of the large screen. All of the Tadpole’s equipment was connected to one network. There was even a cable running from the mug to his notebook, to keep the coffee warm.
Elena Petelina stopped beside the forensic expert. Mikhail noticed the detective and knocked his headphones down to his shoulders.
«The results look negative,» he answered her unspoken question. «This isn’t your brother.»
Elena’s eyes flickered uneasily as if she was looking for something. Her fingers tapped on Misha’s shoulder in distraction. Finally, she thanked him with a pat on the back and turned to go.
Her brother, Anatoly Grachev, went missing in July of 1994. He took the day’s receipts from their father’s store, got in his car and left. No one had seen her brother or the car since. Meanwhile, on the night of his disappearance, the police arrested their dad. Pavel Petrovich Grachev was found wandering along the main alley of Izmaylovo Park in a bloodstained jacket. He had suffered some broken ribs and a fractured skull. When they were putting him into the paddy wagon, he raved deliriously, «I killed Tolik. I killed him.»
Afterward, the doctor established that her dad had been hit by a car causing a concussion and temporary amnesia. But the investigators were more concerned with other details. The store’s workers told them of a quarrel between father and son that evening. Forensic experts discovered Anatoly’s blood on Mr. Grachev’s jacket. The detective working the case quickly slapped together a murder indictment and began to seek a plea bargain.
Anatoly was nineteen back then. Elena was seventeen. She had just graduated high school and been admitted to the university. She wanted to major in chemistry. But that one tragic day brought her family’s happy life crashing down. Her mother fell ill, leaving Lena to struggle with the detective assigned to the case on her own. The girl kept trying to convince him of a grave error, but the experienced old hound would just grin and send the meddling girl around the morgues to identify bodies. That year was blessed with an ample harvest of corpses, young and old, and the detective had figured that the girl would throw up a few times and then think twice before showing up at the prosecutor’s office again.
But the grim lesson had the opposite effect on the stubborn girl.
«It’s no wonder you have so many unsolved murders. It’s all because of people like you.» Such was the reproach Elena flung in the detective’s face. «Instead of finding the real culprit, you just lock up the first person you come across!»
«Why don’t you step into my shoes and give it a shot?» The detective slammed a stack of cases against his cluttered desk, sending a cascade of folders fanning to the floor. Elena was silent for half a minute. In this time she managed to calm herself and reach a fateful decision.
«I will give it a shot,» she said, helping him pick up the folders. «Tell me where to apply.»
The next day, Elena Gracheva said farewell to her beloved chemistry and submitted her application to the criminal investigation program at the police academy.
Her dad was released a year later — no body, no case.
«He lucked out,» said Detective Kharchenko without a grudge. «It’s a big park — we can’t search it all. But you, Elena, don’t get complacent. That corpse can show up in five years and then… Well, as good of a student as you are, you know yourself what’ll happen.»
Her father had changed. He looked older and had grown taciturn. He never said a word about the day that Anatoly disappeared. His wife interrogated him, tormented him with suspicions, begged him to tell her what had happened to Anatoly. But the father stayed silent and the family fell apart. Pavel Petrovich Grachev left Moscow to live in his mother’s house in the country. In the meantime, with her newfound skills and learning, Lena would return to that fateful day a hundred times in the course of her career — striving to finally get to the truth of what had really occurred.
This week was no different. During the demolition of some garages in the Izmaylovo District, the remains of a male corpse dating to the mid-’90s had been uncovered. Elena asked Misha Ustinov to run some DNA tests, but the results had come back negative. And yet, for Detective Elena Petelina — née Gracheva — there was nothing negative about it: For, this meant that there remained some slender chance that her brother Anatoly was still alive.
«Detective Petelina!» the Tadpole called her back. «What about the remains? Should we keep working with them?»
«Of course, Misha. Maybe someone out there is looking for him too,» said Petelina. Then, her hand already on the door handle, she turned back. «Almost forgot — I didn’t come here just for this. You better get your stuff together. We have a new case. A body’s been found in an apartment.»
3
Captain Marat Valeyev heard out the dispatch on his phone, slammed the receiver into its cradle and aimed a crumpled piece of paper at his partner.
«Wake up Vanya — you don’t get to Major by sleeping.»
The paper ball struck Senior Lieutenant Ivan Mayorov square in the forehead. It was not for nothing that Valeyev was famous for his shooting at the firing range — there were even some women out there who knew that the captain could kill with but a look.
«I — I was just thinking about something,» explained the drowsy lieutenant, flapping his eyelids. No sooner had Ivan set foot in Homicide and introduced himself as «Lieutenant Mayorov,» than jokes referencing the rank of major had begun to fly thick and fast at the fair-haired giant. And though it was all in good fun of course, there was a hint of mockery in them too.
«We’ve got a murder. Let’s go.»
The operatives grabbed their jackets, shut the door to the office and set off down the stairs. Marat Valeyev, trim and limber, descended first, adjusting his sidearm in its holster. Behind him trudged the brawny and laconic Vanya Mayorov. At the landing, without slowing his stride, the captain pinched busty Galya Nesterova, who ran the passport desk, and whispered something in her ear. The girl in the tight-fitting lieutenant’s tunic blushed and remained standing for a long while, waiting for the raven-haired captain to turn and flash his impertinent, bright smile. In the end, only Vanya turned to look at her — which fact, the girl utterly ignored.
In the car, the senior lieutenant could no longer contain his curiosity. He had already spent hours agonizing over the best possible reason to stop by the passport desk and say something to the lovely little donut with red lips. The captain had crippled these reveries without missing a stride.
«Marat, what’d you say to her?» asked Vanya.
«Who?»
«Galya Nesterova. Back there, on the stairs.»
«Ah, Galya… I don’t recall. I just kind of blurted something.» Valeyev sat at the wheel, watching the road.
«What do you mean you don’t recall? She…» Vanya’s creaky brain had trouble grasping how someone could be so careless with such miracle-working words.
«Must be nice to have titties on your mind right now. It’s not like we’re going to a murder or anything.»
«Who got killed?» Vanya banished from his mind a vision of Galya’s legs beheld from an inappropriate angle.
«The Police Patrol Service found a male corpse in an apartment. They’ve detained a woman at the scene.» The Captain flew through the intersection on a fading yellow. «It’d be good to get there before Elena.»
«The Noose?»
The Noose was Homicide’s nickname for Senior Detective Elena Petelina. Homicide didn’t come up with the name — the felons had. And it wasn’t just because her last name sounded like petlya — the Russian word for «noose.» As a detective, Petelina was meticulous, cerebral and severe. If she sensed a murderer, she’d latch on and never let go. Inch by inch, she’d tighten the evidence round the suspect’s neck. She hassled field ops and forensics to no end, but her cases never fell apart at trial and were never rejected for further investigation.
Vanya had noticed that Valeyev always tried to work with Petelina. Rumor had it that they had been classmates, but the captain didn’t like to talk about his younger days. He was always informal with the detective, even though she was his senior. But that didn’t mean anything. Ladies liked the captain. His shameless approach could shatter the ice encasing the hearts of beauties you wouldn’t believe. And yet when it came to Petelina, Valeyev never seemed as sure of himself. Around her, he might as well have been some high-school milksop in the presence of a supermodel.
Vanya could not comprehend the captain’s fascination with the detective. Of course, she was an interesting woman, but she had such a cold gaze and strict voice, and her figure lacked all those nice curvy bits. Basically, she was just like — a noose! Yuck! And therefore not in the least like lovely little Galya from the passport desk. Little lips, little cheeks, little eyes and everything in the right place — front and back! Vanya had been lucky enough to witness firsthand the running exam portion of Galya’s fitness evaluation. Since then, the lovely vision of her in a taut T-shirt had, on more than one occasion, appeared to him in his dreams.
Vanya took a breath and glanced sideways at his senior officer. He really hoped the captain wouldn’t get it in his head to take things further with Galya. He was the kind that could after all.
«We’re here,» said Valeyev turning into the driveway to a Stalin-era apartment building.
He parked snuggly between the ambulance and a police cruiser. Slithering out like an eel through the cracked door, the captain offered a cigarette to a loitering beat cop, exchanged a few words and called to Ivan through the windshield.
«What are you, stuck? Petelina ain’t here yet. Let’s get to work Senior Lieutenant Mayorov! Service stars don’t just fall out of the sky.»
Vanya tried to open his door, assessed the width of the crack — no more than a pack of cigarettes — and, grunting, began to clamber over to the driver’s side.
4
Elena Petelina walked into the lobby of the apartment building.
The crime scene had attracted the typical hubbub. Cops stand smoking in the stairwell, quietly panning some soccer player. She does not know them but as soon as she appears, fists close over cigarettes, stomachs are gathered in and something like «Good evening, detective!» echoes in her wake — to be replaced by a respectful whisper once she has passed: «That’s her — that’s the Noose.» Elena doesn’t take offense. As Colonel Kharchenko puts it, only the best detectives are given nicknames.
Detective Petelina always tries to visit the crime scene herself. Evidence gathered in the first hours of the investigation is always the most precise. Better see for yourself than sift for it later among barren reports.
She ascends the stairs to the apartment where the corpse was discovered. The Tadpole, still wearing his motorcycle helmet and toting a heavy backpack, can barely keep up behind her. Through the half-open apartment door, she catches a momentary glimpse of a shoulder draped in a familiar jacket. The glimpse is accompanied by a confident gesture, curtly pointing somewhere — and she’s recognized him. Elena is pleased to find Captain Marat Valeyev working the crime scene — and this is not simply because they had once made out at their senior prom and she still remembers going hot all over from his slightest touch.
Life had separated them since that night and only reunited them last year when Valeyev was transferred from the Organized Crime Unit to her district. It was a demotion. But following the death of Valeyev’s partner during an attempted arrest — a death that was caused by Valeyev’s actions — he could consider himself fortunate. Elena never asked Marat about that tragedy. She was confident that he was an excellent officer. He never complained about all the assignments she gave him, was always willing to work on weekends — just as she was — and knew how to get results in a way that would move the case forward. Not every detective knows how to do that. It’s not hard to work with your fists and wave your gun in people’s faces — the problem is that any evidence obtained that way will be crushed to dust by the lawyers at trial.
And the fact that she sometimes catches his masculine gaze lingering upon her — that’s just flattering, no more. She is a woman after all.
«Hello Marat.» Petelina paused long enough to catch his eager but disciplined smile. «What’s the situation look like?»
«Hi Lena. The situation here is looking thusly: A wife patted her husband on the head with a cleaver and the poor guy didn’t find the joke very funny.»
«Alcoholics?»
«God no. Middle class, decked-out apartment, wife’s covered in diamonds. To be fair, there’s an open bottle in the kitchen — but it’s genuine cognac, not the cheap stuff.»
«I hope you haven’t touched anything?» Mikhail Ustinov, the forensic expert, barged into their exchange, moving the captain aside as he entered.
When the Tadpole went to a crime scene, he always brought with him a large backpack stuffed full of cutting-edge electronic devices which he referred to as his gadgets. These enabled him to set up a mini-laboratory on site. Misha pulled off his helmet and passed further into the apartment.
«Nothing but the money and the valuables,» Valeyev grumbled after him.
«Have you examined the windows and the balcony?» asked Petelina.
«Of course. Everything is locked from the inside. There’s nothing in the apartment but the corpse and the murderer.»
«The murderer? That fast?»
«Come on, Lena. We weren’t born yesterday. You’ll see for yourself. Open and shut case, a domestic dispute.»
The detective made her way down the hallway. Ustinov was already fiddling around next to the corpse in latex gloves, taking pictures and bagging evidence. Petelina carefully examined the dead man lying in a bathrobe with a staved-in head.
«The blow came from behind. Unexpectedly. The murder weapon has been left for us as a parting gift,» she stated.
«Simple female imprudence,» Valeyev rushed to explain. «It’s a normal thing with them: a fit of rage leading to a momentary weakness.»
«You’re quite the expert,» Elena smiled wrily.
Valeyev flushed.
«She’ll confess. I’ll bet you anything.»
«That doesn’t mean we don’t have a job to do. Where’s the suspect? What’s her name?»
«Inna Maltseva. She was discovered unconscious right beside the corpse. Here’s her passport. She lives with her husband, Dmitry Maltsev. Or, to be accurate, she now lives without him. At the moment, the little lady is in the other room with an EMT. There’s a PPS sergeant watching over her.»
«Which room?» the Tadpole stirred. «I need to take her fingerprints.»
«There’s the door,» pointed Valeyev.
«And who made the call?» asked Petelina.
«The neighbor. An old bird. A very curious elder lady. I reckon that she’ll be happy to tell us everything she knows.»
«Then she’s the one I’ll start with,» Elena decided. «Take me to her.»
Before they could leave the apartment, however, a disgruntled-looking EMT appeared in the hallway.
«Are you the detective? We need to go. We’ve got other calls to attend to.»
«A couple of questions and you’ll be free.» Petelina wrote down the number of the ambulance and asked a few rudimentary questions: When did they get the call? How quickly did they get to the scene? What did they see? What condition was the suspect in?
«At the moment the lady is alright,» the medic came to the end of his story. «She suffered from a severe loss of consciousness resulting in delayed reactions, but she doesn’t need to go to the hospital. As for the victim — obviously a fatal case. Instant death. We didn’t even touch him. Can we go now?»
Petelina nodded. She spent the next half hour talking to the Maltsevs’ neighbor and the PPS unit that responded to the call. The neighbor had noticed one inconsistency. The police confirmed it. The inconsistency required prompt verification and so Elena sent Valeyev on an urgent assignment.
5
An hour had passed since she had arrived at the crime scene and Petelina had not even laid eyes on the murder suspect. She knew that her first impression would be pivotal. It could as much help as hinder her subsequent investigation. At times, a suspect could look so innocent and exude such charm that you would need to make a conscious effort to avoid becoming their lawyer. Other times, it would be the opposite — you’d think you were faced with a coldblooded killer when, in reality, the softie couldn’t hurt a fly. However, conundrums like these threw Elena off her track only in the first years of her service. These days, she preferred to conduct her first interrogation only after she had studied all the details of the suspect’s character, as well as the circumstances surrounding the crime. Before first meeting the suspect, she would always compose a mental portrait of her antagonist and, more often than not, it would turn out to be accurate.
Elena Petelina entered the kitchen where Mikhail Ustinov had unfurled his field lab. Fingerprint recognition software was scrolling through the patterns on his tablet computer.
«Any results?» inquired the detective.
«Too early,» the Tadpole cut her off without so much as a look.
Such brevity did not annoy Petelina. She knew that Ustinov would notify her as soon as anything substantial turned up. It did not serve to hurry the young forensic expert. He was already all afire to examine the slightest hair or fingerprint at the scene of the crime. If anything, the Tadpole needed to be restrained at times: Enough, we’re already up to our ears in evidence — save your energy and equipment. The experienced detective envied his enthusiasm and at the same time feared that the monotonous hours and paltry pay would soon turn this enthusiast into a lazy hack. To delay this as long as possible, she went to the top brass every quarter to wring funds for yet another intricate piece of lab equipment.
«Did you pull the Maltsevs’ files?» she asked.
«Sent it to your phone.»
The possibilities afforded by modern communications, which her pushy forensic expert had initiated her in, never ceased to amaze Elena. Her hand darted into her purse. A few gentle swipes of the screen with her finger and, voilà, your standard personal file.
Maltseva, Inna Olegovna. Forty years old. Married ten years. No children. Residence permit matches current address. Studied Education. Has not worked in the last few years. Husband’s name is Maltsev, Dmitry Nikolaevich. Forty-two years old. Businessman. Owns a construction and building repair company. Two years ago figured as a witness in a criminal case. This is interesting, Petelina made a mental note, should check this out further. Both husband and wife have cars registered in their names.
The detective dialed Valeyev right away.
«Did you find it?»
«Nothing yet. Maybe the neighbor got it wrong?»
«I thought you were an expert on women, Valeyev. Clothes are the first thing women pay attention to.»
«The neighbor’s already retired.»
«Sorry, forgot. Your social circle is limited to twenty-year-olds.»
«My favorite memories involve a certain classmate of mine,» came the operative’s repartee.
«Let’s stick to work, shall we? Here’s a slightly simpler task for you: The Maltsevs have two cars. Look around the yard.» Petelina read aloud the license plate numbers. She put the phone away and said to herself, And now it’s time to meet the lady of the house.
Elena entered the spacious living room and nodded to the officer standing sentry. The cop’s brown-green uniform clashed with the room’s heavy, gold-fringed drapes. Cast in semi-darkness, the woman sitting in the deep armchair did not respond to the detective’s appearance. Elena turned on the overhead light. The woman stirred. The large eyes in her haggard face noticed Petelina. This was Inna Maltseva without a doubt, but the photo in the passport resembled the pallid original in the armchair before her about as much as a clear day resembles a foggy morning. Only her shoulder-length, chestnut bob still retained its previous splendor.
«I am Senior Detective Elena Pavlovna Petelina. I am in charge of your case.»
Maltseva did not say anything.
Saturday I’ll dye my hair, Elena made another mental note, noticing the gray roots at the suspect’s scalp. I’ve got grays coming in too. Sooner than I thought.
«Inna, tell me please, what happened between you and your husband?» Elena asked softly.
Maltseva’s chin twitched. She noticed the water on the coffee table, reached for it and looked at her unruly hands with surprise. Handcuffs fettered her bloodied palms. Petelina ordered the cop to remove the cuffs and leave the room. A man with a machine gun isn’t a helpful presence when you’re trying to have a sincere conversation.
Elena handed the glass of water to Inna. The woman drank greedily. Eyes still fixed on the floor. Lips still pursed. A shade of guilt on her face.
The detective decided to begin by stating the current situation.
«Inna Olegovna Maltseva, you have been arrested under suspicion of the premeditated murder of your husband.» Inna raised her eyes imploringly. Petelina repeated her first question in a stricter format, «Why did you kill him?»
Maltseva shook her head.
«I didn’t kill him. I didn’t kill Dmitry.»
«The facts suggest otherwise.»
«That wasn’t me. I didn’t touch Dmitry. Please believe me!»
«A criminal investigation is not interested in concepts such as belief. You were found at the scene of the murder.»
«It wasn’t me. I didn’t…»
Petelina decided to force the woman’s stubborn resistance. She left the living room and returned a short while later with the next-door neighbor, a woman of about seventy who clearly took care to maintain her appearance.
«Ms. Broshina, please repeat what you told me earlier,» the detective requested.
«There’s not much to say — it was all quite in the open… The Maltsevs were fighting during the day. Don’t look at me like that Inna! I wasn’t listening on purpose — you know how our walls are! So anyway, in the evening I heard a terrible scream. My Chana began barking and ran to the door. I went to see what it was about. I have an intercom with a screen — you saw it. I look at it and see Inna dart out of the apartment and run off down the stairs. „Uh-oh,“ I thought, „This doesn’t bode well.“ So I called the police.»
«What was Inna Maltseva wearing?»
«A gray, tailored coat. She’s been wearing it a lot lately. Oh, and sunglasses on her face. It’s fall! Why would someone wear sunglasses in the fall?»
«What happened after that?»
«About five minutes later, Inna came running back all of a sudden. Without the coat or glasses this time.»
«Are you sure you remember this correctly? First Maltseva was wearing a coat, then she came back without it.»
«How could I forget? It’s already cold out and she’s walking around in just a shirt.»
«Did anyone enter or leave the Maltsevs’ apartment while she was gone?»
«No, I would’ve seen it. And Chana would’ve sensed it. We were standing on the other side of the door together.»
«Okay. Go on.»
«Why there’s nowhere to go on to. A little later, you people showed up. The door wasn’t locked. They walked in and she was lying there… And she had… Heavens! What a sin to have on one’s soul! What were you thinking, Inna?»
Petelina thanked the old lady. As she was seeing her out, it occurred to her that investigative work would go far less smoothly were it not for neighborly vigilance.
«What now, Mrs. Maltseva? It’d be silly to deny the row you had with your husband.» Elena decided to throw the woman a lifeline. «Perhaps your husband beat you or humiliated you or threatened you — and, succumbing to a fit of passion, you grabbed the cleaver..?»
«I didn’t kill him.»
«Then why did you run away?»
«We had a fight and I left.»
«What was your fight about?»
«I think my husband is seeing someone.»
Elena recalled her own cheating husband, with whom she had separated four years ago. She sat down in a chair across from Maltseva and tried to look her in the eyes.
«That hurts, I understand. But if we women killed every flirtatious husband, the nation’s military casualties would start to seem like child’s play in comparison. Why did you decide to pick up the cleaver?»
«I didn’t kill him. I took the car and went wherever my eyes were looking. Later I came back and saw his legs.»
«You couldn’t have gone anywhere because you returned five minutes after leaving.»
«I went for the drive earlier.»
«In your coat?»
«Probably,» Maltseva faltered.
«Where is it then? We haven’t found a gray coat in your apartment.»
Petelina did not fail to notice how flustered Inna became, how she looked down and began fumbling with her fingers, still stained with her husband’s blood. She still had on shoes suited for fall weather because she really had been outside and yet her coat had vanished. This was the very inconsistency that had so invited the detective’s attention earlier.
«Where is your coat!» Elena pressed harder.
Her experience told her that the slightest inconsistency in a murder investigation could reveal the most unexpected turn. She watched Maltseva’s facial expression intently.
«I got it dirty.»
You’re lying, Petelina thought to herself.
«I tripped and got it dirty, so I threw it away,» said Maltseva.
«Was it a new coat?»
«Yes.»
«And you threw it away?»
«Yes.»
«Where?»
«In the trash.»
«A new coat — in the trash. Where exactly?»
«Next to the house,» confessed Inna, looking earnestly in the detective’s eyes.
But now, you’re telling the truth. You really couldn’t have gone far in five minutes.
Petelina heard Captain Valeyev’s voice from the hallway. He was looking for her. Elena decided to continue exerting pressure and invited the field operative into the room with them.
«Did you have a look around?» she asked.
«Mayorov and I combed the district within a five minute radius from the house.» The operative cast Maltseva an unkind look. «Only, there’s no coat anywhere — or glasses for that matter.»
«Did you look in the trash bins?»
«We checked them first.»
«Did you find the Maltsevs’ cars?»
«They’re parked down there. Both of them.»
«Find the keys and check inside the cars. Where do you keep the car keys, Mrs. Maltseva?»
Maltseva looked around the room dazedly.
«My purse.»
«Marat, look in the entryway. And another thing: If that coat was nice, someone could have fished it from the trash. Ask the building janitor about it.»
«What, like right now? Janitors usually work in the mornings. Where am I going to find him at this time of day?»
«Either way, it needs to be done,» Petelina smiled warmly. «I believe in you Marat.»
«Well alright,» the captain acquiesced and walked out.
In his wake, Misha Ustinov peeked into the room. Based on the sly look on his face, Petelina understood that he had something interesting for her.
«Detective Petelina, I am ready to make a preliminary finding,» he said with a cold look at the arrested woman.
«You can speak here, Misha.»
«Mrs. Maltseva’s smudged fingerprints are on the cleaver. The blood on her hands is that of the deceased and the time of death coincides with the time that the neighbor called the police.»
«It all fits.»
«Your run-of-the-mill domestic dispute — it’s not even interesting. Of course, I’ll examine the secondary evidence as well, but that will only help to fill in the general picture.»
«It wasn’t me!» Maltseva began to shake her head and cry. Long stray hairs stuck to her tearstained cheeks.
Petelina sighed. She was getting sick of this cheap spectacle. The evidence was unequivocal, as were the witness accounts. The detective’s voice adopted a crueler tone.
«Enough, Mrs. Maltseva! You would be better served by a confession.»
The woman continued to whimper. Petelina bent down to her.
«You quarreled with your husband, decided to leave, got dressed but he insulted you. That’s when you ran to the kitchen and grabbed the cleaver! He didn’t expect the blow and you killed him. Then, terrified, you fled the apartment, noticed the drops of blood on your coat once you were in the courtyard, threw it away and, at that point, remembered the main piece of evidence. The cleaver! So you came back for it, but when you saw what you had done, you fainted.»
«Not much to it. Remember what I said when we first got here?» Ustinov looked at his watch meaningfully. «I’m done here. Oh, by the way, they’ve come for the body. Are we ready to send it to autopsy?»
«Let them take it,» said Petelina, still drilling into Maltseva with her eyes. «Did I get it right?»
Inna raised her hands. Her eyes were darting back and forth between the palms stained with dry blood and the detective’s face.
«Blood. His blood. Help me wash my hands,» she began to shift, becoming agitated. «I didn’t throw the coat away because there was blood on it. There is no blood on it! Where is my coat? Find it!»
«Please get ahold of yourself.» Elena was beginning to feel sorry for her. The woman had given in to her emotions and committed a fatal mistake. As long as she remained in shock there was no point talking to her. «Here, have some more water. We’ll resume this tomorrow.»
Instead of drinking, Maltseva poured the water out over her hands and began to compulsively rub them with a handkerchief.
From the hallway came the sound of something being moved. The body was being taken to the morgue. Slowly, the shuffling receded beyond the apartment.
All of a sudden, Ms. Broshina’s exclamation pierced the room.
«That isn’t him. That’s not Maltsev!»
Inna jumped up. Petelina managed to grab her in time but couldn’t hold her back. Both women found themselves side-by-side in the landing beside the body. The dead man’s face was now clearly visible. There was no agony on it, just a look of pain that had molded its muscles into a deathly pallor. The dead man on the stretcher scared Inna. Her face distorted in terror.
«This isn’t my husband,» she exhaled.
Her eyes darkened as her legs wavered. Maltseva fell into the arms of the dispirited Petelina.
6
Detective Petelina’s office remained well-lit long into the evening. She had asked the office manager to install additional lamps. This way she could create the illusion that it was still not too late and that she could go on working. The illusion worked — as long as she didn’t look at the clock or turn to the darkened window behind her.
Elena both loved and hated these kinds of evenings. The day’s surprise, with its unidentified corpse, had elevated the case from a simple domestic matter to an enigmatic conundrum. The top brass didn’t like cases like this, whereas Elena, if she had it her way, would work exclusively with such bewildering incidents. And anyway, the unexpected turn of events created room for the possibility, however slight, that Inna Maltseva was innocent after all. Petelina sympathized with women who were in a bind and would often, scrupulously, seek out any details that could soften the indictment. Inna Maltseva still remained the chief suspect but at least now she wasn’t the only one.
Elena hated having to work late because of her daughter. Naturally, Elena’s mother could feed the 12-year-old Nastya and put her to bed. She could even take her to curling practice three times a week, but it was the homework that grandma could not be of much help with. And Nastya already has more B’s than A’s. Any day now, even those would turn to C’s.
The detective had finished studying Dmitry Maltsev’s criminal file when she got a call from Misha Ustinov requesting her presence in the lab. However, when she got down there, Elena had to wait and watch as the Tadpole flitted about in an unbuttoned lab coat between various devices and his computer’s large screen.
«Just a second longer,» he kept promising as he passed.
Finally, the forensic expert raised his arms, stretched comfortably and pushed off on his office chair to the table where the kettle stood. The switch clicked, the water began to hiss, and the crackling of a chocolate wrapper filled the room.
«Would you like some coffee, Detective Petelina? I’ve got some excellent chocolate here.»
Petelina shook her head with a sad smile. The ever-hungry, forensic expert ate chocolate like bread and yet remained stick-thin. For her meanwhile, one extra calorie, especially before going to bed, was like an enemy invasion aiming to secure and expand a beachhead along the coast of her waist.
Thanks but no thanks, I’d prefer to stay a six.
«Vasilich will keep you company.» Elena nodded over at a nearby chair where a skeleton was reposed. This was a plastic anatomy model, with one important peculiarity: Its skull was a real human one. Word had it that a hardened felon named Vasilich had bequeathed it to the Investigative Committee, doing so because he had always wanted to be a detective himself. Skeleton Vasilich had made himself at home in the lab. At any time of day or night, he could be found hunched over a keyboard or just hanging out, taking it easy. Either way, there was always a note with some edifying message pinned to his frame.
At the moment Vasilich’s bony digits had wrapped themselves around a bottle of dubious whiskey, confiscated from a nightclub in the wake of a mass poisoning. The note on his back read, «Don’t drink — lest you become like Vasilich.»
Misha rattled his teaspoon, mixing a generous portion of sugar into his large mug. His lips made a reedy sound as he sipped the coffee.
«Get on with it,» the detective hurried him. «Why’d you call me?»
«I’ve confirmed your version of events, Detective Petelina. Dmitry Maltsev wasn’t killed — the dead man was his brother, Anton. We have his prints in our database.»
«Okay, at least this isn’t a dead end.»
«Why, where do we go from here?»
«I checked out his file. Anton Nikolaevich Maltsev, thirty-three years old, was released from prison just yesterday.»
«Looks like it’s safer to be sitting under guard there than be out here. What was he in for?»
«Article 109—manslaughter. A hunting accident. Dmitry Maltsev testified at his trial. The victim was a business partner of theirs, Vadim Zaitsev.»
«An ominous surname for a hunter,» said the forensic expert, alluding to the zayets — «rabbit» in Russian — at the root of Zaitsev’s name. He broke off another square of chocolate: «I’ve established that the Maltsev brothers were drinking. Their fingerprints are on the cognac bottle and glasses.»
«So they celebrated his release and then Dmitry disappeared. Maybe his wife Inna is innocent? One brother killed the other one and then got out of there.»
«Doesn’t gel.»
«His fingerprints aren’t on the cleaver?»
«Not just that. Dmitry Maltsev’s disappearance was premeditated.»
«Meaning?» Petelina asked surprised.
«Allow me to explain,» the expert uttered his favorite catchphrase and slid his chair toward the computer monitor. «I started monitoring Dmitry Maltsev’s credit card. This morning, he bought a ticket on the express train to St. Petersburg online.»
«Departing at what time?»
«Seven-thirty in the evening.»
«And the murder took place at eight!»
«Give or take five minutes.»
Petelina looked at her watch.
«If Dmitry Maltsev was on a train, then he has an alibi. His cell phone is on but he isn’t picking up. I ordered field ops to find his whereabouts.»
«Hundredth Company received your orders. Look — » Mikhail pointed at the monitor where a bright dot could be seen moving through a map. «Maltsev is arriving in St. Petersburg on time. Or, at least, his cell phone is.»
«Let’s give it another shot.» Elena dialed Dmitry Maltsev’s number again and listened to it ring.
«You should call St. Petersburg and tell them to arrest him, detective.»
«What about the train’s departure time? Clearly he’s not the murderer — best case scenario he may be a witness. Dmitry Maltsev left the apartment at least an hour before the incident.»
«That does seem incontrovertible.» Misha took another sip of coffee and a bite of chocolate. «Then everything points back to Inna Maltseva yet again. Instead of killing her husband, she killed his brother.»
«Why? What’s the motive? That’s what I want to know.»
Misha reclined in his seat and locked his fingers behind his head.
«There were no signs of struggle. The blow came unexpectedly. Perhaps, something happened between Inna and Anton Maltsev, and she decided to get revenge.»
«In the past?»
«Well, why not?
«It’s possible,» agreed Elena, involuntarily recalling her missing brother. «The past holds many secrets.»
«And the husband will help us figure out what those secrets are. We need to arrest Maltsev.»
«Okay. Prepare a description and photo of Dmitry Maltsev. I’ll try to get in touch with the St. Petersburg guys.»
The Tadpole hunched over his computer. When the APB for Dmitry Maltsev was ready on the screen, Elena read it over and said, «Misha, can you bring up Anton’s data beside it?»
Grasping her train of thought, the forensic expert deftly combined the two men’s information and blurted out what was already evident:
«The Maltsev brothers look like each other! Height, body type, hair color — it all matches. Even their age difference is just three years. And Dmitry also cuts his hair short.»
«Inna could have mixed them up. She struck from behind and thought it was her husband.»
«I wonder whether Maltsev will be happy to hear the news. On the one hand, the guy got lucky — but on the other hand… You know, Detective Petelina, this is another reason why marriage just isn’t for me.»
«Random dates involve a higher incidence of murder.»
«I meet people through the Internet. In experienced hands, the web is like a treasure trove of information. I enter a girls contact info and — »
«The less you say about that, the better,» Petelina cut him off, dialing a number on the office phone. «Don’t forget where we work.»
Elena called her colleagues in St. Petersburg. They heard her out, transferred her to some other extension, explained that the senior officers were absent and told her to submit an official request. When the detective’s patience had run thin and she was ready to lose it, Mikhail pulled on her sleeve.
«Detective Petelina, look!»
«What is it now?» Petelina glanced over, annoyed.
«Maltsev is on his way back!» Misha was pointing at a bank statement on the screen. «He just used the card at the train station to buy an overnight ticket to Moscow.»
«What’s the train’s number? And get me the number of the car he’s in.»
«Just a second. Here it is! The train and car number. Train gets in to Moscow at 7:55.»
Petelina hung up on St. Petersburg and sighed.
«I’ll say it again, our field ops are still the best.»
«As well as our forensics,» Mikhail added helpfully.
«You, Misha, are simply amazing,» Elena agreed reaching for her cell phone. «I’ll tell Valeyev the good news. Let him put a welcome party together for Maltsev tomorrow morning at Leningradsky Station. While they’re at it, they can have a chat with the car attendant on duty in the train that Maltsev ran off on.»
«Have you no faith in the power of computer technology?»
«Technical stuff is great and all, but I want to make sure that that cell phone was travelling in its owner’s company.»
7
Elena got home after midnight. Her daughter was already asleep. In the kitchen, the TV hummed at low volume. Her mother, Olga Ivanovna Gracheva, was waiting for her so that she could go home. Her house was next door. If Elena’s ex-husband had not arranged for her mother to live next door after Nastya was born, Elena would have long since had to quit the her job.
«Catch a lot of killers? Or was it rapists today?» buzzed Mrs. Gracheva pouring the tea. Her tone indicated that a serious conversation was coming. Elena knew the topic too: Normal people work so that they can live — not live so that they can work.
«I don’t want tea, mom. I’m just going to shower and go to bed.»
«Sergey called.» Mrs. Gracheva placed the cup in front of her daughter, like a cable bollard in front of a ship. «He’s inviting you and Nastya to go to Thailand with him during her Fall Break. He’ll pay for the tickets and book you a nice hotel.»
«What’s got into him?»
Sergey Petelin owned a transportation company that was always either on the up and up or barely making ends meet. Nonetheless, he made alimony payments promptly and was never stingy about it. Whenever he made any extra money, he’d bring Nastya expensive gifts and pay for vacations in warmer climes.
«I think he mentioned that he’ll get a room for himself in the same hotel.»
«So that he can show off another long-legged girl for my edification?»
«You have your mother’s legs, Lena! There are none better! But you get your temper from your father.» Mrs. Gracheva glanced at the television and turned it off but remained facing away from her daughter. «Have you called him recently?»
Lena figured that she meant her dad. Out of principle, neither the mother nor the daughter ever called their respective ex-husbands: Over time, they had crossed the lines of communication, as it were. Typically, the daughter would tell her father about how her search for Anatoly was going, while trying to usher him to a point where he’d tell her what had really happened that day. It didn’t work. Meanwhile, her mom had long since labeled the entire topic taboo. After her granddaughter was born, she had redirected all her unspent love toward her disappeared son at Nastya.
«I spoke to him last week.»
«And?»
«He’s living by himself, in case you care,» lied Elena to avoid tormenting her mother.
«Well, who’d give him a second look?» Mrs. Gracheva turned around and looked kindly at her daughter. Her voice became unctuous. «But Sergey, that’s a completely different matter. He’s intelligent, well-off and he loves little Nastya. Sure, he acted like a complete dog but that happens to the best of us. Now he’s suffering from loneliness and thinking of you, Lena. He’s been calling for a month straight, asking how he can fix things between you two.»
«And so you recommended we go to Thailand,» Elena grasped the larger picture.
«Why not? It’s a good excuse to start over. A romantic voyage.»
«What’s romantic about it?»
«Why, everything.» Mrs. Gracheva took a seat next to her daughter and turned serious. «I looked through your swimsuits. Really, you should be ashamed. You need new ones — a one-piece and a two-piece. Also a light dress. Though, you can probably find one in Thailand. I’m sure Sergey will be happy to get it for you as a present.»
«Can you just leave me out of this? If you think he’s so generous, why don’t you go to Thailand with him and Nastya?»
«What do I have to do with it? Sergey wants to see you, not me.»
«It would do you good to get out to the beach. I won’t even be able to get the time off. They won’t let me go.»
«I want to see them try. I’ll go to your boss and let him have it.»
«I told you: I don’t want to, mom.»
«You still can’t forgive him?» Mrs. Gracheva shook her head. «It’s been four years since the divorce.»
«And? Sergey spent the four years before that tumbling around with his sluts, following the example set by his drivers.»
«Have you considered that, maybe, it’s you who is to blame? It’s always work, work, work with you. You come home and pass out. Who could live with a woman like that?»
«That’s enough,» Elena boiled over. «Go home! I want to sleep.»
Mrs. Gracheva stood up, shuffled to the door and stopped.
«Think about it, Lena. Sergey isn’t a bad guy and he has money. Where are you going to find another one like that at thirty-five? And don’t forget about Nastya. The girl needs a father.»
«No one took her father away. And if I’ll need a husband, I’ll find him myself.»
«What?» The mother locked onto the daughter suspiciously. «Are you still thinking about your Tatar? About Marat? He wore out the bench down in our yard when you were in high school and wiped our windows clean with those black eyes of his. And now, like some curse, he’s come back around.»
Lena remembered how stubbornly Marat Valeyev worked to win her friendship. She remembered the shy kisses they exchanged at their senior prom. Her brother’s disappearance, her father’s arrest and her mother’s illness had all created distance between the classmates. Later, Lena found out that Marat had gotten married. Word had it that his parents had arranged it. There was no one to blame, but regret lodged itself like a splinter in the young girl’s soul. Years later, when she was already twenty-three, she ran into another classmate named Sergey Petelin. Sergey had become a businessman and was confident and assertive. Lena was afraid of becoming a spinster. That’s how Nastya came about — first a flustering miracle in her stomach, then a rushed wedding in a roomy dress.
«What does Marat have to do with this?» Elena flared. Her indignation, however, did not come out sounding very convincing.
«Don’t look away! You said yourself that Valeyev asked to move to your district on purpose.»
«He was transferred. That’s just work.»
«Where there’s work, there’s friendship. You know very well what men think about.»
«Come on, I haven’t seen Marat in ten years.»
«Uh-huh. You hear nothing from him for years, but as soon as he finds out that you’re divorced, he starts to put the moves on you.»
«His apartment is in our district. That’s why they transferred him there.»
«You’ve been to his apartment already?»
«Mom, we work together. Our paths cross. And even then, not often,» Lena added for some unknown reason.
«Forget about him, Lena. Forget him! You can’t even take him to a church.»
«I don’t go to church, mom!»
«I never went either. But as soon as I started getting sick, I started going. It’s never too late to come to God. It never hurts to ask Him — nothing bad can come of it. I prayed for you and Nastya — whose full name is Anastasia Sergeyevna, by the way. Now doesn’t that have a nice ring to it? But had you, in your foolishness, gotten mixed up with that Tatar, who would we have now? Nastya Maratovna? Yuck!»
«Enough!» Lena slapped the table. «I’m off to bed. Stay if you like. You know where the couch and the bed sheets are.»
She stood up and left the room without clearing the table.
«Think about the swimsuits, Lena,» her mother’s quiet grousing followed in her wake. «Check the magazines to see if you like any of the newer ones. And don’t be stingy. Swimsuits are like shoes — you should only get good ones. It wouldn’t hurt if you got some new underwear too. Maybe we can go do some shopping some time?»
8
The next morning, after a quick breakfast, Elena took her daughter to school. The twelve-year-old girl was just beginning to resist such custody, asserting that she would rather go with her friends, but for Elena these ten minutes were basically her only chance to find out anything about her daughter’s school life.
Rushing to her work, Detective Petelina began the workday by studying the contents of Inna Maltseva’s purse. Just like the friction ridges that create the unique swirls called fingerprints, women’s purses are staunchly individual and often have much to say about their owners. The examination methodology was simple but effective. First you dump everything on the table, then you examine each thing and, if there is nothing interesting about it, put it back into the purse. In the end, two items remained on Petelina’s desk. Both had perplexed her.
Elena heard Marat Valeyev’s voice before he opened the door to her office. The captain was matter-of-factly dragging a person down the hallway.
My swimsuits really are pretty dated, crossed Elena’s mind for some reason as she glanced at herself in the mirror. She commended herself once more on choosing a short haircut. Two swipes of the comb and she was good to go.
First to appear in the doorway was a drunken face with a dripping wet and receding hairline. Captain Valeyev propped the man up from behind, holding him by his jacket. Dmitry Maltsev, guessed Petelina. It took a leap to connect this rumpled person with a businessman. The field operative pushed the fugitive into the office and plumped him into a chair.
«Have a look, Detective Petelina. This is Dmitry Maltsev. We plucked him straight from an overnight bender in the restaurant car. He was incomprehensible so I took the liberty and threw some water on him… «Doused’ may be better word.»
Elena got up from her desk and cracked open the window.
«Well, offer him some water to drink because he reeks.»
«Drinking water won’t help him. I gave him permission to imbibe forty milliliters. Otherwise, we’ll spend half the day waiting for him to sleep it off. The car attendant says that he got caught up in the restaurant car and slept maybe about two hours. Here is his passport and here are the tickets. To St. Petersburg and back.» The operative looked at Maltsev dubiously, «Do you want me to stay? Just in case?»
«I’ve seen worse,» Elena assured him, looking through the tickets. «Did you speak to the car attendant for the train from Moscow?»
«That train comes back later. I sent Mayorov to take care of that.»
«Tell him to report to me as soon as he gets any information. What about the coat?»
«We checked the Maltsevs’ cars. They’re empty.»
«What does the janitor say?»
«Sorry Lena, I didn’t find him yesterday. He was hanging out with some fellow immigrants somewhere.»
«I want that question resolved, Marat.»
Valeyev let his gaze slip down the dogged detective’s shapely blue skirt and slender legs but refrained from mentioning what he wanted.
«Consider it done,» he assured her and left.
Petelina switched her attention to Maltsev and introduced herself formally. As there was no response, she asked loudly:
«Mr. Maltsev, do you understand where you are?»
Maltsev winced.
«Coffee. Do you have coffee?» he asked with a sour face.
«We have instant coffee.» Elena walked over to the kettle. «Do you prefer it stronger?»
«Uh-huh. No milk, no sugar,» he waved his hand.
«How about some brandy…»
«Why? You’ve got some?»
«You’re not in a bar Mr. Maltsev!»
While the arrested man drank greedily, Petelina paced in a semicircle around her office. As per usual, she formed a mental portrait of her interlocutor.
Forty years old and reaching that age when his beard goes gray and the devil starts poking him in the rib. Got tired of his forty-year-old wife so he found himself a younger woman. Not too tall and fairly gaunt for his age, but doesn’t work out. Well dressed, but not quite in the business style. His shoes have thick soles and are well worn, so his job involves making field visits. Acts like one of the boys with his employees and loses his cool at times. Doesn’t regret letting a strong word fly here and there. So if his wife annoys him too much, he can allow himself to be crass with her too. Which, it seems, is what happened yesterday. And yet, being this drunk doesn’t suit him, so last night’s bender was most likely caused by some sort of nervous breakdown. My uniform and office stumped him more than being arrested on the train. It’s one thing to think that your drinking has gotten you in trouble — it’s entirely different when you see a sign that says Investigative Committee with a desk officer posted beneath it as you’re brought in.
«So what is going on?» Maltsev spoke up, pushing away the emptied mug. «Who are you?»
«I am Senior Detective Elena Pavlovna Petelina.»
«A female major,» mumbled Maltsev, either from doubt or from respect.
Petelina had reached the rank of Major faster than many of her male colleagues. And yet, this was the rank beyond which women were seldom promoted. Wicked tongues liked to say that to become a lieutenant colonel, you needed to first let a colonel be on top of you — or, even better, a general.
«What am I here for?» asked Maltsev.
Petelina did not say anything. She began to tidy her desk and, seemingly by accident, dropped a photo of a lovely three-year-old girl into Maltsev’s lap.
He reacted weakly.
«Yours?» and replaced the snapshot on the table.
The trick had not worked. And yet this was one of the two items that had stumped Elena during her examination of Maltseva’s purse. All mothers carry a photo of their child with them — there’s nothing exceptional about that. However, Inna Maltseva didn’t have any kids! So who was this girl?
«Did my company commit some violation?» Maltsev inquired carefully.
The customer is ripe and ready, the detective decided and began her interrogation forcefully.
«Mr. Maltsev, I am in charge of investigating felonies — particularly serious ones. Currently I am working on a brutal murder.» Elena placed photographs of the body with the staved-in head on the table and asked, «Is this your doing?»
As she had expected, Maltsev sobered up in a flash.
«Why mine?» he became afraid.
«Have another look. Do you recognize him?»
«Anton…»
«Do you recognize where the photos were taken?»
«In my apartment — that’s my bathrobe — »
«Precisely! Why did you kill your brother?»
«I didn’t kill him! Who did this?»
«I am confident that it was you!» the detective continued to apply pressure.
«No!» Maltsev jerked away.
«Your brother got out of prison. You had a drink of brandy, got into a quarrel, then made peace — it’s a normal sequence of events. But you harbored a grudge. And when Anton went to the bathroom, you hit him with a cleaver.»
«No! We had a drink with Anton — that part’s true. But I left after that. I had to catch a train to St. Petersburg! I have a meeting there tomorrow, I mean, today.»
«Start at the beginning.»
«Of course… Where should I start?»
«Your quarrel with your wife.»
«Inna told you about that? You’ve got to understand, Inna and I haven’t been on the best of terms lately. She’ll say something, I’ll say something back — it’s stop and go. I don’t even know what caused it this time. She threatened to divorce me and I swore she wouldn’t get a penny, so she stormed out and slammed the door.»
«Does your wife have a job?»
«What are you talking about! When we met, Inna was a primary school teacher. No money — just stress. She quit her job about two years later. I insisted on it.»
«At what time did Inna leave the house?»
«I came back from work at two because I had to go to St. Petersburg that evening. She stormed out about an hour later probably.»
«What was she wearing?»
«You think I remember? She buys so much crap!»
«Try your hardest.»
«Detective Petelina, may I have some more coffee?» Maltsev glanced at the kettle longingly.
He calmed down fast. His brother’s death didn’t shock him, Petelina noted as she poured the coffee.
How would he respond to more precise information about his brother’s death? Elena had spent eighteen years looking for Anatoly and had seen many bodies. She was mentally prepared to deal with the loss of a loved one. At this point, she would have been more shocked if she met her brother alive. In any case, she was compelled to discover what happened, where he disappeared to, who was responsible.
«How did it happen? Did you catch the killer?» Maltsev suddenly asked, as though having read the detective’s mind.
«Mr. Maltsev, you are currently at an official interrogation about a murder case. Therefore, as banal as this may sound, I’m the one who asks the questions here. I would like to know what kind of coat your wife was wearing as she left your apartment yesterday.»
«She just put on some coat. Wait — that’s it! It was gray and speckled. She just got it recently.»
«What time did Inna return?»
«If she did, I wasn’t there. I haven’t seen her since.»
«Did you know that Anton Maltsev was being released?»
«I knew that he was supposed to get out one of these days. He was serving his time in Koma and I figured it would take him some time to get back to Moscow. Then suddenly, there he was. It was around five.»
«Why did he go to your place?»
«Anton has his own apartment. I rented it at his request and saved the money for him. That’s why he came to stay with me for the first few days.»
«What happened then?»
«Well, we celebrated his return. But I had to go to the station, so I left him there. „Get some rest,“ I told him. „Get some sleep and make yourself at home.“»
«How did you get to the station?»
«On the subway. I didn’t have any luggage and the subway is nearby. It’s more reliable when there’s traffic too.»
«Did anyone see you leave the building?»
«How would I know? I was in a rush.»
Petelina’s cell phone began to vibrate quietly on the table. The call was from Senior Lieutenant Ivan Mayorov. Elena stepped aside to the window to hear his report.
Mayorov had lingered around until the passengers had all left the train before approaching the weary-looking forty-something car attendant. He introduced himself and showed her a photo of Dmitry Maltsev.
«Do you recognize this man?»
«Why? Who is that?» the woman asked frightened. «A criminal?»
«Did your shift start yesterday?»
«Yes. We went to St. Petersburg in the evening and returned this morning. I’m about to transfer the car over to the other attendant.»
«Try and recall whether this man was among your passengers.»
«Let me see… Oh yeah, I remember. Only, here in the photo, he is sober, but last night he was a little drunk.»
«Did he get on in Moscow and get off in St. Petersburg?» inquired the operative.
«Of course — we don’t run direct.»
Mayorov put the photo away and wrote down the woman’s statement along with her number.
«Write the following here, please: „This is an accurate record of what I said.“ Then add the date and your signature.»
«Is this standard procedure?»
«Yes, don’t forget to write down your number.» Vanya stood up and put away the witness statement. «Tatyana Fedorovna Semyonova, we will call you in the event that your assistance is further required.»
«Why? I already told you everything.»
«Well, we may ask you about that bruise, for example.» Vanya had long since noticed the attendant’s black eye which she had tried to cover with blush. «An unruly passenger?»
«My husband, the bastard.» The woman became upset and turned in profile. «You’re not the only one who noticed. My supervisor did too. Now, I bet I won’t be able to work the corporate lines. And it’s all because Nikolai keeps acting like a rabid dog. But it’s okay, this time I’ll get him put away for a while.»
«They won’t give him more than fifteen days,» Mayorov said doubtfully.
«I’d like to see them try,» the woman raged. «I could go another century without seeing that pig.»
«You could just file for divorce.»
«Yeah, right. And divide up the apartment?»
The attendant placed her hands on her hips and scowled at the operative, as if he was her detested husband standing before her. Ivan backed away slowly until he stepped out onto the platform and dialed Petelina.
Elena thanked Senior Lieutenant Mayorov and as always assured him that he was destined to become a major — and not just because his surname demanded it.
Then she returned to Maltsev. His alibi had been corroborated. He was on the train at the time of his brother’s murder. The detective, however, did not experience any more compassion toward him for this fact. She went on with the interview.
«Did you warn your wife that Anton was coming?»
«Why would I? We’d just had a fight. I wasn’t about to call her.»
«Why didn’t you answer the phone when I called?»
«You did? When?»
«When you were in the train.»
«Eh, I put the phone on silent and went straight to the restaurant as soon as I got on. I had a couple drinks and then it all hit me at once: the family, Inna, problems at work…»
«Don’t forget about the other woman,» Elena decided to test out her theory.
«What? What does the other woman have to do with it?»
«So, you are cheating on your wife?»
«I’m not going to address that. My brother was murdered. Ask me about that.»
«Why did you buy a return ticket as soon as you got there? Didn’t you have a meeting to go to?»
«I told you, I got wasted. Then my mind cleared up. My little brother’s at home and I haven’t seen him in two years. And Inna needs to be calmed down. God forbid something happens to her — she’s a bit fragile, after all.»
Elena picked up the prescription she had found in Inna Maltsev’s purse. This was the second item that had caught her attention.
«Are you aware that your wife was taking strong antidepressants?»
«Of course I am. I’m the one who convinced her to go see the doctor in the first place.»
«A psychiatrist?»
«Yes, naturally.»
«Was Inna diagnosed with something?»
«Some sort of depression. You had better ask the doctor. I can see that he hasn’t helped her much though. She’s either screaming or crying.» Maltsev began fiddling with the crime scene photos but froze on the most grizzly one and looked up frightened. «Did she do this..?»
«Did Inna have any kind of disagreements with Anton?»
«They barely ever spoke to each other. She’s basically only spent time with doctors the past few years.»
«What was she afflicted with?»
«Women’s stuff. Let her tell you herself.»
«Why did you just let slip that Inna could have killed your brother?»
«I saw the cleaver. One time, we had a fight and she reached for it — either as a joke or in earnest. It’s hard to tell with her sometimes.»
«Are you claiming that Inna threatened you?»
«I’m not claiming anything. You’ve gotten me all mixed up; my head is killing me!» Maltsev covered his face with his hands.
«When you left the apartment, your brother was there but your wife was not?»
«Well, yeah. Yes!»
«And she had no idea that Anton was in your apartment?»
«If you don’t believe me, ask her. What does she say? What the hell happened in there anyway, goddamnit?»
«Calm down, Mr. Maltsev. We will conclude our conversation for today, but I will need you again. Please remain in the city for now.»
«I understand.»
«Good. Tomorrow, please go to identify the body at this address…»
Petelina drew up the witness statement and gave it to Maltsev to sign. The sparkle of success in his eyes bothered her. What was making him so happy? The conclusion of an unpleasant procedure or had he managed to trick her somewhere along the way?
When Maltsev had relaxed and was about to leave, Elena asked a final question, a kind of test shot.
«Mr. Maltsev, could you please describe to me the car attendant on the Moscow to St. Petersburg train?»
Maltsev wavered and took his time responding.
«The attendant? What, am I required to remember her?»
Elena noted the touch of anxiety in his eyes. She always paid more attention to her subject’s emotions than their words. A liar prepares all the right words beforehand; it’s hard to trip him up. Emotions, however, reveal the truth at times.
«At least tell me her approximate age, or body-type. Or was it a man?»
«It was a woman. That’s all I remember,» Maltsev grew angry. «Can I go?»
«If that’s all you remember, you may go.»
As he was about to leave the office, Maltsev turned around glowing.
«I just remembered: The attendant had a black eye. She covered it up with make-up, but it was still noticeable.»
The test shot had whistled wide of its mark. Maltsev was telling the truth. The detective was once again left with one suspect in her murder investigation.
9
Elena Petelina could not shake the burdensome impression that her as of yet fruitless interrogation of Inna Maltseva had made on her. The chief suspect in the brutal murder had not answered a single question. She had clammed up and stared at the detective as if Petelina were some news anchor, speaking an alien language on the TV. Where was her mind? What was she thinking about? Why didn’t she try to defend herself? At one point, the semblance of a smile had softened her tightly pursed lips. That was when Elena had asked her about the little girl’s photograph in her purse. Elena had clutched at this straw but, try as she might, not a single peep had followed.
Someone rapped on the door. Detective Petelina turned away from the window, instinctively adjusted her cardigan and fixed her hair. In the doorway stood a heavyset, forty-five year old man in a mackintosh, an ascot and large glasses with thick frames.
«Arkady Borisovich Krasin, psychiatrist,» the doctor introduced himself. His was the signature on Inna Maltseva’s prescription. «You wished to see me?»
«Please come in, Dr. Krasin.»
The psychiatrist noticed the coat rack and took off his mackintosh, unveiling a tweed jacket with ornamental elbow patches.
«May I?» he indicated the armchair next to the desk.
Elena nodded and Krasin sat down. From behind his glasses, his clingy gaze traversed across the desk and down to the detective’s feet; it clambered its way up the detective’s figure and stuck intently to her face. Petelina found herself the subject of an unabashed examination by a pair of hazel, half-squinted eyes. She began to feel uncomfortable: She was accustomed to observing the faces and mental states of her guests — not vice versa. Petelina sat down behind her desk, shuffled some papers, opened and closed a drawer and adjusted her laptop’s screen.
«Please, feel yourself at ease, Detective Petelina,» Krasin said graciously.
Okay, this is too far!
The detective shut her laptop and looked defiantly at the psychiatrist.
«I’d like to remind you that it was I who invited you here and not the other way around,» she said.
Krasin leaned back in his chair and let a smile ooze across his face.
«Your uniform flatters you. I like women in uniform. The female body in a male guise connotes a volatile admixture of emotion and reason. Two opposing elements and which will be victorious remains an open question.»
Petelina made a show of turning on the voice recorder and rattled off in an icy voice:
«I am more interested in a different kind of question. I called you, Dr. Krasin, to discuss a patient of yours with you.»
«I am all ears.» The psychiatrist leaned forward officiously. «Whom do you have in mind?»
Elena could clearly make out his aquiline nose with its prominent bridge which looked custom made to support the glasses resting on it. Or had his toucan’s beak evolved to accommodate the hefty frames’ tectonic pressure?
«Inna Maltseva.»
«Inna… is not a simple case.»
«How long have you known her?»
«About three months. I was treating her for depression.»
«Is her affliction related to her familial relationships?»
«Yes and no.»
«Could you explain what you mean, please?»
«I am a doctor. For me, the physician-patient privilege is sacro — »
«Inna Maltsev is the main suspect in a brutal murder.»
Krasin threw up his hands.
«I am aware of the horrible tragedy that has occurred in her family. It is a very sad — »
«How did you find out?» the detective latched on.
«He husband, Dmitry, called me. He was cursing, accusing me of being unprofessional, that kind of thing. Tell me, did Inna really commit such a horrible act?»
«Let’s not change the subject, Dr. Krasin. Please answer my questions. And so, what were the symptoms of Mrs. Maltseva’s depression?»
«Please understand that in our society, people go to the psychiatrist as a last resort — they are at the end of the line and have nowhere else to turn. More often than not, their relatives force them to take this step. Accordingly, Inna’s husband first brought her to me.»
«Did you know him prior to that?»
«No. One of his acquaintances recommended me to him. Word of mouth is the best advertisement for a doctor. For a lawyer too, by the way. As for a detective… Well, obviously your clients aren’t exactly eager to find you.»
«Unfortunately, I am not lacking in clients.»
«You know, me too,» Krasin laughed. «What is happening to this country!»
«I would like to know the cause of Inna Maltseva’s depression.»
«That is a sad topic. Inna was being treated for a long time. Not by me, but by an OB/GYN. She was diagnosed with recurrent pregnancy loss. This disease causes systematic early-term miscarriages due to genetic errors. Do you have children Detective Petelina?» Krasin asked suddenly.
«We are talking about Mrs. Maltseva at the moment,» the detective reminded the psychiatrist yet again.
«Of course.» Krasin splayed out his palms before himself in a peacemaking gesture. «You know, I am happy to see a woman in charge of this case. A reasonable woman. You will understand Inna’s condition better than a man would. I am sure that you have a child. Just one. Did I guess correctly? A girl, most likely. A lovely girl who resembles her mother, who loves her very much. Now, imagine that the daughter vanishes. Dies!»
Elena started. Even though twelve-year-old Nastya would sometimes get sick, Elena refused to ask for medical leave. Of course, the grandmother lived right next door, but last winter when Nastya came down with a 104 degree fever…
«I’m not interested in discussing this.» Elena stood up from her desk, noisily scooting back the chair.
The psychiatrist seemed satisfied with her extreme response.
«And here are the emotions! You are uncomfortable, anxious — though I only mentioned death in passing, without going into detail. But Inna lost her child four times. Four times! She sensed and witnessed their deaths with her own eyes. Her own body took part in the deaths of her children, rejected her fruits like something alien and she could do nothing about it. Nothing! Can you imagine?»
The psychiatrist fell silent. Elena recalled her own fears during her pregnancy. Her stomach whined.
«Inna has an obsessive fantasy of having a child. It is, unfortunately, impossible,» continued Krasin in a calm voice. «This is the cause for her depression. I tried to remove this dependence, but… Hers is a very difficult case.»
Elena returned to her desk and forced herself to go on with her work.
«Did Mrs. Maltseva suffer from nervous breakdowns or sudden fits of rage?»
«Who doesn’t?» smirked the psychiatrist. «I just observed one myself…»
«Did you come here to piss me off?»
«Honestly?»
«I don’t advise lying to a detective.»
«This is my method Detective Petelina. Mere talk does not suffice in helping one understand a person’s internal world. One must compel the subject to lose its cool. Induce stress and one may observe the psychosomatic state of the individual — as plainly as with an MRI. Then, the psychic pressure points are revealed and one may press on them as one wills. Or, if the opposite effect is desired, one may apply pressure to the areas of tranquility and appeasement and thereby return the subject to a state of psychic equilibrium.»
Elena realized that she herself had resorted to such methods during her interrogations. She smiled.
«And what did you learn about me?»
«You have a strong personality. I don’t envy your suspects.»
«And yet you yourself seem intent on becoming one.»
«What?» a touch of anxiety flashed across the psychiatrist’s eyes.
«You will find very interesting people to talk to in our holding cell, Dr. Krasin. There’s enough material there for several monographs.»
Krasin snorted several times, nervously imitating laughter.
«I understand. A professional jest.»
«If you understand, then please start answering my questions. I asked you about Inna Maltseva’s fits of rage.»
«The prescription is lying right there in front of you, Detective Petelina. It is for a very potent substance, but one that is absolutely justified in this case. If Inna was taking her pills regularly, loss of control would have been impossible. But if she forgot a dose, her organism may have rebelled. Unfortunately, I can only ensure that the medicine is being taken at the in-patient facility. Mrs. Maltseva stayed with us for two weeks. After that, I monitored her only as an outpatient.»
«Okay, let’s assume she missed a dose. What then?»
«Depends on the circumstances. Though, her illness predisposes her more to making a scene.»
«Did you talk to Dmitry Maltsev regularly?»
«Naturally. It is impossible to improve a person’s mental condition without familiarizing oneself with their family and surroundings.»
«And what was the relationship like between husband and wife?»
«It was fractured. But it could not have been otherwise. They had to deal with the endless attempts to get pregnant followed by the struggle to keep the baby, culminating each time with failure.»
«Take a look at this photograph.» Elena offered Krasin the photo of the three-year-old girl. «Do you recognize this girl?»
«No. I’ve never seen her before.»
«Mrs. Maltseva had it in her purse.»
The psychiatrist became pensive.
«A strong, obsessive idea always manifests as something concrete. It is possible that Inna imagines that her unborn child looks exactly like this girl. It is vital for her to have a real image of her fantasy. As for the photo itself, she could have found it anywhere.»
«We discovered Mrs. Maltseva beside the body. Everything points to her guilt. She behaved calmly, maintaining that she did not kill her husband, but as soon as she saw that the dead man wasn’t him, she fainted. She hasn’t said a word today. She refuses to speak.»
«Did you take her medicine away?»
«Yes. She is not allowed to have it in the holding cell with her.»
«You cannot leave Inna without her medicine,» Krasin began to fret.
«I can have her transferred to the prison hospital.»
«God no! Do you know what kind of doctors are working there? There aren’t any psychiatrists there, are there? I hypothesize that, due to severe stress, Inna’s memory has blocked out any horrible recollections. Even with the help of medicine, you won’t get anything out of her.»
«What should we do then?»
Krasin entwined his fingers self-importantly and furrowed his brow.
«There is one surefire way to bring someone back to reality.»
«What’s that?»
«Hypnosis.»
The detective looked at the psychiatrist incredulously.
«Yes, that’s right, hypnosis. Hypnosis alleviates fear and dismantles internal barriers that the unconscious mind uses to defend itself. The subject becomes truthful and regains its memory. Hypnosis is a form of treatment. I tried a couple sessions with Inna. They yielded favorable results.»
«Interesting.» Elena traced a large spiral with her pencil on the sheet of paper before her. When her mind was occupied with something, she would often draw mindless doodles that would surreptitiously depict her state of mind. At the moment, Elena remembered that hypnosis — as a method of influencing a person’s psyche in order to bring their memory back — had long since been used by the special services of the developed world. It had been employed in Moscow as well, just not in her division.
She decided to risk it:
«And if I were to ask you to perform a session here, in my presence? What would you say?»
Krasin looked around.
«I think we can easily do it right here in your office.»
«When?»
«Detective Petelina, I am a busy person — as are you. Since I am already here, why put it off?»
10
Marat Valeyev noticed his partner’s large figure a block before the intersection. He braked and waited while Mayorov crammed himself into the passenger seat.
«How did the train welcome go?» asked the captain.
«The car attendant recognized Dmitry Maltsev. At the time of the murder, he was on the train getting drunk.»
«He did more of the same on the return leg. I’ve already delivered the flabby product of last night’s libations to Petelina.»
«Why waste all that money on tickets?» sighed Vanya recalling his unenviable salary. He noticed that the captain was not heading back to the division. «Where to now?»
«Back to our former haunts. We never found that janitor, remember.»
«Oh. Man, the Noose just doesn’t let up, does she? Other operatives don’t even have to go to the crime scenes. They’re allowed to stay in the office writing reports — »
«It’s Detective Petelina to you. Got it?» Marat would have preferred it if Lena Gracheva, the valedictorian of his class, had remained Gracheva, instead of getting hitched with Sergey Petelin, with whom he used to scuffle in school.
«What are you getting on my case about? Have you any idea how they bitch about her back at the Investigative Committee? She’s constantly setting back deadlines, requesting additional tests and ordering field operatives to go here and there, back and forth…»
«She may order us around, but it’s for a good reason. As for deadlines, the entire reason we’re going to find the janitor right now is to speed things up. Oh, and did you not get an award last quarter?»
«Yeah, something like that.»
«There you have it. And thanks to whom? Petelina!»
«I didn’t even understand how we got so many merits.»
«A detective gets merits on his record for each criminal case that goes to court, but us operatives get them for each episode. Episodes constitute individual crimes that may all be a part of just one case. Whomever the detective decides to give the merits to gets the golden goose. Remember how we nabbed that gang that stole the gasoline from the oil refinery?»
«Yeah, we followed them and got them as they were about to fence it.»
«The total recovered damages in that case amounted to five million. We divide that into one hundred episodes at fifty thousand per — and that’s how you got all those merits on your record.»
«Huh.»
«You should always try to be friends with your detective, Vanya.»
«I mean, I have nothing against her. Only, she’s obsessed with this coat. And yet the whole thing is so obvious. We discovered Maltseva at the scene of the crime and the Tadpole got all the evidence we could need. All we have to do is lean on her a bit and she’ll crack. Why waste time talking to Tajik janitors?»
«Because I can’t say no to a pretty woman, Vanya. I’m simply incapable of it.»
Mayorov was ready to submit a different paragon when it came to female beauty. A more striking, younger one with gracious curves in the right places. To that end, he had asked for the attendant’s address on purpose. Now, he would have a good reason to stop by the passport desk and ask Galya Nesterova whether the woman with the bruise really did reside at the address she had given him. He would bring some chocolate with him. Or maybe a rose? Flowers, of course, would be a better idea, but he was a little frightened. If a man gives a woman flowers, he is effectively confessing his love. Maybe if it was Galya’s birthday, it would be okay. How could he find out when she was born?
It was as if Valeyev had read his younger colleague’s mind.
«I remembered what I said to Galya from the passport desk yesterday, Vanya.»
«What?» Mayorov turned his entire, ample frame to face the captain.
«„Now or never.“»
«Tell me now — why wait?»
«I already told you.»
«I don’t understand.»
«That’s what I told her: „Now or never!“»
Vanya’s eyes went round; his mouth opened a little. More than a minute went by before he exhaled.
«Why?»
«First thing that came to mind. So I said it.»
«But what does it mean?»
«Now means now! And never…» the captain flourished his hand vaguely in the air. «We will catch the culprit… now or never.»
«Are you sure that that’s how Galya understood it?»
«Well, we were on our way to a murder, weren’t we?»
«But Galya didn’t know that!»
«Yes, a misunderstanding… Well, you know what they say: From each according to his ability, to each according to his depravity.»
Vanya recalled the fiery look that Galya had cast after the captain and felt a tinge of sadness:
«I think that she thought something entirely different.»
Valeyev turned into the driveway to the Maltsevs’ apartment building and instantly spied the janitor in the courtyard.
«Well, speak of the devil. Come on Vanya — time for you to practice your Tajik.»
«Me?»
«Yeah you. What are you sitting there for? If we both go, we’ll scare him. You’re the more diplomatic one here.»
Valeyev sat back, relaxed and enjoyed a cigarette, watching the 240-lbs. «diplomat» variously and valiantly attempt to explain to the cowed and skinny janitor exactly what was wanted of him.
At last, the time came for the senior officer to involve himself.
«Come over here, brother.» Valeyev clapped the janitor on the shoulder. In the next instant, the captain went bug-eyed and thrust forth his neck in simulated rage. «If you don’t hand over that coat this instant, I’ll send you back home to Central Asia first thing tomorrow morning. To your motherland. And after that, you’ll never get back into Russia again. Ever!»
The sacred words «Russia» and «motherland» had a profound effect on the janitor. Five minutes later, the operatives were digging through a pile of clothes in the building’s basement, while the janitor regaled them with a haphazard tale about wealthy residents who throw away «completely new thing,» insolent bums with «completely no shame,» and a strict supervisor who «completely does not talk quietly.»
The operatives did not part with «Completely Completovich» empty-handed.
11
Inna Maltseva looked relaxed. Her eyes were closed and she was reclining in her chair with her arms lying limply on the armrests. Dr. Krasin held an open hand to Inna’s forehead, while his other hand supported the back of her head. His long nose was almost touching her temple and he was speaking to her in a soft and poignant voice.
«Inna, you can feel the warmth from my hands spread through you. Your fear lets go of you and you begin to feel better and better. There is nothing that has happened in your life that cannot be fixed. A minor nuisance has occurred. We are here to help you figure out and extricate you out of this situation. On the count of three, I want you to open your eyes and look at the woman before you. She is your friend. You must be honest with her. Don’t hide anything. She will help you.»
Krasin counted to three and traced a circle with his palm in front of the patient’s face. Maltseva’s eyes opened.
«You may ask your questions,» the psychiatrist whispered to the detective.
Petelina was sitting across the table from Maltseva. She brought her palms together pensively in front of her pursed lips and watched her enter hypnosis. Inna had changed. She looked like a guileless, infinitely weary woman now. Her wide-open, clear eyes awaited Petelina’s help.
Elena slowly lowered her arms and surreptitiously turned on the voice recorder. She tried to formulate her questions as tactfully as she could.
«Inna, do you remember what happened yesterday evening?»
«Yes, of course.»
«Tell me, please, what were you doing?»
«I was waiting.»
There was a pause. Maltseva’s gaze became foggy. It became evident that she was submerging herself in her memories.
«Were you waiting for an opportune moment?» the detective tried to lead her.
«Yes.»
«What was supposed to happen then?»
«I wanted to approach unnoticed.»
«Approach whom?»
«The person I wanted to kill.»
«Did you plan out the murder beforehand?»
«Yes.»
«Did you plan how you were going to do it?»
«I did.»
Petelina could not believe that Maltseva would so stubbornly ruin herself and rephrased the question:
«Try and think hard before answering, Inna: Did you want the person to die as a result of your actions?»
«Of course,» Maltseva answered naïvely.
Elena pursed her lips in disappointment. Murder in the first degree was far removed from the charge she had planned on for this poor woman who was so tormented by her impossible desire to have a child. Article 5, Section 1—murder in the first — provided for 6–15 years’ imprisonment, whereas Article 107—manslaughter in the heat of passion — entailed a maximum of up to 3 years. Meanwhile, if the court decided that Maltseva had acted with excessive cruelty, then she could even be charged under Article 104, Section 2. Then, if she was found guilty of that, she could be given life.
Elena was overcome with compassion. The psychiatrist had been right when he had remarked that her investigations vacillated between the cliffs of reason and the waves of emotion. Waves could erode the jagged edges to softness, but only rock could ensure a stable footing. Elena had to cast aside emotion and discover the truth. She had to present it in the form of clear evidence and submit it for the court’s decision. That was her job. Feelings during an investigation could only get in the way of that.
«Tell me how you put your plan into action,» Petelina asked more coldly, already anticipating the answer. The image of the crime and the murder weapon — the hair-plastered cleaver — did not leave much room to the imagination.
«I came up from behind.»
«Unnoticed?»
«Yes.»
«Go on. You came up from behind and…»
«And fired.»
Fired?! The word, pronounced so quietly, had the effect of a real gunshot.
Petelina recoiled and looked quizzically at the psychiatrist. Krasin remained unperturbed. He scribbled something on a piece of paper and passed it to the detective. Elena read: «In a state of hypnosis, she is unable to make anything up.»
The detective looked at Maltseva. The woman had an open and earnest expression on her face devoid of the slightest smirk or shade of cunning. She had given her reply and was simply waiting for the next question.
Had she told the truth then? But that was impossible!
«Inna, let’s try this again, from the beginning. You decided to commit a murder. You approached your victim from behind. And then? Do you remember the gunshot clearly?»
«Yes.»
«Then you must have the weapon somewhere.»
«The gun.» Maltseva looked at her hand, raised it and extended her index finger. «I fired. Like this.»
Inna bent her finger. Her hand jumped from the recoil and dropped to her knee.
Elena could not understand what was happening. Anton Maltsev had been killed with a cleaver — the autopsy had confirmed it. There was no handgun! There were no bullets! What the hell was the suspect talking about?
Petelina glanced at the voice recorder and mechanically asked her next question:
«Where did you aim your shot?»
«At her head. I fired and she fell.»
«She?!»
12
Captain Valeyev put some clothes in a bag and explained what he was doing to the janitor.
«These constitute material evidence, which I am hereby confiscating.»
«Completely?»
«Completely completely.»
The Tajik janitor nodded enthusiastically and suggested the boss take some more things. He understood now that his date with his motherland had been put on hold and was grateful to the kind boss for his wise decision. Valeyev handed the bag to Mayorov and the two operatives left the basement.
In the courtyard, the captain noticed Dmitry Maltsev hurrying by.
«What a welcome surprise!» Valeyev exclaimed. «It’s good to see you back in the free world!»
Maltsev twitched as if he had stumbled against an invisible barrier.
«I was released,» he muttered.
«Verily, the drunk tank overfloweth. Thy return shall be most welcome.»
«Well I don’t normally drink so much… That was kind of an accident.» Maltsev waved his hand in resignation and asked, «What about Inna, my wife? Where is she? She isn’t answering her phone.»
«Kindly direct all your inquiries to the detective.»
«Is she under arrest?»
«Are you deaf? Ask the detective!»
«Yes, of course,» Maltsev checked himself and pointed at the driveway uncertainly. «May I go up? To my apartment?»
«If you’ve got your keys, go for it.»
«But isn’t the… well.. you know, in there…?»
«They’re doing the autopsy at the morgue. It’s more comfy there. I’m sure you understand. In fact, I know you do because I heard that you’ve dealt with this kind of thing before — like when you went hunting that one time.»
Maltsev’s eyes flashed with a spark of rage. The man deflated and turned away. His stooping figure, its sour face, dragged off toward the front entrance.
«And where are we off to?» asked Mayorov.
«To the car, Vanya, to the car.» Valeyev gave his partner a soft push, weighing whether he should tell Petelina about his meeting with the janitor in person or by phone.
Detective Petelina’s head was running in circles. What was Maltseva talking about? Where was she getting this stuff? A gunshot instead of a blow? A handgun instead of a cleaver? A she instead of a he? Drivel — plain and simple. Everything had happened completely differently.
«Go on,» Dr. Krasin whispered to Elena. His expression, however, lacked its former conviction.
Elena discarded all tact and stated directly
«Mrs. Maltseva, last night you did not shoot anyone.» Elena discarded all tact and asserted directly. «Instead, you struck a man with a cleaver!»
«No. I shot a woman with a gun.»
«What woman?»
«The woman in the red car.»
«What car?»
«A red Volvo.»
«You were at home last night.»
«I was in Aprelevka, waiting for her.»
«In Aprelevka?» Elena shook her head helplessly. «Okay, let’s say you really were there. Where then exactly?»
«At 24 Dorozhnaya Street.»
«Are you sure?»
«Yes. There was a sign on the fence that said „24.“»
«And who was it that you shot?»
«The blonde, but she dyes her hair.»
«A bleached blonde? How fascinating! Tell me, how did it all happen?»
«She drove up and got out of her red car. She began to open the green gates. I walked right up to her and shot her in the head. Then, she fell.»
«Where did you get the gun?»
«It’s my dad’s gun. He was in the army.»
«And where is the gun now?»
«I dropped it back there. I didn’t need it anymore.»
«At what time did all this happen?»
«After six. I checked my watch while I was waiting.»
«So according to you, you lay in wait for a woman in order to murder her?»
«I shot her and she fell.»
«What happened then?»
«I got in my car and went home. I thought everything over several times. I was wearing sunglasses so that no one could recognize me. I threw them in the trash. I also threw away the coat and gloves. Did I do it right?»
«What was the woman’s name?»
«I don’t know.»
«You killed a complete stranger?!»
«She was a bad person.»
«Had you met her before?»
«No.»
«Then why did you shoot her?»
Inna clenched her fists and began to batter the table’s edge.
«She’s a whore. A bitch. She doesn’t have the right to live. She humiliated a child. I had to kill her.»
Inna Maltseva was convulsing hysterically. Dr. Krasin quickly moved the detective aside and began counting backwards to bring the patient out of her trance.
When Maltseva had been taken away, Petelina got into the psychiatrist’s face.
«Your hypnosis is utter crap.»
«I wouldn’t say so. And, in your heart of hearts, you do not really think so either. I did everything right. Inna could not have lied under hypnosis. To the contrary, she had to recollect whatever she had blocked out of her memory.»
«She recollected enough nonsense to send my head spinning!»
«I was just trying to help, Detective Petelina.»
«Well, you did quite enough. Thank you for all the extra work.» The detective was gradually regaining her cool. «Do you realize that I am required to corroborate any confession? Even one that’s utter drivel?»
«And what if Inna is telling the truth?»
«Two murders in one day?»
«You should hear some of the stuff I’ve come across in my clinical practice. Like this one time — »
«Please go, Dr. Krasin. I will sign your release; just go.» Elena rapped her fingers on the voice recorder. «I’ve had it up to here with this whole story.»
«As you wish, Detective Petelina.» Krasin put on his mackintosh. «If you need any further assistance with Inna, I will be at your service.»
Recalling the suspect’s troublesome testimony, Elena began massaging her temples and agreed with the psychiatrist, «I’m afraid to say it, but I have a feeling that we’ll meet again.»
13
What to do with the woman’s delirious ravings? Put them on the back burner or check out the details right away?
Detective Petelina preferred to be proactive. From a professional perspective, she had just received new information and now needed to corroborate Inna Maltseva’s testimony. Her hand cultivated mindless ornaments on a sheet of paper.
«Detective Petelina, this is Captain Valeyev reporting!» Valeyev’s cheerful voice through the phone extracted Petelina from her reverie.
Elena glanced at her drawing. The cleaver was distinctly visible among the delicate penciled lines, while the gun’s outline was only vaguely discernible. Elena circled both items, then crossed them out angrily and threw the crumpled paper into the trashcan.
God only knew what was going on. The suspect had confessed and in so doing, all the witness statements, as well as the gathered evidence, had been provided with their logical conclusion. What else did a detective need to consider this case closed? But of course Inna Maltseva had confessed to an entirely different crime: A woman had been killed, instead of a man! The murder took place on a street in Aprelevka, instead of in an apartment in Moscow! The murder weapon was a handgun, instead of a cleaver!
After such unexpected testimony, Petelina was compelled to undertake certain investigative measures to corroborate or repudiate the murder confession. She had already received a part of the necessary data. It had forced her to think very hard. At the moment, Elena was waiting for the final and most important piece of the puzzle.
«It’s hard to find a black cat in a dark room. Especially, if it’s not in the room to begin with,» Valeyev joked.
Elena could hear him smile.
«What are you talking about, Marat?»
«About the not so simple assignment you gave me.»
«Success?» Elena perked up recalling the missing coat. A forensic analysis of micro-fine particles on the clothes could throw this convoluted case wide open. What could be there? Traces of gunpowder? Drops of Anton Maltsev’s blood? Both?
«Success.»
«Well, bring it to the lab ASAP!»
«What? The janitor?»
«What does the janitor have to do with it? I’m talking about Maltseva’s coat.»
«We only found the janitor. The coat… There is no coat.»
«Marat, are you messing with me? I’ve been sick of your dumb jokes since we were in school.»
«I’m sorry Lena, I really was talking about the janitor.»
«Oh god.»
«We didn’t discover the coat in question,» the operative confessed and instantly began looking for an excuse. «There probably never was one to begin with!»
«Why are you so certain?»
«We asked the janitor. Who else could have taken the coat out of the trash? It was either him or the bums. But, the janitor doesn’t work in the evening. And the bums make their rounds during the day, when it’s light out. However, Mrs. Maltseva claims that she threw the coat away when it had just gotten dark. If that were the case, we would have found the coat that same evening. Think about it yourself, Lena, who’s going to go digging around in the trash? Only field ops. And even then, just the ones that have the dreaded Noose for a supervisor.»
The detective ignored this little jibe. If the case required it, she’d send them to the bottom of the ocean. In fact, that too had happened before. And not just once. Our dear criminal friends often like to toss material evidence into deep waters, hoping that that’ll be that. Luckily, Misha Ustinov has a lovely device that can render the ocean floor in stark detail.
Elena’s hand twirled the pencil over a summary of yesterday’s incidents in Aprelevka. The section dealing with murders and severe bodily injuries was heavily underlined.
«So there is no coat,» concluded Elena.
«Nor gloves, nor glasses,» the captain joined in enthusiastically. «We went through the janitor’s trove. He’s a collector of every half-decent thing that gets thrown out. I even picked out a children’s coat and some tiny overalls for myself.»
«Why? What do you need them for?»
«Well…» Marat hesitated.
Elena recalled why he had been thrown out of the city’s organized crime division. Operative Nikita Dobrokhotov had perished as a consequence of Valeyev’s actions. Internal Affairs had spent three months investigating Marat. It was only due to a general’s intercession that Valeyev managed to remain in the service at all. That was how he ended up in Petelina’s district.
«Nikita Dobrokhotov has a kid,» Elena guessed.
«Two.»
«How old?»
«The girl’s starting fourth grade. The boy’s going to be five soon. The overalls are for him. They’re very nice actually.»
«Eh, Marat, why didn’t you tell me earlier? I have so many of Nastya’s old clothes from when she was younger.»
«Look Lena, this is kind of a personal matter. Don’t tell anyone, okay..?»
«What nonsense! I don’t want to hear another word. „A personal matter!“ I’ll get the clothes ready for you and you’ll come by to pick them up. As for the ones you got from the janitor, take them to the dry cleaners first.»
«That’s a good idea. I hadn’t thought of that.»
«Well, therein lies the difference between women and men.»
«There are other difference too,» the captain humbly submitted.
«Let’s stick to work, Captain Valeyev.» Elena reached for a printout from the State Traffic Inspectorate database and circled a license plate number with her pencil. «You didn’t find the coat, but I found the car.»
«What car?» asked the operative surprised.
«The Volvo. A red one, as luck would have it.»
«You’re getting a new car?»
«It belongs to a woman who was born a brunette but prefers to be a blonde.»
«Lena, I’m not following.»
Misha Ustinov came flying into the detective’s office. Petelina put the phone down and switched her attention to the expert. Her eyes burned with anticipation.
«Well?»
«I’ve figure it out, Detective Petelina, all of it! I’ve already made the call. You know what they told me?»
Petelina greedily listened to his brief report. Her worst fears had been confirmed. She snatched up the phone and yelled, «Valeyev, get over here this instant!»
14
Using a finely sharpened pencil, Detective Petelina doodled an abstract design on a blank sheet of paper. This time, the drawing was coming out all convoluted and scratchy. In the room with her, Marat Valeyev could barely contain his shock as he listened to the recording of Inna Maltseva’s interrogation, while Vanya Mayorov stood leaning against the windowsill and quietly sipped his tea.
«What a business!» the captain exclaimed once the recording had ended. «So this little dormouse knocked off two people? First some lady and then her husband!»
«I checked yesterday’s incidents report for Aprelevka. There’s no record of a murder there.»
«Why would she lie?» Valeyev furrowed his brow.
«Well, for one, to draw out the case.»
«Come on now, career criminals who’ve chalked up four stiffs make up one or two more to throw us off. This lady doesn’t fit the bill.»
«Another option is to incriminate herself and then beat the charges at trial,» the detective suggested.
«Exactly! Maltseva’s just messing with us. She wanted to off her husband but mistook his brother for him. After all, he did show up unexpected and was wearing Dmitry’s bathrobe. Then, when we nabbed her, she decided to come up with another murder.»
«She’s playing the fool,» Ivan agreed. He had been contemplating whether it would be inappropriate of him to dump out the last, cold dregs of tea into the detective’s flower pot.
«Scrambling our brains,» Valeyev echoed.
«If that were the case, I wouldn’t have called you here so urgently.»
«Why, I am up for anything at any moment, like a boy scout.» Valeyev had trouble pulling off a humble smile convincingly.
Elena frowned and looked down at her papers.
«We corroborated a number of details from Inna Maltseva’s statements,» she said.
«Such as?»
«There is in fact a certain Oksana Drozdova residing in Aprelevka. She is 32 and her address is 24 Dorozhnaya Street. Also, she likes to bleach her hair.»
«A blonde.»
«What’s more is Drozdova owns a red Volvo.»
«A blonde with a red ride — nothing farfetched about that,» Vanya proclaimed a bit of worldly wisdom, while secretly relishing the fact that Galya Nesterova wasn’t some painted bimbo, but a real woman with real hair: He liked her close-cropped cut with its short braid and he also reckoned that there wouldn’t be anything weird or creepy in it if he brought her a flower or, say, a cactus to protect her from her PC’s electromagnetic radio waves. He could tell her that he’d brought it from home and had nowhere to put it. Galya would be pleasantly surprised of course. «Do you have an entire orchard at home?» she would ask and he would nod and offer to show it to her. Then, she would come over and—
«Red’s a rare color for a Volvo.» Valeyev’s remark cut short Mayorov fantastical orbit and sent him plummeting down to the detective’s office with all the grace of a descent vehicle on a parachute-less trajectory into the ocean.
«And now for the best part.» Petelina picked up a printout. «Misha Ustinov pulled up Oksana Drozdova’s contact info and sent me her photo. Have a look.»
The detective handed her phone to the operatives.
«She likes her makeup,» surmised Valeyev.
«She’s a blonde,» Mayorov confirmed for no one’s benefit. He was gaining respect for Galya by the minute.
«Oksana Drozdova works for the regional branch of the Housing and Utilities Ministry.
«She’s a clerk.»
«That’s not the main thing though. Ustinov called them up and found out that Ms. Drozdova did not come into work today. She hadn’t given notice and hasn’t answered her cell phone.»
«Another goner! Did the Tadpole check for tickets to St. Petersburg?»
«He did,» Elena replied seriously. «Nothing anywhere. Now it’s your turn to check.»
«What do you want us to do?»
«I want you to go to Aprelevka, Marat. Check out Drozdova’s house.»
«Are we looking for a hidden body?» the operative smirked skeptically.
«The thing of it is that hypnotized people don’t tell lies, Marat.»
Twenty minutes later, the two field operatives were flying down Kievsky Highway. Mayorov was behind the wheel. Marat Valeyev sat beside him, adroitly sending off text messages.
«Talking to Galya Nesterova,» he explained. «She’s really hung up on the whole «now or never’ thing.»
«Why? What’s so special about it?» Vanya grumbled, feigning disinterest.
«Check out what she wrote. „Never or now?“ With a question mark!»
«What’d you say to that?»
«I wrote, „Never put off until tomorrow that which you can do today.“»
«What’d she say to that?»
«She wrote, ‘+100»»
«What’s that supposed to mean?»
«It means she agrees, one hundred percent. So I switched over to numerology too: „2+2=4!“»
«I don’t get it.»
«Galya didn’t either. It’s code for a date.»
«What kind of date?» Vanya grew nervous.
«Two pairs of hands is four. Two pairs of feet is four. And two pairs of eyes consuming each other from desire is also four. And so, four pairs times four pairs, joined in intimate intercourse.»
«Eyes, hands, feet… what’s the fourth pair?»
«Ears, you perv. Ears are the most important part. If a girl’s all ears as you’re whispering your sweet nothings, you can be sure that she’ll be yours.»
«Yours?» terror washed over Vanya.
«The hell are you off to — you unformed major, you? Turn here! You’ll miss the Aprelevka exit!»
The senior lieutenant braked abruptly. Valeyev cursed, opened the atlas and found Dorozhnaya Street. He began to give his partner directions, while the melancholy Mayorov wove through the unfamiliar streets obediently and kept trying to divine whether the whole date code thing was just a joke. The captain did love his jokes, after all.
«Here we are. Twenty-four Dorozhnaya Street,» Valeyev announced cheerfully and shut the atlas.
«The gates are green, just like in Maltseva’s statement,» recalled Vanya. His police brain clicked on, drowning out the whine of jealousy permeating his solid body.
«And open,» noticed Valeyev. «Why do you think that is?»
The operatives entered the yard and found a sedan parked within.
«It’s red,» Mayorov switched to a whisper.
«Wait!» Valeyev stopped his partner in mid-stride.
The captain squatted and picked up a plastic fragment from the cobblestone.
«Look, it’s from a phone. No wonder her cell phone isn’t working.»
Valeyev noticed two small stains on the pavestone, rubbed them with his finger and carefully examined the smudge on his finger.
«Look’s like we have a situation on our hands. This is blood, Vanya. Could be from a pooch that nicked its paw or could be a…» he reached down again and picked up a couple of light hairs. «Well, well, well… Seems to me like these smell like gunpowder. Have a sniff, Vanya.»
Valeyev stood up, while Mayorov inhaled loudly with his nose.
«I can’t tell. I’m no hound.»
«You’re a sleuth, Vanya. An operative, as we like to say. What’s the operative’s motto? „To contend and to seek — to uncover and bring to justice.“ Wish the Tadpole were here with his satchel.» Marat looked around. «If we keep going at this rate, we’ll stumble across a blonde corpse any second.»
«Where?»
«Well, where would you hide a body?»
The operatives both looked at the lilac bushes in the corner of the yard. The rust-colored leaves had partially fallen, exposing an oblong object covered with a plastic tarp through the bare branches. The operatives exchanged a look and walked around the bush from both sides. The oblong object covered with plastic was shaped like a human body.
«Should we look around for witnesses?» asked Vanya.
«The hell do you want with witnesses?» Valeyev jerked the tarp off in one sharp motion, revealing a black mound of fresh earth. The captain shook off the water that had gotten on his hands. «What we need is a shovel, not witnesses.»
«Maybe we should report to Detective Petelina first. Let her…» the senior lieutenant stumbled onto the captain’s accusatory look and shut up.
«Why don’t you call Galya Nesterova too? You and I can have a pleasant smoke while they do our jobs.»
«I’m just going by the book. Clearly the corpse is here. The earth is loose. Buried yesterday.»
«You know, I think maybe you can’t see the forest for the trees. Have you ever seen black earth like this anywhere around Moscow?»
Vanya shrugged his shoulders.
«Did it rain yesterday?» Valeyev pressed on.
«Hasn’t rained a drop in three days.»
«There you have it. And yet, there was some pooled water in the tarp’s folds. And it was covered with withered leaves.»
Valeyev snapped off a branch and used it to poke the black mound. The branch entered the earth easily but stopped at something hard at ground level. The captain prodded the mound from every side and threw the branch away.
«This is just potting soil for a vegetable garden. It was put here a while ago and covered with plastic to keep the weeds out.»
«Where should we look for the body now?»
«You forgot about the house. That’s the best option for the murderer. Neighbors might be able to see into the yard. But this way, you shoot her, get her keys and drag the body into the house.»
«Maltseva couldn’t have managed that on her own.»
«Who said she acted alone? In this line of work, best always assume the worst.» Valeyev nodded in the direction of the house. «Here’s the plan. I’ll get the door, while you cover me through the window.»
The operatives stomped along the grass to the house and split up. Mayorov turned the corner. The curtains were drawn. The operative looked into the first window from his great height. The living room was empty. The next window showed the living room from a different angle. He could see the door to the entryway. For a moment, Vanya thought he caught a slight motion among the pane’s tessellated reflections, as if someone had darted past quickly and quietly.
On the other side of the house, Marat Valeyev ascended the stairs and tried the door. To his surprise, it was unlocked. And not only that but, when he pulled, the door swung toward him with such ease that it was almost like someone was pushing it from inside. This boded danger. Before the captain could pull his service weapon, the blonde’s body fell onto him. He had been caught off guard for just a second, but this lost moment turned out to be fateful.
Vanya heard a sharp scream of pain and the sound of someone falling. His hand automatically whipped out his service weapon. He could swear that the scream had been Valeyev’s.
15
The same entrance lobby to a once-desirable, Stalin-era apartment building; the same stairwell with its tattered steps; the same apartment with the tall front door. Only now, there are no smoking cops. There are no napping operatives, nor careworn EMTs. There are no curious inhabitants peeking from the safety of their apartments. Gone is the dead man with his staved-in head. Gone are the vacant eyes, the slumped shoulders of the main suspect. And, more notably for Elena, gone from her chest is the onerous feeling she gets every time she first enters a crime scene. It is the feeling of running in endless circles: one more murder; the world is no better for it; man has killed man, again.
Detective Petelina turned away from the shut door to the Maltsevs’ apartment and rang the neighboring doorbell. Earlier in the day some new questions for the main witness, Lyubov Broshina, had occurred to Elena. The detective had not, however, considered it necessary to summon the elderly lady to the Investigative Committee officially.
A dog’s muffled bark answered the doorbell. The peephole dimmed, a series of locks clicked in ascending order, the security chain stretched taught and Petelina was confronted by a slice of a woman’s face. A second passed and its severe wrinkles softened. The retiree recognized the detective.
«Oh, it’s you… The husband came back this morning.» Broshina cast an unkind look at the Maltsevs’ front door. «Rumpled coat, hair all greasy — it’s too bad I couldn’t make out his face. Wonder whether he’s happy or not — the jackass. Calm down, Chana, heel! This is a nice lady.»
The shaggy little dog at the elderly woman’s feet fell silent. Its fur’s chalky whorls bore a passing resemblance to the white curls on its mistress’s head.
«Actually, I’ve come here to ask you about Maltsev one more time, Ms. Broshina.»
«Sure,» the elderly woman replied eagerly through the crack.
«Maybe, I could…» Petelina indicated the security chain politely.
«Oh, but of course. Come in.» Broshina let the detective enter. «Put on these slippers. I’m sick to death of cleaning up after Chana. She’s old and molting. We’re the same age now, she and I.»
«She’s a lovely dog.» Elena smiled into the dog’s toothy grimace.
«Maltsev called a cleaning service. Two guys came out in coveralls and with chemicals. They won’t wash away any of your evidence will they?»
«Don’t worry. Our forensic expert already got everything,» Elena assured her, following the elderly lady into the kitchen.
«I’ll put a little tea on. I only have yesterday’s brew, but it’s a good one.»
Noise from the kettle filled the kitchen and thin, porcelain teacups — produced from the sideboard for the occasion — alighted triumphantly onto their saucers. Teaspoons clinked next to them. As none of these sounds boded anything of promise to the old dog, Chana curled into a sullen ball on the handmade cover of one of the chairs.
«Have you figured out who the victim was yet?»
«Yes. It was Mr. Maltsev’s brother, Anton. Did you know him?»
«Had I known him, I would have recognized him. I remember now that he had come by before. I saw him once or twice. But, back then he was alive, whereas yesterday…»
«Is it possible that Inna Maltseva had an intimate relationship with Anton?»
«I don’t like to speculate about what I don’t know. But I doubt it. Inna wasn’t like that. She just wanted kids. All she ever did was spend time in doctors’ offices.»
«Could she have mistaken one brother for another?»
«Well, we all did at first. I thought it was Dmitry too.»
«Ms. Broshina, what can you tell me about the Maltsevs’ family life? Typically, when these kinds of murders take place, the motive lies somewhere in the relationship between the spouses. Disputes, quarrels, cheating. I’m sure you know what I mean.»
«Sure I do. What’s not to understand?» nodded the retiree. «Private life, conflict, cheating. I watch the TV shows — God only knows what doesn’t happen on them.»
«And the Maltsevs? How did they get on together?»
«The Maltsevs have been my neighbors for ten years. Inna used to be a teacher, just like me. I taught history — social science. Did it long enough to become a principal. As soon as Inna married Maltsev, she transferred to my school — it’s the local one over there. I retired two years after she arrived. She quit not much later, but we went on being friends. So there are some things about her that I do know. She didn’t have a very easy life, you know.»
«You don’t say?»
«Let me just tell you…»
Half an hour later, Detective Petelina knew all about the tragic miscarriages of Inna Maltseva. She listened attentively to the heartrending tale of how poor Inna went from doctor to doctor and stayed in various hospitals, while her husband ran around wooing some painted trollop, the jackass. Ms. Broshina had caught them leaving an expensive restaurant and had even told Inna about it.
«Inna just waved me off, saying that her husband had a business meeting. Business! What business? I saw him myself. He was drunk and ogling her and pawing at her waist like a bear at a beehive. If there hadn’t been people around, I bet he’d have summoned the temerity to slip his hand under her skirt… But, of course, if a wife doesn’t want to know the truth about her husband, there’s no point on insisting on it. So I stopped mentioning it to Inna — even though I saw him bring the bimbo home. Twice, in fact.»
«When was this?»
«During the summer. Her perfume stank up the lobby so bad that it needed to be aired out. Meanwhile, Inna was suffering in a hospital bed. There’s a «business meeting’ for you.»
«Do you know her name?»
«He never introduced us.»
«What does she look like?»
«She’s blonde. Dresses for effect. Likes bright lipstick and eyeliner.»
«Can you look at this photograph and tell me whether this is her?» Petelina pulled up the image on her phone.
The pensioner adjusted her reading glasses.
«Why, that’s the very one,» she exclaimed, «Maltsev’s lover. She’s always wearing skintight fripperies. One might think she is still in school when, really, she is well past thirty. Though, she is younger than Inna. Younger… Men are some dogs, eh?»
Elena remembered her ex-husband and offered no objection. The photo of the efficacious blonde — Oksana Drozdova, clerk at the Housing and Utilities Ministry for the Moscow Region — glowed on her screen. According to Maltseva, she had killed this woman the day before. According to the police, no such incident had occurred. And yet, Oksana Drozdova had not come in to work today.
I wonder what’s keeping Marat. It’s about time he reported back, Petelina began to worry, remembering the operatives she had sent to 24 Dorozhnaya Street.
16
Ivan Mayorov crept along the wall of the house and, reaching the corner, peeked around at the porch. There, at the foot of the wide-open door, lay Valeyev.
He’s alive! The operative was relieved to see a grimace of pain on the captain’s face. Marat raised himself onto one elbow and pressed his free hand against his chest. He’s wounded! There was no gunshot. He’s been stabbed! flashed through the operative’s head, and, covering the entryway with his service weapon, Vanya hopped up onto the front porch.
He was instantly deafened by a savage shriek. Its source was a woman in cotton pajamas. She stood in the entryway, guarding herself with shaking, splayed palms. She did not have a knife. It wasn’t her.
Mayorov shoved the woman aside and burst into the house. Gotta find the bastard! Who attacked Marat? throbbed between the operative’s temples. He began going through the house, checking room by room as Captain Valeyev had taught him.
«These rules are written with the blood of our friends,» Valeyev had pounded into the novice operative’s head. «The most likely cause of a police officer’s death in a building is a shooter hiding behind and open door. You walk into a room and he’s behind you. You may as well be in the palm of his hand. Only slightly less dangerous is when the shooter presses up along the latch-side wall. You’ll see him, of course, but he’s already got you in his sights. A door is a dangerous object in general — it can be used to deliver a blow or knock a person off his feet. For these reasons, your tactical approach should be as follows: Dash through a doorway quickly and, as you pass the threshold, check the latch-side wall and then whether anyone’s hiding behind the door itself. Keep your service weapon in your right hand and steady it with your left. Keep your hands at eyelevel and crooked slightly at the elbows. Keep your barrel pointed where your eyes are looking so that you don’t waste valuable time aiming. You may never get that extra second.»
Valeyev hadn’t mentioned the blood of friends just for dramatic effect. Vanya knew that at his previous post, the captain’s partner, Nikita Dobrokhotov, had perished during an attempt to arrest a terrorist. Word had it that it was Valeyev’s bullet that killed Dobrokhotov. There were even certain colleagues who would whisper in Mayorov’s ear: «Better be careful when you’re out there with him.» Vanya ignored such vile advice. He had learned a lot from the experienced captain.
Previously, whenever they would examine a building together, they would take turns moving. One would cover, while the second moved forward, hunching under the line of fire. When the second reached his firing position, the first would move, past him and onward, hunched in the same manner. If an antagonist appeared, the covering operative would fire, since the one moving might not even have seen him.
At the moment however, Vanya was acting on his own. Following Valeyev’s instructions to the word, he combed all the rooms of the house’s two floors. There was no one there. With his free hand, Vanya wiped the sweat from his forehead. Then who had stabbed the captain?
The sharp crack of a slap resounded from below, cutting off the woman’s shriek. Mayorov dashed down the creaky stairs. Valeyev stood facing the woman who had covered her cheek with one hand.
«Is there anyone else in the house?» the captain asked his partner.
«It’s empty.» Vanya was trying to get a look at the wound on Marat’s chest.
«Zapped me with a stun gun,» Valeyev explained and kicked a little box with sharp protrusions lying on the ground. He looked sternly at the terrified woman. «Documents!»
«Who are you?» the woman glanced nervously at the gun in Mayorov’s hand.
«Police. I’m Captain Valeyev. Vanya, put the piece away. Is this your house?»
«Yes it is.» The woman’s spirits lifted somewhat. «What are you doing stomping around my yard? Why’d you break into my house?»
«Documents, please.»
«Why? What’s the matter, captain? What right do you have to burst into my house?»
«She’s blonde,» Vanya nodded to Marat. «Bleached blonde.»
«What business is it of yours?» the woman asked offended.
«We’re just doing a check,» the captain assuaged her. «Will you show me your passport or would you like to accompany us to the precinct for identification?»
The woman snorted, disappeared into the house, returned and slapped the passport into the operative’s hand.
«Oksana Drozdova,» read Valeyev, confirming that the living, breathing blonde, whose corpse he had been ordered to find, was in fact standing right there before him. «Did you hear any gunshots last night?»
«What gunshots? Are there gangsters in the township?»
«Calm down, there aren’t any gangsters. Does the car in the yard belong to you?»
«Yes, it’s mine. Would you like to see the Volvo’s passport too?»
«Did you drive home last night in that car?»
«And how else am I supposed to get home?»
«Did you see anything out of the ordinary?»
«I didn’t see any gangsters, but that didn’t make my life any easier: My gates haven’t worked right in a week. The repairmen took the control unit and are taking forever to fix it. I’m sick and tired of opening and closing them by hand. Broke a heel last night. Just look at this — I just got these boots too. And of course, I fell as a result and scraped my knee. Anyway, does all that count as out of the ordinary?»
«Why didn’t you go in to work today?»
«Am I allowed to be sick? I even called the doctor to get documentation for my sick day. Left the gates open for him, but he never showed up. No one wants to do their job! I’ll have to go in to the clinic tomorrow.»
«And what’s wrong with your cell phone?»
«Why, it fell out and broke when I fell. These cobblestones are unforgiving. I barely managed to call the clinic this morning with it — all the buttons keep falling out. Say, you couldn’t take a look at it, could you?»
«I’m not a technician. What about your landline?»
«What do I need that for? Cell phone service is cheaper and more convenient around here.»
Valeyev decided to say farewell to the riled young lady. He had fulfilled his assignment and found the blonde. That Maltseva sure had come up with some tall tales. Though the better question was how in the hell Lena had fallen for her gibberish.
Just in case, Marat asked:
«Tell me, Oksana, are you familiar with an Inna Maltseva?»
A shadow flashed across the young woman’s face.
«No, I’ve never even seen her.»
«But you know her?»
Drozdova turned to face her closet mirror and began making a show of examining her cheek: Was there some visible vestige of the slap the police captain had given her — the one that had so ungraciously brought her out of her fit?
«What’s your name? Captain Valeyev? You may expect an official complaint for battery. Hitting a defenseless woman with a fist! You’ll regret that! Just wait and see what I’ll write about you!»
Instead of replying to this, Valeyev squatted and delicately slipped the stun gun into a plastic bag.
«This evidence will be submitted along with a report about an assault against a police officer. I’ll also make sure to attach a medical report detailing the dermal burns suffered as a result of electric shock. In the meantime, you, Ms. Drozdova, may expect a summons from the detective in Moscow tomorrow.»
«What detective? Why?»
«Do you know who Inna Maltseva is or not?»
«Well, I am aware of someone by that name. But I’ve never even seen her. I know her husband, Dmitry Maltsev — from work. He frequently bids on repair projects in the housing sector. My department processes his tenders. That’s all I know though!»
«And has he ever mention his wife to you? During your work together, of course.»
Drozdova adjusted her hair and smiled cruelly.
«We women are a curious bunch — especially those of us who are single. For example, you, captain, are not married. And neither is your partner. You know how I can tell? It’s not just because you aren’t wearing a ring. Your collar is greasy and you have no one to let you know about it or even wash it in time. And yet, my dear officers, I find you completely uninteresting. You can go to the department stores to pick up your sales girls. I’m sure they’ll find your salaries and intellectual abilities impressive.»
«I think I understand. You prefer married men?»
«Well, just think for a second: Where am I supposed to find successful men who aren’t married at my age? You must be a genius to have figured it out so quickly!»
«Best of luck in your search then.» Valeyev screwed up his face. «I’ll be taking the stun gun, just in case you decide to file that complaint. Until we meet again.»
He pivoted on his heels and drummed out each porch stair in his descent. Vanya Mayorov paused on his way past Drozdova and studied the top of the woman’s head from his great height. He shook his head.
«I never liked blondes anyway, especially bleached ones.»
«Jerk! Wipe your feet next time before barging into someone’s house!» Drozdova yelled after him.
17
Ms. Broshina shuffled down the hall in her soft slippers. Chana jogged ahead, claws clicking along the hardwood floor.
«You’re welcome to come back any time you like, Lena dear,» the elderly lady intoned, seeing the detective out. She opened the door. «I can tell you so many interesting things — and not just about Maltsev — »
The pensioner cut herself short upon seeing a spunky young woman with violet bangs and heavy looking shoes out on the landing. The sharp-nosed girl had a large purse slung over her shoulder and was speaking with Dmitry Maltsev at his apartment door.
«Could you please tell me, Mr. Maltsev, what went through your mind when you learned that your wife wanted to kill you?»
Maltsev noticed the detective. The puzzled look on his face turned to displeasure.
«And how does it feel,» the woman warbled on, «to discover that you’ve lost two family members — your brother and your wife — at the same time? Surely, you won’t be able to forgive her after what she has done? Isn’t that so?»
«Please go away. I have nothing to say to you.»
«Domestic murders are a serious issue in this country. Getting your account published in our paper could land you guest appearances on TV!»
«Leave me alone!»
Maltsev tried to slam the door, but the intrepid reporter had taken the precaution to jam it with her shoe. The young woman deftly produced a camera from her tote and bright flashes began to slip and slide along Maltsev’s receding hairline. He flew into a rage, snatched the camera from her hand and hurled it down the stairs. The door slammed shut. The reporter threw up her hands helplessly.
«Did you see that? Did you?» she picked up the camera. «What a spaz. That’s the second camera in a month. What is wrong with people! He should be happy he isn’t dead. Why, he could be lying in the morgue right now with his head smashed in.»
«How did you find out details about the murder?» Petelina asked strictly. She had wanted to talk to Maltsev, but after the scene she had just witnessed, it would have been pointless to hound the irate man with questions about his lover.
«That’s my job. I’m working the crime beat. Do you live here?» the reporter’s inquisitive eyes began darting from Broshina to Petelina and back. «Maybe you could tell me some further details? Did you see anything?»
Petelina’s coat and scarf concealed her detective’s uniform. Initially, she had wanted to introduce herself but realized in time that if she did so, the journalist would latch onto her like a tick that had smelled blood.
«I’m just visiting.»
Elena went around the journalist and descended the stairs. Having reached the next floor down, she heard the girl’s relieved voice:
«The lens is busted, but at least the sensor is in one piece.»
Followed by Ms. Broshina’s coaxing question:
«Excuse me, but are witnesses ever invited to be on TV shows?»
It was not too late — only eight — when Elena drove up to her house. She still had time to look over Nastya’s homework, iron the laundry she had started in the morning and prepare the next day’s dinner for her daughter.
Valeyev was waiting for her in his car at the building’s entrance.
«What are you doing here?» Elena frowned as Marat blocked her way.
«I figured you’d be interested in hearing the details.»
«You already told me over the phone. Drozdova is alive and there weren’t any gunshots. I’ll deal with Maltseva tomorrow.»
«When I mentioned Dmitry Maltsev, Oksana Drozdova became flustered.»
«Well, she is his lover.»
«That’s what I figured. But there’s our motive for the indictment: jealousy!»
«I didn’t poison Sergey for cheating on me. And your wife didn’t snip anything off you either — yet, surely, you cheated on her?»
Marat became uncomfortable.
«I never loved Renata.»
«Why’d you marry her then?»
«Parents. Out of respect for them,» Valeyev explained unwillingly and suddenly blurted out, «What a dumbass your Sergey is!»
«For marrying me?»
«For divorcing you! Although, wait — never mind — he was right to do that. It was the right thing to do.»
«Marat, are you for broken homes and single mothers?»
«I’m for you, Lena!» Valeyev flashed his black eyes and exclaimed with contrived gusto, «Now, you are a free woman and I am allowed to see you!»
«You were always free to talk to me. I’m your classmate and coworker.»
«Coworker,» Valeyev coughed out the word as if he had something unpleasant in his mouth. «Lena, you think I could come up? For tea?»
Petelina remembered her mother and imagined her response to the sudden appearance of the meddlesome Tatar whose name suggested such an un-Russian patronymic for her daughter.
«Next time, Marat. I didn’t get enough sleep last night. I’m tired.»
«Next time. Yes, of course.» Valeyev looked away and pursed his lips.
«We can have tea at work too, you know.»
«At work…» Marat was looking at the hood of his car. «Work’s the main thing. That’s why I stopped by anyway. Our deceased, Anton Maltsev — he served some time. Is it possible that his friends from prison had some unresolved business with him?»
«I already submitted an inquiry to the prison, Marat. I did it the day we first got the case. The problem is that the neighbor claims that she didn’t see anyone beside Maltseva. And you yourself would have to admit that a cleaver isn’t really the preferred murder weapon for a felon.»
«As always, you’re one step ahead — Gracheva. While you were a straight-A student in school, I was busy slipping from Bs to Cs. Now you’re senior detective, while I’m your run-of-the-mill operative. You’re already a major, while I…» Valeyev gave up with a wave of the hand and got into his car. «I’ve got to go feed the cat!»
Marat started the car but Elena had not turned to go. In the puffed up man, she had discerned the plucky youth with whom she spent all night hanging out after their senior prom. She recalled his sport coat draped over her shoulders and the memory of his clumsy lips with their slight aftertaste of fruit liqueur.
Elena rapped on his window.
«You have a cat?» she asked, once the window had lowered.
«His name is Genghis.»
«Can I see him?» Elena smiled. Whenever she smiled in earnest, the normally severe police major would become positively enchanting.
«What — now?» Marat seemed dumbstruck from happiness.
«How about tomorrow?»
Before she went to bed, Elena remembered her father. She called him after every step in her search for her disappeared brother. Elena refused to believe that her father could have killed his son. But she also felt that he knew more than he told her. She was waiting for the time when his memory would at last burst through the dam of amnesia. He simply had to start remembering at some point and then he would tell her everything and her search would at last emerge from its lull. And yet, her father preferred to remain quiet about that day.
«Hey dad. I examined one that had been buried in the mid-’90s. We found the body under a garage. He’d been shot. It wasn’t Tolik though,» Elena rattled off briskly.
«Then, he’ll show up,» was Mr. Grachev’s customary response.
«Yes, of course,» agreed Elena, even though, after eighteen years of searching, her faith in a positive outcome had weakened quite a bit. All those years, she had used her position on the force to examine any and all circumstances associated with her brother’s disappearance and yet remained at a dead end. So much effort and not a single lead. But she went on with her search and refused to come to terms with the obvious: In the last few years, she had ceased looking for her brother among the living and had started to look for him among the dead.
«Tolik was in that sauna,» her father blurted out.
«Sauna?»
«Or, on second thought, maybe he wasn’t.»
«What sauna?»
«I don’t know! I don’t know!»
The call cut out and no matter how many times she hit redial, all she got in response were empty ring tones.
18
The sauna! «Tolik was in that sauna!»
Elena could not drive her father’s words out of her mind. At the very beginning of her search, she had gathered all available information about any incidents that had occurred around that time and now remembered the event her father had alluded to.
On the night of Anatoly’s disappearance, a sauna had burned down in Izmaylovo Park. Her father, who had been hit by a car, was found about a mile away. Five men and three women had perished in the fire. No one had managed to get out of the shack, which had been constructed out of timbers, alive. It was a clear case of arson. There were grates on the windows and the door had been propped shut with a shovel. A couple jerricans had been discovered in the bushes nearby. The local gangsters liked to relax in this sauna. Word had it that the Golyanovo mob had dealt with their Izmaylovo colleagues. The case remained unsolved. The investigators had no burning desire to go digging around in the mobsters’ affairs. And why would they? In those years, street justice caught up with the thugs far faster than the law could.
The next morning, Elena Petelina went to the archive to reacquaint herself with this ancient criminal case. Five active members of the Izmaylovo criminal gang had perished in the sauna, along with three call girls. All the bodies had been severely burned. Many had gunshot wounds. It seemed that either they had first been shot or the arsonists had shot at the windows to leave their victims no chance in the flames. The coroner managed to establish the victims’ sex, height and approximate age. All were young — no older than twenty-nine. The gangsters were identified by their buddies, as well as by their parked cars and personal effects which had made it through the fire — watches and lighters. The pimp gave the detectives the passports belonging to the prostitutes he had delivered that night.
It was a typical «90s affair. But what did her father have in mind when he had mentioned the sauna? Could her brother, Anatoly Grachev, really have been in there with the gangsters? Could he have perished alongside them?
Petelina looked at the photograph at the end of the case file. It was of a communal grave situated by the cemetery’s central alley: The five young men’s severe faces were chiseled into the obelisk’s black stone next to their last names.
Her supervisors would never give her permission to exhume the bodies. And anyway, performing an effective forensic analysis on the charred remains would be extremely tricky. Naturally, Misha Ustinov was an ace at his job, but her own requests for DNA analyses had already forced the unit’s lab to exceed its budget for the remaining year.
Elena looked through the photographs of evidence and murder weapons. Belt buckles, pins, brass knuckles, knives, melted gold chains and half-burned footwear — none of these things had belonged to her brother. Elena made copies of the case’s most important documents just in case and transferred a portion of the photos to her phone — to show them to her father when she got the chance.
Why had he remembered the burned down sauna?
In the hallway, Detective Petelina bumped into her boss, Yury Kharchenko. She was looking at the photos from the old case as she walked, zooming in on details that interested her.
«Petelina! What are you in such a rush over?» the police colonel flared up.
«Work, Colonel Kharchenko.»
«You’re dragging your feet instead of working. I had a look at the Maltsev case and it seems clear as day. Charge the little lady under Article 107, write up an indictment and send it over to me for my signature.»
«That’s what I was planning on doing. But there are a few unresolved issues — »
«You’re killing our crime-detection indicator. Don’t over-think it, Petelina. It’s an open and shut case.»
«I will do my best, Colonel Kharchenko.»
«And less evidentiary analyses, please. We have a budget! There are limits!»
Elena affected a guilty smile.
«What’s that you’re so focused on?» the colonel looked down at Petelina’s phone.
Yury Kharchenko was the very same detective who, eighteen years ago, had charged Pavel Petrovich Grachev for the murder of his son, Anatoly. Trying to get at the truth, young Lena Gracheva had had it out with him. And it was on his recommendation that she had gone to study to be a detective. After she received her degree, Kharchenko unexpectedly brought her on in his division. Their former dispute had long since given way to a professional relationship. Petelina learned how to talk to witnesses and interrogate suspects from Kharchenko, while with her assistance, Kharchenko began to grasp the more modern methods for working with evidence.
«Just looking through an old case,» Elena confessed honestly.
«Very old? From 1994?»
«A sauna arson in Izmaylovo Park. Happened the same day that…» Elena fell silent.
«Oh, Lena. You still can’t let it rest, can you? Look, I understand. But your brother couldn’t have been in that sauna. Those were gangsters in there, with Karas at their head. About three years ago, we caught one of the Golyanovo top dogs. He confessed that he had sent three guys to set fire to that sauna. Seems that Karas had gotten too close to his honeypot.»
«So why isn’t this case closed?»
«Well, the perps also vanished. According to the top dog, they ran off with the money that they’d found at Karas’s hangout. That’s his version, at least. Karas’s kitty really did vanish. But the henchmen, I’d guess, suffered a different fate. Their own guys took care of them — buried them somewhere.»
«What a heartwarming story.»
«It’s a typical one. The Golyanovo top dog later recanted his confession. But we got him under some other counts, for which we had ironclad proof. Enough to put him away for life.»
«Speaking of ironclad — there were some metal items that survived the fire. And, some that were found in the vicinity. For example, these jerricans. Here, have a look.» Elena zoomed in on the image on her screen. «I noticed a painted letter on one of them — clearly not a factory stencil.»
Kharchenko took the phone and squinted.
«There was a gasoline shortage back then — lines at gas stations — that kind of thing. Sometimes my neighbor would toss me a little gas. He would sneak it from the motor pool where he worked. I would tie a red ribbon around my jerrican to mark it as my own. Looks like someone did the same with this white „P“ here. Last name, no doubt.» The colonel returned the phone and switched to an official tone, «Detective Petelina, I hereby command you to resume working your current cases!»
Kharchenko left. Elena looked at her screen and remembered that her father’s garage neighbors referred to him not by his last name — Grachev — but by his patronymic — Petrovich. If her father had marked a jerrican as his own, it would have been with a «P» and not any other letter.
19
No sooner had Elena Petelina made herself comfortable in her office, than she received a call from the security desk. Dmitry Maltsev was requesting a meeting with the detective. Petelina was glad to hear this: A face-to-face conversation could help her leave the past and come back to the present all the sooner. While the witness made his way up to her, the detective ordered a guard to bring Inna Maltseva up to her office from the temporary holding cell.
This time around Dmitry Maltsev was impeccably shaved and dressed in a dark suit with a black shirt. However, his eyes scurried all over the place, settling nowhere, and his general expression resembled that of a drowning man looking for some lifeline.
«Have a seat, Mr. Maltsev,» Elena said kindly and brought him a glass of water.
«This is horrible. I went to the identification. Anton had only just returned and…» Maltsev dropped his forehead into his open palms and began shaking his head. «And it was me she wanted to kill! For what? We lived well together. I bore her whining patiently, dropped a ton of money on doctors — even though, with her diagnosis, it was obviously a hopeless case! Why are women so ungrateful? Why do they always want the impossible?»
«But Inna wanted the most normal thing,» Elena objected, «a child… A family — »
«Okay, but why kill me? Her problems weren’t my fault! It’s her body that can’t perform its maternal function adequately.»
Elena found his pragmatism distasteful.
«Perhaps it was because you were unfaithful to Inna. Cheated on her.»
«What are you implying? Was it the neighbor? Did that old rag tell you a bunch of nonsense? Figures. All her life she was a teacher — she browbeat Inna with her useless advice too.»
«Tell me, Mr. Maltsev, what is your relationship with Oksana Drozdova?»
«That old rattle! I knew it! We had a business relationship, which led to a business flirtation, if you will.»
«Could you please explain what you mean?»
«Drozdova is a department head. She’s in charge of all the budgetary funds. And I need projects to stay afloat. So I was compelled to provide her with some attention. In various ways. Business is business, after all.»
«The details aren’t very important for me. I don’t care whether you slept with Drozdova or not. But tell me, what did Inna think of your relationship? Did she consider you lovers?»
«Please try to understand, Inna was mad because I could have left her for another, functional woman. One who could bear me children. But I never even planned on doing so. I like it with Inna — swear to god.»
The man’s oath struck a note of warning in Petelina. She had long since decided that, rather than listening, a detective should always observe a speaker’s facial expressions. It is easy to fool someone with words. A liar can prepare all the right things to say ahead of time. It took a very good actor, however, to fake emotions realistically.
«What will happen to her?» Maltsev asked. «What could they give her?»
«That depends on the circumstances surrounding the crime, which our investigation will determine.»
«Is it possible to soften her sentence in some way? I already lost my brother to this tragedy. I don’t want to lose Inna as well. She is the last relative I have. And she doesn’t have anyone at all — no mother, no father, no brothers or sisters.»
«Actually, on the topic of Inna’s father, her maiden name is Koltsova, is it not?» Elena produced a document from a three-year-old case.
The police major did not allow even the slightest detail to slip past her in the course of her investigations. As soon as Inna Maltseva had mentioned her father — the soldier — and his handgun, he had automatically become involved in her case. It had not been difficult to find information about him. Inna’s father had spent seven years as a high-ranking clerk in the administration for the Moscow region, but three years ago he had become the focus of a criminal investigation into bribery and the embezzlement of budgetary funds. Despite the large damages, the clerk was allowed to remain free under a recognizance to remain in the city — which fact he used to run off to London. Once there, he claimed political persecution and had not been heard of since.
«Koltsov, Viktor Vasilievich,» Elena read aloud. «A colonel of the armed forces — now, retired. Served in the North Caucasus prior to demobilization. After that, began working in the Moscow Region government where he rapidly reached a position of authority, before being indicted for embezzlement. He is sixty-eight years old at the moment. Now, why did you just say that Inna doesn’t have a father?»
«Because, basically, she doesn’t. We don’t know anything about him. He took off and hasn’t contacted us since.»
«Even his daughter?»
«Even Inna. Look, Mr. Koltsov is an old warhorse. He is extremely suspicious and is constantly imagining enemies everywhere. If he goes quiet, he does it all the way. I think he suspects that Inna is under surveillance, in case he does contact her. That’s the way his mind works.»
«Koltsov was the head of the Housing and Utilities Ministry for the Moscow Region. And your construction company just happens to…»
«Well, yeah. Of course! I made full use of my family connections! But, so what? Who wouldn’t do the same in my position?»
«One may make use of such things in various ways.»
«So you didn’t catch him and now you want to involve me?»
«If you’ve committed a crime, we will involve you,» Elena responded sternly to Maltsev’s outburst. The cold shower had its effect. Maltsev shrank and began speaking softer.
«Detective Petelina, I didn’t come here just to chat. I have some business to discuss.» He produced a folded sheet of paper from his coat’s inner pocket. «I’ve brought an official statement. You see, there was a handgun in our apartment…»
«Interesting.» Petelina took the paper.
«Did you uncover it during your search of the place?»
Elena shook her head.
«The gun belonged to Inna’s father. When Koltsov went off to London, Inna brought the weapon home. Since then, we’ve kept it in a box on the top shelf, next to the shoes. Yesterday, I suddenly remembered about it. I looked up there, but the gun was gone.»
«Why didn’t you surrender the gun earlier?»
«It didn’t belong to me. It was a father’s present to his daughter. Inna made her decision and that’s the way it was. It was just lying there, so I left it alone. We never touched it.»
«Was the gun loaded?»
«It had a full clip.»
«What model was it?»
«I’m not an expert in these things. Probably a Makarov. If you show me a picture, I’ll recognize it.»
«When did the gun disappear?»
«A week ago it was still in its place. I was getting the fall shoes out and saw it.»
Petelina recalled Inna Maltseva’s strange statement under hypnosis. She had claimed that she had fired from her father’s pistol and had even mentioned gunpowder particles on her coat’s sleeve. Now, both the coat and the pistol were nowhere to be found. And yet, Inna had not made them up. They were real! Just like Drozdova the blonde, residing at 24 Dorozhnaya Street.
«Tell me, Mr. Maltsev, does your wife know how to operate a firearm?»
«Inna mentioned that her dad would take her to the firing range in the nineties. You know, just in case. So she could defend herself.»
20
Elena Petelina looked compassionately at Inna Maltseva sitting across from her and noted her sickly appearance, her pitiful expression and her disheveled hair — which, only a few days ago, had shined so vividly as it cascaded to her shoulders. And yet, a long sentence still lay ahead of the woman, all due to her stubbornness. Why couldn’t she understand that her only chance was to plead guilty under Article 107? Manslaughter in the heat of passion: up to three years in prison — half that, if she got a good lawyer. Even the fact that she had knocked off the wrong person spoke in her favor. It would be a clear case of mental distraction.
As Inna Maltseva entered the detective’s office she had bumped into her husband who was on his way out. Elena had arranged this meeting on purpose to observe the troubled couple’s reaction to first seeing one another since the incident.
Maltsev had surprised her. He had lunged toward his wife and pressed her to himself in a tight embrace. As Petelina signaled to the guard that it was alright, Dmitry assured his wife tenderly and promised any assistance he could muster. It was as if a terrible storm had washed away the years of grime, revealing the pristine and unshakable stone foundation beneath their relationship. And yet, Inna had responded coldly. She seemed embarrassed by her husband’s feelings and tried to move away from him.
«Do you still maintain that when you entered the apartment, the body was already lying in the bathroom?» Petelina rephrased her previous question.
Maltseva nodded noticeably, trying to avoid the detective’s eyes.
«Very well.» Elena put away the forensic report which should have broken down the suspect’s resistance and slid a photograph of Oksana Drozdova forward along the table.
«Who is this woman?»
«I don’t know her.»
«You’ve never even met her?»
«No.»
«She is currently residing at 24 Dorozhnaya Street in Aprelevka.»
Maltseva looked up. Her lips were parted and her eyebrows were raised and scrunched toward the bridge of her nose. Petelina turned on the part of the recording in which Inna confessed to killing the blonde in Aprelevka.
«You already know?» Maltseva smiled in alarm and looked down again.
«You told me yourself! Yesterday, in the presence of your psychiatrist, Dr. Krasin. You claimed that you had killed this very woman. She is a blonde, she drives a red Volvo and she lives at the address you yourself indicated.»
Inna picked up the photograph.
«Her hair looks right, but I never saw her face. I was shooting at the back of her head.»
«Here we go yet again!» Elena couldn’t contain herself. «I’m telling you: She is alive!»
«So, I missed?» Inna looked discouraged.
«No one shot at her at all. She is alive and well and doesn’t know a thing about any attempt on her life!»
«But how…?» Maltseva dropped the photograph helplessly. «Are you playing a trick on me?»
«Me?! You are the one who lied during your interrogation! You made up something that never happened!»
«I told you the truth.»
«About the apartment? And about Aprelevka?»
«Yes.»
«In one place you found the body of a man and in the other you killed a woman?»
«That is what happened.»
«Oh, for goodness’ sake!»
For a second, the detective wanted to accuse Inna of lying, but the combination of helplessness and naïve stubbornness on Maltseva’s face made it too difficult to call her out as a barefaced liar.
To resolve the matter, Elena decided to resort to a special technique of hers.
«I believe you,» she said, «but there is one small formality. Could you please recount once more what happened that day? Only, please do so in reverse sequence. Start from the moment when you were arrested in your apartment and then let’s unwind all the events backwards.»
Petelina had employed this technique before: It is much more difficult to tell a fabricated story in reverse order. A liar would have trouble finding the words and so speaks slowly for fear of getting mixed up. The detective does not interfere; she lets him get everything out and even urges him on — all the while comparing this reversed version of events with the earlier one. She asks for details and mentally notes all the errors and contradictions. And then, when the story has ended and it is at last the detective’s turn to speak, the liar’s original, elegant tale — as ornate and lovingly decorated as a Christmas tree — now begins to crumble under the weight of clarifying questions, until it is no more than a naked twig fit only for the garbage collector.
However, on this day Petelina was forced to admit that her pet technique had failed her. She did not find the slightest hitch in Maltseva’s account. Both the sequential and the reversed stories matched up perfectly. Inna Maltseva’s delirious confession seemed to have been the truth after all.
21
Someone scratched at the door. A moment later, Ustinov’s head — curly and yoked with his massive headphones — poked through the crack.
«Detective Petelina?»
«Come in, Misha.»
The Tadpole made sure that the detective was by herself before bravely entering the office.
«I’ve got more information about the Izmaylovo corpse.»
«The one buried under the garage?»
«The very one.»
With an air of significance, Mikhail placed a bar of chocolate on the desk before Elena. He could not survive without chocolate and constantly shared with Petelina any new flavor he discovered in the course of his fixation.
«This is for you, personally. Dark and bitter with cayenne. You didn’t have a hand in inventing this, did you?»
«That’s all I ever do.» Elena picked up the exotic chocolate.
«Its taste reminds me of your temperament. Try it.»
«Oh? Then do tell, Ustinov, what exactly do you know about my temperament?»
«Sorry — it just came out. I didn’t mean anything by it.» Misha instantly became embarrassed and added in a mumble, «I heard a couple operatives talking about it.»
«What? Which operatives?»
«Valeyev and Mayorov,» the Tadpole caught himself, «but not about you! They were talking about women in general. Who prefers what, that kind of thing.»
«Ah, men! Seems like I don’t give you enough work to do.» Elena broke off a piece of chocolate and placed it on her tongue. Ustinov’s mention of the familiar last name had piqued her interest. «Well don’t stop now Misha. Go on. You already told me part A, so let’s hear part B.»
«I’m not at an official interrogation, am I?»
«Would you like me to draw up an official summons?»
The young forensic expert was at a complete loss now. Petelina pressed on methodically.
«You know, coworkers shouldn’t keep any secrets from one another when at work. Tell me, for instance, what did Mayorov say?»
«He said that he likes sweet women who are tender… like peaches. And the captain replied that too many sweets would end in diabetes — and that a woman should have both some sweetness and some bitterness, as well as a hint of pepper.»
«And how do I figure in all of this?»
Ustinov shrugged his shoulders.
«It seemed to me that Valeyev was thinking of — »
«You know what, Misha?» interrupted Petelina. «You are a forensic expert and should therefore deal in precise terms. None of this «it seemed.» It’s either «yes’ or «no!» What do you have for me on the remains from the garage?»
«Allow me to explain. I conducted the following tests…» Returning to his familiar territory, Mikhail began detailing how he tested the skeleton’s bones, the shreds of clothing, the beer can, the soil around the body and the discovered bullet.
The chocolate was melting in Elena’s mouth, emitting prickly sparks of bitter sweetness. Dear Marat, I am as you see me. You don’t need sweet softness. You want to be able to fiddle with the wrapping foil and break off little pieces, so that it burns and brings you joy, even as it melts at your lips’ touch. What a metaphor to cook up! But as far as I’m concerned, you — you are just yourself: a pimpled pickle. That’s who you are.
«Get to the point,» the detective interrupted Ustinov’s longwinded report.
«Conclusion: Victim was male. Age: 23. Height: 5 feet 11 inches. Cause of death was a gunshot wound. Murder weapon was a handgun. Following his death, the victim was tossed into a pit. Date of death is sometime during the summer of 1994.»
«Ninety-four.» The all-too-familiar year was like a trigger for Petelina. She picked up some tattered record books from the edge of her desk. «These garages were built under the purview of the Army, Aviation and Navy Support NGO. They sent over these records today. Let’s see who owned that garage in the summer of «94. Okay now… Here it is! Denis Bugaev, born 1970.»
«You think that’s the victim? Their ages are basically the same.»
«Bugaev. Wait a second!»
Elena remembered where she had come across that last name that very day. It had been chiseled into the obelisk on the photograph of the grave from the sauna fire! Karasev, alias Karas, had been the middle name and to its right had been…
She pulled up the photo in question on her phone and showed it to Ustinov.
«Have a look at this. Denis Bugaev, 1970–1994. This guy is resting in a different grave.»
«Where did you get that?» the forensic expert asked surprised.
«All thanks to you, Misha. You taught an elderly lady how to use modern equipment.»
«But you’re not an — »
«Shut it! Save your compliments for bric-a-brac bimbos that you pick up on the Internet. That is how you meet girls isn’t it?»
«There’s no time to do it any other way, Detective Petelina.»
«Well, there’s about to be even less. Write down the case number and go look it up in the archives. You need to compare the bullets found in the bodies from the sauna fire with the one we found in the body under the garage.»
«What for?»
«I don’t know yet, but…»
Elena remembered the jerrican with the letter «P» from the same case, as well as her father’s old garage next to the railroad, which the family still used to store random family junk. She had stopped by there once with her father and now it seemed to her as if maybe…
The detective slapped the tabletop decisively.
«Water doesn’t seep under settled stones, and sitting on your ass all day, won’t help you make the money you need for buying diapers. Let’s do some work, Misha. We’re moving! When we get some results, we’ll be able to discuss things further.»
The thought about the jerrican wouldn’t leave Elena in peace. She saw the forensic expert out and, an hour later, was already in her apartment rummaging through a chest of drawers.
«What’s got into you, Lena?» Mrs. Gracheva asked surprised.
«Mom! Check out what dad gave me!» Nastya came running out of her room with a colorful pamphlet about Thailand. «They have elephants and crocodiles and snakes there!»
«Crocodiles are scary.»
«I’ll look at them from far away. And they don’t go into the ocean. Look at the ocean they have there. I want to go to Thailand! Mom, are we going to go to Thailand?»
Elena hugged her daughter.
«Did you do your homework? School is first. Rest is second.»
«What are you looking for?» Mrs. Gracheva demanded.
«Keys to the old garage.»
«What do you need them for? You won’t fit the car in there and it’s too far away anyway.»
«I want to find my skis. I’m going to start using them this winter in the park.»
«Your bicycle from your schooldays is there.»
«There you go! I need to check on that bike too. Here, I think I found them.» Elena held the keys out on her palm. «Are these it, mom?»
«How would I remember?»
«Then, these must be it.»
«Lena, I went by the mall. They have all these sales on swimsuits. Here, take this coupon. It’s fifty percent off!»
«Stay here with Nastya for a bit. I’ll be back soon,» Elena promised, sticking the colorful coupon into her purse. She opened the closet and retrieved a large package in which she had packed the children’s clothes for the dead operative’s family that morning.
«Mommy, I want a new swimsuit too,» Nastya chirped.
«We will buy one for you ourselves,» Mrs. Gracheva assured her granddaughter and then shouted to Elena as she was heading to the elevator: «They’ve got some interesting underwear there too! It’s on the second floor. You should stop by and have a look.»
22
Vanya Mayorov was pleased with his inventiveness. He had already managed to spend twenty minutes watching Galya Nesterova whirling about her desk. A beauteous sight! He really had outdone himself with Semyonova the car attendant. He had needed to pull her residence permit, her husband’s and kids’ records, their dates of birth and telephone numbers and places of work. Just watch how Galya stretches to get the printout from the printer. My, oh my! He wondered whether asking her to print out some stuff about the neighbors would be taking it too far.
«Is that all Lieutenant Mayorov?» Nesterova asked handing him the papers.
«I’m a senior lieutenant.» Vanya’s feelings were hurt.
«You know what? Get back to me when your rank matches your last name.»
The recurring allusion vexed Vanya.
«Yesterday the captain was shocked with a stun gun. And you know who saved him? I did,» he barked and was instantly sorry he had mentioned the incident.
«A stun gun? Marat?» Nesterova began fretting.
Fifteen minutes later, a rather more melancholy Ivan watched as the woman of his dreams babied his partner in the operatives’ office.
«Marat, you can’t just leave an electric burn alone like this. I’ll run to the pharmacy for some special ointment. Where’d she get you? Your chest? Let me undo your shirt.»
«What for, Galya?» Valeyev protested limply.
«The chest is the most dangerous area. That’s where the heart is.»
«Just wait a bit. If I need anything, I’ll do it myself.»
«I bet it hurt so bad…» Little painted nails slipped along the buttons of Valeyev’s shirt. «You don’t have to take it off all the way, Marat. Here, hold this so it doesn’t get dirty, while I — Oh! Look at these little red spots! If you don’t put some ointment on them, you’ll have them for the rest of your life. Like this, like this…»
Nesterova was diligently massaging the ointment into the captain’s chest. Vanya could not go on looking at this scene. He stuck his nose into a printout about the car attendant.
Tatyana Fedorovna Semyonova, forty years old, works as an attendant. She hadn’t lied to him. The address was the right one. Let’s see now. She has a fifteen year old daughter named Sonya and a husband named Nikolai. The husband is a drunk and a troublemaker with priors. Diagnosed with schizophrenia, for which he receives medical assistance. So this is the guy who gave the attendant her black eye. He’s the kind who could. And yet she threatened to put him away. To the psych ward, no doubt. That’s the place for him.
Vanya put the papers aside and looked askance at his partner’s desk. What are they fussing over now?
«I can’t today, babe.» Valeyev was making excuses while ignoring Nesterova’s suggestive look.
She never looks at me like that, Vanya pouted and decided to interrupt the couple’s cavorting. «Want to grab a beer tonight, Marat?»
«Beer is bad for you, Vanya. Makes you fat.» Noticing his partner’s face sour, Valeyev burst out laughing. «Relax, I’m just kidding! I’m busy tonight. Next time.»
«Think about it, Marat,» Nesterova smiled enigmatically. «I’ll hold on to the ointment. We’ll have to repeat the treatment.»
She spun about on her heels and took the long way out of the office. Her little fingers played with the tip of her short, ample braid and, as she reached the door, she accidentally dropped the ointment and was forced to stretch down to retrieve it. Throughout, her motions’ smooth ease contrasted with the tautness of her skirt and blouse. Nonetheless, the senior lieutenant was the only one to find these womanly meanders bewitching.
The captain was busy looking at his watch. Petelina hadn’t called for him today. Actually, she hadn’t called him at all. Had she forgotten her promise to meet Genghis? Marat had bought wine yesterday evening: both red and white, just in case. And, in the morning, he had cleaned up his bachelor pad. He couldn’t sleep anyway. He had made sure to place their graduation photograph — in which Elena and he were pictured together, young and happy — in a conspicuous place.
Unable to go on waiting for her call, Marat went out for a smoke and ended up calling Elena himself.
«Purr! Purr! Genghis the Cat awaits Madame Detective at his house,» he squealed in a cartoon voice.
«Oh, it’s you,» Elena figured it out after a second or two. Marat could hear that she was driving. «And I was thinking, what the hell does potpourri and Genghis the Cat have anything to do with anything.»
«Lena, did you forget? I have an awesome cat! Actually, «cat’ doesn’t even do him justice. He’s a real beast, Lena! He’s put all the other neighborhood tomcats on their little toes and he’s saddled all the pretty girl cats.»
«You two having a contest? Who can saddle more pretty girl cats?»
«Where do you want to meet up, Lena?»
«I think I’ll let you be in charge of that — after all, cats go in heat seasonally, while their owners seem to be in heat perennially.»
«Okay, I’ll come pick you up then. Where are you?»
«I’ve had some business come up. Just give me the address. I’ll stop by when I get a chance.»
«Will it be a while?»
«Just long enough to meet Genghis.»
«I mean your business.»
«Well, there’s the usual traffic — you understand. Just tell me the address, Marat.»
A train rumbled somewhere behind the row of garages. Elena turned the key left and right in the seized padlock. Rusted iron dug into her fingers. Finally the cylinder turned. Elena yanked the lock out of the latch. She pulled the handle. The metal door screeched in its rusted hinges and scraped the earth with one of its corners, letting its displeasure be known by all available means. But, in the end, man had the day. The old garage yawned its toothless maw. Elena wiped off her hands and stepped inside.
In the years when wheels, windshields, and side view mirrors were in constant peril of being stolen, Elena’s father used the garage regularly. Aside from tools and spare parts, the family kept everything it was reluctant to throw out in here. In the garage cellar, mold overran jars of homemade pickles, not far from the rotting potatoes that had been prepared for some winter long past.
When Anatoly disappeared along with the car and the father was taken to jail, the family forgot about the garage. Years later, when Elena got her own car, she brought it here and quickly realized that she simply could not lock her new shiny wonder into this leaky, rust-covered box. Since then, the garage had become a warehouse for unneeded things.
Elena tried to turn the light on but the lamps didn’t work. She moved aside a folding table and delved deeper. Maltseva’s words came back to her. There really wouldn’t be anything strange about it if she too was forced to throw out her coat today. Maybe she should have invited Marat after all? But no — this was a family affair. How would she even begin to explain to him why she was looking for old jerricans? Where had dad kept them anyway?
Here were the skis she had supposedly come here for. The last time she had used them had been during field day when she was still at the police academy. These days, everyone was more interested in Alpine skiing. Once, long ago, her husband had tried to convince her to go to Andorra with him. As per usual, he brought a brochure to convince her. He would have been better served by leaving it out. Though, for her part, she was thankful that he had shown her what lay in store for her. For, upon seeing the brochure, her reply had been a terse «no.»
Elena made every attempt to conceal her fear of heights. She considered such a phobia to be unbecoming of a detective. Yet, she would start feeling dizzy even standing on a fourth-floor balcony. Looking at the brochure, she imagined herself having to dangle there from a ski lift suspended by a thin cable over the jagged cliffs and crags and… Thanks but no thanks, she would stick to cross-country skiing, where her feet could remain firmly planted on the ground.
Elena reached out and touched the dusty skis. They tipped over and cascaded down, snagging in their arc a basin which followed them down to the floor, crashing with a dull drone. Such a deep tone did not resemble the bright ringing that Elena had expected from the basin’s falling. The deep tone was more reminiscent of the sound empty cisterns would make — empty cisterns or…
Elena pushed aside the box at her feet and moved the fallen basin. Underneath, she found a dark jerrican — stacked on top of two others. Elena pulled it closer. The old paint had peeled off in places and the entire container was covered with a patina of oily dust.
The detective lugged the jerrican out of the garage and into the light. Moistened Kleenexes were produced from the purse and set into action. Elena began rubbing the part of the jerrican that had borne the letter «P» on the photo from the sauna case.
After just a few wipes, she was seized with such a sudden and violent chill that it seemed to her as though a thunderhead was about to appear, unleashing hail on everything underneath it.
23
The Master’s fingers raked the length of Genghis’ scruff. The tomcat snarled from the unaccustomed affection and strained toward his lawful place in the opposite chair. The Master, however, held him firmly in His grip.
He had been behaving strangely all evening. He smoked as usual but blew the smoke neatly out the window. The smelly ashtray on the table had vanished, replaced by a bowl of green apples and two carefully washed wine glasses. Soon enough the entryway would sound with the clatter of heels and stupid laughter, a suffocating odor would seep into the living room and Genghis would want to snort and hide in the kitchen.
Later, he would have to tread carefully in the darkness to keep from stepping on the scattered rags. Was it Genghis’ fault that a pair of hose was so easy to become tangled in? He barely managed to get the stuff off his claws once. A great inconvenience. Overnight, he would have to bed himself in his chair among her satiny scraps and straps. Everywhere he’d put his muzzle, it would reek of female human sweat and the smelly water they spray from their little bottles. No sleep, just torment. How stupid humans are. Why try so hard to cover the very best thing you have? One way or another you’ll end up taking it off…
And what would Genghis receive in recompense for his inconvenience? Some milk in a saucer? Some veal-flavored Whiskas? Not a chance. The best he could hope for was a mere earful as he hid under the couch in the morning: not a personal complaint, mind you, but a full-blown polemic addressed to the entire species of fur-covered, claw-bearing creatures. And, in the worst case scenario, even that would be followed by a post scriptum of a slipper directed at his snout, a biting remark about his beloved mother and another slipper for emphasis!
It always struck Genghis as a great injustice that his mother should be brought up. His mother had never set paw in the Master’s apartment. Genghis would have sensed it if she had. Maybe he could no longer remember what she looked like, but he never would have mistaken her scent — and the recollection that came with it of sticking his tiny toothless maw into something warm and tasty — with anything else in the world.
Well, here we go again: The Master has picked up the ringing thing. He loves talking to the little box as if it’s sentient and constantly carries it around with Him. Now He’ll press it to his ear and the hallucinations will begin.
Genghis used to worry that the Master had gone nuts. There would be no one in the room but He would just jabber on, even wave His hands around and argue with some invisible person. But it turned out okay, for those temporary lapses in reason did not seem to impair the Master’s main functions. He still fed Genghis without fail and periodically let him out for his nocturnal escapades. He’d be truly priceless if He’d just mind the litter a bit more closely.
Out of nowhere, Genghis received a rough shove, forcing him to splay his paws and cushion himself as he fell to the floor. As he had anticipated, the Master’s caresses could not have ended with anything good. One moment He’d be lulling Genghis in His lap and the next He’d push him off. Genghis wondered how the Master would respond to similar treatment.
With a dissatisfied snort he scuttled under the coffee table, vaulted up onto the chair and buried his muzzle in his paws. One narrow pupil watched the Master approach the window, yank back the curtain and place first His left then His right temple against the pane.
He’s waiting, looking. There wasn’t much to see from the first floor though, and the Master’s sense of smell was truly something to be pitied. Some days He’d bring home sausages that… well, just blech! It was certainly beyond Him to sense a lovely kitty if she passed Him in the night.
For his part, living on the ground floor suited Genghis just fine. It was convenient to come and go as he pleased through the window. When it came to bodily desires, the Master was thankfully on the same page. In March, He’d keep the vent sash open at night and wouldn’t chide Genghis for throwing down with any competitors that came around. Once, the Master had even plastered up a torn ear and tussled Genghis’s head affectionately. If only He could have seen the little calico that was the subject of the fight — how jealous He would have been!
What’s going on over there now? Has the Master’s fit commenced? So it has. He’s got the ringing thing pressed to His ear. Now He’ll start talking to His reflection in the window. Well let Him — mankind in general is a strange breed. But it is useful to cats. Just like a warm house and this soft armchair.
At last a white spot appeared amid the dirt stuck to the jerrican’s side. What is this? An accidental splash of paint? But then why is it in the same place as the letter «P» on the jerrican from the crime scene?
Elena changed the dirty Kleenex for a clean one. Her fingers pressed the napkin to the spot. Should she go on? Or should she toss the rusted thing inside, lock the garage, throw away the key and never return here?
The inexplicable panic and melancholy continued to grow in her chest. This had happened to her before. And there was only one way to deal with it: Remember who you are and why you do the work that you do.
She was a detective. And the thing she loved most about her profession was not the proverbial serving society for the sake of justice, but rather her hunger for struggle: her desire to stand up to the unknown, to discover the secret that the criminal wished to conceal. To hell with it if the secret turns out to be abominable and nasty.
The scraping filled her ears. Her fingers went on, stubbornly rubbing the dirt on the dented side of the old jerrican. The spot of paint was growing into a horizontal line. It was still only a dash; she still had time to stop. But her hand went on working. The dash curved into an arc, which terminated at a vertical line. The steel had been cleared of the dirt.
Lena was looking at a distinct letter «P,» the size of a matchbox.
She took a photo with her phone. She found the photo of the jerrican that had been left near the burned down sauna. She compared the two. There were no doubts remaining — the letters were identical. Her father, who was nicknamed Petrovich by his garage neighbors, always marked his jerricans in the same place.
She got what she came for. What does she do with this secret now?
The phone in her hand came to; music began to play. Elena felt such a weight pressing down on her that it took her a moment to answer Marat’s call.
«Yeah,» she exhaled.
«Where are you Lena? Genghis and I can’t wait to see you.»
«I’m not coming.»
«You promised, Lena.»
«I can’t.»
«Well, let’s meet up somewhere else. How about dinner? There’s a pizza place that isn’t bad — »
«I don’t feel like it, Marat!»
«You don’t… You don’t feel like seeing me?»
«We’ll talk tomorrow.» She looked down at the jerrican and ended the call.
Genghis flinched and woke up. The Master had snagged the table, causing one of the wine glasses to fall and shatter. He splashed some smelly liquid into the surviving glass and gulped it greedily. Then He started pacing to and fro like a lunatic, raving this time without even the pretense of the ringing thing to excuse His madness — though not for long, for soon He calmed a bit and picked up his ringing box of hallucinations.
The box had a further calming effect on Him. He smiled and began speaking into it affectionately, apologizing to it. It was hard to make out what all His purring was about. Genghis could only make out the words «Galya, Galychka, Galchonok,» repeated several times.
Such kind cooing did not bode well at all. Genghis knew he had better grab some shuteye while there was still time. Some needed rest before a night of picking his way through hazardous fripperies — after a tedious evening spent in the kitchen, hiding from the humans’ noise and reek.
24
Elena drove along familiar streets. One weighty thought gave rise to the next, forming like a freight train an oppressive chain of reasoning.
Her brother, Anatoly, disappeared on the same day that the sauna had burned down. Five thugs from the Izmaylovo mob and three prostitutes had perished in the blaze. A jerrican marked with a white «P» had been discovered beside the sauna. Her father, Pavel Petrovich Grachev, had marked his canisters with the exact same white paint. That night he had been run over by an unknown car not far from the site of the arson. But the main thing was that her father had accidentally mentioned the sauna! How had he put it? «Tolik was in that sauna.» Or was it, «Tolik had been in that sauna?»
Her phone rang. Again that pushy Valeyev? How is it he couldn’t understand that she didn’t have time for him right now?
It turned out to be her ex-husband.
«Greetings, Lena the Lovely!» Sergey Petelin opened with great panache.
«Spare me the florid greetings. What do you want?»
«I want to make your life better and more interesting.»
«You’ve already achieved that goal. I’ve had enough of that.»
«Lenok, I mean the Thailand thing. I’ve been there. It’s a cool country. Fruits and beaches. You’ll like it. And imagine how happy little Nastya will be.»
«You can take her if you like. I’ll let you. Or take your former mother-in-law. She has recently become a great fan of yours.»
«Well don’t start with that now. Let’s meet up and talk about it. I can swing by…»
«I’m not at home. And there’s nothing to discuss.»
«Are you busy at work? Send me an official notice to appear.»
«If you come up in a case, I’ll make sure to do so. Anything I should know about?»
«Every businessman has his skeletons.»
«You don’t have to confess to me. Absolution isn’t in my job description.»
«Alright then — have fun catching your thugs!» Sergey flared up. As per usual, he was the first to lose his temper. «You’ve always had a soft spot for the freaks.»
«Don’t be so self-critical!» Elena wanted to hang up the phone, but Petelin’s mention of thugs reminded her of the ill-fated sauna. She was willing to brook an insult for the sake of a case.
«Hold on a second Petelin — I have a question for you.» Elena pulled over to the shoulder so that she could speak more freely.
«The flight takes nine hours, Lenok,» Sergey softened his tone. «But I’ll try to get us into business class. We’ll find ourselves in tropical paradise before you can even blink.»
«I’m a detective. Don’t try to distract me, even with promises of paradise. Listen to my question.»
«You really are a detective and not a woman.»
«Petelin, you started wheeling and dealing right out of school, right?»
«Sure, and?»
«Remember how my dad had a store? He sold audio-video equipment?»
«Sure I do. It was one of the first pawn shops in our neighborhood.»
«Do you think he would’ve had to pay the mob for protection back in «94?»
«I’d wager so. Back then every business had to pony up for such services.»
«Here’s the thing: I remember asking Tolik about it when he was helping dad out during the summer. According to him, they didn’t pay anything. Their business was clean. My brother never lied to me.»
«Why don’t you just ask your dad? Tolik was still small fry back then. I doubt your dad let him in on any of the serious matters. How long had the store been open by then?»
«Almost a year.»
«Well, for example, it took the meatheads three days after I opened my shop-tent to pay me a visit and arrange matters. It’s only gotten better recently. Back then, there’s no way the Izmaylovo guys would let a sweet little operation like your dad’s store do its thing unmolested.»
«You mean the Izmaylovo mob?»
«That was their turf. Listen Lenok, maybe we can call it a truce too? Forget our sinful disagreements.»
«You should start by sinning less.» Elena ended the call.
Again the Izmaylovo mob! Tolik had ardently insisted that only cowards could give in to the thugs — whereas their dad was a real man who could stand up for himself and his. If need be, according to Tolik, they’d make that stand together.
Her fingers fiddled with the phone. The uncovered jerrican gave her no peace. How did it end up at the site of the tragedy? Should she call her dad or not? Her conversations with him were always sad and, as soon as they touched upon the past, would be inevitably cut off.
As she was putting her phone back in her purse, Elena came across the coupon her mother had given her. A sleek card depicting a gracious woman in lingerie bending suggestively. An inscription beside her announced: «Find something that will make him happy!»
Unconsciously, Elena pulled in her stomach and stuck out her chest. She wanted to look no worse than the girl. Down the street from her, she could see the shopping mall mentioned on the coupon. She didn’t entertain her doubts for long.
So what if she didn’t even have a him? Common sense dictated that to lift her spirits, she should make herself happy!
«You’re a detective, not a woman,» she recalled her ex-husband’s hurtful words. Yes, hers was supposedly a man’s job. And she had the epaulets to prove it.
«And yet, I am a woman.» Elena slapped the steering wheel and turned on her turn signal, her gaze directed at the shopping mall.
She fastened the bra and looked at herself in the fitting room’s generous mirror. The bottoms and bra sat on her perfectly. The cool touch of the tight-fitting underwear thrilled her. Elena narrowed her eyes into a cold squint and parted her lips. Her palms slid slowly from her chest down to her waist.
Irresistible!
It’s too bad no one could see her. The little paper bag with the new lingerie would make its way into the closet and there await some special mood or something that would never be. No doubt, last year’s novelty was lying in a corner in the same closet, its tags still unshorn.
Elena glanced at the price. Even with fifty percent off, it was still too much. What was the point of spending so much money? What was the contingency she was planning for? Her fingers closed over the tag and yanked it off. Elena popped her head out from the screen and called the salesgirl over.
«I’d like to wear this out.» She extended the tags.
The salesgirl smiled knowingly.
«It looks good on you. It’ll make him happy.»
What is it with them and their stupid slogan? I am making myself happy — only myself. I put it on and it pleases me. Me — and no one else! I feel more confident. My shoulders are straighter. My breasts sit higher. My legs move along a line as if they’re stitching little nooses. What, you didn’t notice? Well who asked you to? Go on staring at the bimbo model with the puffed out little rear. She’s been touched up, while I am as nature made me.
Oh, but look at that one — he glanced. And the fat fellow over there slowed his pace. Surely he glanced back to assess the supple part. First get rid of your beer belly, then start looking back at girls like me. Even those two youths flashed their eyes and winked to each other. I better get to the car quickly or they’ll bury me with flowers.
Elena shut the door. Her eyes shined; her heart was pounding.
It’s time to go home. To Nastya. I wonder if she thinks her mother is pretty? Or maybe she’s convinced that I’m already old. After all, just as with her grandmother, there’s no man by my side. I bring flowers home from work. Twice a year — before Mother’s Day and on my birthday. The male coworkers check me out but stay away. Afraid the stern Noose will strangle them in her embrace and then have them brought up on charges to boot.
Only the prosecutor general, a famous hound, asked her out to a restaurant one time. The nerve! It was like he’d already taken off his shoes and pulled his zipper down! Shipped his wife off to a resort and started going down the list of husband-less skirts to call up. Guess he reckoned that one or another would say yes.
But I’m neither one or another.
Though, it hurts a little that no one asks me out anymore. Except maybe to go look at some cat. Genghis the Cat. Never would’ve reckoned Marat an animal lover. Did I promise to stop by? Nah, he’ll live. On the other hand, I wonder what kind of a cat it is. A pure breed or a mongrel, like his owner?
Looks like I’ve missed my turn. And look — the traffic has cleared… Maybe I’ll swing by there after all? Real quick. There and back. The address has been bouncing round my head, can’t get rid of it. No, I should turn around.
But then there are the clothes for his ex-partner’s kids! They’re nice things too. Nastya sure does grow quickly. When she was little, I would save them for the next one, but then… I really should give them to someone who could use them. And check out that cat while I’m at it. Just for a minute or two and then home. If he offers me coffee… Although, no — Valeyev doesn’t know how to make decent coffee! I’ve been running back and forth so much, a little pick-me-up wouldn’t hurt. If I do have a seat, then I’ll choose sit in a chair instead of the couch. Ugh — once upon a time in the tenth grade, he and I were on a couch together… Marat began touching me and I… It’s a good thing my brother came home in time. Or a bad thing. Marat’s got big lips, the kind that are good for kissing. And he knows what he’s doing with them too. Wonder where he managed to learn that before he and I…?
25
The doorbell rang.
Galya whispered: «Leave it alone.»
She was sitting in Marat’s lap, massaging the blemish left by the stun gun with her tiny hands. This time around she had decided that ointment was not required.
«My hands have better healing properties anyway,» she had said. «And my lips are better yet.» She kept trying to show him.
Marat had asked Galya Nesterova to come over strictly out of masculine anger. He had been waiting for another woman. One he loved and could not have. He had only wanted to have a chat with her, relive the past, have a laugh or two. He would have considered the slightest touch between them sheer bliss and would probably not have dared cross the years-old line between them himself.
Maybe if Lena had dropped a hint — a look, a gesture, a touch. But she had told him simply, «I’m not coming.» And her excuse had been crass: She didn’t feel like it!
The invisible blow had struck him right in the heart, which had at first clenched and ached so bad that he had begun to worry. Afterward, anger replaced the heartache. But of course — why would she want to hang out with him anyway? He’s just a captain, while she’s already a major. He lives in a tiny studio in a decrepit five-story building, while she resides in a nice apartment in a respectable edifice. She’s got a nicer car and a larger salary.
The only thing she doesn’t have is a cat, while he has his handsome Genghis. And another thing that he has is pride. And a burning masculine desire, which could at any moment be alleviated by this uncomplicated and very much available Galya from the passport desk.
Oh but who the hell keeps ringing the bell?
«Give me a second. I’ll get rid of him,» promised Marat, raising Galya from his lap.
The young woman took a sip of wine and winked playfully through the wineglass.
Marat passed into the entryway. If it was something about work, they would have used the phone to get in touch. Most likely the neighbor wanted to borrow a little money until his next paycheck. Better to give it to him than waste time listening to his sniffling.
Marat threw the door open.
Elena found herself face-to-face with a man in an unbuttoned shirt. This was the man for whom she had bought her new lingerie. In this moment she did not try to assure herself that she had bought it for herself. She acquiesced to the advertisement’s slogan. The lingerie would make him happy.
She did her best not to look at his bare chest.
«You told me the address and here I am,» Elena shrugged her shoulders awkwardly.
Terror crept into Marat’s face. He glanced behind himself and his face distorted with such agony that Lena became afraid for him. She dropped the package with the children’s clothes and was about ready to prop up Marat when an approaching voice rang out from the hallway.
«Maratik, who’s come to visit us?»
A puffy-lipped young woman embraced Valeyev from around his back. Her hands clasped his exposed stomach. She showed exactly enough of herself from behind him to demonstrate her ruffled clothes, condescendingly appraised the guest and offered through clenched lips:
«How’d you do.»
The blood ebbed from Elena’s face. She was suddenly aware of a mysterious stuffiness pushing against her diaphragm. She imagined that she was standing on a balcony suspended high above the ground and missing a railing. She felt like she was about to lose her balance any second. Marat stood before her, dumbstruck by the humiliation he could see in her eyes.
«I came about work,» Elena pushed out the air in her lungs and quickly added, «I brought clothes for the girl. You said that… Anyway, here.»
Her eyes looked down at the package lying at her feet. Run! Run — get away from here!
Elena turned around and focused on the stairs’ rails. Just take a firm hold of them, just don’t fall.
«Thanksies!» the girl chortled loudly and slammed the door shut behind her.
Elena felt a little better when she got outside. She was cursing herself in the strongest language she could muster in order to strangle the rawboned envy which, creeping out of some unknown depths of her being, had clenched her heart.
What an idiot she was for hurrying over here. For dressing herself up in expensive lingerie and spraying herself with a sample in the perfume department. What if this or what if that… What had she been counting on? He had called her two hours ago. She had blown him off and he had dialed another name in his address book. All men were like that! Had she wanted to surprise him? Well, she was the one who’d been surprised! At least she could thank god that the package with Nastya’s clothes had been in her hands.
As Elena made her way to the car, she almost bumped into Ivan Mayorov without noticing it.
Vanya was surprised to see the detective. Today, after work, he managed to accompany Galya Nesterova out of the office. At the subway station, Galya warmed up to him and even allowed him to buy her an ice cream. But before she could even finish licking it, someone called her. The phone call had a transformative effect on the young woman. She flushed and mumbled something incomprehensible about having to meet a girlfriend of hers and ran off. Where? What kind of girlfriend could it be, if — as it had seemed to Vanya — the voice over the phone had been male? And not just any male voice but none other than Captain Valeyev’s! The rat of jealousy deep inside of Vanya Mayorov began to hone its teeth. The longer he tarried in indecision, the sharper its fangs became. He couldn’t bear it!
Mayorov assaulted an innocent trashcan with his foot and set off for Valeyev’s house hoping to dispel his suspicions and his suffering.
Now, as he followed Petelina with his eyes, Vanya felt happier. What a player, that Marat. Look at who he’s seduced now! Let the captain tangle with the senior detective, let him tangle with all the judges in the land — so long as he’d give Galya a wide berth. Vanya decided that he had been fretting over nothing. He might as well turn around and head home.
And yet, he was already standing right in front of his partner’s building. He knew Valeyev’s windows were to the right of the entrance and unwittingly glanced at them.
Valeyev stood bare-chested, leaning against the sill and blowing the smoke nervously out of the window. Next to him, yanking at him and demanding an explanation, was Galya Nesterova. Vanya beheld her breasts for the first time, wobbling in the stiff cups of her bra. He raised his eyes and could not contain himself.
Marat intercepted his partner’s derisive gaze and deciphered what his lips were whispering.
26
Work, work and more work! Elena Petelina screwed the pencil bitterly into the sharpener. She had to forget yesterday’s humiliation at Valeyev’s doorstep. Her job was to solve crimes, not muddy her mind with flights of fancy. After all, she was a senior detective, not some naïve girl who swooned at the sight of cocky men.
The pencil’s graphite crackled yet again; the sharpener had clogged with the shavings. Elena sensed her weariness drift into her fingers, displaced by a waxing sense of ease in her spirit.
Having made himself comfortable on the couch, Arkady Krasin, the psychiatrist, was listening to a recording of Inna Maltseva’s most recent interrogation. The suspect was detailing her murder of Oksana Drozdova, undeterred by the utter absence of such a crime ever having occurred. Elena reckoned she could arrange a line-up for Maltseva with Drozdova in it; however, Maltseva had claimed that she shot the woman never having seen her before and therefore only knew what the back of her head looked like. On the other hand, Maltseva had confidently identified the model of the gun that had disappeared from her apartment. An ordinary Makarov pistol, which she inherited from her fugitive father. She had even demonstrated on the replica how she had taken the safety off and cocked the thing.
The recording ended. Krasin sighed deeply, took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, covering his eyes.
«How sad, how sad,» he quietly muttered, shaking his head.
Elena put the sharpener aside. She still held the pencil, a full inch shorter now.
«What is your opinion, Dr. Krasin?»
«I thought that I had helped Inna, but this is…»
«Could you explain what is happening with Mrs. Maltseva? I invited you here because I wanted to hear your professional opinion.»
Krasin replaced the glasses on his nose and gingerly approached the detective’s desk.
«My dear Detective Petelina, a professional conclusion is possible only following a comprehensive evaluation of the patient.»
«That is all that you have to say?» asked Petelina crestfallen.
«I could only hear Mrs. Maltseva’s voice. From her perspective, everything she is saying really took place. However, you and I know that that cannot be. Such a paradox suggests one possible conclusion.»
«So what is it then?»
Krasin sat down in the armchair across from the detective. It was as if the top half of his face, with its motionless eyes, was detached from the bottom half where his puffy lips gesticulated animatedly.
«I am afraid that Inna’s depression has developed into paranoid delusion. This is a psychic state in which a systemic delusion is conflated with factual reality. At a certain point, the mind formulates a delusion concretely and then certain conclusions are arrived at, likewise delusional, in the same manner as any other reasonable conceptions. Memory and intellect are both violated in this whimsical manner. The patient begins to believe the image that has come together in her head. Her world begins to consist of both reality and imagination.»
«That’s a lot of big words you just said. Let’s break things down a bit. If I understand you correctly, Mrs. Maltseva has replaced the actual murder with a delusional one of her own invention?»
«Completely correct. This is a defense mechanism that an unstable psyche resorts to when faced with critical levels of stress.»
«Are you implying that this stress was brought on by the murder she committed in her apartment?»
«More than likely. Take a look at what follows. The blow from the cleaver — to the back of Maltsev’s head — has been replaced by a gunshot. The man has been replaced by a woman. Her consciousness has softened all the gory details of the crime and removed the crime scene as far as possible from the real one — that is, to Aprelevka.»
«So, in Mrs. Maltseva’s mind, she has killed not just anyone, but her husband’s lover.»
«It’s completely plausible. Inna was aware of her husband’s infidelities. That’s why they quarreled so much. Most likely she figured out that Drozdova was his lover. She may have overheard her address from eavesdropping on her husband’s phone conversations. Perhaps she imagined the entire revenge scenario in her mind repeatedly, mulling over the details until, later, when she suffered a mental breakdown, this fantasy overwhelmed her reality!»
«Does this constitute a mental disorder? How would you diagnose her?»
«I already mentioned it: delusional disorder. Delusion is a form of schizophrenia. The symptoms and syndromes of schizophrenia are incredibly diverse. But on the whole, it may be described as the destruction and splintering of the individual self.»
«Splintering…» Petelina echoed pensively. «Mrs. Maltseva does one thing but thinks something else.»
«For now, these are just assumptions, Detective Petelina. An accurate diagnosis, as I’m sure you understand, would require an evaluation in a controlled environment.»
Petelina traced her pencil along the paper. Once her elaborate ornament linked back into itself, she struck out the drawing.
«I don’t see any other explanation for Mrs. Maltseva’s behavior,» she said. «I will submit her to a pre-trial psychiatric evaluation.»
«The hospital I work for is authorized to conduct such evaluations. It would be better if one of the members of the panel evaluating her is a psychiatrist who has already treated her.»
«You mean, yourself?»
Krasin shrugged his shoulders obligingly.
«Fine, let’s do it,» Petelina decided. «It’ll move the case forward. I will get the papers ready. Inna Maltseva will be transferred to your hospital tomorrow morning.»
After the psychiatrist left, Petelina decided to deal with some documents she had received from the mail room: a thick envelope from Kostromsky Region, a Moscow City Court ruling in an appeal and a simple letter that had arrived by public post.
First, Elena wanted to see what decision the higher court had come to after the lawyer’s appeal. She scanned the court’s judgment. The sentence had been commuted due to mitigating circumstances; however, the body of evidence she had assembled in the case had not been questioned. Well, every man does his job in measure with his conscience.
The thick envelope, as she expected, contained a copy of the criminal case about the hunting accident, which had led to Anton Maltsev’s incarceration. Elena studied the circumstances surrounding the incident.
Three buddies went out hunting early one morning. The deceased, Vadim Zaitsev, kept sipping on a flask and was therefore not sober. Zaitsev moved through the forest erratically and could have easily strayed into the line of fire at any moment. Amid the brush, still bleak in the morning’s twilight, the shooter could have failed to notice him. Both forensics and the statements of those involved confirmed that the death had happened as a result of negligence. In the wake of the tragedy, the Maltsev brothers did everything they could to save the critically-wounded man, but the hospital was too far away. At trial, Anton Maltsev repented and did not appeal his sentence.
The detective was reaching for the little envelope when a new notification drew her attention from the computer screen. She hit a button. A response had come back from the prison where Anton Maltsev had been incarcerated.
Elena scanned the short message on the screen. It was a boiler-plate reply from an overworked officer: charges leading to the inmate’s conviction, his date of arrival, date of release, time served, and a note of one disciplinary action. And how is one supposed to figure out from this whether Anton Maltsev could have been killed by one of his fellow inmates? The email ended with the last name and phone number of the employee who had sent it. Elena grabbed the phone without thinking twice. She got lucky. Captain Nechiporenko, the missive’s author, had not even managed to step away from his computer yet.
Having introduced herself and related the sad news about his former inmate, Detective Petelina said, «Tell me captain, did Anton Maltsev have enemies in the prison? Could someone have killed him out of revenge for something?»
«We aren’t a maximum security prison, detective ma’am. Our inmates aren’t serving sentences for very serious crimes and we don’t deal with repeated offenders. The most severe thing we get is negligent homicide — which is what Maltsev was in here for. Our population consists by and large of ordinary guys who messed up somehow. Didn’t you say he got killed the first day he was out? That doesn’t sound like our guys.»
«Do you remember if Anton Maltsev shared a cell with anyone who was released before him? Say, in the past six months?»
«Let me look… No, it couldn’t have been any of these. Maltsev, you could say, was our most valuable guest.»
«Why do you say that? He was just a businessman. It was his first time in.»
«Yeah, you wouldn’t think it from first glance. But he just seemed very sure of himself: Nothing fazed him. He knew how to handle himself and how to stand up for himself and yet did so in measure — quietly. He only lost control once, during dinner. It was over something pretty minor — like his smokes being stolen — but he let the guy have it. Broke his nose. It turned out worse for him than anyone else though. He had been up for parole, but the fight meant that he had to stay inside. He ended up serving his full sentence.»
«Did he seem contrite about it later?»
«If he was, I didn’t notice it. Like I said, he was pretty self-sure.»
«Thank you, captain.»
«So what about the his cellmates? Do you still want their names?»
Elena thought about it. Was she casting her net too wide?
«Better have a chat with the ones who are left. I’m curious if Mr. Maltsev had any plans for when he got out.»
«I’ll give it a shot.»
Petelina snipped an edge from the thin envelope, slipped in her fingers, felt a glossy piece of paper and even extracted what seemed like an illustration folded in half, but all the while her thoughts remained with the hunting accident. And what if a relative of Zaitsev had come seeking vengeance? Waited for Anton Maltsev’s release and avenged Zaitsev?
She hurriedly opened the case again, covering with it the illustration from the postal envelope. Vadim Zaitsev’s only living relative was his mother, who resided in Moscow. The file contained copies of receipts from a transfer of 300,000 roubles which Anton had sent her. Could an elderly woman have avenged the murder of her son? Such a thing was not unheard of when it came to the death of a child.
The detective had access to a database of all of the residents in Moscow Region. She looked up Zaitsev’s mother. The elderly woman had passed away a year ago. The flimsy theory of blood vengeance fell apart. As before, Inna Maltseva remained the only suspect. It seemed that Anton Maltsev really had paid with his life for someone else’s failings.
Colonel Kharchenko walked into her office. As a rule, the boss’s sudden appearance did not bode well. His dissatisfied expression left no doubts that in this case this rule would hold true.
«Lena, what is going on?» Kharchenko flung one of Petelina’s requests onto her desk.
«Inquiries submitted to the FSB require your signature, sir.»
«What do you need the file of a fugitive official for?»
«Mr. Koltsov is the father of Inna Maltseva. She is the main suspect in a brutal murder.»
«And so what?! Koltsov ran off to London three years ago. There are others in charge of his case. Let them worry about him!»
Elena smiled broadly and honestly. It was time to use the advantage nature had so liberally granted her. She circled the desk and politely offered her boss a chair.
«Have a seat, Colonel Kharchenko. Why did you bother coming down here? I would have come up to see you. All you need do is call.»
«You kept coming to me constantly. I could barely get rid of you. People had begun to talk.»
«Really?!» Elena widened her eyes. On her way back to her seat, she deftly slipped off her jacket and adjusted her blouse. «What were they talking about?»
«Who knows! An old supervisor with a young, divorced woman…»
«What old supervisor are you referring to? I see a man in the full blossom of his powers.»
«Alright, alright. It’s not important. I needed to take a walk anyway, for my health. I wasn’t only coming to see you.»
«Oh, I apologize! It was silly of me to invite you to sit down then.» Elena quickly got up and circled back around to her boss. She helped him up and took him underarm. «It really is unhealthy to be sitting all the time. Let’s take a walk.»
The startled colonel obediently accompanied her, basking in the proximity of the woman’s body.
«Colonel Kharchenko, you taught me yourself that there is no such thing as a small detail in a murder investigation. In order to establish motive, I have to study not only the crime scene but also all the circumstances surrounding it, as well as the personal relationships of those involved.»
«What are you lecturing me for? You know very well I’ve been meaning to write a textbook on this subject for a long time.»
«You should write it! Except, instead of a textbook, you should compile a case study from your own experience. I’ll even be happy to help you.»
«They’ll kick me out of the Investigative Committee because of detectives like you, and then I’ll have to become an author. You know what they say: If you can’t make money on your own, make money teaching others to make money!»
Elena stopped and turned to face her boss. Imitating the soap operas she had seen on TV, she affected a languid look from beneath her dropped eyelashes.
«Because of detectives like me?»
«Lena, you, of course, belong in a special category,» Kharchenko became embarrassed. «But there are deadlines, damn it! Deadlines!»
«Of course, and all I want is to hurry the work along. Sign my request to the FSB. Surely they know a thing or two about Mr. Koltsov.»
«Oh, it’ll take them a month to get back to you at least. But alright, here’s what we’ll do. I have a high-ranked friend in the Service. I’ll ask him as a friend.»
«Thank you, Colonel Kharchenko!» Elena shook her boss’s hand and dashed back to her desk. The deal had been made. He couldn’t renege on it now.
As he was picking up a blank request form from her desk, Kharchenko noticed the open case file. It was obviously an old one.
«Looks like it’s not just me you’re hassling. What’s that you’ve got?» He picked up the case file about the hunting accident and began thumbing through it. «Eh, Lena. If everyone did their job like you, we’d have colonized Mars by now. The only problem is that the rest of us can’t find as many hours in the day as you do.»
He glanced at the detective over the file — and did not recognize her.
Elena was holding the glossy illustration that had come in the mail. A page with a torn edge as if it had been ripped from a book. Her eyes grew murky, as with fog, as her consciousness plunged into the distant past.
27
When he was in school, Anatoly Grachev had a simple nickname: Grach, which in Russian means «rook» (the bird, not the chess piece). Lena too would call him that, whenever she was mad at him. The same nickname never did stick to her: The boys called her by her last name, while the girls used her first name. Only her brother, when they fought and she called him a «black Rook,» would respond, «Yeah, well, you’re a zimorodok,» which is the Russian word for «kingfisher» and which literally means «winter-born.»
Lena, who had indeed been born in the middle of winter, found an photograph of a blue kingfisher in the Illustrated Bird Encyclopedia and found the little bird quite appealing.
«At least I’m pretty! Unlike you!» she would retort.
At the moment, Elena was holding a page from that very encyclopedia. She had recognized it. A beautiful blue bird with white spots and a long black beak was sitting with its back to the viewer, its head turned in profile. Someone had sent her the photo of the kingfisher in the simple letter. When Kharchenko had picked up the case file, she had at last seen the envelope’s contents.
«What’s with you Petelina?» her boss began to worry.
«It’s nothing. I didn’t have time to have breakfast this morning,» Elena offered the first excuse that popped in her mind. «Now I feel a bit lightheaded.»
«You should cut that out. Careful nutrition is the foundation of good health. To the cafeteria with you, on the double!»
«I’ll go in a second. Let me just get some water and I’ll go.»
«Like I was just telling you, there are only so many hours in a day. You need to optimize the working process. Think about yourself a little. And don’t forget about those performance indicators!»
As soon as Kharchenko had left, Petelina thoroughly checked the envelope. There was neither a note nor a return address. Her name had been written in carefully printed letters. On the sender’s stamp she could make out that the letter had been posted in Vladimir Region. The full horror of the situation was that, aside from her brother who had disappeared eighteen years before, no one had ever called Elena Kingfisher.
Had Anatoly surfaced? Or was this someone’s idea of a sick joke? Who else could know about the Kingfisher nickname? Only her parents had, perhaps, heard it in passing… Vladimir Region! How had she not thought of it sooner? Her father lived there, in the village of Berezhki! It was time to ask him some questions about the burned-down sauna, the jerrican with the letter «P» and about this stupid letter with the kingfisher photo.
Elena grabbed the phone. Her thumb froze hovering over the call button. She put her hand down.
She was not going to call her father. She wanted to be able to see his eyes. Tomorrow was Saturday. She would go to visit her dad in the village and confront him with awkward questions about that fateful day of their family tragedy. Her dad had to tell her the truth — if he knew it.
Getting in her car after work, Petelina noticed Valeyev. The operative had an unnatural bulge in his jacket. He walked right up to her and grabbed the car door as she was about to shut it.
«I uh… You didn’t call…»
«So what?»
«You don’t have any assignments for me?»
«I shall notify you,» Elena replied coldly, «in the event that any investigative fieldwork will be deemed necessary — captain.»
Last night’s humiliation had already sunk to the lakebed of her reveries, while the ice covering the lake’s surface had thickened. She was a detective. Her job was to untangle riddles conjured by criminals. As for lingerie, she wore that only to make herself happy!
«Lena, yesterday evening… That wasn’t the way that — »
«Wonderful.» Elena turned on the ignition. «May I go now?»
Marat strengthened his grip on the half-open door.
«Nothing happened between me and that girl. Nothing at all!»
«Your personal life doesn’t interest me, Valeyev.»
«It was just a misunderstanding. I made a mistake!»
«I brought the things for the kids, that’s all. Did you pass them on?»
«I still have to pick up the onesie from the dry cleaner.»
«Well there’s your assignment for you. I’ll ask a friend if she has anything for the boy.»
She wanted to slam the door shut.
«Hang on a second!» Valeyev reached behind his back and produced a large tomcat. «This is Genghis.»
The ash-gray feline with platinum hot spots along his belly, coolly studied the woman before him, then turned his head lazily and fixed the Master’s expectant face with a skeptical look.
«What’d you drag me out here for?» he seemed to be saying. «I don’t come to you for help with my lady friends, so what are you jerking me around for?»
Elena snorted and burst out laughing.
«Listen Valeyev, which one of you is in charge here anyway? He or you?»
«Well, I used to address him by his full title, Genghis Khan. But then when he started becoming set in his ways, I decided to shorten his title — to remind him what’s what.»
«It didn’t take Valeyev. All the cat’s men: You are in his retinue!»
«All I have to do is skip a few meals and he’ll understand who’s in charge.»
Genghis yawned revealing his sharp fangs.
«I wouldn’t risk it. He might bite something off.»
«Let him try. I’ll castrate him first!»
The smile faded from Elena’s face. Their conversation had drifted into some undesired direction. She glanced at the folder protruding from her purse. It contained copies from the criminal investigation into the fatal sauna arson.
«Did you find out about that thing I asked you about?» Petelina reminded.
Valeyev simply nodded, caught off guard by the change in tone.
«In July of «94, a sauna burned down in Izmaylovo Park,» Elena told him. «Eight people died inside. The operative working the case was named Aleksandr Dolgov. He was a senior lieutenant back then. Could be he’s still in the service. It would be nice to find him and ask some questions.»
«You want me to find him?» the captain replied eagerly. «Should I talk to him too?»
«If you find him, have a chat with him. You know, operative to operative.»
«Consider it done. What do you want me to find out?»
«Everything.»
Marat stroked Genghis a couple times. A spark of boldness flashed across his eyes.
«Len, what do you say we give last night another go?»
«Sure, Valeyev. Go ahead. Call your bimbo!»
«I didn’t mean it like that!»
«My daughter is waiting for me,» Petelina cut him off, putting on her seatbelt.
The door shut. Marat watched helplessly as the car drove off. For her part, Elena was biting her lips. Unwittingly, her eyes kept glancing into the rear view mirror — all the way until the car turned and Marat vanished from view.
28
After the charges against Mr. Grachev had been dropped (by the prosecutor, not Mrs. Gracheva), the father of the family did not continue living in Moscow for long. The family fell apart and Mr. Grachev left for Vladimir Region, to live in the old village house of his parents. Back when their grandmother was still alive, Lena and Anatoly would go spend their summers there. They loved running out to the river in the company of the other summering children, organizing various diversions around the village and spending their evenings by the fire, baking potatoes and listening to horror stories about the living dead.
During the summer the old house seemed cozy and pleasant. It was only when she visited the village in the winter, during the first years of her father’s self-imposed exile, that Elena understood how difficult it was to live with a wood-burning stove and an outhouse.
After his release from jail, her father seemed to give up on life. Rather than try and make the best of things, he began living out the time he had left in the lonely company of his ancient ancestral home. Gradually, however, his domestic disposition began to gain the upper hand. Thus, over the intervening years, the handy and assiduous Mr. Grachev had invested enough work into the house that it now boasted almost all of the expected, urban amenities.
At some point, expanding his industry, Mr. Grachev assembled a construction crew of Russian refugees from Uzbekistan and started building summer houses in the area. Then, five years ago, the village store fell into utter disrepair and had to be shuttered. Mr. Grachev talked to the local authorities, demolished the old, barely-breathing building and built a new little store, directly across the road from his own house. He became the shop manager and, initially, was also its only employee.
Business went smoothly under his experienced guidance. It was particularly good in the summer months when the village population would increase several-fold. Soon, Mr. Grachev no longer had to stand behind the counter: He had hired some women to work for him. And so, a few years ago, Elena suddenly realized that Lida — a shop-assistant who was married to an alcoholic electrician who himself had earlier worked on Mr. Grachev’s construction crew — had moved into her father’s house. Naturally enough, Elena kept this fact from her mother, intuitively wishing to protect her sense of pride.
It was strange, but over all those years, her parents had never officially filed for divorce. Formally, her father was cheating on his wife, but her mother had no way of knowing this. The parents communicated exclusively through their daughter. Mrs. Gracheva strictly forbade Lena from taking her granddaughter to visit her filicidal grandfather.
When she got to Berezhki, Elena stopped by the store. Lida was behind the counter. The women knew each other and exchanged a few words.
«Hey Lida! I’m here to see dad. How is he?»
«Good, by the grace of God,» replied her father’s partner with complete sincerity. Lida valued the fact that Mr. Grachev’s daughter recognized her status and had never once rebuked her for their relationship. «Mr. Grachev is making some repairs to the porch.»
«I brought you some face cream — for when you go to sleep. Here, take it.»
«Why, you shouldn’t have!»
«Take it, take it. Tell me how you like it. Anyway, I’ve got an ulterior motive: I’m just testing it out on you so that I know how it works for when I need it a few years down the line,» Elena joked. «Could you give me some of those dried apricots in return? They’re fresher here than in the expensive city supermarkets.»
«They bring them here straight from Uzbekistan,» Lida whispered, bending forward.
The fully renovated and updated village house looked nothing like it had when Lena’s grandmother was still living in it. It was larger thanks to a new kitchen and bathroom, roofed with metal shingles and covered in siding. As she entered the yard, Elena heard the strikes of a hammer, spaced and precise. Her father was replacing the bottom step leading to the wooden porch.
He noticed his daughter and nodded hello without interrupting his work. A long nail was yelping under his assured blows; as the hammer drove it deeper into the pine, the yelps rose into a squeal. In no time flat, the nail’s head was stamped into the board and was peeking out with one silenced, frightened eye. Her father gave the eye a few more blows, put the hammer aside and took a seat on the new step.
Elena sat down beside him. Their shoulders did not touch. They both stared ahead at the vivid, orange splashes of an unplucked sea-buckthorn. Even here, each kept to one’s own branch.
«I know everything about the sauna. And about the jerrican they found nearby it.»
The father cast his daughter a sidelong glance.
«The one with the letter „P,“» clarified Elena.
Her father didn’t say anything.
«A couple thugs from the Izmaylovo gang died in the sauna fire. The same ones who were extorting money from you. Who started the fire? Was it you or was it Anatoly?»
Mr. Grachev passed his hand along the fresh board, checking its smoothness. Elena turned to face him. At some point in the past, his rook-black hair had turned into a grizzled cap, almost without having lost its earlier thickness. Deep wrinkles had gouged his weathered face like scars from a knife’s point. The look in his eyes, however, still bore its former Grachev rigor.
In a flight of some childish helplessness, Elena embraced her father and placed her head on his muscular shoulder.
«Dad, it’s time to come clean,» she said. «Just give it a shot.»
«I was late that day,» he said and fell silent.
Elena sensed that, just as she had seen so often in her investigations, a breakthrough was imminent and a hefty bundle of confessions was about to come spurting out — pushed forth by the pangs of conscience within. She knew that she shouldn’t hurry this process but rather coax the difficult words into existence by demonstrating patience and letting the nebulous promise of hope do its work.
«Better late than never,» she said softly.
«I was late. I got to the store too late. They had already been there.»
«Who?»
«The Izmaylovo guys. Denis and Tyoma. They would come by once a month around evening, and I would pay them. But that day, like an idiot, I was too busy haggling over some shoddy VCRs. And so I was late. Denis and Tyoma jumped Tolik.» Mr. Grachev squeezed his daughter’s hand with his calloused one. «I’m sorry, Lena — I didn’t raise you right.»
«No, dad — I’m grateful to you.»
«I didn’t raise you the right way at all! And I paid for it.»
«It’s not your fault. Everything is in the past.»
«The thugs came and demanded money from Tolik. For protection. And he… I hadn’t told him everything about the business. All his life, I had been telling him: be honest, know how to stand up for yourself, fight injustice, truth always wins in the end. So, when he saw them, Tolik got annoyed: What money? I won’t give you a dime! They thought it was funny and threw the first punch. There was a fight. But what could Tolik do against the Bugaevs? There were two of them and he was alone. They were used to using their fists, while he spent his time studying.»
«The Bugaevs?» Elena recalled the last names on the monument to the perished thugs. «Denis and Artyom Bugaev?»
«They went by Denis and Tyoma. They beat up Anatoly. Kicked him, broke his nose, his lips, knocked out a tooth. He had put on my work jacket to move boxes from the storeroom. It was splattered with blood. When I got there, the thugs were already gone. They took the money from the register, grabbed the best VCR on the shelf and ordered Tolik to bring them the rest that evening — to the sauna in the park. They threatened to burn down the store if he didn’t. But they hadn’t broken him. When I saw him, he was overcome with this manic excitement. It turned out that he had recorded the beating on a camcorder that stood in a dresser in the office — he had turned it on with a remote. Tolik showed me the recording. He was even happy! He kept saying that we would file a complaint, submit the evidence, testify to the beating, and they’d be put away, thereby putting an end to the thuggery. But I… I got the video tape, smashed it and tore up the film.»
Mr. Grachev stood up, put away his tools into a cardboard box with a handle, trying his best to keep his teary eyes from his daughter. Elena didn’t say anything. Her father picked up the tools, took a step toward the shed, and with an angry motion cast the toolbox from his hand. The box’s steel innards clinked as it fell to the ground. Mr. Grachev turned around, his fists clenched in despair.
«Try to understand! I couldn’t do otherwise — I couldn’t! Back then, the cops would say straight out: „Figure out your business with the thugs yourself!“ And even if there was some lunatic who would take on the case and put them away, their buddies would just wipe us out! Stuff like that happened all the time. Those who wouldn’t submit would be either killed or disabled. I couldn’t risk it. That’s what it was like in those years.»
«I know, dad.»
«Well, you’re more practical. Tolik was an idealist. He boiled over, got angry and even attacked me and tore my coat.»
Elena could clearly remember the testimony of the sales assistant who vividly described the conflict between father and son — while, for some reason, failing to mention the thugs.
«So Tolik didn’t calm down?» she asked.
«He seemed to accept it, but it was a trick which I didn’t recognize then. He stayed sitting for a long while, thinking about something. I was happy that my son had calmed down and didn’t notice this change in his attitude. That was my second, fatal, flaw. Tolik said that he’d take the money to the thugs himself. He even promised to apologize to them. He said, it’d be better that way. Let them see that he is okay with this business arrangement. I didn’t object. I was in a bad mood. I was actually worried about what they’d think of my torn coat. Can you believe that?»
«Did Anatoly take your car?»
«I gave him the money and told him that we’d meet back at home. Later, as I was closing up the shop, I discovered that a jerrican with gas had gone missing from the storeroom. I was keeping it in reserve because back then there’d be lines waiting at gas stations. Then it clicked in my head. Anatoly hadn’t accepted the situation at all! If the cops couldn’t help, he decided to take matters into his own hands. It was all so obvious: The Buagaevs had promised to burn down the shop, but a wooden sauna burns so much better. It was insanity. I had to stop him. But how? There weren’t any cell phones back then.»
Mr. Grachev picked up the toolbox and, placing it upright on the grass, came back to the steps.
«I’ll paint them tonight,» he said, looking at the raw lumber. «The paint will set by morning.»
«You were picked up on the road running through Izmaylovo Park,» Elena prompted.
«I couldn’t remember anything for a long time. I really did lose my memory for a few years. But back then, I saw that the jerrican was gone and I got really nervous and began thinking of ways to stop Tolik. And then, suddenly, a detective is asking me why my son’s blood is on my jacket. Where did I hide his body? It may sound like nonsense, but I really didn’t remember a slightest thing!»
A cold rain began to fall. Petelina and Mr. Grachev walked up to the porch and sat down on a broad bench under the overhang.
«You put on the work jacket without thinking about it because your coat had been torn,» Lena began piecing things together. «But Anatoly’s blood was on that jacket.»
«Maybe that’s the way it happened. But back then I didn’t remember anything.»
«A car hit you and you suffered a concussion.»
«The detective showed me the cops’ report, in which I confessed to killing Tolik. I was horrified. I had killed my own son! I remembered being angry with him. We fought and I wanted to catch up to him. And if I caught up to Anatoly in the park, then maybe we had another fight and I…»
«You loved him. You couldn’t have done that.»
«How would you know? For years, I suffered from nightmares that were so horrible that I would wake up with shaking hands and hallucinate that there was blood on them.»
«I get terrible nightmares too. Such things are caused by the mind’s weariness from negativity, not much else.»
«I kept either believing or not believing. I would calm myself and then accuse myself all over again. I would go to Izmaylovo Park and walk down that road. I’d wander into the forest and look under the trees, trying to remember anything I could. Then one day, out of nowhere, it came to me: I need to go to the park at night. I waited for a summer night — the same kind I’d see in my nightmares. I walked on foot, stopped at the shoulder and closed my eyes. Cars were rushing past me along the Main Alley, blasting me with their headlights even through my closed eyelids. There was a lot of noise, a flash, and my head began spinning. I staggered, hit my temple against a tree — and remembered!»
Mr. Grachev pressed his fingers to his eyelids and shook his head. «A nightmare,» his lips repeated. «A nightmare.»
Elena was shaking from tension, but she had come here precisely for this: She wanted to know the truth.
«You have to tell me the rest. You have to let it out,» she was telling him. «It will make you feel better!»
«Better?!» her father turned abruptly. The blazing rage in his eyes sublimated into humid suffering. «Tolik is no longer with us, Lena. He’s gone!»
29
His face stinging with derision and anger, Dmitry Maltsev entered the psychiatrist’s office of Arkady Krasin.
«They’re not letting me see my own wife! Take care of it!»
«Visiting hours are from three to five. And your wife was transferred here from prison just today. She is undergoing the required admission procedures.»
«Procedures? What procedures? It’s your procedures that turned her into the idiot who knocked off my brother.»
«I was referring to the formal physical examination and the paperwork. She has been brought here for the purposes of a psychiatric evaluation.»
«So what, you going to tuck her away? Pump her full of drugs?»
«By law, we can hold here for thirty days.»
«Why so long? You can’t go any faster? I can’t even bury my own brother.»
«In order to render an accurate diagnosis, we must conduct a comprehensive evaluation. We will draft a psychiatric assessment that will be attached to the case and passed on to the court.»
«Listen, doctor,» Maltsev sat down and crossed his legs, «you spent three months treating her. I paid you good money. So where’s the result?»
«An individual’s mental state is a very fragile affair.»
«Cut the lectures. Better tell me this: If you decide that Inna’s suffered a breakdown, will she be passed on to compulsory treatment?»
«Most likely.»
«So do it then! Better a hospital than a prison.»
«A commission of three people will make that decision. The members will be assigned by the chief doctor. It’s possible that I won’t even be on the committee.»
«Unbelievable. Look, you started the treatment, so see it through. Don’t shirk your responsibility.»
«I already told you — it’s up to the administration. They will take my opinion into account, of course, but your case is starting to receive publicity.»
«What are you talking about?»
«Have you been reading the papers? Have a look at your photograph.»
The psychiatrist unfolded a newspaper showing Maltsev his own irritated face reproduced under the headline, «A slight misunderstanding.»»
«The bitch!» Maltsev snatched the paper out of the doctor’s hands. «I was too gentle with her camera. What a bunch of lowlifes those journalists!»
«She writes that you were lucky to escape such a brutal death.»
«She should worry about her own luck. Why the hell is she publishing my photo without my permission anyway?»
«The article provides data on domestic incidents and uses it to suggest an unpleasant implication: If a wife murders her husband, then surely he pushed her too far. You will have to explain yourself in court.»
«I’m not going to any court,» said Maltsev scanning the article. The anger in his face turned to anxiety. «Looks like I’m in for it now. If I hire a lawyer to defend my wife, he’ll start digging around our private life. It’ll benefit him to portray me like a scoundrel to make Inna look all soft and fluffy. Right?»
«Ask the detective. I’m no specialist when it comes to legal matters.»
«The detective’s a woman too — therein lies the problem.»
«Many judges are women too.»
«I understand now why Petelina has spent so much time fretting over this case. It’s that damn feminism, woman’s solidarity all over again. Are the medical examiners men?»
«Almost exclusively,» Krasin nodded.
Maltsev reclined back in his chair. He smirked.
«He who is ill occupies himself only with his ailment. Eh, doctor?»
«I wouldn’t be so sure — »
«And yet aren’t men more likely to suffer from mental illness? So, naturally, it figures that some of them go and become shrinks. You’re not one of them by any chance, are you?»
«That’s enough, Mr. Maltsev. Our conversation seems to have gotten off topic. Actually, you know what? I have work to do. Inna Maltsev is not allowed to have any visitors until my evaluation is concluded. She’s no ordinary patient, after all — she happens to be the main suspect in a murder case.»
«Well, go and evaluate her then..? What are you waiting for?» Maltsev stood up. «It’s your evaluations that made Inna lose her mind in the first place. Isn’t that correct, doctor?» Reaching the office door, Maltsev turned and prodded Krasin with his finger. «Just don’t forget that you haven’t worked off all the money I paid you quite yet.»
30
Elena’s father maintained a heavy silence for a long time and Elena could not summon the courage to pry further. What did he mean by «Tolik isn’t with us anymore?» Had he been in the burned down sauna or not?
On her way to her father’s house, she had made sure to bring the case file with her. Now she retrieved some facsimiles of the items found in the blaze and showed them to her father.
«Do you recognize any of Tolik’s belongings in these?»
«What is this?» Mr. Grachev jerked back.
«It’s what was left from the people who perished in the sauna.»
«Put it away.»
«What happened to my brother?» Elena couldn’t contain herself any longer. «You need to tell me!»
Her father locked his hands, placed his forehead into them and started knocking on his head. When at last he removed his hands, the look in his eyes was introspective.
«The first thing I remembered was the fire. The sauna was burning. I recognized it. That was where Tolik was supposed to give the money to the Bugaevs. And the first thing that came to mind was the unthinkable. The thugs had seen the jerrican, flown into a rage, pushed Tolik into the sauna and set it aflame. They had killed the son as a warning to his father, whom they’d go on extorting. And all of it was my fault!»
Mr. Grachev grabbed his head.
«What happened later, dad?»
«I began running along the street. A car came at me. The glare of the headlights blinded me; there was a blow and utter darkness.»
«When they found you, you kept saying that you had killed Tolik.»
«What else could I say? I was sure that he had died and kept cursing myself for raising him to be so honorable. If you want to be successful these days, you have to hustle and adapt, instead of running headlong into a situation and relying on honor and courage.»
«In that sauna, the Golyanovo mob burned down some of the Izmaylovo thugs.»
«Yeah, but something back there didn’t go according to plan. When I was in jail, members from both gangs kept approaching me and asking me about the fire. They wanted to know what I had seen. But back then, luckily, I couldn’t remember a thing.»
«You think that Tolik died in that fire?»
«No, Lena. He survived. He survived! I had dreams about the car that hit me for a whole year. And something kept taunting me, some detail that I kept trying to grasp. Sometime later, I had a dream that was as if in slow motion. A car was coming toward me. I remember its left headlight blinding me but on the right side — only the running light was on!»
«And?»
«That was our car! The lamp in my right headlight had burned out — I remember needing to change it.»
«So you think that — »
«Yes. Tolik was driving that car. No one else. I had a hide-a-key under the dashboard. No one else knew about it. Your brother was driving that car.»
«He ran you over and didn’t help.» Elena shook her head incredulously. «Tolik would have stopped.»
«I was racked by doubts too. Over these years, staying silent, I went through millions of possibilities. But only one remains now. Tolik propped the door to the sauna shut and set the mobsters on fire. Someone noticed him doing it. He was fleeing, driving as fast as he could, and didn’t stop when he hit someone. It was dark in the park and he didn’t realize that it was me.»
«Doesn’t make sense,» Elena objected.
«That’s the way it was! You told me yourself about how some muscleheads showed up at our house looking for Tolik. He ran away to hide himself from everyone.»
«The thugs weren’t looking for him. They wanted the paperwork for your store. They kept trying to intimidate us. Mom finally gave in, in the end.»
«Her loss.»
«What don’t you get? She just wanted to free us from that horrible shop, which had caused so much trouble.»
«That’s what I’m saying. It was all my fault.»
There was a pause.
«Tell me,» Elena said after she had calmed herself a little, «could Tolik have had a gun?»
«Maybe a nonlethal one.»
«No. I’m talking about a lethal one. The thugs in the sauna — we found rounds in their bodies.»
«They’d been shot before the fire?»
«Most likely.»
«Even if Tolik had a weapon, he wouldn’t have used it.»
«So did he have one or not?»
«I never saw him with a gun.»
«After the fire, two empty jerricans were discovered. One of them, with the letter „P“ on it, was yours. But there was also another, unmarked one.»
«I don’t know anything about that. I only kept one jerrican in the shop.»
«Tolik may have bought the other on his way to the sauna.»
«Could be,» sighed Mr. Grachev.
Elena produced a photo of the obelisk headstone depicting the Izmaylovo thugs.
«Your enemies did not escape unpunished. The Bugaev brothers died in that sauna.»
Mr. Grachev examined the photo.
«That’s them, Denis and Tyoma. That’s what they looked like. Your run-of-the-mill buzzards. Cold eyes and hooked noses.»
The bird reference reminded Elena of the other reason she had come to see her father. Perhaps due to his own surname meaning «rook,» Mr. Grachev knew his way around the different bird species. He would often tell his children about them as they were growing up. That was why it had been so easy for Anatoly to think of the Kingfisher nickname for his little sister.
Elena got out the glossy photo of the handsome bird that had been sent to her. It occurred to her that Tolik had anticipated her future profession — the kingfisher’s strict, bluish plumage resembled her blue detective’s uniform.
«It’s a kingfisher,» grumbled her father. He couldn’t have read the tiny inscription without his glasses.
«I was born in the winter,» said Lena.
«That’s true.»
«Do you remember that Tolik would call me Kingfisher?»
«That’s a good name for you.»
«Well, do you remember or not?»
«I don’t. I remember his buddies would call him Rook, just as mine had in my childhood. It was only later that they switched to Petrovich.»
«Someone sent this photo to my office.»
«Who?»
«I was hoping you’d know the answer to that.»
Her father hesitated. Lida appeared on the path, hurrying to the house.
«I closed up shop for lunch. We can’t let our guest leave without feeding her. Mr. Grachev won’t think of it on his own. What are you two sitting out freezing on the porch for? Let’s go inside. You can talk there.»
But once they had gone inside, Elena’s father returned to his typical taciturn self. For the most part, Lida did the chirping. She reviewed all the village news and began giving advice on how to pickle honey fungus. She had pickled about thirty pounds of it just that fall, she boasted, and she’d be happy to open some for lunch and would even give some for Elena to take home with her.
Finding a good moment, Elena slipped out to the den. She wanted to take a look at the bookcase. When he moved out to the country her father had brought only books about nature and gardening. Elena scanned the spines. One shelf had the very same Illustrated Bird Encyclopedia that she remembered reading as a child.
She quickly looked through the table of contents. Across from the entry for «Blue Kingfisher (com.),» a roman numeral indicated the appropriate section of the encyclopedia. Her fingers riffled through photos of the barn-owl, the common bee-eater and the spot-billed toucanet. Then she reversed direction and went through the same in reverse order. The page with the kingfisher entry, which was supposed to be between them, was missing!
Elena turned around. She was alone in the den. She placed the torn out page to the ripped edge in the book. The experienced detective had no doubt that the photo that had been sent to her had been ripped out of this very book.
Shaken, Elena returned the page to her folder. She had trouble managing her fingers.
«Are you going to eat?» Her father’s voice came from the doorway.
Elena started, letting a sheet from the sauna case fall out of the folder.
«Coming!»
Picking up the fallen paper, the detective’s gaze locked onto a name belonging to a witness in the case. She had seen that same exact name mentioned just yesterday in a completely different investigation.
31
Marat Valeyev paid a visit to the widow of Nikita Dobrokhotov. As usual he gave her a portion of his salary, saying that the money had been raised by everyone in the department. Also he gave her the onesie for her boy and the large package that Petelina had passed on for the daughter.
Valeyev tried to drop by once a month. He would always remain standing in the hallway during the length of his visit, never entering the apartment. There was not much to say. Both he and the woman were overwhelmed with the onerous memories. Marat could not bring himself to look in the widow’s eyes. Barely thirty and already a widow. From behind her drifted the voices of the children, who would never see their father. It was all his fault. For, it was he, Captain Valeyev, who had killed their wonderful husband and father, Nikita Dobrokhotov. What possible explanations could there be?
Leaving the mournful apartment of his deceased partner, Marat headed for the department shooting range. He always did so after visiting the widow. It was the only thing that brought him relief. Deep inside, he felt a glacier gripping his heart like a vice.
Valeyev was a familiar face at the shooting range. He had his own special target. Two adult-sized figures. A terrorist hiding behind a hostage, pointing a gun at her temple.
That was the way it happened that fateful day. Following a terrorist attack in the subway, he and Dobrokhotov were ordered to check out several addresses in suburban Moscow. The top brass was trying to demonstrate hectic activity by sending its operatives all over the place. The routine searches were in their third day. Having checked four ordinary addresses, the partners relaxed.
Nikita entered the house first. By the time Marat saw him, the terrorist had disarmed and grabbed his partner. Marat recognized him from his briefings. The guy specialized in killing truck drivers. He and his cell were implicated in fourteen fatal incidents. His accomplices had been arrested the week before, but their leader had gotten away. And now here he was in front of him. An old and cornered wolf.
The terrorist deftly screened himself with Nikita and brandished his gun. Now, he was moving and shouting at Valeyev to drop the gun. Marat could only see a portion of his face, no more than a third, it was insanity to take a chance under such conditions. Marat gave in to the terrorist’s demands. Slowly, he began to lower his arm. By then, the terrorist had retreated to the window.
And here Marat compassed the full gravity of the situation: The bastard was checking to see how many cops were outside — but the street was dead empty and so any moment now the old wolf will figure out that both men are at his full mercy and — aside from the truck drivers — there’s already three dead highway cops on his soul — what’s two more — won’t change the picture much — what’s to lose?
Nikita realized the same thing. Sensing that the terrorist had pointed the gun away, he called desperately:
«Marat!»
And Valeyev lifted his arm.
Two gunshots sounded together. Marat felt a pain in his left shoulder and saw Nikita slump. A bloodied hole in his throat. And this was followed by sudden clarity. The terrorist’s bullet had hit him. He had hit Nikita.
Then came more gunshots. The terrorist managed to fire off just one more round; Marat emptied his entire clip. The criminal missed; all of the captain’s rounds hit their mark.
All but the very first…
Valeyev put on the ear muffs and concentrated. He could see the drawn, unshaven face before him — just about a third of it — just like on that fateful day — and as on that day — Marat began to lower his weapon — and as then — he jerked it back up and he began to shoot.
When the fragments of paper had settled, Marat could see that the «terrorist» was done, and the «hostage» remained untouched.
Unlike Nikita Dobrokhotov. Him — he had not managed to save…
32
On Sunday, Elena Petelina took Nastya to curling practice at the CSKA Ice Palace, an indoor arena.
Elena had picked out this sport for her daughter herself: One night during the Winter Olympics, she had accidentally come across a televised broadcast of a curling competition. Teams of svelte young women would take turns sliding granite stones along an icy sheet into the center of a circle, arcing around and knocking out the stones their opponents had cast. Elena looked up the rules on the web and returned to the TV screen already an avid fan. She could now appraise the beauty and precision of the decisive throws and, more importantly, could see the play between intellect and nerves, in addition to the skill, that the sport required. Chess on ice — no more, no less!
Above everything else, Elena had liked the intelligent, concentrated looks on the athletes’ faces. She had never seen such a combination of grace, beauty and intellect in any other sport. Were it up to her, she would do curling too. Then again, that was what children were for — to realize the unfulfilled dreams of their parents.
At first Nastya hadn’t taken to her mother’s idea. The stones were heavy, while the ice was hard and cold — slipping on it was frequent and painful. But as time went by, the girl became sucked in and now chomped at the bit to get to the practice sessions, far preferring them to school.
At the door to the locker room Nastya raised one clenched fist. Elena replied in kind. Their eyes flashed. Mother and daughter bumped fists and gave each other a thumbs up. This was the family handshake.
While the two-hour-long practice was underway, Petelina decided to drop by work.
Yesterday, at her father’s house, a sheet of paper had fallen out of the sauna case file. The sheet listed a certain Mr. Zaitsev as a witness. Elena could remember very well that Vadim Zaitsev had been accidentally shot by Anton Maltsev during a hunting trip. Could this perhaps be the same person? It wasn’t very probable, as Zaitsev was a common last name and the crimes had taken place fifteen years apart, but Petelina stood out from the other, more haughty, detectives in that, from the first days of her career, she strictly followed two rules: 1) There is no such thing as an insignificant detail in an investigation; and 2) the most improbable version could still turn out to be the truth. While self-assured detectives would rely on their intuitions, Petelina simply did work. She undertook more investigative measures than they did, but she had less unsolved cases than her colleagues too.
Her tenuous supposition turned out to be true. Vadim Andreyevich Zaitsev — born 1973 and a resident of Moscow’s Izmaylovo Boulevard — was involved in both cases. A strange coincidence.
Petelina began to study the materials in the hunting accident. The mordant expression, «Show me a criminal case and I will tell you on which page the detective took the bribe,» had not been coined by a mere comedian: It really did reflect the work of certain corrupt investigators.
Right off the bat Elena sensed an inconsistency in the circumstances surrounding the incident. On the one hand there were the law-abiding Maltsev brothers — while on the other there was the dubious Zaitsev. The Maltsevs were, as strange as it sounded, sober and had properly registered rifles as well as licenses to shoot boar. Zaitsev was fairly inebriated and had an unregistered rifle as well as a felony under Article 112—premeditated bodily injury of moderate severity — which had resulted in a three-year sentence. However, what intrigued Petelina even more than these facts was the discrepancy between the ballistics findings and the autopsy results. The ballistics expert concluded that the fatal gunshot had been fired from a distance of a hundred feet, whereas the trauma recorded by the medical examiner implied that Anton Maltsev had shot point blank. Strange then that the case detective had paid no attention to this inconsistency.
Petelina accessed the database and printed out anything she could find about Zaitsev. In «97 he had been sentenced for trashing a cafe and beating up its owner. The incident report noted that Vadim Zaitsev was an active member of the Izmaylovo criminal organization.
Why had the Maltsev brothers invited a former mobster to join them? About three years ago, Zaitsev had been given a small share in their construction company and several months later, he died in the hunting accident.
Leaving her office, Detective Petelina noticed the heavily modded motorcycle of Mikhail Ustinov, which the forensics expert lovingly called «The Traffic-Buster.» Incapable of ever not thinking about his investigations, the Tadpole would often come in to the office on the weekends. Petelina decided to go down to the lab.
«What is this crap?» Elena heard a resonant female voice as she opened the door.
The detective was surprised to discover the sharp-nosed young woman with the purple cowlick in the lab. She was asking Misha about one of his outlandish gizmos.
«Oh! We’ve met before!» exclaimed the spunky young lady in knee-high boots on one-inch platforms. «I saw you while trying to get an interview at a murder scene. So you work here too?»
«Did you get your camera fixed?» Elena recognized the tenacious reporter who had tried to get into Maltsev’s apartment.
«The editor liked my article and issued me a new lens.»
«What article?»
The girl whipped out a newspaper from her voluminous tote.
«Here you go! I used that specific incident as a means to raise the issue of family tragedies.»
Elena unfolded the paper, saw the photo of Dmitry Maltsev and scanned through the lively type. She was accustomed to attention from the press. Every other case she took on received publicity, which would at times impair her investigation. She shut the paper and sighed. If the relationship between her forensic expert and the journalist were to continue, she could expect each and every case to receive public scrutiny.
Petelina fixed the embarrassed Misha with an inquisitive look.
«I figured that if she wrote something about our lab, it could maybe help raise the profile of the forensic profession,» the Tadpole explained himself. ««Cause, you know, there are some who just think that we take pics of corpses and stuff.» Then, coming to his senses, Mikhail introduced Elena dramatically: «This is Detective Elena Pavlovna Petelina, Moscow’s foremost detective! And this is Masha.»
Elena smiled. Even crude flattery can be pleasant after all.
«Misha and Masha.» She looked over the couple who were both wearing leather biker jackets with ornamental rivets. «Who made the first move?»
«As if!» snorted the journalist. «I don’t creep on random guys!»
«We met on the web,» explained Misha. «I posted a photo of Vasilich and announced a contest for best caption. Masha came out on top.»
«And what did she come up with?»
The reporter dashed to the skeleton and rotated the armchair he was sitting in. Vasilich’s mouth was wide open and a note was stuck to his ribcage: «This man was scared half to death! Twice!»
Petelina smiled.
Noting her reaction, the journalist instantly began cooing in a syrupy voice, «Detective Petelina, could you tell me a bit about the biggest case that you’re currently working on? Together, we can drop a real bombshell!»
«I don’t like explosions, Masha. It’s hard to do any meaningful work in their wake.»
«Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll send you the text for approval before submitting it.»
Elena had heard this promise before. Once, she had been given the chance to approve her own interview. Naïvely, she had spent the entire night editing it, only to find in the morning — before she could even send off the new version — that the original article had already gone to press. Her indignation was received with a wall of incomprehension. The editor had expected only objections about her photograph; not having received any, he sent the article to print. Well, that’s freedom of the press for you!
«Some other time,» Petelina promised, recalling the administration’s order to treat members of the mass media as politely as possible.
«Just say when and I’ll be there — »
«Misha, may I speak to you for a second?»
The girl snorted and turned away. Petelina handed Ustinov the files on Vadim Zaitsev and the Maltsev brothers.
«Do your thing and look into the relationship between these three, will you?» she requested.
The Tadpole lived to find crumbs of valuable information in the hazy constellations of virtual reality.
«I owe you a bar of chocolate,» the detective promised the still-flustered forensic expert as she headed for the door.
«Hold on a second, Detective Petelina!» Mikhail snatched some papers from his desk. «You guessed right. The young man who was buried under the garage was killed with the same gun that was used in the sauna. The bullets are the same!»
«I don’t make guesses, Misha. I make deductions.» Petelina ran through the expert’s findings. «Both crimes took place in the summer of «94. Which one came first?»
«We can’t establish that based on the remains. The incidents are too close together. It could’ve been on the same day for all we know.»
«Hmm. If everyone involved was dealt with on the day of the sauna fire, who is the dead guy?»
«By the way, Lopakhin, the medical examiner, found that the murdered man’s left clavicle had been fractured. The thing is that the fracture had been incurred not long before his death, about a month earlier. I’ve attached his findings here as well.»
«Good work. There’s food for thought here.»
Later that evening, as Elena was making her bed for the night, she received a call from Valeyev.
«I found the operative who worked the sauna case. His last name is Dolgov!» Marat reported with gusto. «I got him to talk openly. It’s a good thing there were eight bodies.»
«Valeyev, did you hear what you just said? You consider eight dead people a good thing?»
«Well, Dolgov didn’t forget it, so… Anyway, we sat around, had a few and — »
«Have you been drinking, Valeyev?»
«Had to take one in the liver… for the team… No other way to get an old operative to open up,» Marat explained himself.
«Got it. Let’s leave this until tomorrow then.»
«It wasn’t a very simple case. Dolgov’s account makes for a pretty convoluted picture!»
«And tomorrow you can untangle all those convolutions for me.»
«Want me to come over? To your place!» Marat let it out.
«No, thank you! You can tell me at work tomorrow morning.»
Marat didn’t say anything. Elena could hear him breathing and wanted to say good night when he confessed quietly, «Actually, I’m already here… At your house.»
Elena stepped over to the window and glanced down into the courtyard. Valeyev was standing under the streetlight with his head thrown back and his phone pressed to his ear. He noticed her in the lit window and waved.
«Want me to sing to you?» he offered, «Like I would in school?»
«Don’t you dare!» Elena recalled how his serenade, to the accompaniment of a guitar, had drawn her neighbors to their balconies.
«I’ll do it quietly.» And, substituting the lyrics with his own, Marat began whispering Muslim Magomaev’s song: «Lenochka, my darling! Everything will pass and you’ll accept me. You’ll accept me as I am. We can’t li-i-ve without each othe-e-er…»
Elena drew the blind and turned off the phone. Her heart pounded, forcing embers of painful exhilaration through her constricted arteries. It’s just the vertigo, she told herself. Don’t listen to him! He’s only drunk!
And yet, her head couldn’t shake the Russian proverb: What the sober mind conceals, the drunk mind reveals. We can’t live without each other.
Elena peeked through the window. Marat was still singing into the dead phone. For himself and for her. She even thought she could hear his voice: «Please be kinder than I am — be gentler…»
She staggered back. This was unbearable! No! Did he really think that this insane escapade would get her to throw herself into his arms? Not a chance! She wasn’t some naïve girl!
And again her eyes were drawn downwards. Marat was leaving.
All the better. Thank god. He’s there and she’s here. A cold autumn night separates them. And that song of his is just—
Lena noticed Marat was getting in his car. Anxiety washed over her. Idiot! You’re drunk! You can’t drive! Stop this instant!
She cast about looking for the phone, rifled through her tidied bed and grabbed it. She had to stop him! She had to forbid him from driving! Oh boy would she let him have it now! But her finger wavered. He was already pulling out and nothing good would happen if she forced him to answer.
Elena sank into her bed exhausted. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders and began to rock back and forth. What a bunch of blockheads were men! How was she supposed to sleep after all that?
33
For over an hour already Detective Petelina had been trying to draft a formal accusation in her current case so that she could submit it to the prosecutor. The work was going slowly. Her attention kept wandering. She felt as though she were trying to navigate through hectic traffic. Her eyes focused on the papers before her, for that was where her main path lay, but every five seconds or so she’d glance up at her office door, as into a side view mirror, to see if anyone was there. Her ears listened for any noise in the corridor. Any moment now the door would open and Marat would enter. How was she supposed to treat him after last night’s events? If only he had limited himself to that song…
That morning Elena had washed her hair and approached her wardrobe with especial diligence. She was supposed to wear her uniform whenever she went to court or some other state agency. Oftentimes she’d wear it just to put an official witness in his place or simply to make the right impression on a defendant during an interview. Today, however, she simply wanted to look like a woman.
Prodding her daughter to get ready for school, Elena had glanced in the window to see whether she would need an umbrella. There, on the pavement beneath the streetlight where Marat had stood crooning the night before, an inscription had been written with white paint in three-foot-tall letters: «Lena, I love you!»
Oh no, that couldn’t’ve been him! That wasn’t for her! A man of thirty-five couldn’t possibly write something like that to a woman his age. It was adolescent nonsense! Some high schooler had simply tried to please his girlfriend with an honest admission. Elena tried to remember which of her neighbors had children of that age. There was a Natasha living directly above her. Katya lived somewhere below. Who else? Who was named Lena? Was there really no one? It just could not be. She simply didn’t know all of the residents in her house. There had to be some other Lena besides her!
Startled by her mom’s fluster, Nastya smooshed her nose against the glass.
«Whoa. I wish someone’d do that for me!»
«Grow up a little first. You’ll have time to worry about boys later.»
«Did you already grow out of that?»
Elena jerked her daughter away from the window and dragged her off to school. Of course, as they were going to the car, it began raining — she’d completely forgotten the original reason she had looked out the window.
Elena looked in the rear view mirror and beheld a wet chicken where a woman was supposed to be. And she had paid so much attention to making sure her nape looked nice. All for nothing. Well, fine! She’s a major of justice who needs to get to work — not to a date!
Someone coughed politely. Petelina started. Marat Valeyev was standing in the open office door.
«I’ve completed your assignment, Detective Petelina. I located former operative Aleksandr Dolgov and discussed the case in question.»
«Come in, captain.» This was the only way she knew how to handle this: a business tone, a calm gaze, forget yesterday. «What did you find out?»
Marat sat down and locked his fingers. His eyes limited themselves only either to his hands or the edge of the desk. Elena started a jagged doodle on the paper before her.
«We sat around for a bit. I was compelled to have a few — to establish rapport. In general, that sauna case turned out to be a real scribble.»
Initially Marat had difficulty finding the right words, but having worked his way into a tale familiar to his profession, his narrative sprang to life. Elena listened attentively, writing down any names that came up, beside her ornament.
Karasev, the boss of the Izmaylovo mob, used the sauna to relax with his buddies after work. Rumor had it that this sagacious Karas had been amassing a nice little fund with which to buy out an industrial plant in the Ural mountains. In order to accelerate the fundraising process he had rudely infringed into the ancestral lands of the Golyanovo mob. The Golyanovo boss didn’t like this one bit and therefore sent three of his soldiers to burn down the sauna. At first it seemed like this punitive action had gone off without a hitch — Karas and his lieutenants were wiped out. However, the Golyanovo soldiers never returned that night! Some other Golyanovo thugs found their car in the morning — its windows shot out and its interior covered with blood. Later it emerged that someone had broken into Karasev’s crib and taken his «investment fund.»
According to Operative Dolgov, the three assassins were not capable of such an elaborate operation. It took some brains to wipe out their enemies and then double-cross their own and the killers just weren’t that smart. Their boss would have definitely found them and let them have it. But the fact of the matter was that both the money and the people were gone. Karas was buried, along with the four Izmaylovo thugs and the three women that were in the sauna with him. As for the Golyanovo assassins, not even their bodies were ever discovered.
«That’s about it,» Valeyev concluded. «Eight corpses and three missing persons.»
«And if we add to these my brother, who disappeared that same night and at the same location, a pretty horrible picture emerges.» The pencil’s tip cracked under Elena’s hand.
«What? Your brother was there too?»
«He was delivering money to the Izmaylovo thugs. That’s the last we heard of him.»
«Will my information help you somehow?»
«I don’t know yet,» Elena shrugged her shoulders. «There was gunfire in the sauna. The Bugaev brothers died alongside Karas. Recently a buried body was discovered under their garage. He’d been killed with the same gun. More likely than not, he was killed at the same time.»
«Was it your brother?» Valeyev asked quietly.
«No, I had the DNA checked.»
«Lena, if you need anything else, tell me.»
«The guy killed in the garage was twenty-three. His left clavicle had been fractured a month before his death. I’d like to find out who he was.»
«I’ll have to have another chat with the old operative.»
«Just don’t show up drunk at my house afterward,» Petelina blurted out.
Their eyes met for the first time. Elena couldn’t get over the confession on the pavement. Had it been Marat or not? Should she just ask him directly? And what if he had nothing to do with it? It’d be dumb. And awkward. A mature woman assuming such a juvenile maneuver had been addressed to her. And then he’d start thinking that she wanted those kinds of stupid, albeit sincere, surprises!
Elena was the first to look away.
«Have you finished with the Maltseva investigation already?» Valeyev asked anticipating a silence.
The detective did not get the chance to answer. Misha Ustinov’s large head politely inserted itself into the office.
«A song of Rabbits!» he punned on Zaitsev’s name and flourished the papers in his hand.
«Come in,» Petelina invited.
Ustinov handed the papers to the detective and took a seat beside Valeyev.
«I traced the life and times of Vadim Zaitsev, starting in a nursery in suburban Moscow and ending in a morgue in Kostroma. And so, what did we learn? Our bunny was born in Balashikha. Soon thereafter, his family moved to the Izmaylovo District in Moscow. This was where little Vadim went to school. His father died when the boy was thirteen — he worked as a taxi driver and drove off the road into the Yauza River. Zaitsev graduated with a C average, didn’t get into a university and ended up in the army. He returned to Moscow in «93 and joined the Izmaylovo mob. By the way, Artyom Bugaev, the younger Bugaev, was his classmate.»
«Both brothers died in the sauna fire,» Elena reminded.
«Yes, yes, you’re right. Zaitsev tried to rally the gang to seek revenge and in so doing drew the attention of the criminal investigation into that case. But in the end we just used him as a witness. In «97, he was put away for seven years for aggravated robbery. He served six and, when he was released, no one needed him. Of his previous friends, a few had switched to running legit business, some ran off abroad, but the vast majority ended up like the Bugaev brothers. Six feet under. Zaitsev cast about for a bit and finally found work as a security guard at a market for building supplies.»
«And by 2008 he was already a companion of the Maltsevs. What do we know about them?»
«Well, they’re from Krasnodar Krai — I believe.»
«What do you mean, „you believe?“»
«I haven’t been able to find any attesting documentation yet. I’m basing this on their own words.»
Petelina looked at the expert inquisitively.
«Their own words? You know how to communicate with the dead?»
«Let me explain. In 2002, a ferry sank in Greece. The Maltsev brothers were on board. They saved themselves but lost their documents. The Russian embassy in Greece issued them attestations based on their accounts and once they got to Russia, they used those attestations to apply for new passports. That said, I haven’t found any prior reference to them.»
«Some women have been known to use such situations to alter the dates of birth — to become younger.»
«Yeah — it could be the Maltsevs also used the occasion to alter some things. Anyway, after the Greek tragedy, Dmitry Maltsev married Inna Koltsova, established himself in Moscow and started a construction company, whose business instantly took off.»
«He was helped along by his father-in-law’s connections. Viktor Koltsov wasn’t exactly a nobody in the Moscow Region administration.»
«I arrived to the same conclusion, since three years ago, after Koltsov fled to London, Maltsev’s business ground to a halt. It’s barely breathing these days.»
«So what’s the connection between Zaitsev the felon and Maltsev the businessman? How did he become their partner?»
«It’s not clear yet.»
«Perhaps Zaitsev was providing some vital service for the Maltsevs?» Valeyev suggested. «They had a construction business after all, and Zaitsev worked in the building supplies market. Their paths could have crossed there.»
«A service for which one gets a five percent share in a business is quite a service.»
«There are secrets that are worth a lot of money. Plus, business is not always about profits — it can be about debts too.»
«Secrets… We have too many secrets on our hands. Every day they just keep growing.» Petelina looked down at the paper before her where her doodle framed the column of names she had noted down. «Alright, here’s the deal, Misha: We’ve got the names of three arsonists who disappeared in «94. Don’t we have a stockpile of DNA samples for unidentified corpses from that time?»
«Through your efforts…»
«And your diligence. We need to compare the samples with the arsonists’ DNA.»
«How? We would need their relatives’ DNA.»
«Captain Valeyev will help you in this assignment. The guys that vanished were pretty young. Their mothers are more than likely still alive and will be happy to help us find their sons. Do you understand the assignment, Marat?»
«We’ll take care of it.»
«Good. Get to work boys.»
As they were saying goodbye, Valeyev shook Ustinov’s hand. On the cuff of the operative’s jacket, Elena spied a spot of white paint. It was the same color as the one used on the pavement before her house.
34
For the last three days Vanya Mayorov had felt like a deflated ball — as if someone had punctured him and let all the air out. And who was this someone but his best friend and partner, the man who had taught him so much. Even though Galya Nesterova had left Valeyev’s almost right after Vanya had seen her in the window, the pain in his soul refused to subside.
For three nights now, a basic question had tormented him: Had the couple consummated their relationship or not? He calculated Galya’s journey to Valeyev’s, factored in how far behind he had been and come to the conclusion that the Noose had caught them at the most inopportune moment. Or rather, at the most opportune moment! She had interrupted their concupiscence at the most critical point in its ascent. And then he had arrived.
None of this made his relationship with Valeyev any easier. Vanya recalled the ominous story of the death of Valeyev’s partner. What if he had shot him on purpose? Out of jealousy! Vanya assessed the heat of his own jealousy. The burning was unbearable. Could he dispose of a competitor in the same manner? A bullet to the head in an opportune moment? Immediately, he recoiled from the savage thought.
The partners continued to interact at work and perform their assignments, but they did not discuss their personal lives and didn’t mention Galya. Valeyev had cooled toward her and no longer tried to flirt with her. Vanya found this encouraging. Today he decided that he would stop by the passport desk.
«This is for you, Galya.» The operative presented Nesterova with a potted cactus.
«What’s with you, Mayorov?»
«A cactus absorbs harmful radiation from monitors.»
«That’s only for the old cathode ray tubes. I have a flat-panel.»
«You don’t want it?» asked Vanya upset.
«I’ll take it since you brought it,» the young woman relented. «I’ll put it on top of the microwave.»
«Did you know that Valeyev went to visit the Noose?» Vanya let slip the prepared phrase as carelessly as he could. «She called him in.»
Nesterova leaned forward, pressing her chest against the counter that functioned as a barrier between her and any visitors.
«Listen, Vanya,» she whispered, «does it seem to you like Petelina has her eye on the captain?»
«Well, Marat himself is always trying to get with her. It’s not really clear who likes who better.»
«That old hag. She’s already thirty-five!»
«Valeyev’s the same age. They were classmates together. People say they had a thing once.»
«That’s what I figured. Nostalgia. They want to relive ancient history.»
«I prefer younger girls myself,» Vanya blurted unexpectedly.
«Really?» Galya became curious. «Who’s the special girl?»
«Well… someone like you,» Vanya confessed and blushed.
Nesterova jerked up her nose and straightened her shoulders. Even though her chest had distanced itself from Vanya, it had perked up and now seemed more dramatic.
«Thanks for the plant, Vanyusha. If you need anything, drop by.»
«I uh… I think I misplaced those printouts about Semyonova.»
«I’ve got visiting hours at the moment. Stop by this evening,» Galya smiled flirtatiously.
«Uh-huh. I’ll come by,» Vanya nodded his head backing up to the door. A broad smile had spread across his face. He was now convinced that even a prickly plant could stoke the fires in a woman’s heart.
35
Elena Petelina entered Col. Kharchenko’s office. It was the same size as her own. The size of his desk, however, demanded more respect. She had noticed long ago that the more senior the position, the larger the desk. This law held true regardless of agency. It was as if all the bosses had conspired in secret to adopt this one regulation. The desks’ sizes and quantities grew as one moved up the civil service hierarchy.
«What did you call me in for, Colonel Kharchenko?»
«She has the temerity to ask! You were the one who, despite the difference in our ranks, issued an assignment for me to fulfill.»
«Oh come now, Colonel — »
«Have a seat, Petelina. I ran into my friend from the FSB this weekend. Found out a thing or two about your Koltsov.»
«He’s not mine at all. He is the father of the suspect Inna Maltseva.»
«Well, he was. Koltsov is dead. He passed a month and a half ago somewhere in England.»
«Really?» the news caught the detective off guard. «I don’t think his relatives are aware of this.»
«It’s not surprising. Koltsov was in hiding. After his death, a designated notary began to execute his will. That’s how we found out about his fate.»
«His will… What kind of money are we talking about?»
«We don’t know. But, according to an expert’s estimates, Koltsov managed to tuck away no less than fifteen million dollars in offshore accounts.»
«Strange.»
«Is it too little?»
«It’s strange that neither his daughter nor her husband mentioned anything about either Koltsov’s death or his will.»
«Perhaps the notary hasn’t notified them yet. He has no reason to hurry. The relatives are far away, while he’s right there with the dead man’s accounts.»
«That, or Koltsov didn’t leave any money to his daughter. Is there any way to find out?»
«I knew you’d ask.» Smiling, Kharchenko handed Petelina a piece of paper. «I found out the name of the London notary as well as his phone number.»
«Should we send an official request to Scotland Yard?» Elena asked.
The colonel of justice shook his head skeptically.
«Considering the level of cooperation between our law enforcement agencies, we’d have to wait a long time.»
«So what do we do then?»
«Well, you should consider how badly you need this information for your case.»
Petelina mulled over the unexpected news of Koltsov’s death. The ex-official had a significant effect on the wellbeing of his daughter, Inna Maltseva — prior to, as well as after, his flight to London. At first, he had supplied his son-in-law with lucrative projects; later, he effectively became the reason for his company’s downfall. After all, the officials who replaced Koltsov had their own contractors to feed.
The door handle to the office cracked under an irate jerk and the person Petelina would have expected the least burst in. Trailing drops of rainwater which he shook from his coat, Sergey, Elena’s ex-husband, appeared before her.
«Lena, this won’t do! What kind of an example are you setting for our daughter?»
«I’m guessing you’ve come here to tell me..?»
«That vulgar message.» Sergey made an unpleasant face and in a mocking voice quoted, «„Lena, I love you.“»
«You think that I wrote that?»
«Do me a favor and don’t play dumb. We both know who would do something like that.»
The direct reference to the man about whom she herself had been thinking all morning, embarrassed the woman. She looked down and reshuffled the documents on her desk.
«Who cares what people write to each other..?»
«I spoke with your mother. You know how sociable she is: She knows everyone in your apartment building. And the only Lena besides you is a six-year-old girl who’s just learning how to read. There’s also an eighty-year-old grandma, who’s half-blind. So what am I supposed to think? It’s not really much of a mystery, is it?»
«Why are you so worried about it anyway?» the detective switched to the attack. «We are divorced. I am a free woman.»
«We are going to Thailand! I already bought the tickets, business class, and made reservations in a five-star hotel.»
«Listen Petelin, maybe you can explain something to me: What are you spending all this money for? The last thaw in our relationship was when the Serious Fraud Office raided your company. Are you in trouble with law enforcement again?»
Sergey Petelin sat down and grumbled, «I’m always in trouble.»
«Alright, from here on out, in more detail, please. Are you under investigation? Do you want to influence the investigator?»
«There’s no investigation, yet. But there was an audit.»
«Which found… what?»
«If you don’t want to help me, don’t. I have enough connections as it is.» Sergey crossed his legs. For a second, Elena beheld his proud profile. Then, his chin dropped. Sergey rummaged in his back pants pocket and wiped the rain from his face with a handkerchief. «I’m trying for Nastya. It’ll be winter in Moscow soon. It’s summer down there in Thailand.»
«Petelin, do you even know that Nastya has been designated the skip of her team?»
«What’s she skipping?»
«She’s the captain of her curling team. Her competitions start this Saturday. You should stop by and cheer her on.»
«I’ll try to make it out.»
«It’s on a Saturday, Petelin, a Saturday!»
«It’s the kind of business I’ve got. The wheels on the trucks go round and round — every day.»
«I’ll send you a link to the rules so that you can know what’s going on.»
«And what about Thailand? I reserved separate rooms for us.»
«We’ll figure it out at the competition.»
«Lenok, that message… Was it him? Or is there some new guy?»
«That investigation is still underway.»
«Well it’s stupid — admit it! It’s stupid! You’re a grown woman and all of a sudden there’s this childish nonsense.»
«You know what? I’m getting sick of constantly being grown up and respectable…» Elena threw up her hands. «They call me the Noose around here. And I don’t just mean the cons… Sometimes I want to have fun too — fun, Petelin!»
«Well what do you think Thailand is all about?»
«I’m well aware of everything you’re capable of. But you’d never think to just write, „Let’s book it to Thailand, my love!“ under my window.»
«Lenok, what’s got into you? Are you being serious?»
«Nope, just kidding!» Elena cut him off. «Alright, let’s just forget it, can we? What’s in the folder?»
«The audit report and copies of the documents they took.»
«Leave it, I’ll take a look. No point in depriving my daughter of her rightful alimony. But, one good turn deserves another. Have you been keeping up with your English?»
«We ship international…»
«I’ve gotten rusty, wouldn’t hurt to brush up. Do me a favor and call this number.» Elena slid the phone across to her ex-husband. «It’s for a notary in London. I’ll tell you what to say.»
The English notary was quite circumspect, but they did manage to figure some things out. Mr. Koltsov had passed suddenly, from a heart attack, but had drawn up a will beforehand. His daughter was indeed mentioned therein. In order to ascertain her whereabouts, the notary had sent notice to Mr. Koltsov’s previous place of employment. The daughter had responded by email. Pursuantly, he sent her the contents of the will and was now awaiting her in London in order to discharge his lawful duty. He could not lawfully disclose anything further.
Sergey left. Elena remained perplexed. The pencil in her hand charted something resembling a labyrinth.
If Inna Maltseva knew about her father’s death, why had she concealed it from her husband? A letter had been sent addressed to her to the Moscow Region Administration. Who gave her the letter? Inna never went there; however, her husband did and regularly. He had a close relationship with Drozdova, a clerk there. Inna didn’t know her and yet claimed to have killed her, while stubbornly denying the murder of her husband’s brother.
The sketched labyrinth had no exit. Elena tore the paper to pieces and found Dr. Krasin’s business card. She dialed the number.
«Dr. Krasin, I’ll drop by tomorrow… No, no, I am not in need of your professional assistance. I’d like to have a chat with Inna Maltseva… Your objections mean nothing. The investigation requires it.»
36
The birds gave her no peace — in particular, her namesake — the Kingfisher!
Petelina was looking at the pretty bird with the light-blue plumage and trying to recall who called her what during her school years. Lenka, Gracheva, Grachikha! If she didn’t let the slackers copy her work, they’d come up with rhymes about her. At the beginning of tenth grade, after a summer during which she had grown quite a bit but her breasts had not, someone called her «flat» for the first time. In those days, as well as now, her future husband, Sergey Petelin, called her the slightly insulting «Lenok» (a variety of salmon), while Valeyev used to call her «Princess Grimface.» Only her brother thought of calling her «Kingfisher.» Only he would.
Elena shut the folder, covering the bird’s photograph she had received in the mail. The letter had come from Vladimir Region, where her father lived. The page with the kingfisher had been ripped out of a book that was kept in his house. Only her father and mother could have heard Tolik call her Kingfisher. But her mother never went to the village. It didn’t take a detective to understand that her dad had sent the letter.
But, why?
«You need that page? Take it. You can take the whole book too,» he had evaded deftly when he’d caught her before the open ornithological encyclopedia, the torn-out page in her hand.
Why had her dad tried to fool her? Why make up some tale about Tolik surviving? Her dad had sent the page pretending it was from her brother. He forgot that she was no longer a naïve girl but an experienced detective used to seeing through all sorts of devices cooked up by hardened criminals.
Only one thing confused her: Her father had seemed sincere as he told his story… though, no more so than Maltseva. Was it possible that her father too had deliriously adopted the idea that his son had survived and subsequently forced the memory of his terrible crime from his consciousness?
Elena looked at her watch. It was time to go to the psychiatric hospital. She had made arrangements with Krasin to talk to Inna Maltseva in the second half of the day.
Entering the psychiatrist’s office, Petelina stopped astonished. Krasin stood before her, looking lost with a bandage on his head. One of the lenses in his glasses was cracked.
«It’s good to see you, Detective Petelina.» The fragments of a desk lamp crunched under Dr. Krasin’s feet as he stepped forward and spread his hands helplessly. «I don’t know what to do.»
The detective’s eyes assessed the mess in the office.
«What happened here?»
«A bad thing. A very bad thing!»
«Dr. Krasin, I really hate the crunch of glass. Please sit down in your chair, calm down and tell me what happened,» Petelina commanded.
«Right away — in a second.» Krasin sat down behind his desk and produced a fancy bottle of cognac from someplace. He splashed some into a mug and gulped it down. «Anesthesia,» he explained, touching the bandage on his head. He refilled the glass and looked at the detective inquisitively. «Want some? Some medicine won’t do me any harm.»
«What is the meaning of this?»
«Inna. It was her.»
«This — Maltseva did this?» Elena asked surprised. «What happened? Where is Inna Maltseva?»
«Escaped.»
The word blindsided the detective. «Escaped? From a secure facility?»
«I brought Maltseva out of the secure section into my office in order to evaluate her. That’s standard practice. Anyway, I was expecting you to show up. Where else were you going to interrogate her? Inna was calm. And then, as I was filling out the logbook, she hit me on the head with the desk lamp.»
Petelina glanced at the fallen desk lamp.
«It has a heavy base,» Krasin explained. «I clicked off for some time. When I came to, my head was buzzing and Maltseva was gone.»
«She could not have gone far.»
«That’s what I figured. I was sure that she was somewhere here in the hospital! I assumed that she had hidden herself somewhere and was waiting out her breakdown. We started looking for her and asking the staff. Then I noticed that my lab coat had gone missing from my office. Inna had not acted spontaneously — she disguised herself — understand? She had planned her escape beforehand!»
«When did this happen?»
«About three hours ago,» sighed Krasin.
«And you didn’t notify me?»
«I was hoping I’d find her!»
«Did you notify security at the front gate?»
«Not right away.»
«Why?»
«Let me hit you on the head!» the psychiatrist grew angry.
«If we have to conduct an investigatory experiment, we’ll do just that — on a mannequin.»
«In general, everything turned out much worse than I imagined.» Krasin was crestfallen. «Maltseva was nowhere to be found in the facility. I came back to the office and discovered that my car keys were gone. So I dashed out to the parking lot and found that my car was gone too.»
«She managed to leave the premises?»
«Security has a list of license plates that are permitted to pass without a check. I am on that list.»
«One thing on top of another! Give me your car’s make, model and license plate number.»
«I have the documents here.» Krasin reached into his pocket. «Here you go.»
The detective wrote down the car’s information. The suspect’s escape — especially through the use of force — complicated matters significantly.
«Where could Maltseva be heading?»
«How would I know? It turns out I didn’t know her at all! It was only today that I established for certain that she is suffering from schizophrenia.»
«Well, use your imagination a bit. Where could the patient go? Home?»
«No. I called her husband. Right before you showed up. Inna hasn’t been home.»
«Alright, we’ll have to be systematic about this. I’ll put out an APB for your car and Inna Maltseva. And you, Dr. Krasin, had better start working on an affidavit — with details and references to time, please.»
Petelina made the call. She passed the information on to the State Traffic Inspectorate and the desk officer for Moscow. Then she phoned her operatives. She wasn’t about to sit around waiting meekly.
«Dr. Krasin, I noticed you have cameras in your hospital. Where is your head of security?»
Ten minutes later the detective found herself in front of a monitor in a tiny, smoky closet that doubled as the security office. The corpulent head of security whirled about his high-ranked guest like a fleshy top, offering explanations.
«This camera covers the exits to the building. There’s a nurse leaving in a lab coat. Is that your girl?»
Petelina wanted to point out that, after all, it was she who was visiting his jurisdiction, but the smell of meat and pastries emanating from the guard’s mouth did not dispose her to argument. Elena paused the recording and enlarged the image. There was no doubt. Inna Maltseva was on the screen. Leaving the hospital building, she looked around and turned left.
«What’s over there?» Elena asked.
«Staff parking.»
«Have you got a camera there?»
«No.»
«What about along the drive out of the facility?»
«I’ll bring it up.»
Elena moved aside, freeing some space for the security guard’s ample paunch. Soon enough, she was watching as the gates opened happily before Krasin’s car. Maltseva was sitting behind the wheel. The guards did not even look out of their booth.
«I’m taking these recordings,» Petelina decided and, unable to control herself, asked, «How often do your patients give you the run-around?»
«We’re running a hospital, not a prison,» the fat man frowned. «People come here for treatment. Alcoholics, drug addicts, the mentally ill. We have visitors come every day. Doctors too are always going in and out. We keep a good watch over the secure section. Go ahead and check. If one of the shrinks made a blunder — excuse me but — that’s on him.»
«I see. I apologize — that was out of order,» the detective agreed and left the closet as soon as she could to avoid having the smells of cigarettes, grease and onions mixed with ground beef permanently infused her clothes.
As soon as she reached fresh air, she got a call from the State Traffic Inspectorate.
«Excellent!» Petelina perked up having heard the message. «I need that photograph as soon as possible. My associate, Mikhail Ustinov, will get in touch with you in a moment. Please send it over to him.»
Elena dialed the expert’s number.
«Misha, we’ve got an emergency on our hands. Inna Maltseva has escaped from the psychiatric hospital. She’s using Krasin’s car. Yup, uh-huh, she took off! I’ll fill you in later. The main thing is that the car was recorded speeding down Kievsky Highway. Do what you have to, but I need that photograph ASAP.»
Not ten minutes later, Petelina’s phone chirped notifying her that she had received a multimedia message. The Tadpole had done his job.
«We’re here. What do you want us to do?» Operatives Valeyev and Mayorov appeared before Petelina.
Elena was examining the black and white snapshot from the automatic camera. It was pretty grainy. The camera had recorded the car’s license plate, its speed and the time of day. But all that could be made out of the driver was a silhouette with a voluminous bob of hair. Elena recognized Maltseva’s haircut. That had to be her!
Valeyev was trying to look at the phone’s screen over the detective’s shoulder. Elena zoomed in on the photo and rotated the screen. Both of them could now see that Maltseva was wearing large sunglasses and was dressed not in a doctor’s lab coat but in the very same gray coat that she had mentioned so often in her interrogations.
«And where do you think our escapee is headed to now?» asked Valeyev.
Elena’s eyes narrowed and filled with anxiety.
«I know exactly where.»
37
The operatives’ car flew along Kievsky Highway with Marat at the wheel. Elena sat beside him. In the backseat, Vanya Mayorov kept glancing back and forth between the agitated captain and the tense Petelina.
«Why Aprelevka? What’s Maltseva going to do there?» Marat asked, weaving in and out of traffic.
«It’s Drozdova! Maltseva is going to kill her.»
«Why?»
«I don’t know — but the gray coat, the sunglasses — they aren’t a coincidence,» the detective replied curtly. She was trying to get in touch with the local police.
«You and that coat.»
«There’s also the handgun. Her father left her a gun.»
«She doesn’t know how to use it.»
«That’s where you’re dead wrong.»
Someone finally answered Petelina’s call. She introduced herself tersely.
«Give me a rundown of any incidents involving serious bodily harm or murder over the last three hours in Aprelevka!» she ordered. «There haven’t been any? Are you sure? Yes, I have a good reason to be worried. A woman’s life is in peril. You need to send a unit to Dorozhnaya Street, number…» she covered the phone and turned to Valeyev. «What’s Drozdova’s house number?»
«So that’s what you’re thinking… You sure you’re not crying wolf here?»
«Is it 24 or 34, Valeyev?»
«Let the sleeping dogs lie, detective.» The captain laid on the horn and pushed the accelerator. «We’ll be there before them anyway.»
Petelina noticed the determination on his face and let the desk officer go. She couldn’t however sit quietly and wait. The circumstances had changed. Inna Maltseva’s bold escape had transformed her from a mere suspect into a criminal. If earlier Petelina entertained any sympathy for the poor woman who just wanted to have children but couldn’t, then now, everything had become much simpler. There is a murderer and there is a detective. One hides while the other seeks, and the only question is who will win?
Elena called Misha Ustinov.
«Misha, send me Drozdova’s phone number ASAP.»
She dialed the number as soon as she received it.
«Pick up! Pick up already!» Elena hurried along the intermittent tones.
Marat looked at the woman whom he knew from childhood. Only now did he understand that it was far more important for her to prevent a crime than to wrap up and effective investigation. Lena’s original reason for entering law enforcement had been her desire to save people, not lock them away.
«Oksana Drozdova?» Elena exclaimed receiving a reply. «This is Senior Detective Petelina. Where are you at the moment?»
Marat smiled. All the imagined fears turned out to be in vain. The bloody climax had not taken place. Inna Maltseva had not managed to reach her husband’s lover. Oksana Drozdova was alive and well, while the escaped and half-mad Maltseva would soon turn up in some precinct of the highway patrol.
«Oksana, you’ve reached your house — very good. Listen to me carefully: Lock yourself in your house and don’t let anyone in! Wait for us — don’t argue! Even if it’s just a mistake — »
Elena jerked the phone away from her ear as if stung, looked at it strangely, then began to yell into it:
«Oksana! Oksana! Answer me!»
«What’s going on?» Marat demanded.
Lena dropped her hand helplessly into her lap.
«I think I heard a gunshot.»
38
«Ah, she’s simply dropped the phone — you’ll see,» Valeyev assured. «This happened last time too.»
«It’s because she’s always wearing heels,» scoffed Mayorov. «Blondes!»
The operatives’ car crept down Dorozhnaya Street. House No. 24 stood in the street’s depths. To reach it, they needed to turn onto a quiet side street. About ten minutes had elapsed since they had lost contact with Drozdova. Elena was hoping that Marat was right and that she had misheard.
At the gates to house No. 24 they saw the red Volvo.
«Drozdova didn’t pull into her driveway,» remarked Petelina.
«Quite a little doodle we’re getting here,» muttered Valeyev.
He was driving slowly, scanning the surroundings with a professional eye. There was no one around — nothing seemed to be happening. Parting a puddle, the car’s wheel stopped behind the Volvo. Now they could see that the gates were slightly open.
«Last time, the car was inside,» Vanya pointed out.
Marat didn’t say anything. Something told him that this time around things were more serious.
«Sit here while we check it out,» he suggested to Petelina and stuck a finger into his shoulder holster.
The detective, however, refused to even hear of it. Three locks clicked simultaneously. Petelina and the operatives got out. As soon as they circled the Volvo, the time for guesswork ran out. A woman was lying in the crack between the gates. Her legs stuck out streetward, the right foot twisted unnaturally.
Marat instinctively shielded Elena and began to listen. Silence. He signed to his partner to watch the detective and peeked into the yard. Having scanned left to right with his barrel, the captain squatted down beside the woman.
Elena approached the body. No explanation seemed necessary: They were standing over a corpse. A small clotted hole at the back of the head could be seen between her blonde hair; a bloody mess diffused silently from beneath her face. That’s where the gaping wound would be. A broken phone lay just beyond the body’s outstretched reach.
«Shot point-blank,» Valeyev concluded. «She never had a chance.»
«The gun!» exclaimed Vanya, pointing at the ground.
Lying in the shoulder of the quiet street was a Makarov pistol. With mounting trepidation, Elena realized she was faced with the exact crime scene that crazy Inna Maltseva had detailed only last week.
«It’s all like she said — the address, the green gates, the red car. A woman gets out. She walks up from behind. She shoots the other woman in the back of the head. She drops the gun.»
«It’s been about fifteen minutes. If she hasn’t gotten too far, we can find her,» Valeyev assured her and yelled to his partner, «Vanya check the street while I check the yard.»
«There’s no point,» Petelina shook her head.
«We have to check.»
They returned a few minutes later.
«No one,» Valeyev confirmed what Elena had already figured.
«You forgot that Maltseva has a car. And I can guess where she’s headed next.»
«Where?»
«Maltseva is acting out a horrible script that has infested her mind. She is turning her deluded fantasy into reality. Remember what she said? After the gunshot in Aprelevka, she went home and threw the gray coat into the trash, along with the gloves and the glasses. We need to go to her house,» Petelina said with confidence. «Alright. Vanya, you stay here. Don’t touch anything and wait for our guys. I’ll call the Tadpole and the local operatives. Marat and I will head back to Moscow. We need to stop Maltseva before she grabs that cleaver — again.»
Elena didn’t say anything the entire way back. Valeyev kept glancing at her, recognizing in her pursed lips and concentrated look his former classmate-perfectionist. Whenever their class would be done taking exams, Elena would never relax like everybody else. Instead, she’d keep mulling the complicated problems over in her head, agonizing over whether she’d let anything slip by. It was this disposition of hers that had led Marat to first come up with the name «Princess Grimface.»
He never paid much attention to the humble straight-A student with the uninspiring curves, until, one day, Elena burst out laughing in response to a joke some classmate of theirs had made. In that instant, Marat was startled by the beauty of her sparkling eyes, the even rows of her teeth, the lovely dimples in her cheeks. It was like he was seeing her face — invested with an internal, intimate glow — for the first time. Lena noticed him looking at her. She did not look away. There were others around them, but in that instant, it was as if everyone else ceased to exist. The voices vanished, the figures blurred — only two people remained in the empty world.
Later, during their senior prom, Sergey Petelin took him aside. They went at it without a further word. Their clothes tore shedding buttons; their fists, connecting, cut their breathing; their spit filled with the taste of blood. When Marat finally knocked down Sergey and twisted his arm so hard that his shoulder blade began to crack, he understood that his opponent would never ask for mercy. He let him go. Petelin shook himself off, gave his nemesis a sideways glance and vanished — only to reappear years later as Elena’s husband.
But that night, as Marat’s bruised lips hunted for Lena’s evasive lips, Valeyev felt like the luckiest person in the world. It was only later that he would fail to understand her family issues and find himself abruptly alone. Then, to spite her, he would go off to Kazan to see Renata and, without even knowing how it happened, would suddenly find himself in a tuxedo before the altar with his pliant bride.
«What if I made a mistake?» Petelina’s unexpected question brought Marat back to reality. I’m the one who made a mistake back then, he wanted to yell, and I still can’t find a way to fix it!
«What if we’re going to the wrong place?» Elena developed her thought further.
Valeyev realized that she had been doubting herself and second-guessing her earlier decisions the entire way. He suppressed a smile. This was exactly the kind of woman he wanted: one who could be decisive and doubtful, who could be serious but knew how to laugh, who was strong but could show weakness, who could be both cold and singeing, who was courageous but who would shake from heights — a woman who was at once unapproachably beautiful and madly desired.
«Trust yourself,» he said. «I do…»
Cutting off oncoming traffic, the captain peeled into the driveway to the Maltsevs’ building. The operative’s keen eyes were the first to spot the car they were looking for. Dr. Krasin’s car stood parked next to the trash bins.
«Lena, you should change your profession and become a psychic,» said Marat.
Petelina was out of the car as soon as it stopped. Krasin’s tinted windows prevented her from seeing what was inside his car. Had the murderer been here long? What else had she managed to do?
Circling around, the detective peered into the car through the windshield. Inna Maltseva sat behind the wheel, nodding her head drowsily. She was wearing the doctor’s lab coat. The coat and the sunglasses were nowhere to be seen.
Valeyev took a hold of the handle but Elena stopped him.
«There’s no hurry.»
She looked in the trash bin. A twinge of success turned in her chest. Inside the bin, on top of some torn packages, lay a gray woman’s coat with a pair of gloves on it. In the corner, Elena noticed a pair of sunglasses.
«Look for witnesses. We need to file for a warrant,» she ordered the operative.
«Come on — it’s clear as day. Why not dispense with the formalities?»
«Here we go again! I’ve already explained to you several times that these „formalities,“ which you operatives hate so much, ensure that when the case goes to trial, it actually goes to trial.»
«What’s with her anyway?» Valeyev was fishing for Maltseva’s foggy gaze with the beam of his flashlight. «She’s taken too much of something.»
«Do your job, Marat. Go round up some witnesses.» Elena preferred to abstain from hypotheses until she had surveyed the scene.
«What if Maltseva attacks?»
«She doesn’t have the gun anymore. The flashlight will be protection enough.»
As the detective took the heavy flashlight from the captain’s hand, the beam struck the ground. Elena shifted the spotlight closer towards the car. Both agents saw the disposable syringe under the car door simultaneously. Petelina felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over her.
«Oh god! She wants to kill herself. Call the ambulance!»
Valeyev grabbed the phone. Elena turned to face the loud scream and the sound of steps coming from the building behind her.
«Inna!»
39
The next afternoon Elena Petelina convened a meeting. The detective sat before an open laptop, surrounded by the team of agents working on her investigation.
Yesterday evening and today, each person had done their share of the overall work and had now arrived with their results. Mikhail Ustinov held a bundle of printouts in his hand, Ivan Mayorov was twirling a notebook in his hand and Captain Valeyev, having had a smoke out in the stairwell, was wistfully brushing the ash from his shirt arm.
«Let’s start at the beginning. At 2:30 pm, Inna Maltseva escaped from the psychiatric hospital in Dr. Krasin’s car. She had disguised herself with his white lab coat. Two hours later, the stolen car was recorded by a surveillance camera on Kievsky Highway. Maltseva can be seen in the footage wearing sunglasses and a gray coat. If we factor in travel time, she had an hour to change her clothes.»
«And to arm herself with a gun,» Valeyev reminded.
«We still haven’t established where she had been keeping the clothes and weapon. At approximately five o’clock, Maltseva stopped near Drozdova’s house, intending to ambush her victim. We know that the murder happened precisely at 6:07 pm, as I was speaking with Oksana Drozdova over the phone and heard the gunshot. What did you manage to find out from the neighbors?» Petelina looked at Mayorov.
«Drozdova’s approach to the scene of the crime is visible from two other houses. But their owners live in Moscow and go to Aprelevka only during the summer for vacation.»
«No one saw Maltseva’s car or the murder itself?» the detective clarified.
«We weren’t able to find any witnesses,» the operative looked down.
«What about the body?»
«Here are the medical examiner’s findings.» Ustinov passed out a sheet of paper to everyone. «It’s pretty cut and dry. A single shot to the head, instant death. Traces of gunpowder were discovered in her hair, which means that the gunshot came from no more than five feet away. One of Drozdova’s coworkers identified her body. We also invited Dmitry Maltsev to the identification, but he refused to take part.»
«That’s understandable. He’s had a lot on his plate. Maltsev wants us to return his brother’s body. I gave permission to have it issued to him for burial. What about the weapon, Misha?»
«A Makarov pistol was found at the murder scene. The magazine is missing one round. We managed to find the casing as well as the bullet.» Mikhail passed around another printout. «A ballistics test has established that the fatal shot was fired from this very gun. No fingerprints were found on the weapon. The gun was issued in «93 and registered with the Ministry of Defense. It has never been involved in any previous criminal cases.»
«That’s her father’s gun. Koltsov was ex-military. When he fled abroad, he left the gun to Maltseva. At the time of the murder, she was wearing gloves and a coat, which we retrieved from a trash bin during her arrest. Did you have time to examine them?»
«Here you go.» Ustinov offered her another report. «The coat incriminates Maltseva conclusively. First of all, there is gunpowder residue on its arm, which is identical to the one we found on the victim’s head. Secondly, the coat has blood stains on it as well as brain tissue.»
«What’re you talking about?» Valeyev frowned. «The bullet would propel her brains in the other direction!»
«I didn’t finish talking and you didn’t finish reading. The blood and brain tissue are that of Anton Maltsev!»
Unlike the operative, Elena had taken the time to look through the findings and catch this vital point.
«We’ve found a real link then. Inna Maltseva committed the first murder in this same coat.»
«Absolutely correct. She was wearing it as she struck Anton Maltsev with the cleaver.»
«Good work, Misha,» the detective praised the forensic expert, «This evidence incriminates Mrs. Maltseva in two incidents simultaneously.»
«Geez. Take one look at her and she seems as quiet as a dormouse — and yet, a double homicide…»
«Well, that just about does it then, huh? Case closed. Who wants to have a smoke?» Valeyev announced, getting ready to go.
«I haven’t dismissed anyone!» Elena reigned in the operative. «What did the witnesses have to say?»
«I went around the neighboring buildings,» Valeyev said grudgingly. «Maltsev was the first to notice the car. He notified the police right away and ran out to meet us. As we established, Inna Maltseva got to the building six minutes before we did. You know the rest.»
Petelina looked over at the forensic expert.
«What was in the syringe?»
«A tranquilizer. We found an ampoule in the car. She injected it to forget herself. The dosage posed no threat to her health.»
«The EMT confirmed as much.»
«While the EMT established this by examining her pulse and pupils,» said Ustinov, «I took Maltseva’s blood sample to run some tests of my own. I also went through the car and collected some DNA samples. I haven’t had time to test them though.»
«More than likely, you won’t find anything new there,» said Petelina deep in thought.
«So what? You don’t want me to run them?»
«Misha, I don’t recognize you. Of course, you should run them!»
«I haven’t told you about the gloves yet.»
«What about them?» Petelina picked up the relevant printout. «I see here that you found gunpowder residue on them. That’s what we need.»
«That is correct; there was residue on them. However, its composition…»
«Is something off?»
«It’s not clear yet. I need to take another look.»
«Okay, so Ustinov has something to do. He’s dismissed. As for you, gentlemen, your orders are to conduct a search of Oksana Drozdova’s house. Here is the search warrant.»
«What are we looking for? I mean, she’s the victim after all,» Valeyev asked surprised, taking the document.
«I am interested in the connection between Drozdova and the Maltsev couple. Electronic devices, photographs, letters.»
«Do people still write letters?» smirked Mayorov.
«There are people who do so for their work. For example, notaries. Maltseva’s father passed away and a notary from London sent her a letter to his previous place of employment. Drozdova worked there too. We didn’t find the letter in Maltseva’s apartment. Moreover, Dmitry Maltsev claims that he knew nothing about his father-in-law’s death.»
«What does Inna Maltseva say about it?»
«I’ll interrogate her tomorrow. Did you see the condition she was in yesterday? Let her recover a bit from the tranquilizer.»
The operatives left the detective’s office. Walking along the hallway, Vanya Mayorov shook his head with displeasure.
«The Noose is complicating things. The murderer has been established. The motive as well. Why keep chasing us around?»
«So what’s the motive then?»
«Jealousy.»
Valeyev stopped abruptly and buttonholed his partner.
«What about you, Vanya? Would you kill someone out of envy?»
Vanya stared startled at the captain, recalling the seething anger that had overwhelmed him upon seeing Galya Nesterova in Valeyev’s apartment.
40
It felt strange to trudge over her own name in Valeyev’s amorous confession. It was as if something was seeping up from beneath, conquering her, wedging itself into her thoughts so that for a long time she would not be able to think of anything other than the author and her relationship with him. Today, Elena had spied two white spots on Valeyev’s shoes. If it had been an official investigation, she would have already identified the nighttime painter with this second clue. All that was left was to find a receipt for the paint can and the brush; then, she could file charges, seeking a compulsory scrubbing of the public pavement.
Entering her apartment, Elena saw a can of white paint with a broad brush in the entryway. She blinked and touched it with her toe — the can was full — her sight had not deceived her. What kind of trick was this?
«Mom!» Elena yelled without taking off her clothes. Once Mrs. Gracheva had shuffled over from the kitchen, Elena pointed her finger downward. «What is this?»
«You think I’m going to stand for this nonsense? That childish, „I love you?“ I’m too embarrassed to look the neighbors in their eyes. If you were still in school, it would’ve been okay! But you are a grown woman. You have a growing daughter. What is she going to think about her mother?»
Nastya came running into the entryway.
«Mom, is it true that someone wrote that for you?»
«You see?» Mrs. Gracheva put her hands on her hips. «Nastya already brought some friends over to show it off. Now the whole school’s going to be talking about it.»
Elena realized that it was pointless to argue. She hung up her coat and took off her shoes.
«When I was in school, I never got such confessions, much as I wanted them. At least now I can savor this one.»
«Mom, you’re the best! My girlfriends couldn’t believe it! If someone had written that for me, I’d post it to Facebook.»
«Don’t worry, someone still will. Along with some verses. You just keep your mind on school.» Elena hugged her daughter and turned to her mother. «So what did you get the paint for?»
«I’m going to paint over it. After midnight we’ll go and paint out the name at least.»
«I’ll take a picture!» Nastya yelped and ran toward the window.
«I’m not going anywhere. What am I — a little girl?»
«That’s exactly the point! You can’t put up with this!»
«I’m not putting up with it. I simply don’t care,» fibbed Elena.
The first thing she had done that morning was check the message and smile unwittingly. She had dressed for work with special care, and in the evening she even found the time to stop by the salon for a manicure. Her mother did not miss this last detail.
«Sure — it’s clear as day how little you care — preening your feathers and painting your nails pink.»
«I have a case that’s about to go to trial. I need to look presentable.»
«Better think about how you’re going to look in Thailand. You haven’t even gotten that swimsuit yet!»
Mrs. Gracheva shuffled after her daughter into the kitchen, sat down across from her and sighed heavily. Her daughter merely peeked in the pan and limited herself to salad. The mother’s heart relented.
«Fine, I’ll paint it myself. Otherwise you might ruin your nails. No point throwing money away. And don’t worry about doing the dishes tonight. I was going to stay here a bit longer anyway.»
The next morning, leaving her building, Elena saw a white, uneven line where the amorous admission had been. She adjusted her scarf, covering her throat. It seemed to her that the inclement autumn had made a giant leap toward freezing winter.
Captain Valeyev got to the Investigatory Committee early that morning. He could have sent Mayorov, but he wanted to use this chance to spend some time one-on-one with the woman of his dreams — the one he had lost in a moment of stupidity and was now timidly and fruitlessly trying to win back.
Marat entered Petelina’s office holding a box against his chest. He moved the chair with his foot, placed his unwieldy package on it and shook himself off.
«Captain Valeyev reporting!» he barked with fake pep. «Per your orders, Drozdova’s house was searched in the presence of witnesses.»
«Do you ever do searches without witnesses?» the detective put the operative in his place.
«Come on, Len.» The captain frowned and began to unload the box’s contents onto the table. «Anyway, here’s the report. Everything is as it should be. I wrote it up myself. Here is Drozdova’s laptop. We didn’t mess around with it. Just took the whole thing. Let the Tadpole figure it out. I grabbed some photos too, although I didn’t see any Maltsevs in them. I’m leaving them in the box. And here’s an interesting letter. It’s in English. I’ll bet my head that it’s from the notary you mentioned.»
Petelina picked up the opened envelope with the foreign stamp. Her office phone began to ring frenetically. The detective picked up the receiver.
«This is Captain Nechiporenko!» said a happy voice. «Am I speaking with Detective Petelina?»
«I’m listening, captain,» replied Detective Petelina, trying to remember who was named Nechiporenko.
«I’m calling from the prison. It’s about Anton Maltsev.»
«Oh, but of course. Did you find out anything?»
«You were asking about Mr. Maltsev’s plans after his release. He had said that he was going to chill out and take it easy.»
«They all say that.»
«Well yes, but here’s the thing. Mr. Maltsev bragged a couple times that he was getting paid for every day he spent in prison. That was why he sabotaged his own chance at getting paroled. According to him, the cash was too good — he claimed he’d make enough to spend some time in the tropics.»
«He was getting money for every day he spent inside? Interesting. And who was kind enough to give it to him?»
«My informer doesn’t know. Maltsev didn’t let that slip.»
«Well, what was he getting money for?»
«That happens sometimes when a lower-ranked gangster takes the heat for a boss. Though, Maltsev wasn’t a made guy. The guys normally do everything they can to get that parole, but he was happy to stay inside until kingdom come.»
«Is this information reliable?»
«I trust my guy. Hasn’t let me down yet.»
«Thank you, captain.» Elena put down the phone and ran into Valeyev’s envious, inquiring gaze. «And thank you, captain.»
«Happy to help, major,» grunted the operative.
Elena decided to explain herself.
«I submitted an inquiry about Anton Maltsev to his prison — back when I was still unclear about all the details. But now that the evidence against Inna Maltseva is incontrovertible, I don’t even know whether I need to include this new information in the case file.»
«Cellmate gossip? Don’t stress it, Lena. Those guys will say stuff you wouldn’t believe.»
«You’re right. I shouldn’t stress it. Maybe I’ll go to a spa. I haven’t been to one in forever.»
«Listen,» Marat took a step closer, «there’s a nice spa in the suburbs. We could go down there over the weekend. They’ve got an aromatic sauna there.»
«Are you inviting me out?»
«Well, yeah.»
«Do you often take your girls there?»
«Lena, we’ll get separate rooms. We can treat it like a mini-reunion between classmates.»
«You’re not the first to think of that. Someone’s already offered me a reunion. In Thailand.»
Valeyev hung his head and flared his eyes from under his brow.
«Is it him? And what do you need that for? If you decided to cut him off, then cut him off! Nothing good will come of it the second time around either.»
«You’re so smart,» Elena grew upset. «How would you know what’s good and what’s bad for me? How about my daughter? She’s something good „that came of it.“ Or is she not enough?»
Petelina scooted her chair back and walked over to the window. Behind her, Marat went on trying to convince her, «I also lived with a person I didn’t love. I know what it’s like. Being with him made you suffer.»
«Why would I suffer? I have a good life, an interesting job, a daughter I love and an intelligent mother. The only problem is that certain people don’t get this and insist on writing nonsense on the pavement under my window.»
«Lena, I didn’t want to — »
«Forget it, Marat. You never know what you want!» Elena returned to her desk. She was looking down. She opened a drawer and put the letter inside, but instantly retrieved it and slapped it with the palm of her hand. «We are professionals working for one cause. Our personal lives are just that: our personal lives. They exist beyond the confines of this office and there’s no need to discuss it.»
«I thought — »
«Enough! Are you done? Wonderful. When I need you again, I’ll give you a call.»
She fixed Valeyev with a cold stare. It wasn’t easy for her.
«Lena, forgive me… I had had a few drinks back then and showed up at your place… I don’t know what I was thinking and I did a stupid — »
Petelina flinched from the phone’s ringing but grabbed the handset with some relief. Mrs. Maltseva, the arrestee, had arrived for her interrogation. Dr. Krasin had arrived too, as per her request. Elena issued some orders and hung up the phone. She kept mulling over the insulting «I don’t know what I was thinking» in her head. So he had been simply drunk, as she had feared. The words on the pavement did not mean anything! Well fine, Elena took ahold of herself. And yet, for some reason, an ache was gnawing in her chest.
«I need to get back to work, Valeyev,» the detective confessed, looking at her desk. «We can forget that night when you didn’t know what you were thinking. Someone’s already painted over it anyway. The janitor, probably.»
The wheels of the office chair squeaked sadly. If Elena had listened carefully to the receding footsteps, she might have imagined that the man leaving her office was terminally ill. She looked up and saw a crushed figure in her doorway. An unbearable sadness contorted both detective and operative.
«Wait!» Elena called. She did not know what would happen next but she was convinced that they could not part like this.
Marat turned around. In his eyes she read the helpless expectation of a defendant who was convinced that a terrible sentence was coming but who nevertheless retained the hope of a miracle.
«The psychiatrist, Dr. Krasin, has arrived. Stay with him in the neighboring office while I talk to Maltseva.»
41
Petelina studied the woman sitting before her. A haggard face with dull eyes and stringy hair. Listless hands that lay helpless in her lap and a faint medicinal odor about her. Inna Maltseva seemed more like a victim torn from her hospital bed than the main suspect in a double homicide, here to be interrogated by the senior detective. But the way a criminal looks does not always conform to the stereotypes one sees on the screen.
Petelina opened the case file, which had grown substantially over the last two days.
«Mrs. Maltseva, two days ago in your presence we discovered a gray coat in the trash bin.»
«I don’t remember,» muttered Inna.
«That’s okay. There were attesting witnesses present; we have their signatures. Besides which, Ms. Broshina, your neighbor, identified the coat as having belonged to you. Here’s a photograph of the coat in question.»
Inna looked at the picture.
«We bought it recently. My husband and I.»
«You recognize it — good. Forensics has uncovered Anton Maltsev’s blood and organic tissue on it. Along with the other evidence in this case, this conclusively establishes your guilt in his murder.»
«It wasn’t me. I didn’t kill him.»
«And here we go again! Mrs. Maltseva, there’s no point denying it. The investigation has uncovered conclusive proof.»
«I didn’t kill him.»
«You should be explaining your motive and trying to come up with mitigating circumstances, instead of sitting here and being stubborn. It’s foolish of you. But okay, you’re within your right to do so.» The detective picked up another sheet of paper. «Let’s take a look at the second incident. There is gunpowder residue on the right arm of the coat. It matches the residue in the casing that was found at the site of Oksana Drozdova’s murder. Would you like to tell me about what happened in that incident?»
«Drozdova… Is that the woman in the red car?»
«Yes. She lived in Aprelevka.»
«Well, I already told you,» the suspect began in a tone that suggested she was tired of discussing the subject, «I walked up to her, shot her in the head, dropped the gun and left.»
«Mrs. Maltseva, I remember our recent conversation. But Drozdova was murdered two nights ago!»
«Two nights ago?» Maltseva paused trying to process the news. «You said two nights ago?»
«You were in the hospital with Dr. Krasin. Remember?»
«Yes.»
«You hit him on the head, took his car keys and left.»
«I never hit him.»
«You were seen driving the car.»
«I got in the car and then…»
«You drove to Aprelevka.»
«I don’t remember anything.»
«Alright, enough of the soap opera! I have photos of you sitting behind the wheel. You went to Drozdova’s house, waited for her to arrive, approached her from behind as she was opening the gates and shot her in the head!»
«Yes, I already told you.»
«So, you admit you did this?»
«But it happened a while ago.»
«Look, I followed you myself. I got to the crime scene literally a few minutes too late and then caught up with you in Moscow, in the driveway to your building. You were parked next to the trash bins that you had tossed your coat and gloves into!»
«That is what happened. I told you as much a week ago.»
«What do you mean a week ago?! Drozodova was murdered two days ago!»
«I don’t remember anything,» Maltseva babbled pleadingly.
«That was your plan all along. Returning to your building, you injected yourself with the tranquilizer to make yourself appear mentally incompetent. To make it look as if you had been sitting there for several hours. But your car had been recorded by a camera on Kievsky Highway, and in your driveway you were instantly spotted by your husband. I touched the hood of your car. It was still warm! Mrs. Maltseva, you murdered Oksana Drozdova following a premeditated plan. Now you’re starting to walk in circles. The murder of your husband’s lover has ingrained itself so deeply into your mind that you first imagined it and then, confusing fantasy and reality, finally killed her in real life!»
«What lover?»
«Oksana Drozdova was seeing your husband.»
«I don’t care one bit who is seeing my husband!» yelped Maltseva. «I’m going to leave him!»
«So leave him. Why murder someone over it?»
«Why do you keep saying „Drozdova?“ Is that her maiden name?»
«You can put it that way.»
«Well, what does her husband say?»
«Drozdova didn’t have a husband.»
«Her ex-husband. She’s divorced.»
Petelina looked through the case file before her and shook her head.
«Oksana Drozdova was never legally married.»
«You’re lying to me. She is the wife of Krasin!»
«What nonsense,» Elena frowned.
«She is divorced! Now I’m going to live with him!»
«With Dr. Krasin?»
«Yes!»
The detective could no longer contain herself.
«You’re talking utter nonsense, Maltseva!»
Elena instantly regretted losing her cool. The woman before her was ill. Sure, she had committed two brutal murders, but she had done so unwittingly. What was Krasin’s diagnosis? Schizophrenia manifesting in paranoid delusion? What she needed was to be sent to back to the psych ward for the rest of her evaluation, only this time under tighter security.
«She is Krasin’s ex-wife,» Maltseva continued to insist. «Ask him yourself.»
«I will absolutely ask him — this very instant in fact,» agreed Petelina. Aside from an official marriage, there could have been a common law marriage. If the suspect made a claim, the detective was required to verify it. «I will step out for a moment. You should try to calm down. Drink some water. We will continue in a little bit.»
Petelina called Valeyev and, leaving him with Maltseva, stepped into the neighboring office.
Krasin rose to meet her.
«How is Inna?» the psychiatrist asked anxiously.
«You’re worried about her, Dr. Krasin? You’d written her off just recently.»
«I was under a lot of stress. A doctor cannot abandon a patient. Even a troublesome one.»
«By the way, I called you in to figure something out: Why did you fail to write in your affidavit that Maltseva hit you on the head?»
«It didn’t seem like an important matter. Just a little bruise. All I had to do was shave my hair a bit and you can’t even see it. Why heap cause her more trouble? Her escape was my mistake, after all.»
«Okay, okay, let’s not put on the sackcloth and ashes just yet. Rather tell me, did you have a relationship with Oksana Drozdova?»
«None at all. I found out about her from Inna’s statements.»
«She claimed today that you are Drozdova’s husband.»
«Utter tosh! What do you mean husband? I’ve never even been married!»
«And you had no common law relationship with her either?»
«Of course not.»
«What about with Mrs. Maltseva?» Petelina asked suddenly. «She claims that she was ready to leave her husband for you.»
«Detective Petelina, please try and understand that I am a psychiatrist. My job is to work with my patients. We often talk about intimate matters. I need to come across as kind and understanding. Women — especially those who have been hurt in love — often develop an involuntary attachment to me. At times, this attachment grows into something greater — »
«Do you make use of this fact? Maybe you do need a wife.»
«What are you talking about? How dare you imply — »
«Alright, alright. This has nothing to do with the matter at hand. Wait here, please.»
Petelina returned to her office and glanced at the items on her desk, assessing their heft. She asked Valeyev to stay. Having to shave her hair to cover up an unexpected bruise did not appeal to her in the least.
«Mrs. Maltseva, your fantasies just don’t do it for me. Ms. Drozdova and Dr. Krasin have never been husband and wife. There is no relationship between them.»
«That’s not true! They have a daughter!»
«Inna, this really is impossible.»
«Remember the photograph? That’s their girl.»
Elena opened the case to the inventory of Inna Maltseva’s purse and found the photograph of the lovely little girl.
«This one?» she asked perplexed. «You believe that this is Dr. Krasin’s daughter?»
«Her name is Ksyusha. She lived with Drozdova. But later, when… when… Are they going to put me away for a long time?»
Oksana Drozdova had no children, thought Petelina, but Krasin on the other hand… Such matters were never so simple when it came to men. She needed to check this out. Elena returned to the psychiatrist.
«Dr. Krasin, do you have any children?» she asked directly.
«Unfortunately no.»
«Are you certain? Sometimes men discover such things later than they should.»
«You’re being unfair. I am a doctor after all.»
«Well, Mrs. Maltseva insists that this is your daughter.» Petelina showed him the photograph.
«Please make sure to include her statement in your report. This is very important.»
«Oh really?»
«I believe that Inna no longer requires a psychiatric examination. Delusional statements like this are sufficient grounds for the evaluation committee to find her mentally incompetent.»
«So I take it you don’t know who this girl is?»
«I already told you! Back when we first met! Please understand that we are dealing with a person who is seriously ill. Inna needs to be helped, not tried in court.»
«First I have to get to the bottom of all this.»
«Okay but I have people to treat! And you’re keeping me from my work!»
«Okay. I will draft the report. Once you sign it, you will be free to go.»
Petelina returned to her office and sat down across from Maltseva.
«Tell me, Inna, where did you get this photograph?»
«Dr. Krasin gave it to me himself. That is his daughter. Her name is Ksyusha,» Maltseva asserted with complete conviction.
Petelina spun the photo around and covered it with her folder. It made no sense to argue with someone who was mentally ill.
All that was left was to resolve one last question. Did Inna Maltseva know about the death of her father or not? It was already evident that Drozdova had received the notary’s letter. What had she done with it? Whom did she tell about it? Whose email address had the notary sent the text of the will to?
«Inna, tell me please, was your father wealthy?»
«Ask my husband. He’s the one who dealt with him.»
«Why didn’t you attend your father’s funeral?»
«Funeral?» the woman started. «He died?»
Is she pretending or not? Her eyes are wide open in shock. It’s hard to affect such an emotion realistically. And in general, if it weren’t for the obvious nonsense that she keeps trying to feed me, I would have long since assumed that I’m faced with a very naïve woman.
«Your father, Viktor Vasilevich Koltsov, passed away a month and a half ago. He left a will. Do you know about it?»
«No. I didn’t know anything. Dad never calls me.»
«What is your email address?»
«Why? What do you need that for?»
«Let’s take a look at it together? It’s possible that someone has sent you very important information about your father.»
«Oh, but of course — I’ll write it down.»
Maltseva wrote the username and password to her email on a piece of paper. Petelina signed in and turned the laptop so Inna could see it. The detective and the suspect looked through the inbox together. There was nothing from the notary.
Petelina decided to tell Ustinov to check for any deleted messages.
«How did dad die?» Maltseva grew distraught.
«Suddenly. His heart gave out.»
«And who buried him? I should probably go over there.»
The detective wrote up the interrogation report and called for an escort.
«What about the girl? What’s going to happen with Ksyusha? Give me back her photograph!» Inna screamed as she was being taken away.
The door shut behind her.
«She worries about her like it’s her actual daughter,» Marat observed.
«She believes what she says. That’s her tragedy and my problem.»
Elena moved the folders. The photograph remained lying on the desk. The little girl was obviously ecstatic with her new pink dress and was showing it off in the photograph. Elena looked closer at the girl’s dress. Her Nastya had had a similar one. Her husband had brought it for her from abroad — Germany perhaps. Children’s fashion changes too. Nowadays you wouldn’t see such ruffles anymore.
«Who are you?» Petelina said aloud.
«Let me take a look,» asked Valeyev. «Cute little girl.»
«Why would a childless woman, who dreams about having a kid, keep this photograph in her purse?»
Detective Petelina always tormented herself with questions that her boss considered unimportant.
«Forget about it and clear it from your mind,» Col. Kharchenko always advised her. «There are matters that are primary and then there are matters that are secondary. Primary matters allow a judge to pass a verdict. Secondary matters are what lawyers latch onto to beat the case.»
Elena, however, could not bear leaving even the little things — such as this strange photograph — unexplained in a case. She would think about them, look for them, meet with people about them, always weighing the disparate details. And all of it to make sure that even the secondary puzzles in the larger picture of the crime would get their solutions.
It was a good thing that barely any riddles remained in the Maltseva case, thought Elena, relaxing as she approached the table with the teapot.
She did not suspect in the slightest that the unanswered little questions were about to start piling on her from every direction.
And she utterly failed to notice the photograph of the little girl pass surreptitiously from her desk into Valeyev’s pocket.
42
Not long after Valeyev left, the detective received a call from Lopakhin, the medical examiner. The elderly, intelligent coroner was in no rush to retire, claiming that «dying on the job» was the best motto someone in his profession could live by. It would save everyone a lot of trouble.
«Detective Petelina, as you requested, I have issued the body of Anton Maltsev to his brother.»
«A sad procedure.»
«I would not have bothered you if it weren’t for one circumstance. To be honest, at first I didn’t pay it any mind. In our age of glossy covers, it’s no wonder that certain men, like women, are preoccupied with their appearance. Sometimes their considerations aren’t entirely superficial either, such as for example with boxers. But when I saw the brother of the deceased, it suddenly occurred to me that you would find this interesting.»
«What are you referring to?» Petelina was trying to catch some hint of sense in the man’s coiling phrases.
«During my examination, I discovered a scar inside Anton Maltsev’s nose. Such scars are a common sign of plastic surgery — rhinoplasty, to be precise.»
«And? You may be right: It’s possible that he suffered a broken nose that required plastic surgery.»
«You know, I would not have troubled you about it, but then I saw that his brother had exactly the same nose. Upon looking closer, I saw that Dmitry Maltsev also had undergone a rhinoplasty.»
«Okay, let’s say he did. Then, what did you deduce?»
«Deductions are your area of expertise, Detective Petelina. I will simply note that when people spend money on rhinoplasties, they tend to get pretty noses that are straight and even. But in the case of the Maltsevs, what do we observe? Wide, upturned noses.»
«That really doesn’t make a lot of sense,» Elena agreed. «Though, when it comes to men, the nose is not always the most important part.»
«Yes, but it is the most conspicuous. One cannot conceal it with a mustache or glasses.»
«Only with a scalpel,» smirked Petelina.
«It is my duty to report this. You can decide what you do with the information yourself. Until we meet again, Detective Petelina. And remember — better I answer your summons for an interrogation, than you come visit me on my table,» the medical examiner bid his farewell with his characteristic crude joke.
Before Petelina could consider this strange new piece of information, Mikhail Ustinov dropped in.
«Detective Petelina, I’m here about Inna Maltseva’s gloves. Remember that I had some doubts?»
«And? What’s wrong with them?»
«They have some other gunpowder residue on them.»
«What do you mean «other’?»
«Let me explain. The gunpowder residue from the right arm of the coat has a certain chemical composition, but the residue discovered on the right glove has a different one.»
«How is this possible?»
«I think that the different residues were left by different rounds.»
«But Maltseva only ever fired one round to begin with! You’re not overthinking things, are you Misha?»
«I spent several hours on the analyses,» the Tadpole knit his brows.
«So what are we supposed to conclude? That Maltseva shot Drozdova with different gloves?» the detective tried to reason through the dilemma.
«She could have thrown them out while she was on her way back.»
«Okay, let’s say he did. But what about the gunpowder on the gloves that we have?»
«I’ve already thought about that. I’ve sent some inquiries to the gunpowder factories.»
«You, Misha, are an optimist. I, on the other hand, am wrestling with despondence over here. It’s either one riddle or another!»
«I get my optimism from the chocolate.» Ustinov produced a bar of chocolate from the pocket of his lab coat and began to fiddle with the foil. «Chocolate activates the happiness hormone. Try it.»
«Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?» Elena broke off a small square. «I’d eat pounds of the stuff if I knew it’d make me happy.»
«That’s exactly what I do,» the forensic expert answered straight-faced. «Have some more, Detective Petelina, please. I have another piece of news to tell you.»
«You’re scaring me. Hang on, let me load up on the optimism.» Petelina placed another two pieces of chocolate in her mouth and chased them with some hot tea. «Usually your work strengthens the body of evidence, but today you’re sowing doubts. Tell me, what else did you uncover?»
«Was Inna Maltseva sitting behind the wheel of the stolen car?»
«That’s a strange question. There is video footage of her leaving the hospital in it. You sent me the photo from the traffic camera yourself. And once she was back in her building’s driveway, there were witnesses who claimed they saw her behind the wheel.»
«Then my question is a simple one. Why did I find Inna Maltseva’s hair in the back seat? Not on the headrest or anything but on the cushion itself?»
«I guess a current of air could’ve wafted some of her hairs back there.»
«Her hair is concentrated in one spot. It seems as though she was lying there.»
«Lying…» Elena placed another piece of chocolate on her tongue. «There is an explanation for that. A simple but improper one. The car belongs to Dr. Krasin, the psychiatrist. At her interrogation, Maltseva let slip that she wanted to leave her husband for him.»
«They are having an affair?»
«Patients frequently fall in love with their doctors. Especially psychiatrists.»
«And Dr. Krasin acted on this? In his car?» the expert said doubtfully.
«Different generations have different conceptions about love. You, for instance, take girls for rides on your motorcycle. What’s the chance that Masha the reporter will soon disclose something else about our investigation to the world?»
«She wrote an article about forensic methods. Did you see it?»
«I haven’t seen it but I get the idea. Years ago every criminal knew to wear gloves on a job. These days they wouldn’t even dare sneeze. How are we supposed to catch them?»
«Detective Petelina, that article is a subtle attempt to lobby for an increase in the laboratory budget. With good equipment we will always stay one step ahead of the criminals.»
«And what if instead of Masha, the reporter’s name had been Greg? Would you be lobbying too? I know your male tricks. Ever heard the term „a peacock’s feather?“»
«What? Why?»
«When a peacock wishes to attract a peahen, he fans and folds his inimitable train. As he does so, his feathers make a special rattling sound. Men, since they do not possess such a wondrous ability, use other means. Some use money, some show off the squares along their abdomen, some apply their skilled hands to good use and some others — you among them — use their intellect. And each one rattles and rattles and — » Petelina noticed the crestfallen look on Ustinov’s face. «What’s wrong, Misha? Come on, I was complimenting you. I couldn’t have solved half the crimes I did without that giant noggin of yours.»
Her flattery had its effect. The expert was still pursing his lips but that was only due to emotional inertia — his chin had lifted and his eyes were carefully trying to contain the pride swelling within him.
«Whose laptop have you brought me?» the detective indicated the computer that the expert had placed on the edge of her desk upon entering her office.
«Drozdova’s. Not much to say about it. I checked all the files. There weren’t any passwords. Got into her email easy-peasy. You can do the rest yourself. You know better than me what you need to find. By the way, Drozdova had two email addresses. One of them is pretty old. The username is the same as her name. The other was opened very recently; its username is „Inna1972.“»
Petelina felt like someone had jabbed her in the chest.
«Why didn’t you say anything earlier? Inna Maltseva was born in 1972!»
«I thought…»
Elena knew what he thought. The forensic expert always placed the most value on the information that had been the hardest to come by. He would always start off his reports with the findings from his most complicated procedures, leaving the basic stuff for last.
Petelina turned on Drozdova’s laptop. Her deliberate search quickly yielded what she was looking for. The detective found the text of the will that the London notary had sent to the false Maltseva. The English legalese was difficult for her to untangle, but a translation site took care of that in no time.
Having grasped the gist of the letter and compared the date it had arrived to subsequent events, Petelina realized that her investigation had to be started all over again.
43
Tatyana Semyonova, the car attendant, had decided a long time ago that happiness was not her lot in life. Perhaps there were some out there who were happy but she was not one of them. True, there were some things she could be grateful for. For example, she had finally succeeded in having her violent, schizophrenic husband committed — this time for a while. Now at least she wouldn’t have to worry about him messing with her daughter Sonya while she was away at work. Also, her old bruises had healed and there wouldn’t be any new ones coming, god willing. But happiness? What happiness? The last shiner he’d given her had done enough: She had lost her shift on the express train to St. Petersburg and found herself working a bedraggled passenger car running a long-distance route in the direction of Kazan.
More work, less pay. The passengers make the mess — you mop it up. Today she’d lucked out though: No one had vomited. So at least there was another thing to be grateful for. A small slice of happiness.
Semyonova would remember her final run on the Moscow–St. Petersburg express for a long time yet. Her bastard husband had done such a number on her face that no amount of concealer could help her. She hadn’t been able to look anyone in the eyes — with the exception of one passenger. He knew about her misfortune. She had done him a favor that day and now it was his turn. Of course, it hadn’t cost her anything to help him. Seating someone under someone else’s ticket wasn’t such a big deal. Later, though, she’d had to lie to some private dick pretending to be an operative.
Well what kind of a fool wastes good money on a P.I. to catch a cheating husband anyway? He’d already cheated on her, after all, hadn’t he? Semyonova had played along and pretended to recognize the man in the photograph. Sure, she said, there was one like that. Had a few and conked out for the rest of the trip.
She wished her bastard husband could be so calm. Let him chase skirts all he wants — wasn’t no skin off her back. Bedtime pleasures she could care less about. Go have fun if you feel like it — just keep your hands to yourself and don’t bring your filthy disease home with you.
Semyonova picked up a discarded newspaper from the floor. She almost placed it in the trash bag when her hand jerked back. There was something familiar about the eyes at the fold.
The car attendant smoothed out the paper. The face appeared before her in full. She remembered him perfectly. An intelligent mug but not a kind one — a touch of the devil in it — something no disguise could cover up.
What’s the article about? «An error occurred.» What a title! Well, that’s no good. Errors can sometimes cause all kinds of unpleasantries.
The car attendant found an empty compartment to read the article in. Murder. How often had she dreamed of caving in her hubby’s head? Just like this one here — a cleaver to the skull. She always knew she’d never get away with it though: They’d figure out a way to give her some time, however little. And then, while she was locked away, little Sonya could stray from the straight path — she was nearing that age after all.
Semyonova felt sorry for the woman in the article. Poor thing had offed the wrong man.
Seemed like a simple enough story — but for the date. Tatyana Semyonova wasn’t stupid. She remembered the date that her life had changed very well. The yarn about the unfaithful spouse that that cunning little four-eyes had spun her? Nothing at all like the account of the brutal murder printed in the newspaper. He hadn’t fooled her, had he? Had she been used like some cheap idiot? Now wasn’t it just always like this? The wealthy using the poor to their advantage. And, boy, could she use some money these days. At work, they’d demoted her, while at home, her daughter needed new clothes. Four-eyes had pulled one over on her — no doubt about it. She’d sold her services much too cheaply.
She would have to try and rack her brain a bit. Maybe there was some way she could squeeze some extra coin out of him.
44
No one knew the passport desk’s schedule as well as Senior Lieutenant Ivan Mayorov. He would stop by daily, after all. Fortunately there were reasons to do so. Valeyev had ordered him to find out the addresses of the mothers of the three young gangsters who had been involved in a «90s sauna arson. So Vanya happily began to submit any question he had to Galya Nesterova, returning later on in the day to clarify some details. Each time, the young woman welcomed him graciously.
Vanya recalled the Russian proverb, «Love comes with habit.» He was no movie star for girls to fall in love with him at first glance. He was better! All that was needed was some time for them to get a sufficient look.
Petelina was a good example. Vanya had collected DNA samples from relatives of the three missing criminals. Along the way, he had established that one of them, Stas Khryunov, had suffered from a fractured clavicle not long before his disappearance. For his discovery, he had been praised by the strict Noose herself.
The downside, though, was that he’d finished his assignment too quickly and now wanted to go see his little Galya again. He racked his brain and came up with a good excuse, one that had worked earlier.
When Vanya Mayorov returned from visiting the passport desk, he was in an excellent mood. In his pocket lay an utterly useless printout with information about Tatyana Semyonova, but in his heart lingered Galya Nesterova’s flirtatious words: What’re you interested in the old ladies for? Don’t you look at the young ones? Oh but Vanya had looked. She had no idea how he had looked! And besides that, he had also heard, smelled and even touched — if only just her little fingers as they had handed him the paper. But today something even more wonderful had happened: Galya had agreed to go out to a movie with him — and once there, in the theater’s darkness…
Mayorov spied the photo of the pretty little girl showing off her new pink dress on Valeyev’s desk and smirked, «You chasing the young ones, Captain?»
«Don’t bug me. I’m busy!» Marat waved away his partner without looking up from his screen.
Vanya glanced over the captain’s shoulder. Images of girls and young women filled his screen. Valeyev hit a key and the photographs cascaded into a different set.
«We pass out pretty hefty sentences for underage girls, Cap.»
«We also pass out awards for solving cases.»
«Wouldn’t hold my breath for any official recognition around here.»
«Why don’t you help instead of complaining? Work your brain a bit.»
«Well what’s the deal here then?»
«See this girl?» Valeyev pushed the photo forward.
«Yeah?»
«What would you say about her?»
«She’s around three. She’s cute.»
«She’s too cute! Her dress is too nice and the bow matches the dress. The photo was taken during a holiday. It’s the kind of photos parents gush over — and what do you think they do with them?»
«Post them on the Internet?» Mayorov looked at the screen dubiously.
«Bingo. Straight into a photo album so that they can show them off to all their online friends.»
«Okay. But who is she?»
«That’s what I’m trying to figure out.»
«How?»
«First I got access to the photo albums. Now I’m trying different searches. First I entered «girl.» But then «cool girls’ as well as «super girls’ started seeping in. So I had to be more specific: «3-year-old girl,» «girl in fancy dress’ and so on.»
«There’s one that hasn’t a dress at all,» grinned the senior lieutenant.
«You can look at those after work. I’d rather you help me now. I’m getting cross-eyed.» Valeyev rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. «Come on and help. It’s for the Maltseva case.»
Valeyev let his partner take his seat, cracked his neck and lit a cigarette. By the time he was putting out the butt in the ashtray, Mayorov exclaimed surprised:
«Whoa!» Vanya poked the screen with his finger.
Valeyev moved his partner aside and zoomed in on the photo. In five minutes, his young colleague had found what he had spent an hour looking for.
«Have you considered playing the lottery?»
«Money doesn’t buy happiness,» Vanya smiled whimsically. He expected to win the best prize of all any day now — the madly desirable and fascinating Galya Nesterova.
Accidentally, Mayorov mumbled her name, but Valeyev wasn’t listening to him already. The captain pulled up the site and began finding other photos of the same girl. He also found out her name and age. There was no limit to the operative’s surprise. Now Marat was thinking about where he could find a color printer so that he could present the shocking news to Petelina in vivid color.
Valeyev scratched his head, «I think the personnel department has a color printer.»
«What do you need that for?» Mayorov became curious.
«I need to print these photos for Petelina.»
«Throw them on a USB. I’ll go do it,» Valeyev volunteered.
He knew very well which office, or rather desk, had the necessary device, and he wasn’t about to let an excuse to see Galya just pass him by. Plus, he could also use the occasion to slyly remind her what woman Valeyev was really thinking about. Let sweet Galya come to her own conclusions. She was a pragmatic girl and would surely figure things out quickly.
45
Mikhail Ustinov glanced at his computer screen. The DNA comparison had returned an almost complete match. There could be no further doubt about the identity of the man killed and buried under the Bugaevs’ garage. He could report his results to the detective. And yet, this age-old case could wait too.
A new idea had been bothering the thoughtful expert. It concerned an important aspect of the Maltseva case. The Tadpole cracked open an ampoule of tranquilizer and injected its contents, along with a control blood sample, into a test tube. After waiting fifteen minutes, he started the blood analysis. The data cascading down his screen confounded him. Mikhail compared the ampoule with the one found in Inna Maltseva’s car. There was no mistaking it: It was one and the same preparation. Once again, he compared the control result with an analysis of Inna Maltseva’s blood at the time of her arrest. The results just didn’t match.
Mikhail sank deep in thought. His fingers broke off the chocolate of their own volition, sending the pieces to his mouth. Some moments later, his pensive movements gave way to a confused fumbling for the phone number of the EMT who had pumped Maltseva’s stomach in the ambulance. Finding the number at last, Ustinov made the call. The brief conversation reinforced his suspicions. Mikhail began to wait.
He tested the blood three more times at one hour intervals, growing more impatient each time.
Grabbing the printout of the final analysis, Mikhail hurried over to the detective’s office. At her door he stopped to check the time. The workday at the Investigative Committee had long since come to an end.
Marat Valeyev drove up to Elena Petelina’s house. In his folder he carried photographs of the little girl who had caught the detective’s interest. Now he knew who she was. With news like this, Elena would have to invite him in, even at this late hour.
The captain parked the car and got ready to call when he noticed the white mess on the pavement. Someone had haphazardly poured paint over his confession. The first word in particular had gotten the brunt of it. If in the remaining words one could still guess the individual letters, then even the Tadpole with his gadgets couldn’t figure out whom the message had been addressed to. Valeyev felt hurt. An adolescent stubbornness buttressed his body with new strength. Marat put the phone aside and pulled out of the courtyard. He became a boulder that had lost its balance and had begun to tumble downward. No one could have stopped him that night.
Early the next morning, a sleepless Valeyev wedged his car into a long column of parked cars. Being an operative, he knew how to choose a good location for conducting surveillance. The captain was observing the building’s driveway and knew that the person he was looking for would head away from him. They would miss each other. He would not be noticed.
More than an hour passed. The building’s residents were coming out, hurrying off to work. And yet, no matter how late they were, each one would pause for a second leaving the driveway. Some would frown, some would shake their heads, some would smile.
At long last, Marat caught sight of Elena Petelina coming out with her daughter. Her face evinced the kind of concern any mother experiences as she hurries to work. She adjusted her daughter’s backpack, reminded her about something and even gave the tarrying girl a slight push. But the girl, having taken a step along the sidewalk, froze. Then, she began to jump up in down ecstatically, clapping her hands. The woman looked where her daughter was pointing.
There, over the white splotch, someone had carefully written the words «I need you» in green paint.
Marat noticed how the harried woman’s cheeks blushed. Her lips quivered and a poorly-concealed expression of happiness overwhelmed her face. Elena turned around and squinted and Marat slid down along his seat and under his wheel. His hands smelled like paint.
46
Hardly had Elena Petelina managed to go through her office mail, than the frazzled-looking forensic expert looked into her office. Misha Ustinov regularly forgot to get his hair cut and never remembered to at least smooth his hair after pulling off his motorcycle helmet.
«Detective Petelina, I’ve identified the body,» he announced from the doorway.
«Which body, Misha?»
«The one that was buried in «94 under the Bugaevs’ garage.»
«So, who was he?»
«His name was Stas Khryunov. Aside from the fractured clavicle, his DNA matched a sample obtained from his mother.»
«Stas Khryunov.» Elena opened the folder and riffled through the papers inside. «One of the three involved in the assault on the sauna. What about the other two?»
«There’s nothing about them. None of the other unidentified corpses fit the profile.»
«Strange.» Petelina tried to think. «Stas Khryunov kills the Bugaevs in the sauna and then turns up buried in their own garage?»
«I’ll throw you another hint,» Ustinov smiled mysteriously. «It was a good thing I took some of Inna Maltseva’s blood for analysis.»
«When did you take it?»
«What do you mean? After her escapade in Aprelevka. When we arrested her as she was sitting unconscious in the stolen car. We found a syringe and an opened ampoule with a tranquilizer inside. Remember?»
«Misha, you have this way of bursting that always makes me think that something new has happened.»
«Well it did! Only it’s not so new. Anyway, yesterday I did an experiment to see how exactly that tranquilizer interacts with blood. Here, take a look. This is a sequence of blood analyses across time. See how the graph changes with time?»
The detective paged through the columns of digits and graphs, while Ustinov kept handing her new ones.
«Here is the control sample. And here is a sample of Maltseva’s blood at the time of her arrest. Do you see?»
«Not entirely. Could you break it down a bit?»
«Let me explain. Inna Maltseva could not have injected herself with the tranquilizer in the courtyard where we found her.»
«You mean someone else injected her with it?»
«No, don’t you see? The tranquilizer could only have been introduced to her bloodstream a full three hours before we found her!»
«How quickly does it take effect?»
«Almost instantaneously.»
«But that means it’s basically a soporific. In that condition, Inna Maltseva couldn’t have driven the car, much less so skillfully.»
«Precisely!» the Tadpole was looking at Petelina with the delight of a teacher witnessing his student grasp a complex explanation.
«So this means that we found Maltseva as she was waking up? I thought that the EMTs brought her back?»
«The ambulance EMT said he simply gave her ammonium chloride.»
«Maltseva was out earlier… But how could this be?» the detective began looking through the criminal case. «Here is the photo of her driving out of the psychiatric hospital. It’s Inna Maltseva — clear as day. And here is the speeding incident that the camera on Kievsky Highway recorded. The photo is grainy. But there is definitely a woman driving. There are her sunglasses and that’s her haircut. Her head is like a ball…»
Elena squinted and peered closer.
«Hold on!» she exclaimed. She compared the two photographs side-by-side and shook her head helplessly. «How did I not notice this right away..?»
«What?» now it was the expert who didn’t understand what was going on.
«The haircut. Maltseva’s hair lost all its volume while she was in the hospital, but here she looks exactly as if she’d just washed and brushed it.»
«The driver isn’t Maltseva but someone disguised as her,» Ustinov concluded.
«Exactly!» Petelina spun the grainy photo around. «Can you make it clearer?»
«That’s already the highest possible resolution.»
«It won’t hold up in court.» Petelina put the photo aside and turned to another page of the case. «Okay. Let’s return to the clues found in the car. Misha, you found Maltseva’s hair in the backseat. I assumed that Maltseva was having sex with Krasin. Krasin denies this. Now it turns out that Maltseva was unconscious in the backseat while someone else was driving.»
«There’s some hair on the headrest of the driver’s seat.»
«That’s where we found Maltseva. It all seems shaky again.»
«If someone else was driving…» Ustinov began cautiously.
«Then the hair should belong to someone else too!» Petelina completed his thought. «Get on it, Misha!»
«With pleasure,» the Tadpole promised sincerely.
The forensic expert left her office. Elena traced the pencil along the paper, contemplating the new turn in this «open and shut» case. If Maltseva had been unconscious, then who shot Drozdova? And why? Drozdova was Maltsev’s lover. She sent lucrative contracts his way and had been the first to learn about Koltsov’s will. Which aspect of her life had been the fateful one?
The detective’s thoughts gradually began to circle the strange will of Inna Maltseva’s father and Maltseva’s confession of her love for the psychiatrist. The detective’s hand sketched a pair of enormous glasses on the sheet of paper.
Her lips whispered, «What’s your true role here, Dr. Krasin?»
47
Marat Valeyev entered Petelina’s office with a feeling of triumph. He had done the impossible — he had found a person using merely a photograph. He knew her name, her age and even where she lived. As a detective, Elena would undoubtedly understand the value of his work. He had gotten lucky of course and Vanya had helped, but the entire idea had been his own and therefore he was the victor and expected a reward — at least in the shape of a gracious smile from the woman he loved.
He had already received a part of his reward that morning. His outpouring of emotion on her pavement had produced the required effect. He had seen that Lena had not remained unperturbed. Perhaps, she’d ask him about it directly. Well, if she did, he wouldn’t stay quiet — he wouldn’t look at the floor. He’d repeat aloud word for word what he had written.
He needed her! Needed! They were adults, after all. What was the point of wasting time and hiding their feelings like two teenagers, when they could instead be making each other happy at that very moment?
The only thing that was unclear to him was the purpose of the information about the girl in the photograph. What did she have to do with Inna Maltseva? But these questions were the detective’s business. The operative’s job was to happily assist her in solving the next mystery.
The meeting, however, did not go as Marat Valeyev had planned. In answer to his boisterous greeting, Elena fixed him with a burned-out look and stumped him with a simple question:
«Did I call you?»
«Here’s the thing. Yesterday, I took the photo — the one from the Maltseva case — of the little girl with the bow and the pretty dress,» Marat gestured emphatically, trying to spark Elena’s interest.
«Why?» the detective’s thoughts lingered in some parallel dimension.
«I asked myself whether I could find her.»
«Who asked?» asked Lena out of turn.
«I began to wonder. So I decided to check it out. And I did! I found her.»
«Did what?»
«Found the girl.» Marat slapped the photo down on the desk. «This one!»
The detective stared dumbly at the snapshot until the operative turned it around the right way for her.
«And?» she asked listlessly.
«Well, here’s what the situation’s looking like at the moment…» Marat began producing further photos of the same girl, explaining where he had found them and what he had discovered about her.
Elena picked up one of the printouts.
«That’s her too?»
«Of course! That’s what I’m talking about!»
«Weird.»
«Yeah it’s weird.»
Marat also wanted to add «and upsetting,» in reference to Elena’s underwhelming response to the fruits of his labors. His mood had fallen through the floor. He had naïvely counted on a warmhearted and open admission of their feelings and instead gotten… Well, he just wanted to crumple up the photos and throw them away.
«What are we going to do next?» the operative asked dryly, interrupting the lingering pause.
«Send me the link and I’ll check it out.»
«You don’t trust me?» Valeyev stood up. He wanted to smoke, but Petelina didn’t permit smoking in her office. He fished a cigarette from his pack and turned to go. «The printout has the link on it,» he muttered over his shoulder.
«I have to make sure!» Elena called in his wake.
Marat slammed the door and crushed the cigarette in his fist.
What he didn’t know was that two minutes before his appearance, Elena had opened a letter. The envelope contained a single sheet of paper without an inscription. But, then again, no words were necessary. The piece of paper contained a reproduction of the famous painting by Alexei Savrasov titled «The Rooks Have Come Back.»
Elena stared at the black birds in the melting snow, perfectly recalling the person she used to call Grach — or «Rook.» Two letters one week apart. Two birds — first a kingfisher, now a rook. And two people who had given each other those nicknames — she and her missing brother Anatoly. The Kingfisher and the Rook.
«The Rooks Have Come Back.» An encouraging hint, delivered in an ominous manner. Was her brother still alive or not?
This was the only thing Elena was thinking about during her conversation with Valeyev. As soon as the operative had left, she resumed examining the envelopes. Neither one had a return address. The first letter had been posted in Vladimir Region. That was where her father lived. The page with the kingfisher had been ripped out of a book that was kept in his house. The second letter had been posted in Moscow that Monday. She had visited her father the day before. He could have come to Moscow, bought a book containing Savrasov’s works and sent her «The Rooks.» But why? Was her dad continuing his mysterious game? Was he trying to confuse her or sending her signs that were meant to encourage her search? It was pointless to ask him directly. She could only talk to Lida, who lived with him.
Elena dialed Lida’s cell phone number and did her best to sound relaxed.
«Hey, Lida! I’m thinking of coming by this weekend. Should I bring you anything?»
«Oh no, Lenochka. We already have everything we need. We’re merchants, after all.»
«Of course, but you have a rural inventory, while I have access to everything the city has to offer. Surely, you don’t get out to Moscow that often.»
«That’s true — we have enough cares here. What would we do in Moscow anyway..?»
«Well, doesn’t dad go to Moscow every once in a while? To buy things for the store..?»
«What for? We have contracts with our suppliers. We phone in any orders we have.»
«Eh, well the thing is that my mother’s gotten this idea in her head that she saw dad in Moscow last Monday.»
«Oh no, Lenochka. Mr. Grachev never leaves the village.»
«Maybe you didn’t notice? He could’ve just gotten in the car and taken off! All it would take would be three hours — there and back.»
«How could I not notice? Our house is across the street from the store.»
«So then mom probably made a mistake. I told her as much. She hasn’t seen him in a long time, after all.»
«When will you come by? Saturday or Sunday? I’ll bake a tart.»
«A tart would be wonderful. It’s about time I learned how to bake one. But you know, this week probably won’t work out.»
«We can bake the tart together. It’s not difficult.»
«That’s a great idea. When I find the time to visit, I’ll definitely let you know ahead of time.»
Elena said goodbye and hung up the phone.
Should she believe Lida or not? If she was telling the truth, then someone else must have sent the letters. Her address on both envelopes had been printed the same way. Who is this stranger who knew the secret of her nickname? He must have known her during her school years. There were only two people in her life that knew her back then. Marat Valeyev and Sergey Petelin, her ex-husband.
Elena summoned her courage and called both men. She made up a cover story in advance: Her daughter’s curling team was planning a New Year’s Eve costume party. Nastya was already considering what costume to get and had begged her mother to come as well.
«I’m thinking I’ll limit myself to wearing a mask. But I’d like it to have some significance. What bird do you think I look like the most?» Elena asked each man in turn and concentrated in anticipation of their replies.
Sergey went off rambling about how it was best to buy both the costume for the daughter and for the mother in Thailand.
Valeyev was much more terse.
«You’re a cold one, Lena,» he said and hung up.
48
A cold one. It was cold. Winter. Winter-born. Winter was when the kingfishers would hatch.
Marat’s words both smarted and forced her to think. What if Marat had sent the letters? He knew about her brother and was aware of the sauna arson as well as the incidents surrounding it. He could have talked to her brother and found out her nickname from him. Or, had her former classmate called her cold because she had — without noticing it — hardened and turned into an icicle?
Well, fine! She wasn’t interested in his opinion anyway! Who did he think he was? Just a coworker. Just as their work had brought them together, it could separate them into different precincts. Coworkers come and go. The only people who remained were her mother, her daughter and her damned duty to bring criminals to justice! The way she felt about it was a secondary matter. The surest way to rid herself of unpleasant thoughts was to bury herself in her work. That’s what she would do. Not to mention that new facts had come to light, compelling her to examine the Maltseva case from a new perspective.
Petelina combed through every possible database which might have mentioned the psychiatrist, Dr. Krasin. He was neither an accessory, nor an accomplice, nor a perpetrator in anything. He was neither married nor had children. He was neither an outstanding doctor nor a mediocre one. The arc of his career reflected the arc of his age. All he had to his name was a smallish apartment in a nice building and an average car.
Only one detail piqued the detective’s interest. Krasin had applied for and received a large mortgage at the beginning of the year. It was short-term and had a high interest rate. Such terms were, in a word, unprofitable. What had Krasin needed the money for? He had neither securities nor his own business. He had not bought any new real estate.
Someone rapped on her door and opened it. Petelina glanced at her watch. She had an appointment with Dmitry Maltsev scheduled. He had arrived on time.
«When will you leave my family alone?» Maltsev began grimly. «I just buried my brother. Now you’re trying to put my wife away when what she needs is treatment. Inna is gravely ill. Why are you jerking me around with pointless interviews? Is there still anything unresolved in this case?»
Petelina was used to this kind of attitude. She took her time arranging her papers, tidied her desk and opened a new document on her laptop in order to record the interview.
«Mr. Maltsev, what did you do upon learning that your wife had fled the psychiatric hospital?»
«I started running around the city, looking for her! What else was I supposed to do?»
«When Inna was located, you were at home.»
«Well, yeah! I drove down to the psych hospital, drove around the neighboring streets and went home. I figured she could show up at home at any moment. And I was right, wasn’t I?»
«In your opinion, where had Inna been keeping the coat and the gun?»
«I’ve thought about this.» Maltsev clenched and released his fingers. «We have a storage shed. It’s unregistered. It was supposed to be demolished, so we haven’t been using it. I even took the lock off so that the workers wouldn’t have to saw it off.»
«Where is the shed?»
«Right behind the house. I’ll draw you a picture.» Maltsev took a pencil and bent over the paper. «It’s this one — third from left.»
Petelina took the diagram.
«Have you looked inside?»
«Yesterday. Just some old tires.»
«Tell me, what kind of relationship did your wife have with Oksana Drozdova?»
«None at all.»
«Did Inna know about your relationship with Drozdova?»
«Maybe she saw me out with her somewhere,» Maltsev shrugged his shoulders.
«Did you have any arguments due to her jealousy?»
«Nothing worth mentioning. When we fought it was over other stuff.»
«Such as?»
«You have to understand that Inna thought any money I made was all thanks to her father’s influence.»
«As I understand it, you really did start having difficulties after Mr. Koltsov fled abroad.»
«Inna thought the same thing. She called me every name under the sun. Worthless, unsuccessful and so on. What kind of man is going to stand for that? Well, so I would answer in kind. Sometimes we’d make a ruckus.»
«So your disputes were grounded in money instead of jealousy?»
«Yes.»
«Then why was Inna so obsessed with killing Ms. Drozdova?»
«Why what’s so hard to understand? She’s sick! She’s mentally ill!» Maltsev burst out. «Just ask Krasin.»
Petelina recorded his answer in her report and forced a pause.
«When did Ms. Drozdova tell you about the death of Viktor Koltsov, your father-in-law?»
«What? What do you mean death?» Maltsev frowned. «Koltsov’s dead?»
«Yes. And Ms. Drozdova knew about it.»
«But I… She never… Look, I have no idea. And anyway what’s the difference?» Maltsev waved his hand. «He fled and vanished.»
«The difference lies in the will that Mr. Koltsov left.»
«Interesting. What’s it say? The old man had some money — he really stuffed himself before getting caught.»
«I should be the one asking you about his finances.»
«Me?! How would I know?» Maltsev’s eyes went round.
«Ms. Drozdova knew. She could have easily told you.»
«She never told me a thing, the bitch. What does the will say anyway?»
«By law, I am not allowed to disclose its contents. That is up to the notary.»
«Well did my wife and I get anything or not?»
«When the time comes, you will find out. For now, let’s return to years gone by.» The detective opened the case of the hunting accident. «Your brother accidentally shot Mr. Zaitsev. How far away was he when he fired?»
«I don’t have to remember that,» Maltsev flared up. «My brother has just been murdered. Do you understand that?»
«What did you do with the rifles registered to your name?»
«Sold them right after the incident. Tore up the hunting permit. After all that happened — thanks but no thanks — I was done with hunting for good. That pleasure ruined my brother’s life.»
«Your brother could have been paroled, but for some reason he seemed in no hurry to do so and chose to remain inside. Some say that it was profitable for him to stay in prison. Someone was paying him money for each day he spent in the colony.»
«That’s a bunch of nonsense!» Maltsev tensed up. «In our prison system, parole’s a fairytale anyway. Listen, what’s the point of all this? This case has been closed for ages!»
«Sure, but I would still like to clarify a few points. How did you meet the victim Vadim Zaitsev?»
«What’s the difference? He’s gone! My brother served his time. And now he’s gone too!»
«Mr. Zaitsev was a stakeholder in your construction company.»
«So what?»
«Were you aware that Mr. Zaitsev had been convicted of a felony?»
«I only found out about it at the trial.»
«So how did you meet him?»
Maltsev contorted as if hit with a toothache.
«Zaitsev was working at a major building supplies market,» he mumbled. «He knew all the suppliers. He had pull with them. They’d give him good discounts. We needed a procurer and offered him a stake so that he’d have an interest in the net profits.»
«You could have just given him a salary.»
«What do you know about the construction business?»
«I know all about bribes. I know the criminal code even better.»
Petelina opened the folder containing materials from the sauna arson case. She made a show of going through the photographs, keeping an eye out for Maltsev’s reaction.
«In the mid «90s, Vadim Zaitsev was an active member of the Izmaylovo criminal organization. He was involved in racketeering.»
«What does this have to do with me?» Maltsev muttered without looking up from the desk.
This phrase sounds like a justification, the detective recorded in her report. Arranging the photographs on the desk, she examined Maltsev’s nose surreptitiously. What kind of plastic surgery had he and his brother gotten? And why?
«Mr. Zaitsev figured as a witness in a series of high-profile cases. Several of his acquaintances were murdered.»
With these words, Petelina produced the photograph of the obelisk with the faces of the five gangsters chiseled in the rock. She noticed Maltsev’s gaze lock onto this photo.
«Did you know any of these men?» the detective pushed the photograph closer to him.
«No, no,» Maltsev jerked back.
Petelina reached for the coffee table and, pouring two glasses of water, offered one of them to Maltsev. He took it and pressed it to his lips greedily.
«Tell me Mr. Maltsev, what did you and your brother do during the «90s?»
«Business, just like everybody else. Buying and selling. In Krasnodar Region. Later, we moved to Moscow.»
«You don’t feel like going back home?»
«Why? Did I leave something back there? My parents are long gone.»
«How about friends?»
Petelina swept the photographs off the table and closed the folder. Maltsev finished his water and perked up. He clearly seemed more self-assured now.
«My brother was my best friend. And now… My wife’s guilty but I still love her. How am I supposed to go on with my life now?»
«If you love her then — »
Elena cut herself off, interrupted by her own contemplation of this word’s deep significance, and could not finish her sentence. She applied it to herself. If you love someone, then good things will happen. But good things weren’t happening.
«That’s enough for today,» the detective drew her interview to a close. «Once you sign the transcript, you are free to leave.»
Maltsev read through the document carefully and signed it with some hesitation. Petelina was looking at his glass and running circles in her head from doubt. A minute after he had left, she decided to call in Ustinov after all.
«Misha, get the fingerprints from this glass and look them up in our databases. I’m most curious about the «90s.»
«Why? Who visited you?»
«A person about whom you couldn’t find anything during those years.»
«Maltsev!» the expert figured it out. «He’s got no record. That’s why he didn’t come up.»
«Then why did he get so scared when he saw this photo? It’s as if he knew one of them.» The photograph of the obelisk with the gangsters slid the length of the desk.
Ustinov picked up the photo.
«Karasev, the Bugaev brothers… The chiseled faces aren’t exactly great work. He could’ve made a mistake.»
«We need to find photographs of these guys,» Petelina decided. «Then we can see how Maltsev will react to them. Get in touch with Valeyev. Let him dig them up.»
«Maybe you should ask him yourself?» the expert seemed uncomfortable. «The operatives don’t like it when I ask them to do things.»
«Who cares what they like or don’t like? It’s like kindergarten around here!» Elena remembered her recent conversation with Marat and his voice saying, You’re a cold one. «Tell him that I’m ordering it. That’s it now. You may go.»
«Okay. I’ll make the call.» Misha deftly tucked Maltsev’s glass into a plastic bag. «By the way, I’ve got something new for you. Some of the hairs from the driver’s seat really are different from Maltseva’s hair. But the main thing is that I discovered silicon glue on their tips.»
The expert watched Petelina carefully, awaiting her reaction. It was clear that he wanted to see whether the detective would figure it out.
«Silicon glue… That’s the kind that’s used to attach hair to a wig,» Elena suggested.
«Exactly!»
49
That evening Petelina stopped by the Investigative Committee’s remand prison. To her surprise Inna Maltseva had been transferred from the medical ward to general population. «She’s basically healthy,» assured the doctor. All this meant was that the suspect wasn’t running a high temperature, had no fractures and wasn’t suffering from any acute pain. The prison doctors preferred to interpret mental affliction as dissimulation.
Petelina had Maltseva brought to her for interrogation but did not hurry to go into the interrogation room herself. Let the suspect wait a bit and linger in her anxiety: Even at this very moment, she would be sitting on a stiff bench in the mute cement cube, her hand handcuffed to the table preventing her from either leaning on it or laying her head on it. Her back would begin to ache and her muscles would growing stiff. The dull pain would strain her resistance. Twenty minutes and the subject would be ready. It may be a cynical approach, but it worked.
After thirty minutes, Petelina entered the interrogation room. She had ice in her eyes, purpose in her stride and malice in her voice. Today their conversation would be different. It was time for the truth. Elena placed the photograph of the three-year-old girl in the pretty dress in front of Maltseva.
«Who is this?» she asked.
«That’s Ksyusha.» Maltseva touched the photograph with affection and pressed it to herself.
«Do you insist on your claim that this is Dr. Krasin’s daughter?»
«When I get out, she’ll be my daughter too.»
«Alright, take a look here. And look carefully!» Elena began to place photographs, one after the other, on the table. One after the other showed the same girl throughout different stages of her life. «This girl’s name is not Ksyusha at all. This is Yadviga Zarutskaya, a Polish national. Here she is in the very same dress with her parents. In this photograph, Yadviga is five years old. Here she is going to school. Look! Compare them! Here she is at ten and here she is as a teenager. See how she’s grown? But it’s still her. The very same girl whose photo you carried around with you. Here she is at her graduation. Get a good eyeful. She is currently a college student. She is twenty years old. And she lives in Warsaw! She has absolutely nothing to do with either Krasin or Drozdova!»
Elena caught her breath and only then noticed how agitated Inna was. Speechless, she was moving the photographs around the table, picking up one after another after another. Her eyelids quavered; tears swelled in her eye; her lips snatched shallow breaths.
«No!» came the soul-rending scream. Maltseva began crumpling and tearing up the photos. «He tricked me!»
«Who?» Petelina demanded mercilessly. She knew that people suffering a breakdown could not manage their emotions enough to lie during a breakdown. «Who tricked you?»
«Arkady!»
«Dr. Krasin gave you the photo?»
«Yes.»
«Why?»
«He told me that this is his daughter. And that she was being tortured by her mother. That they were divorced and he wasn’t allowed to see her.»
«What did he want?»
«It was me who wanted things. I wanted to have a child! A girl.»
«And Dr. Krasin offered you his daughter?»
«He was so kind. I fell for him. We were going to live together and I was going to raise Ksyusha.»
«But his wife stood in your way? Drozdova?» Petelina began putting the pieces together.
«Arkady was ready to kill her. But they would’ve put him away. The husband is always the main suspect.»
«And so Krasin convinced you to kill Drozdova?»
«No. That’s not how it happened at all.»
«Well then how? How did it happen? Tell me!»
«He said that it didn’t do to start a new life with nothing. He didn’t have a lot of money. My husband on the other hand… So he said that he would kill him.»
«Dr. Krasin offered to murder your husband? Maltsev?»
«Yes.»
«And Drozdova?»
«I was supposed to kill her. We were going to do it at the same time. So that we could both have an alibi.»
«Start at the beginning!»
«He set the time and told me where she lived. I took my dad’s gun and waited for Drozdova. Then I shot her.»
«And after that you went home?» the detective refused to let the suspect catch her breath.
«I walked in and he was lying there…»
«Keep talking!»
«I thought it was my husband — »
«But it turned out to be his brother. Did you know that he was supposed to come back?»
«No. I got confused and couldn’t understand what was going on, so I confessed to shooting Drozdova.»
«Drozdova was murdered later. You are lying!»
«I told you the truth.»
«When? Now or after your escape?»
«I’m not lying to you!»
Maltseva dropped her head, covered it with her hand and began to bawl. Leaning against the table, Petelina loomed over the crying woman like a vulture. She realized that the interrogation was over and wearily straightened herself. That was when she noticed an embarrassed guard behind her. He had burst into the room when the woman had screamed. Yet another tale of the Noose’s mercilessness has just been born. Well, fine. The result was what counted.
«Give her some water and call the doctor,» the detective ordered, gathering her things.
Petelina sat thinking in her car for a long time before pulling out. Warm air was heating the interior. The wipers sullenly swished the rain from the windshield. Her daughter was waiting at home, but her work wouldn’t leave her alone. The investigation was like an enormous sphere that she was trying to push through uncured cement. At first the sphere had seemed small but with every movement it became heavier and heavier. Elena felt the moment approaching when the growing bubble would reach the peak. Then, it could go off and roll backwards, shattering all the gathered evidence to tiny pieces. But if she could make one last, decisive push, the investigation would roll over the peak of Truth and glide gracefully into the valley of Justice.
Elena made her decision. She input the address from the case file into her GPS and set off, following the prompts of the electronic voice.
It was already quite late in the evening when she stopped next to the large, recently-constructed building. Finding the right driveway at last, the detective used the intercom to buzz the apartment of the murderer.
50
«You’re not afraid?» he asked as he ushered her in.
Elena didn’t know herself whether she was doing the right thing coming here without backup. But pride prevented her from calling Valeyev after his stinging rebuke.
She entered a dim room with closed blinds and dull lighting. The host’s soft steps accompanied that of his guest. He walked right behind her. An unpleasant feeling of vulnerability tickled her back. Elena turned around, instinctively shielding herself with her purse, and waited out the prickly gaze emanating from behind the heavy glasses.
«I’m not afraid of criminals. It’s they who are afraid of me.»
Krasin jerked his eyebrows and burst out laughing.
«Christ! What are you talking about? I was referring to your reputation. A woman paying a visit to a bachelor at such a late hour…»
«Has Inna Maltseva been here before?» Elena glanced at the roomy couch littered with pillows.
«You’ve betrayed yourself,» the psychiatrist hissed, interrupting his laugh and lurching forward. «You are afraid. There is fear in you. Even after work you have criminals on your mind, but that is because you are convinced that they are thinking of you!»
«Well? Have you been thinking of me or not?»
«Me?» Krasin recoiled as though he had run into a wall and began to fuss. «Have a seat. Would you like something to drink? What would you prefer? Oh come now, don’t just stand there. It’s impolite of you.»
«What about seducing one’s patient?» Elena adopted the psychiatrist’s own tactic of constantly trying to antagonize whoever he was speaking with. «Do you consider that polite?»
«Sit down!»
«You didn’t answer my question.»
«What patient? Women do not interest me!» Krasin blurted out.
«Are you gay, Dr. Krasin?» Elena smiled.
«My private life is my business. Why did you come here?»
«Inna Maltseva confessed to everything. It was you who talked her into killing Drozdova and you were going to kill her husband yourself. Except you made a mistake.»
«She told you that? Maltseva?» the psychiatrist burst into a full-bellied laugh. «Nonsense. The delusion of a mentally ill woman. Just make sure to attach her statement to the case so that the court can have a good laugh too.»
«Perhaps, Inna is ill. But she is telling the truth!»
«Her world consists of delusional hallucinations. Maltseva lives in her fantasies. As for you… You simply sympathize with her. I did not expect this. Most people say that you are — »
«You were asking around about me? So you were afraid of me. If you’re not involved in this crime, why are you so worried about it?»
«Idle talk. Rumors can harm my reputation.»
«Why did you give Maltseva the photo of the little girl?»
«I have no idea how she got it!»
«Dr. Krasin, try to understand: Inna’s so-called fantasies are consistent and congruous. It stands to reason that, perhaps, they aren’t fantasies at all? She doesn’t change her previous statements, she only adds to them. Have you heard of a schizophrenic behaving like that?»
«Schizophrenics..? Why, what do you know about them? Almost ten percent of the world’s population is mentally ill.» Krasin opened the liquor cabinet and poured himself a generous glass of whiskey. «Would you like a drink? No? Okay, I shall have one regardless. Look, I could easily give you an entire lecture on schizophrenic behavior, providing ample examples from my own practice. Yet I’ll refrain because you have insulted me. How can you entertain such suspicions? They’re based on a schizophrenic’s account, after all!»
«You used to be much kinder to Mrs. Maltseva.»
«I don’t want to hear another word about her. That’s it! I have no further professional interest in her.»
«And yet you are quickly earning my professional interest.»
«How dare you? Is that a formal accusation?»
«You are right about one thing, Krasin. I don’t base my investigation solely on testimony. There is also material evidence.»
«Such as?» the whiskey spilled as the psychiatrist did a volte face.
Her evidence was tenuous at best, but the psychiatrist’s agitation convinced the detective that she was digging in the right direction. All that was left was to verify Krasin’s earlier careless admission.
Elena let herself relax. She smiled suggestively and touched the doctor’s shoulder.
«I’m not sure what came over me. Nerves, probably. Maybe I belong in that ten percent you mentioned too.»
«There are ways to treat „nerves,“» Krasin answered gruffly.
«Can you help?» Elena looked affectionately into the psychiatrist’s eyes. «I came to you as a woman comes to a man. You are free and so am I! I swear to god — sometimes I want you so bad that I lose all my self-control — »
Petelina threw her arms around Krasin’s neck and pressed her lips to his. The man started. The whiskey glass slammed its hefty bottom against the floor. Elena saw unvarnished revulsion in his eyes — and, just like that, yet another detail of the convoluted case slid into its, formerly vacant, spot.
«You don’t like me?» she whispered with affected naïveté.
«Don’t… Don’t do this,» Dr. Krasin grimaced. «You are attractive. But — »
«So what’s the problem? Turn the light off and come to me…»
Elena touched Krasin, causing him to jerk away his arm.
«So you are gay, after all.»
Krasin picked up the glass, examined it and poured some more whiskey into a clean one. He drank greedily and confessed:
«Well at least now you know for sure that I could not have seduced Maltseva. As for her babble about us living together — »
«That’s exactly what I was thinking,» Elena assured him. «Please excuse the cheap spectacle. Actually, I didn’t even come here for this. One last question, Dr. Krasin — »
«No more questions! I wish to be left alone.»
«Would you like me to summon you to my office officially?»
«Okay,» Krasin frowned. «What would you like to know?»
Elena took a walk around the room, examining its furnishings.
«At the beginning of this year, you got a large mortgage with this apartment. However, the balance in your bank account did not change. And there is no record of you making any major purchases. Why did you suddenly need a loan?»
«You know about that?»
«It’s my job to.»
«My pipes burst.»
«Did it flood your neighbor?»
«It did. And as luck would have it, he had some watercolors by Benois hanging on his walls. The water was hot and… I lost a lot of money as a result. He really just wouldn’t let anything go! And I had already spent all my savings getting this apartment. This is a nice building: Each square-foot of floor space costs a ton. But those four watercolors turned out to be downright ruinous — they cost almost as much as my whole apartment!»
«You took out a loan in order to pay damages? Why wasn’t there a civil case about it?»
«The hell are you talking about, civil case? You should see my neighbor!»
«It’s only a three-year mortgage. How are you going to pay it all back?»
«That’s my problem,» Krasin cut her off.
Petelina turned to go but stopped at the front door.
«Tell me, if Inna Maltseva had suddenly acquired a lot of money, would she have helped you?»
«She would have forgotten me the day it happened. She’d run off abroad and spend every last penny on doctors! Her failed attempts to have a child have left her completely insane.»
«Goodbye, Dr. Krasin.»
The detective was confident that her visit had not been in vain. Their muddled conversation had helped her figure out many things. And yet, she still had lingering doubts. Who had stood before her just now? A cunning criminal or a feckless doctor? If she had scared the criminal, then he would hurry to cover his trail… If only she could listen to his phone conversations. To get a court to approve such a move, however, would entail a lot of work and probably wouldn’t pan out anyway. But Mikhail Ustinov could help her get a log of the doctor’s calls. He was a smart guy, Ustinov — it was no wonder everyone called him the Tadpole.
Petelina called the expert and informed him of his new assignment.
51
Elena finished her morning coffee and called her daughter for the hundredth time.
«Nastya! Your cereal will get soggy!»
«Hang on,» came from the door.
Elena went to her daughter’s room. It smelled like nail polish. Nastya was sitting at her desk, painting her nails with the tiny brush.
«What are you doing?»
«The competition is today! I’m painting the flag on my nails.»
«What flag, Nastya?» Elena asked, not understanding what her daughter was talking about.
«Remember the photos of the national curling team?» Elena recalled that they had followed the women’s world championships through photo galleries on the Internet. «Every girl had a red, white and blue stripe on each of her nails. That’s the Russian flag. And I want one too.»
Elena looked at the bespattered desk and her daughter’s variegated nails.
«Nastya, there’s special polish for nails, you know.»
«I only found red in your stuff, mom.» The girl pointed to Elena’s nail polish. «I had to get the blue and white from my paints kit. Don’t you think it’s pretty?»
«Oh god! Your opponents will flee when they see that.»
«Hooray! Then they will forfeit!»
«And the judges will faint.»
It took quite a bit of effort to get her daughter to clean her nails. Elena ended up promising to take her to the store sometime, to pick out whatever polish she wanted.
«Why can’t we go now?» Nastya frowned.
«Because now it’s time to go eat your cereal. Or else you won’t even have the strength to push the rock.»
In the end, however, it was just too hard on the mother to watch her daughter’s deflated face as the girl picked at her soggy cereal.
«Alright,» she decided. «I will draw the flag on your cheek. Your paints will work there.»
The girl’s face cleared up. A compromise had been reached. But the hardest thing still remained: Elena still had to tell Nastya that she would have to go in to work while her father would take her to the Ice Palace. Of course, she would promise to be there by the time the tournament got underway.
All she had to do was check out her new theory.
Marat Valeyev looked over the photographs. Young men with insolent faces, self-satisfied expressions. A few were built. Those who were smarter relied on their weapons. That was what the mob was like in the mid-90’s. Many never survived those years. The majority simply vanished — only a select handful found their final resting places under luxurious headstones.
One of the larger photos caused the operative to pause. There was something familiar about this one. The eyes, the forehead, the chin — he knew this person. He had seen him only recently. But it couldn’t be! This gangster had died eighteen years ago.
Valeyev looked at the other photos. From this angle it didn’t look like him at all. Though there was still some similarity in the general facial features. What if it really was him? That would be an interesting turn…
Marat picked up his cell phone. He had Elena on speed-dial but his finger froze over her contact. Petelina had ordered him to find the photos, but the Tadpole had been the one to actually issue the order. Better call the detective — and yet, yesterday had begun with an outpouring of feelings, the words «I need you,» and had ended with his irritated accusation «you’re a cold one.» How was he supposed to talk to her after all that?
Valeyev rang Ustinov and explained his suspicions.
«I’m down in the lab at the moment,» replied the expert. «Come on over.»
Mayorov rode along with Valeyev to the Investigative Committee. Vanya had been radiating an internal happiness since morning. He kept popping out to the hallway and whispering on his phone. Something tender had occurred last night, warming the senior lieutenant so that it seemed as though a piece of the sun itself had taken up residence inside him. The captain could guess what it was and was envious of his colleague. It had been a long time since he had felt that way.
Spying a familiar jewelry store, Marat remarked:
«I get a discount with that jeweler.»
«What?» The lieutenant had trouble snapping back from his reveries.
«You looking for a ring or what?»
Vanya reddened.
«Haven’t thought about it yet,» he said.
«So what are you thinking about then?»
«About her.»
«That’s what I’m saying. Time to buy a ring. Three years ago I responded to a jewel store robbery. Ended up saving the owner’s life. Since then, I get a fifty percent discount.»
«Stop!» Vanya exhaled.
Marat screeched to a halt next to the jewelry store.
«What if I don’t have enough?» Vanya began digging around his pockets.
«I’ll help you out!» The captain clapped him on the shoulder. «Don’t get flustered now.»
Twenty minutes later, shaken by his own courageous move, Vanya found himself clutching an engagement ring box in his massive fist.
Forensic expert Mikhail Ustinov took the photo from Valeyev and skeptically studied the face of the hook-nosed young man.
«I’ll check out your theory, naturally, but it won’t be easy.»
«We can wait. How long will you be?»
«Can’t say until I get on with it. You’re just going to get in my way. Instead of waiting around here, why don’t you take these papers up to Petelina?»
«Is she here?» Marat asked surprised.
«You think it’s only operatives who work weekends?»
«What is this?» Valeyev took the offered documents.
«A printout of Krasin’s cell phone call logs for the last month and a half.»
«Interesting.»
«Oh, will you also please tell Detective Petelina that Dmitry Maltsev’s fingerprints don’t show up in any of our databases?»
While they were talking, Vanya stepped aside to the skeleton. The number of bones in the human body astonished him. Any least one of them could be broken. Vanya felt the clavicle for sturdiness. Vasilich, who was sitting in his favorite office chair, turned around. His chest boasted a new inscription: «This man harped on and on, wasting away, until a harp he became.»
Valeyev called his partner to leave but then hesitated and turned back to the expert.
«Listen, Misha… If I’m wasting your time and my theory is nonsense, just tell me. Okay?»
The forensic expert shrugged his shoulders indifferently.
Marat was happy to be meeting with Elena on business, especially with another person present. This way he wouldn’t have to explain yesterday’s outburst — explanations could lead them further into the depths of conflict. The way it stood, he was simply fulfilling Ustinov’s request — work was work, after all.
Petelina nodded reservedly to the operatives and delved into Krasin’s call logs. She began comparing them to the phone numbers she had.
«What are we looking for?» inquired the captain.
«I want to check out a crazy theory of mine. Inna Maltseva claims that Krasin was supposed to kill her husband. Supposedly they conspired together that she’d kill Drozdova while the psychiatrist would kill Dmitry Maltsev at the same time.»
«Synchronized murders.»
«Uh-huh. And all of it so that they could live together after adopting the girl in the photo.»
«The Polish girls who’s twenty and in college?»
«Finding that out was what finally caused Maltseva to come clean. Thank you for the help, by the way.»
«Vanya helped too.»
The detective looked up at the young operative who was all aglow from the anticipation of surprising his beloved woman with the ring.
«Good work, Mayorov. If you keep it up, you’ll soon find yourself applying to change your last name to „Generalov.“»
«Well, he’s already well connected at the passport desk.» Marat riffed on her joke.
Vanya flushed and began looking for a place to put his large hands, which had just been occupied with fingering the ring box.
Petelina returned to the printouts.
«Krasin called Inna Maltseva on the day of the murder. Here.» Petelina showed the printout to Valeyev. «That doesn’t give us much, though. She’s his patient after all.»
«What if we could establish his whereabouts at the time the call was made?»
«We could do it for any current calls but we can’t go back in time. On the day of the murder, we were tracking Dmitry Maltsev’s location. He was in St. Petersburg.»
«Krasin made other calls too,» Valeyev remarked.
«Yep, and it won’t be very hard to establish whom he called.»
Vanya Mayorov glanced over Valeyev’s shoulder.
«Huh. I know that number,» he said. «That’s the cell phone number for the car attendant, Semyonova.»
«Semyonova?» Petelina quickly paged through the case file. «The same car attendant with the black eye whom you interviewed?»
«Yes. Maltsev was seated in her train car on his way to St. Petersburg. She was working on the express line back then. Later on, due to that shiner her husband gave her, they transferred her to the regular service on the Kazan line.»
«That’s quite a memory you got in that noggin, Vanya,» said Valeyev surprised.
Mayorov smiled bashfully.
«Mrs. Semyonova has a daughter named Sonya, fifteen, and a husband named Nikolai. Her husband is a patient in an early-prevention clinic for mental health. He’s got violent schizophrenia aggravated by alcoholism.»
«Wow, you really are General material!» Valeyev couldn’t keep himself from praising his partner. He looked at the call log. «Semyonova called Krasin too. And not just once. The last time she called him was today!»
Petelina began scanning the printout, her eyes locking onto the familiar phone numbers. As she did so, she folded her hands under her chin, her delicate nostrils flared and her eyes focused, looking for the invisible target. She knew that it was precisely such illogical coincidences that would propel her investigation to its conclusion.
Both the psychiatrist and the car attendant were witnesses in utterly unconnected episodes of this strange case. Their paths did not cross and yet it turned out they knew each other. What was the connection between the two? The schizophrenic husband? Possibly. But here was the pattern: Right after his conversation with Semyonova, the psychiatrist had called Maltsev! And the same thing had happened today. And yesterday, right after she had left Krasin’s apartment, the doctor had called Dmitry Maltsev as well. To talk about his wife? But the psychiatrist had expressed his utter refusal to work with Inna Maltseva any longer.
The time for contemplation gave way to intensive work. It was not much later that the detective discovered that Nikolai Semyonov, the car attendant’s husband, was undergoing treatment at Dr. Krasin’s psychiatric hospital. This fact matched her assumptions.
And yet, even more shocking than these discoveries was the news that Misha Ustinov brought with him, bursting into the office.
52
Tatyana Semyonova signed her name on every line that the unfriendly nurse pointed to. Yes — she was familiar with her husband’s condition, had no complaints toward the hospital and was taking Nikolai Semyonov home with full responsibility. The nurse handed her a list of drugs that her husband had to take three times a day. Uh-huh. Sure. He’ll be real happy eating your pills. You’re not getting ahead of yourself or anything. There’s only one medicine that Nikolai believes in — and it better be at least eighty proof. He’ll be happy to take that three times a day — hell, he’ll take it four times daily if you let him…
Two orderlies brought her husband out of the psych ward. Tatyana nudged a bag of clothes toward him.
«Put these on.»
Realizing that the meatheads had gone and that he would soon be free, Nikolai began feverishly rummaging through the jacket’s pockets.
«D’you bring it?»
«You’ll manage without it.»
«Not even a nip?»
«Get your stuff before I change my mind.»
In a second, her husband had pulled on his pants and thrown on his jacket. As Tatyana made her way to the lobby, Nikolai scurried behind her, darting up either on one side or the other and wheedling all the way:
«Well, just give me some coin — I’ll go get some myself. The store’s right down the street.»
Semyonova showed her pass to security. They glanced over at her companion and opened the gate. Reaching freedom at last, Nikolai acquired new courage.
«Listen Tanya, either you give me some coin or I’ll tenderize you, you bitch.»
Semyonova stopped and looked around to make sure no one was around them. Her hand dipped into her purse and came out a moment later. The broad blade of a chef’s knife caught the sun.
«Just try it, dear, and I’ll make a jump rope for you — out of your guts.»
«Wha — ?» Her husband jerked back in shock. «What’s got into you Tanya? You have any idea what they stuffed me with in there? I gotta clear my stomach!»
«Do as I say and you’ll get a fifth,» Semyonova promised. «Until then, lay off the barking.»
«A fifth, huh?» Nikolai bared his yellow teeth. «What’d you want me to do, Tanya? Just tell me and it’s done. Wait, where are you going? The store’s the other way.»
«We’re going to the train station. I’ll tell you more once we’re there.»
Tatyana Semyonova walked on with purpose. She wasn’t about to give up her plan. And that bastard Nikolai would help her make it happen.
53
«Tell me again,» Petelina told Misha Ustinov, trying to grasp the news.
«I sent a query out to the gunpowder factories and got an answer. The traces from the gunpowder that I found on Inna Maltseva’s gloves were used only for manufacturing blank rounds.»
«And the traces you found on the coat’s arm was from a live round?»
«Yes. There were two shots.»
«A blank round and a live round.» Elena sank deep in thought. «Only gloves were used for the first shot. The shooter was wearing different clothes. When Drozdova was shot, the murderer was wearing the coat that we found.»
«Maltseva’s coat! She admitted as much. A woman has gloves in every purse,» Valeyev clarified. «I don’t know about the blank round, but Maltseva could have tossed the gloves that she was wearing when she shot Drozdova on her way from the murder.»
«There’s something you’re missing, Marat. Explain it to him, Misha.»
«Maltseva was injected with the tranquilizer three hours before we discovered her. She could not have driven the car in her state. She could not have even fired a gun, for that matter.»
«We found Maltseva’s hair in the back seat of the car. She had been lying back there. Meanwhile, we found someone else’s hair on the driver’s headrest. The driver wore a wig and glasses.»
«Krasin wears glasses,» Valeyev pointed out.
«He is acting suspiciously,» Petelina agreed. «But I can’t understand why Krasin would want to kill Drozdova and frame Maltseva.»
«Well, you already mentioned Koltsov’s will.»
«Inna’s dad left her twelve million pounds sterling.»
«Not a bad little sum to misappropriate. And here we are toiling away like a bunch of suckers…»
«The will is quite cunningly composed. The money is to be paid in installments of one million per year. Only Inna Maltseva can benefit from it. If she dies, the payouts stop.»
«Her hubby wants to get his paws on that money. He’s got problems with his business.»
«Yesterday, I discovered that Krasin is heavily in debt. But both men claim that they don’t know anything about the will.»
«Utter baloney!» Valeyev karate chopped the air before him. «No doubt Drozdova was going to split it with Maltsev.»
«But not with Krasin! And Inna never found out about it. I’m becoming more and more sure by the minute that her delusions are the honest-to-god truth.»
«Maltsev isn’t stupid. He could have thought of something.»
«He isn’t stupid,» agreed Petelina. «Maltsev knows his wife very well. If she had received her inheritance, Inna would have run off abroad and spent all her money on the best doctors she could get. Her only desire in life is to have a child — when it comes to modern medicine, she wouldn’t even need a husband to see this wish fulfilled. In that case, Maltsev wouldn’t have gotten a penny. But he needed the money. If I put myself in his place, I can think of only one option.»
«What’s that?» Mayorov spoke up. His head was spinning from the large sums and tangled spousal relationships.
«Divorce is out of the question — murder even more so. So how else can he get that money?» Elena looked around the room with an inquiring gaze before answering her own question. «Become Inna’s legal guardian. And to do so, she’d have to be declared mentally incompetent.»
«That’s where the psychiatrist comes in!» Valeyev exclaimed.
«Maybe. But then who committed the murders?»
«Krasin. Or Maltsev.»
«Well, Maltsev has an alibi for the first murder. Krasin has one for the second. The former was in St. Petersburg at the time of the murder; the latter was at the hospital.»
«So then they both did in turns!»
«Interesting theory. But it doesn’t work.»
«Why?»
«I talked with Krasin for a while. He’s couldn’t have done it. Why would he want to commit a murder for Maltsev’s sake? He can influence people — he seduced Inna Maltseva, after all — but he doesn’t have the character of a murderer.»
«If Krasin managed to get Inna to fall in love with him, he could have married her and gotten access to the inheritance that way,» Vanya supposed.
«Doesn’t gel. Krasin is gay, for one. Inna only fell for him because of the mythical girl — that’s two. Thirdly, as I already pointed out, we know what she’d do with the money if she had it. She’d spend it all on doctors.» Petelina looked at the quiet forensic expert. She could see by his face that he was thinking through something. «What do you think, Misha?»
«I don’t like the word „alibi,“» Ustinov replied and explained what was on his mind.
Petelina heard him out and agreed.
«Check it out — as quickly as you can.»
Fifteen minutes later, the Tadpole called the detective and the operatives down to his laboratory. Not even one pebble remained standing of the formerly rock-solid alibi.
54
Petelina and the operatives were huddling together over the forensic expert’s computer.
«I trust technology more than I trust people,» Misha explained. «We knew that Maltsev bought a ticket to St. Petersburg. We tracked his phone as he was approaching the city. Then, we saw that he bought a return ticket on his credit card. The next morning, we detained him on the train.»
«Yeah, that was me. I got him. You don’t believe me?» Valeyev asked perplexed.
«An excellent alibi! Furthermore, Semyonova, the car attendant, corroborated that Maltsev had ridden in her car on the way to St. Petersburg. Right at the time of his brother’s murder.»
«I wrote that report,» frowned Vanya, «and filed it as per regulations.»
«I trust our people,» Ustinov sought to reassure the operatives, «witnesses on the other hand… Look, today we discovered that Semyonova knows Krasin. Krasin knows Maltsev. They all seem to be good friends. But technology — technology is my best friend.»
«We know. Get to the point, Misha,» Elena hurried the expert.
«Let me explain. The train station stores CCTV footage for more than a month. I accessed the St. Petersburg CCTV archives, looked up the date of the murder and the time that the ticket was purchased. And here you go!» Misha hit a key. The ticket counter at the train station appeared on his screen. «Take a look at who is buying the ticket with Maltsev’s card.»
The man on the screen turned away from the ticket counter, stuck the ticket in his pocket and adjusted his glasses.
«Krasin!» the detective exclaimed.
«Let me pull up the platform footage. It was Krasin too who came riding into St. Petersburg with Maltsev’s ticket. Semyonova lied to you!»
«Then how did Maltsev turn up on the return train?» Valeyev knit his brow. «Did he catch a flight to St. Petersburg?»
«That’s not possible. The documents check for a flight is a lot stricter and there’s no record of him buying a ticket.»
«He could have gotten on the return train at an intermediate station,» Petelina assumed. «We only got him in Moscow, after all.»
«That might make sense. The attendant told me that he’d spent most of the night in the restaurant car,» Valeyev recalled.
«I’m also partial to this theory.» Misha pulled up his Internet browser. «Let’s look up the train schedule from St. Petersburg to Moscow… The train makes only one stop — in Tver.»
«Tver is within driving distance,» said Valeyev. «At night with no traffic you can get there in about two hours.»
«Well, well, well, Mrs. Semyonova! She lied about Maltsev going to St. Petersburg.» Elena dialed the car attendant’s number. «She’s ignoring me!» The detective tried calling two more times. «No answer.»
«Want me to go get her?» Mayorov offered.
«Where are you going to find her? What if she’s working on a train right now?»
«It’s not hard to figure out if she is,» Ustinov assured.
55
In the movies, it is the brave and the honest who triumph. But in real life, those who triumph are decisive and brutal. He belongs to the latter category. He’ll get her money soon enough. He has almost all the paperwork he needs now. Then, he’ll be able to forget his problems and simply enjoy his life. Everything is already going according to plan. Even the detective is dutifully plodding down the path he had charted for her. He got lucky that a female got the case. Females are dumb. They exist to be manipulated. Who wins? The decisive and the brutal. And what is the general character of all females? Dull and soft. Well, and there you have it!
He opened his door and entered his apartment.
What is this? That’s not his bag. How did it get here?
His hand slipped in his pocket and whipped out a nonlethal revolver. A weapon for self-defense. One of his talents is knowing how to appear law-abiding.
The man tiptoed into the living room. No one. He nudged open the door to the bedroom with the barrel and used the doorjamb as cover. No one jumped out at him. The moment to exercise his decisiveness had come. A dash inside, a glance behind the door, a look in the closet. There was no need for brutality. Yet. There are other rooms. Just as decisively as before, the armed man searched them too. There were no intruders in his apartment.
The man returned to the entryway. He took a squat. Gingerly, his fingers unfurled the edge of the bag.
Oh hell! Is this..?
He put the gun away and whipped out the bag’s contents. His fist crushed the soft surprise and his teeth began to grind in impotent rage.
Where did this come from? He had disposed of this evidence! Who had sent him this vile hint? How had they gotten into his apartment? There was no note in the bag. The sinister message had been sent anonymously. Who dared cross him?
There were many other unpleasant questions, but the first thing to do was to destroy this filth. He had blundered earlier by simply throwing it away. And yet, this was a vital clue. He would make sure to act with more finality this time.
The man tucked the bag behind his waist and went down to the building’s courtyard. There was a supermarket nearby that sold lighter fluid. That’s what he would use.
Having made his purchase, the shaken man found a trash dump, dumped the bag’s contents into the dumpster and liberally sprinkled it with the lighter fluid. The lighter clicked. The flame’s tongue licked the plastic bag and the bag descended into the trash. The fire liked its liquid tinder. Within a moment, the flames greedily enveloped the evidence.
The man stepped to the side to watch the burning dumpster. Destroying this clue, the fire cleansed his error — but the fear within him remained.
Someone knew his secret and wished to antagonize him. Well, no big deal. After all, it wasn’t the first time. He’d figure out a way to solve this problem. He had been in much more dangerous situations in his life. There was only one thing to do: identify the nemesis and punish him! Decisively and brutally!
Returning home, he inserted his key into the lock but found that there was no need to turn it. The door was already unlocked!
What in the living hell! Had he forgotten to lock it on his way out? He needed to manage his emotions better. It wouldn’t hurt to add attentiveness to his decisiveness and brutality.
He opened the door and started in astonishment. Before his feet lay exactly the same bag. There was no need to even open it this time to look inside. The torn edges revealed its contents. The same evidence that he had just destroyed lay within.
The phone rang. The man snatched the phone from his pocket and heard a familiar voice.
56
Misha Ustinov put down the phone. The playful expression which the forensic expert had used while chatting with the young girl lingered on his face.
«Sonya says that her mother has gone to work and will be traveling today. They live in the Krasnoselsky District, not far from the long-distance train depot.»
«I’m amazed how quickly you got on the same wavelength with a fifteen-year-old girl,» Elena praised him.
«Well, all her interests are right here.» Misha clicked on his browser. «People just dump everything about themselves onto their social networks. How’d you like my little compliment about her eyes?»
«I need to have a look to see what my Nastya’s posting on the web — what if some hustler like you comes along..?» Petelina looked at her watch. «Alright, can you find out the shift schedule of Semyonova’s train crew?»
«That’s not difficult.» The Tadpole clattered on his keyboard for a bit. «Here it is.»
Elena studied the schedule on the screen.
«Semyonova’s scheduled to work car number twelve. We still have some time to have a chat with her before the train departs.»
«You want us to bring her in?» Valeyev offered.
«I’d rather you guys go after Krasin and Maltsev. I’ll go get Semyonova at Kazan Station myself.»
«The train only goes up to the platform right before departure. Until then, they keep the cars near Krasnoselsky District,» Ustinov reminded her.
«So then I’ll go to Krasnoselsky. What are you guys waiting for, Marat? Go find Maltsev and Krasin. We’ll arrange a deluxe interrogation for them.»
«Let’s go, Vanya,» the captain nodded to his partner.
The operatives left.
«I’m going to run and grab my purse and head off to Krasnoselsky.» Passing the scanner, Petelina noticed the black and white photos of the self-assured young men. «What’s with the portfolio, Misha?»
«I got a theory I want to check out. It’s for Valeyev,» the expert faltered.
«That’s the Bugaev brothers! What’s the theory? Out with it.»
While Mikhail ran through his explanations, Petelina examined the peculiar photos.
«But they were killed in «94,» she said doubtfully.
«You know as well as I do, detective, that anything can happen in our line of work.»
The young expert did not have to mention it. Petelina had learned from her own experience what kind of surprises could crop up during an investigation. Accordingly, on her way to Kazan Station, she called Lopakhin, the medical examiner.
«Do you remember our conversation about the Maltsev brothers’ plastic surgeries?» asked Elena after the initial pleasantries.
«How could I not, Lena? I remember it very well. I’m not as old as the top brass likes to imagine.»
«The top brass simply envies you.»
«Envy is not a rational emotion. It induces stress which in turn shortens one’s lifespan.»
Elena knew that she could spend an eternity philosophizing with the erudite specialist and decided to get to the point.
«Dr. Lopakhin, could you describe in detail what kind of operation was performed on Anton Maltsev?»
«There’s no way to keep a secret from an anatomic pathologist. Anton Maltsev had his nasal hump excised.»
«Was it significant?»
«It was ample. The surgeon, it seems, overdid things and turned his nose up. True to form, I noticed that his brother had a similar operation performed. The hump was excised, but they ended up going from one extreme to another.»
«I don’t like this,» Elena said pensively.
«Only the priests like the dead, detective.»
Elena thanked Lopakhin and looked at her watch. If she managed to interview Semyonova quickly, she could still make it to the Ice Palace in time to catch her daughter’s curling competition. Elena stepped on the accelerator and glanced into her rearview mirror. She frowned.
It seemed to her that she had seen the blue scooter behind her as she had gotten into her car at the Investigative Committee. Its rider wore a black helmet with a tinted visor.
57
The passenger train stood off on the sidetrack. Tatyana Semyonova opened the door to her train car, deftly clambered up the high steps and offered her hand to her husband to keep him steady. She would have preferred to knee him and push him at high speed down off the berm — but she needed him today. And, for once, his schizophrenia was a welcome factor too. She had never imagined that his diagnosis would ever come in handy.
As the attendant opened the service compartment, she felt a palm on her butt cheek.
«Tanya, hey, Tanya..? Remember the fun we had here? You sneaked me onto your run,» Nikolai’s eyes glossed over lasciviously, «and I gave it to you real good while the passengers yammered for their tea.»
«Get off me! Just look at yourself. Back then, you were a man but now — »
«Come on, Tanya… I’m still… Listen, let me have a sip or two and I’ll let you see my golden eagle.»
«I’ve seen enough of it for a lifetime. Stop pawing at me! I didn’t drag you here for that.»
«Well for what then?»
«What, you thought I missed you? Dumbass! Sit down and listen!»
«Gimme some vodka,» the husband grimaced.
«You’re going to have to earn it. You’ve gotten too used to taking your wife’s money. Sonya walks on tiptoes around him and all he cares about is getting his fill!»
«You promised me a fifth.»
«You’ll get it. There’ll be plenty of dough to spend on vodka.»
«I want it now. At least a shot.»
«First we have to put the squeeze on someone.»
«Who?»
«A bad man. Your psychiatrist.»
«Krasin? I’m ready to crush that louse with my bare hands.» Nikolai clenched his fists and bared his crooked teeth.
«Good. Then do what I tell you.»
«Do what? Where?»
«Here. Krasin is going to come to us. And he’ll bring money. You’ll be sitting in the compartment. If Krasin balks, I’ll give you a shout. Then you’ll pop out and give him a scare. Here, take the knife.» The car attendant passed the chef’s knife to her husband. «Use it to scare him. But for real. Otherwise you won’t get any drink. Got it?»
«Yeah, yeah. I got it.»
«Go sit in the first passenger compartment.»
«Tanya, how about a shot? You know — for courage…»
«I ain’t got no vodka with me. And no coin neither. Krasin will bring that. We’ll take it and you’ll get your drink. Comprende?»
«Well, jeez. How long’ll it be?»
«Soon enough.»
58
Dmitry Maltsev was standing in the doorway of his apartment with the torn bag at his feet. In his hand, the phone was reciting Arkady Krasin’s voice.
«Stop setting dumpsters on fire and pick up what’s in the bag.» Maltsev bent down and retrieved a female wig. «Looks similar, eh? That’s a duplicate. The original — the one that has your DNA on it — is with me.»
«You bastard,» Maltsev croaked out.
«For the time being, I’ll hold on to the wig. But if you keep on insulting me — »
«Insults? I’m going to murder you.»
«I should warn you that I’m recording this call.»
«Moron!»
Maltsev ended the call, flung the wig aside and entered his apartment. Where was that psycho — who treated other psychos — hiding?
Maltsev looked out his window. He couldn’t see his car, but Krasin had to be somewhere nearby since he’d managed to bring another bag up to the apartment. No doubt he’d wheedled the key from Inna. Should he run out, find him, slit his throat? No. The only perfect murders are the ones that have been well-considered. He needed to take pause and figure out what the psycho wants.
The phone rang again. Maltsev sat down in the armchair. To hell with emotions — business is what counts!
«I turned off the recorder,» the psychiatrist informed him.
«You were watching me that day?»
«I was waiting by your house. I saw you come back and dispose of your disguise.»
«What do you want?»
«The wig is my insurance. If you violate our agreement or try to do something to me, it will find its way to Petelina’s desk and you know she knows how to pull a noose tight.»
«I know how to do many things too. You’ll get your share in return for the wig, you freak!»
«With pleasure. Only, my share just doubled. That’s what I wanted to tell you.»
«You worm — »
«I’m an angel compared to you. I have a mortgage to pay and the extra cost won’t hurt you much. The first share was for my services; the second one is for the wig and gloves.»
«Did you finish the report on Inna?»
«I have the papers with me. Your little wife is now officially legally incompetent.»
«Give me the report.»
«So we have an agreement?»
«Yes, damn you! Only don’t bug me until I get the first part of the inheritance.»
«Sounds good. But there is one more problem.»
«What’s that?»
«The car attendant, Semyonova. She’s blackmailing us.»
«Us? I’ve never even met her!»
«Well, she knows who you are. She saw that article and figured out that she’s been covering for a murderer instead of a cheating husband, so she wants money now. She thinks that you’re rich,» the psychiatrist giggled.
«I will be!»
«Great, so then pony up.»
«Krasin, she is one of your acquaintances — you’re the one who needs to figure things out with her.»
«How am I supposed to figure anything out with her? I don’t have any experience with that kind of thing.»
«Scare her if you want or buy her off if you think it’s better that way — either way, I want nothing to do with it.»
«I tried to talk some sense into her, but she’s dug her heels in. She’s set a meeting for today. If I don’t bring her the money — »
«And if you do bring it, she’ll just demand more later! Did you think of that possibility?»
«So what should I do?»
«Make a decision!» It suddenly dawned on Maltsev that the word «decisive» came from the word «decision.» Therein lay the difference between him and the soft psychiatrist. «Where are you supposed to meet her?»
«On the sidetracks near the train station. She’s getting her car ready for the trip.»
«Alright, I’ll go myself.»
«Time’s short. Let’s go together. I’m at the supermarket parking lot.»
Dmitry Maltsev weighed the situation and understood that circumstances had conspired in a manner that allowed him to kill two birds with one stone.
«Wait there.»
59
The operatives took up their positions on either side of the apartment’s door. Marat Valeyev rang the doorbell a second time and held his finger, letting it ring a good while. No one came to the door. Barking broke out in the neighboring apartment. The captain affected a polite smile and stepped over to the neighboring door. He still remembered the name of the woman whom he had interviewed the day of Anton Maltsev’s murder. The vigilant pensioner remembered him too.
«Oh, it’s you? I was just wondering at whom Chana was barking.»
The dissatisfied little dog kept trying to hide herself behind her owner’s legs.
«Have you seen your neighbor, Dmitry Maltsev, today, Ms. Broshina?»
«I couldn’t say I did. I haven’t left my apartment at all today.»
«But you did notice him moving around?» the operative prompted.
«He left. Sometimes I look out the window when there’s nothing good on TV.»
«Did he leave a while ago?»
«About half-an-hour or more. I have no sense of time anymore. All I know is that one moment it’s morning and I have to take my pills and then — bam — and it’s time to watch Malakhov’s nightly show. Do you watch talk shows?»
«Of course Ms. Broshina — all of us at Homicide watch them.»
«Then you saw last night’s episode about the crime — »
«We’re already working on that one. Tell me, which way did Maltsev go? His car is still in the parking lot.»
«He went right. That’s where our supermarket and bus stops are. Last week Malakhov was talking about — »
«Thank you very much Ms. Broshina. You’ve been a great help.»
Valeyev nudged his partner and the operatives made their way out of the building.
«Should we wait?» asked Mayorov once behind the wheel.
«There may be a better way,» Valeyev called Ustinov. «Misha, we need your help. Neither Krasin nor Maltsev are in their apartments. Pull up that cunning little program of yours and try and catch their cell phones.»
«What would you do without me?» sighed the Tadpole.
«Why, we’d drink lots of beer and take turns taking naps.»
«You should switch to chocolate.»
«It’s bad for the teeth — I can’t afford dentist visits with my salary.»
«Yeah, well, you’ll end up having to pay for the beer with visits to the urologist.»
«Misha, you remind me of my ex-wife.»
Jabbering with the forensic expert, Marat was sure that Misha was simultaneously looking up the cell phones’ locations. The Tadpole could do several things at once, and munching on chocolate didn’t even count as one of them. Soon enough, Marat got a response he hadn’t expected.
«Krasin and Maltsev’s phones are signaling from the same district. They’re together!»
«They ran into each other?»
«No. They’re moving — together in one direction. My guess is that they’re in the same car.»
«Where?»
«They’re approaching Komsomolskaya Square. Travelling from the city center.»
Marat poked Vanya’s shoulder.
«To Komsomolskaya and step on it!»
The car peeled out of the driveway and flew off down the street. The captain stayed on the phone with the expert and parsed his line of thought.
«There’re three train stations there. You think they’re fleeing to St. Petersburg?»
«No way to tell. Hang on… I think they’ve stopped near Kazan Station.»
«We need to get there before they get on the train.»
«Wait, they’re moving again now.»
«In what direction, Misha?»
«Straight at the moment… Now they’re turning onto Nizhnyaya Krasnoselskaya Street.»
«What do they need there?»
«Krasnoselskaya. I mentioned that street, remember?»
«Well?»
«That’s the same district that Semyonova lives in. And that’s where the trains sit and wait before they pick up passengers at the station. She went to work.»
«The car attendant? Oh, of course!» Valeyev figured it out. «Maltsev’s alibi relies on Semyonova’s corroboration!»
«Detective Petelina went after her,» the expert reminded.
«Push it, Vanya!»
Issuing an order isn’t difficult, but moving through Moscow’s notorious gridlock is a different matter altogether. The street narrowed and its traffic ground to a halt. Mayorov kept changing lanes, calmly suffering his neighbors’ horns. But nothing was helping. The operatives, wedged in between the columns of cars, slowed to a snail’s pace.
«It’s jammed up.» Vanya glanced at his senior officer sideways.
«It’s always jammed up here. You should’ve taken the driveways and courtyards,» Valeyev was getting heated. «Do you understand what’ll happen if we don’t make it there in time?»
Vanya understood very well, but alas, operatives — unlike government officials — are not issued sirens.
Two men plodded between the train cars. Gravel crunched beneath their feet. The smell of steel cured by years of soot hung in the air.
«Number twelve.» Krasin pointed at the car’s number. «Semyonova told us to meet her inside.»
Maltsev pulled his jacket’s hood tighter over his head and glanced around.
«Krasin, where’d you hide the wig?» Maltsev asked in a low voice, looking into the psychiatrist’s eyes.
«In a safe place,» the psychiatrist twitched. «I’ll only trade it for money.»
«You don’t have a summer house. Or a girlfriend. That leaves your work and your apartment,» Maltsev reasoned calmly.
«Enough of your guessing game! We didn’t come here for this.»
«If someone were to find a woman’s wig in your office, it would start a lot of rumors. And you already have plenty of those to deal with.»
«We’re losing time,» Krasin hissed.
Maltsev grabbed him by the arm of his coat.
«Come on, calm down, stop twitching. And stop making so much noise. I’ve got no further questions.»
«I’m telling you, you’ll get the wig — »
«Oh, I’ll get it,» Maltsev interrupted. «But now there’s work to be done. You go in first and do as I told you. Got it?»
Krasin nodded.
«Get the needle ready,» Maltsev reminded.
The psychiatrist fumbled with the ampoule, inserted the needle and drew the liquid into the syringe. Maltsev patted the bulge in his jacket pocket.
«I’ll go in after and pour this vodka down her throat. Then, voilà — cardiac arrest! Now, move it.»
60
The lock to the outside door clicked. The car attendant froze and listened as someone climbed up into the train car. Tatyana Semyonova wiped her sweating palms on her hips and grabbed the newspaper. Her eyes watched the door to the vestibule nervously. The handle turned; the door opened.
«You’ve come, Dr. Krasin.» The car attendant wheezed and backed away into the depths of the car.
Her initial fright passed. The car attendant took ahold of herself. She’d had to face down her violent husband plenty of times before — this guy was just a geek in glasses.
«Did you bring the money?»
«What’s got into you, Semyonova? I met you halfway fair and square, got rid of your husband for you. I can keep him in the hospital for three months. But you — you ungrateful pig — »
«Easy, doc! You think I don’t know who you’ve been covering for? A murderer!»
«I think perhaps you might require some treatment too, Semyonova. You seem to be suffering from delusions.»
«At least I don’t kill people, like your friend!» The car attendant tossed the newspaper to the doctor. The paper unfurled mid-flight and settled at Krasin’s feet. Dmitry Maltsev’s portrait looked up from the crumpled page. «While you were riding with his ticket, he knocked off his own brother. I know what an alibi is.»
«You’re raving, Semyonova. You’re ill!»
«You’ve really got a nice thing going, doc. Anyone who gets in your way becomes a psycho! But I’m in my right mind and I know that no one’s going to waste their time investigating a cheating husband. Especially an op from Homicide! Plus, the article explains everything about Maltsev. But of course — the poor guy was in St. Petersburg! So he has absolutely nothing to do with the body in his apartment. What’ll happen if I tell them that instead of Maltsev, the guy on the train was a certain Dr. Krasin traveling in order to cover for his accomplice? You want that, doctor?»
«Shut up!»
«Aha! You don’t like the sound of that? You’re an accomplice to a murder. Or maybe even its mastermind.»
«You schizophrenic!»
«Stop! Don’t come any closer! Put the money on the floor and get out of here.»
«That’s not how I do business, Semyonova. I’ll pay you now, then in a week you’ll come to me for more.»
«I ain’t greedy. Pay up and you’ll learn the value of my word.»
«No. You need to sign a paper for me.»
«What paper?» the attendant frowned.
«That you got money from me. As a loan. And with interest.»
«What loan? What interest?»
«Well, what’d you think? That’s my insurance. Break your promise and start talking and I’ll submit the paper in court. Then all your belongings will be confiscated.»
«I ain’t gonna write nothing.»
«Then there ain’t gonna be no money,» Krasin parroted and turned as if to go. «If you don’t want to, then you don’t want to.»
Semyonova thought about it.
«Hang on, doctor!» she called him back. «You got the money on you?»
«Of course.»
«To hell with you! I’ll sign it. But if something’s off — »
«Excellent, we have an agreement.» The psychiatrist’s lips stretched to a lusty grin as his eyes followed the woman. «Let’s grab a seat for the signing ceremony. I’ll give you the paper and tell you what to write.»
The car attendant looked suspiciously at the suddenly friendly psychiatrist. She went back to the service compartment, sat down at the table and found a pen.
«What should I write?»
«Just a second — just a second!» Krasin came flush up against the woman and snatched his hand from his pocket.
The car attendant noticed that he had a syringe in his fist and threw up her arms to cover herself.
«Nikolai!» she shrieked.
In an instant, Nikolai came bursting in from the corridor and slid the long blade into Krasin’s side. The doctor groaned and collapsed. His eyes rolled up.
«Oh god!» the woman started. «I only asked you to scare him!»
«Where’s the dough?» Nikolai growled.
Semyonova was rubbing her temples feverishly.
«Okay. You’re a schizophrenic, you’ve got nothing to lose,» she thought aloud. «I was chatting with the doctor about your treatment. Then you burst in and — »
«Where’s the money, Tanya?» her husband pressed, frothing. «Where’s the vodka?»
«On him,» she pointed at Krasin’s body with her index finger.
Nikolai bent down to the doctor and began frisking him.
«Here’s the vodka!» came from the doors.
Nikolai looked back and even managed to catch sight of the long-yearned-for bottle — before it came crashing down on his head. It was a glancing blow and the bottle did not shatter, but Semyonov collapsed onto Krasin all the same.
The car attendant watched with horror as the hooded and gloved figure loomed over her. She had seen this man before — but only in a photograph.
Elena Petelina parked her car next to the railroad. The scooter trundled past. She turned toward its rattle and managed to notice its blue side and its rider’s black helmet. The scooter disappeared between the buildings. Had the same guy really followed her across the entire city? What was this nonsense? Who would want to tail her?
Petelina made her way to the passenger cars standing off on the sidetrack. She wandered along the rails looking for the right train. She needed to talk to the attendant urgently, but Semyonova wasn’t picking up her phone. If she had really made a false statement, then the whole case would change drastically. Krasin had been on the St. Petersburg train, which meant that Maltsev had fabricated his alibi. At the time of his brother’s murder, Maltsev had been in Moscow. In that case, the Inna Maltseva’s «delusional» statements were the honest truth. Indeed, perhaps she was the only person in this entire tangled affair who had told the truth from the beginning.
The detective saw the sign on a car announcing the destination she was looking for.
Found it!
«I think we’re moving.» Vanya Mayorov was trying to peek over the column of passenger transport. The spires of the train stations that abutted Komsomolskaya Square were already close by.
«You call this moving? We’d get there faster on foot!» the captain fussed. «Park the car and follow me!»
Valeyev jumped out and took off running. Vanya tucked the car onto the median and hurried after the captain.
61
«Y — you!» stammered Tatyana Semyonova.
«Me,» Dmitry Maltsev confirmed. «I heard what you said just now.»
«I won’t say a thing.»
«Of course not.» Maltsev flipped Nikolai’s body and put his ear to his chest. «He’s breathing. Concussions aren’t very dangerous if you haven’t any brains. Good, good.» He switched his attention to the knife sticking out of Krasin’s side. «And this is even better.»
His cold eyes fixed on the cornered car attendant. His voice was calm and judicious.
«You wanted to win some, but you lost some. Now I’d like to win some. That’s how it goes: The weak lose, the decisive win.»
«Let me go.»
«Too late. You made your choice.»
«I won’t tell anyone anything.»
«A female’s tongue is like a spaniel’s tail. You’ve already said plenty. By the way — you guessed right — I did kill my brother. But they’ll blame it on my wife. I’ll kill you now and let your schizo husband take the fall.»
Maltsev bent down. His gloved hand yanked the knife out of Krasin’s body. A murky drop of blood slipped from the blade.
«Now,» Maltsev raised his voice, «have you shared your guesswork with anyone else? Well?»
The car attendant shook her head.
«No.»
«Who else lives with you? You got another guy besides this one?»
«I don’t have anyone. Just my daughter.»
«How old is she?»
«Fifteen.»
«Already fifteen… Do you talk to her about work? I bet she dreams of owning all kinds of brand name junk. And you probably bragged to her that you’ll get plenty of money today. Right? Did you tell her what you’d get it for?!»
«No,» whined the woman.
«You’re lying! You prepared for this — even brought your idiot husband. D’you tell your daughter about it?»
«No!»
«Where do you live? Out with the address!» Maltsev slapped the attendant on the cheek. «Lose your tongue? Give me your passport!»
The woman’s shaking hands dumped her purse’s contents onto the table. Maltsev snatched up the passport, paged through it and flung it to the floor.
«I’ll have to pay Sonya a visit today.»
«Don’t you dare touch her!»
The mother’s heart quivered with fear for her daughter. Semyonova threw herself at her tormentor — Maltsev met her with the knife’s point. The woman gasped. He stabbed her three more times in the stomach to make sure and tossed aside her limp body. Carefully, the killer placed the bloodied chef’s knife back into the husband’s hand. Then, he paused and scrutinized each tiny detail of the picture before him. He found it to his liking.
Maltsev exited the compartment gingerly and stopped in the corridor. Silence. He considered his footprints and looked at the floor. When the slaughter is discovered, everyone will start running around harebrained and, dashing back and forth, will cover up the remaining traces. He was free to go.
Just then, however, a hoarse whisper came from the compartment. He darted back inside. Semyonova was holding her stomach with one hand and holding her cell phone in the other.
«Sonya — don’t open the door — don’t open it,» she was muttering.
Maltsev struck the woman with his fist, knocking her unconscious. The knife made its way back into his hand from Nikolai’s. This time Maltsev aimed his thrust deliberately and gave the blade a twist in the woman’s stomach. As he returned the knife to the schizophrenic’s hand, he noticed that the man was stirring. He smiled. Let him get a good look at what he’d done. Meanwhile, he would pay a visit to his daughter.
Before leaving the train car, Maltsev glanced out the window. His eyes widened. None other than Detective Elena Petelina herself was approaching the car.
The nosy bitch! What did she want? Why the hell was she coming here instead of clattering out some report in her comfy office? Had she managed to figure it all out after all?
Dmitry Maltsev suppressed his anxiety and considered the situation.
She was alone! She was looking at the numbers written on the cars, which meant she knew where she needed to go. He could flee — but why? She was nosy, but he was decisive. She was tenacious, but he was brutal! If fate has offered the opportunity to cleave this tangled knot with one swipe of his blade, it’d be a sin not to take it.
62
Mikhail Ustinov was staring at his computer screen. Here, he was in his element — surrounded by his devices, reagents, his cunning equipment, he veritably bathed in the ocean of virtual information. While the operatives dashed and darted about the city, he could find out more than they without leaving the confines of his lab. Though, to be fair, it was they who brought him the evidence he needed — as well as suggesting ideas that often helped him.
Take today for example. Valeyev had suggested he compare the photos of two utterly different people — photos that had been taken eighteen years apart. At first glance, one could note a resemblance, but there were differences too. Pretty significant ones! He could spend an eternity idly guessing whether this was one and the same person at different stages of his life. Or, he could enlist the services of intelligent software to compare the bone structures of the two faces.
Having scanned the photographs, the expert created 3D models of the young man’s and the older man’s heads. In doing this, he was helped by the photographs that his girlfriend, Masha, had taken. He’d need to thank her. The girl would like that — especially if the result was a positive one.
Ustinov was looking at the data scrolling down his screen, when he saw a match! And another! Excellent! The numbers went on, matching up across each key indicator. The two faces really did belong to one and the same person.
He needed to let Valeyev know — he was the one who’d asked him to do it. No, better warn Petelina as soon as possible. This was very important. And dangerous! Especially considering that she was on her way to where those two telephones were located.
Misha grabbed his cell phone and, as he did so, the device commenced vibrating in his hand. A fashionable ditty began to blare. He had assigned this ringtone to his girlfriend with the violet bangs. As soon as he had thought of her, she had called him! Clearly there must be some unseen, telepathic connection between them. Clearly, this was fate.
Misha smiled broadly and placed his phone against his ear. It’s amazing how much journalists like to chat — even about little stuff like dinner plans! But how pleasant it was to listen to them, when they were the girl you loved. Today, he would give Masha her bombshell for a present. She would appreciate its value. And she’d find a way to thank him too. After all, she was just the bee’s knees!
63
«Get up! On your feet!» Maltsev hoisted Nikolai to his feet and propped him up from behind. «You wanted vodka? Here!»
Nikolai Semyonov found an open bottle in his hand. He began to suck on it greedily.
«That’ll do!» Maltsev yanked the bottle away and spun the schizophrenic to face the bloodbath behind him. He made sure to remain concealed behind Nikolai’s back the entire time, so that the man couldn’t get a look at him. «Have a look at what you’ve done.»
«I did that?» Nikolai blinked.
«Sure. First you stuck him, then her. Check your hands.»
Nikolai popped out his eyes at his splayed palms. The right hand was sticky with blood. The chef’s knife that his wife had handed him to scare the doctor with lay underfoot.
«They’ll arrest you, take you back to the loony bin and turn you into a retard in there,» Maltsev whispered into his ear. «But you’re no retard right?»
«No…»
«They’ll lock you up for the rest of your life. You’ll never get another drink. Not a drop!»
Nikolai’s Adam’s apple spasmed.
«I know a way out though,» Maltsev went on tempting the man.
«How?»
«A female is about to enter the car. She wants to arrest you. Kill her and leave. And no one will know anything. She has money in her purse. A lot of money. Didn’t your wife promise you money?»
«Yeah…»
«So take it. It’s yours. You’ll get all the vodka you want. Just kill her! She’s just a bitch! Take the knife! She’s coming.»
They could hear someone stepping up onto the steel ladder leading to the car. Nikolai picked up the knife.
«Don’t pause. Strike the moment she walks in!» Maltsev pushed him forward and darted toward the opposite vestibule.
Car number twelve was unlocked. So Tatyana Semyonova was already here. Petelina climbed up the stairs.
She would explain to the attendant that being transferred from the express to the long-distance service need not be the worst thing to happen to her. Article 307 of the Russian Criminal Code stipulates that anyone guilty of making premeditated, false statements be arrested. But there is a way out. There is an addendum to the Article that states that such a person may be absolved of criminal prosecution in the event that he or she voluntarily confesses that the statement he or she made was false. That’s something worth considering. Let Semyonova make her choice and keep her daughter in mind as she does so. How would the girl feel about her mother being charged as an accessory to murder?
Petelina opened the door to the corridor and entered the car. The door shut behind her. A pair of crazed eyes fixed on her with a scalding look. The stranger flared his nostrils and snarled. He was of the kind you couldn’t reason with. Elena staggered back. Her back pressed against the closed door. She looked down. The madman’s hand gripped a kitchen knife. Elena knew what dried blood looked like on a steel blade. That knife had been inside someone very recently.
The man drew his arm back to strike and with a threatening yell thrust at her. Elena shrunk and shielded herself with her purse. The blade entered the purse with a crunch, pierced it through and through and became stuck. The sharp point pricked the detective through her clothes.
Without waiting for the second blow, Elena pushed the man back and darted aside. The purse remained hanging on the knife, while Elena tumbled into a passenger compartment and slammed the door shut behind her. Her fingers turned the latch, her hands dug into the handle, her heart beat madly.
Someone pressed on the handle from the other side. Elena held on. The man kicked the door, jarring her shoulder. Then, nothing. She would make it. He can’t break through the tough barrier. She will call for help.
Her hand crept down searching for salvation in the zippered pocket — and this was when Elena realized that the purse and the phone were now with the madman. She was trapped!
The door shook from the blows, the handle jerked. Then came silence. Petelina listened. A labored wheezing came from behind the door.
Nikolai Semyonov clutched the purse. His eyes cast about to and fro. The purse had heft. It had coin. That’s what he wanted. He can have as much drink as he wants! He doesn’t need the woman behind the door. To hell with her! He needs a store and fast!
Elena heard the man spit, step out into the vestibule and jump down onto the gravel. She caught her breath and unclenched the hand that had been clutching the door handle. Her nose was pressed against a cold mirror which had fogged from her breath. Elena wiped away the condensation.
And screamed!
In the reflection she saw the glassy eyes of the dead car attendant. Blood blackened her company jacket. A man lay on the floor, his eyes closed. Elena recognized Krasin’s pale face by his thick glasses.
Elena jerked back the lock and rattled the door until it opened. She tumbled out into the corridor and began to run. Away from this horror! She headed in the opposite direction from the one the killer had taken. The car was empty. There was the other vestibule. There lay salvation!
She pushed the door and stopped. Blocking her way was Dmitry Maltsev. A gun appeared from his pocket. He aimed it at the detective and sighed.
«Gotta do it all yourself these days.»
«Wait! You’re better of surrendering. I already know everything, Maltsev.»
«All the worse for you.»
Elena was retreating as Maltsev advanced.
«Wake up! I’m a major of justice.»
«Everyone is equal in blood — and death.»
«Maltse — »
The gun cracked. The round slammed into Elena’s chest. Her body fell backward.
64
Marat Valeyev sprinted through the gridlocked street, deftly dodging whatever hapless pedestrians got in his way. The same could not be said about the massive Vanya Mayorov who was barely managing to stay on the captain’s heels. All along the street behind him sounded the complaints of the passersby and Vanya’s booming apologies: «Excuse me. Sorry. Pardon me.»
The captain turned into an alley and cut through a courtyard. At last, he ran out to the rail yard with its waiting passenger trains. Here he waited for the senior lieutenant to catch up.
«Did you give the EMTs some work back there?»
«I… They…» Vanya was trying to catch his breath. «Are they blind… or something..?»
«Lena has to be around here somewhere.» Valeyev dialed Petelina’s number but she didn’t pick up.
«I heard it ringing — in that guy’s purse…» Vanya pointed to a man who was just then passing out of sight between some buildings.
«What did you hear?»
«Petelina’s ringtone. He’s got the same kind of purse too.»
«What?!»
Valeyev took off running again. A man with a woman’s purse is strange enough — if that purse really was Elena’s…
The captain stopped. He couldn’t see anyone between the buildings — but over there next to railroad stood Petelina’s car, dutifully awaiting its owner’s return.
When Mayorov came running up, Valeyev poked him in his chest.
«You sure about that purse?»
«Completely identical.»
«Do you remember what the guy looked like?»
«Yeah.»
«Good. Go after him! I’ll go check the trains. Lena’s got to be somewhere around here.»
Dmitry Maltsev stood over Detective Petelina splayed out on the floor before him.
She’d been knocked back pretty hard. Should he put the gun to her temple and finish her? An alluring proposition. But he wouldn’t be able to dump a murder like that onto the madman, and Semyonov, as luck would have it, had run off with the knife.
Maltsev wondered whether perhaps the schizophrenic had dropped it on his way out and looked out the window. Neither the knife nor Semyonov were anywhere to be seen.
But who was that, plodding between the train cars? God damn it… Captain Valeyev! The same one who’d detained him on the train in Leningradsky Station. Back then the arrest had buttressed his alibi — now, though, running into the operative was the last thing he wanted.
Maltsev yanked Petelina, who had begun to stir, up by her arm.
«Get up and move it! Calm down and stop staring at your chest. Gun’s nonlethal,» Maltsev waved the revolver in front of the detective’s face. «But if you make a peep, I’ll shoot you in the head point blank. Got it?»
Time was running out, thought Maltsev. A new plan formed in his mind. A daring but accurate one. He picked up the rubber round. Its shell had remained in the revolver’s cylinder. He was free to leave now.
«Get a move on!»
Maltsev pushed Petelina in the back of the head with the barrel. He led her into the vestibule and opened the doors. He had taken the key from the car attendant earlier.
«Give me that!» Maltsev ripped off Petelina’s scarf and wrapped his gun hand in it. «Now we’re going to go descend. And keep your mouth shut!»
He pushed the woman out of the car, while tightly clenching her elbow. His other hand, wrapped in the scarf, dug into Elena’s side.
«Do what I tell you, Noose. Try anything and I’ll kill you. I got nothing to lose. Let’s go!» Maltsev began to drag the woman after him.
«Where?»
«What’s with you dicks and asking questions? Move your feet!»
Maltsev led Petelina out of the rail yard and toward the buildings. He looked at the street sign. He still remembered the car attendant’s address. It wasn’t far from here. They could walk there.
And once they got there he would bring this whole thing to a final conclusion, after which he’d be free to start his new life with a blank slate — as he had already done once before.
65
Marat Valeyev clambered up to the vestibule of car number twelve. The operative’s intuition sensed danger. The captain got out his gun, took the safety off and cocked the receiver as quietly as he could. His hand pushed open the door to the car. There was nowhere to hide in the narrow corridor, but an assailant could use any passenger compartment to stage an ambush.
Valeyev stepped forward. He tried the bathroom door. Locked. Go ahead and guess whether someone’s inside! He needed to move forward and hope that the noise from the trains passing periodically outside wouldn’t drown out anyone moving behind his back.
Valeyev slipped past the service compartment, pressed himself against the wall and opened the door in a way that kept him out of the line of fire. The door gave in. Silence. That didn’t give him peace of mind. You have to always assume that you’re dealing with an intelligent foe who doesn’t waste ammo on just anything. Could be, the enemy was still waiting inside — the operative did not have the same luxury. He had to find and save Lena, which meant he had to take risks.
Marat popped out, aiming his gun before him. His eyes scanned for a target. But there was no need to shoot. Inside the compartment lay two bodies with stab wounds. Valeyev recognized Krasin and figured that the other body was that of Semyonova, the car attendant. Lena had come here to meet with her. She must be somewhere nearby. But she wasn’t answering her phone. What had happened to her?
Valeyev charged forward through the rest of the car, opening each compartment. He didn’t bother to hide anymore — he would’ve been more than happy with an open showdown now — he just wanted to save Lena. He wished he could see his enemy finally so he could rid himself of the frightening unknown.
Finally, Marat checked the last passenger compartment and returned to the closed bathroom and busted down the door. Empty. Aside from the two bodies in the service compartment, there was no one in the car.
Valeyev touched the neck of the attendant, looking for a pulse. It was no good. She was dead. He bent over Krasin. He thought he could hear the doctor breathing. The operative called the ambulance and notified the police. Then he tore off Krasin’s clothes and examined his stomach wound. Blood was seeping from the narrow slit but the man was still alive. Marat found the first aid kit and bandaged the wound as best he could.
He felt awful. Any moment the cavalry would arrive. They’d start gathering evidence, looking for witnesses and forcing him into endless conversations with annoying detectives. Meanwhile, time was running out. Where was Lena right now? What had happened to her?
Marat pressed his temples and forced himself to think.
Elena had gone to meet Semyonova. Her car was here. More than likely she had entered the train car. But Krasin, its seemed, had also come here. His phone had been tracked alongside Dmitry Maltsev’s. Just the phone? Krasin had pulled a similar maneuver once before, when he had transported Maltsev’s phone to St. Petersburg. What about this time?
Valeyev riffled through Krasin’s pockets and found the doctor’s phone. There was no other. Marat called Ustinov.
«Misha, are you still tracking Maltsev and Krasin’s phones?»
«Tracker’s still running in the background. I can pull it up.»
«Hurry up and do it then,» the operative hurried. «Come on!»
«They’re both in Krasnoselsky District»
«Still together?»
«Not anymore. There’s about a third of a mile between them. And Maltsev’s phone is moving.»
«Oh goddamn it! He was here! I think Lena might be with him!»
«Valeyev, I have some new info about him.»
«It can wait!»
Valeyev hung up and dialed Maltsev. He was going to tell him that the jig was up and that if he touched even a single hair on Lena Petelina’s head, he would tear him to pieces. Well! Answer it already! Pick up and hear what Captain Valeyev will do to you, you bastard!
After several tones the line cut out. No matter how many times Marat tried to call again, all he got was an out-of-service message.
During one of the intervals, Misha Ustinov managed to get through to Marat.
«Listen to me!» the forensic expert demanded.
«Well?»
«I ran the test you requested.»
«The photo comparison?» Valeyev recalled.
«Yeah. You were right: Dmitry Maltsev is none other than Denis Bugaev!»
«The gangster from the nineties who died in the sauna fire?»
«That very one! I’ll tell you even more. His brother, Anton Maltsev, is Artyom Bugaev.»
«They’ve come back from the dead,» Marat dropped his arms. It didn’t make him any happier that his theory had turned out to be correct. It was one thing for Elena to be in the hands of a fraudulent businessman — it was an entirely different matter that her captor had a criminal past. «Misha, did you manage to warn Petelina in time?»
«I tried. She didn’t pick up.»
«Where’s Maltsev’s phone now?»
«It’s vanished.»
«Christ! That was me! I did that! What an idiot…»
Valeyev upbraided himself for thoughtlessly scaring off the villain and thereby losing the last thread that could have led him to Elena.
66
Ivan Mayorov was certain that he had seen Detective Petelina’s purse in the stranger’s hands. How had he gotten it? Where was Detective Petelina now? These questions were secondary. They would be answered in due time — especially if Vanya solved the main problem by locating his man. He remembered him very well. He could describe what he was wearing, his rapid pace, his haggard look, his approximate age. If he’d have to file an APB, it’d come out dead on. Only, hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that. An APB would bring in a whole crowd of similar-looking faces. Vanya had to find the guy right then and there. Instantaneously!
Mayorov peeked into the nearby courtyards. The man with the purse was nowhere to be seen. Vanya moved quickly, convinced that the man could not have gotten too far ahead of him. Only one thing was possible. He had entered some building. If he’d managed to slip into his building — to his apartment — then the search was futile and the best Mayorov would be able to do would be to start asking the residents. On the other hand, if the suspect had simply gone to some public place, then he still had a chance to find him.
Vanya mentally retraced his search. What had he passed along the way? A dry cleaners, a post office, a supermarket. The first two locations, Vanya checked quickly. They were so small that a glance sufficed. The grocery store, with its aisles of shelves, required a more orderly search. Making sure to keep the exit in sight, Vanya traversed the shop floor. Again no luck. The man with the purse was not inside.
Vanya took note of the surveillance cameras. He could demand the management show him the tapes. But that would cost time. Better exercise his operative’s savvy.
The senior lieutenant approached a cashier and introduced himself. The young lady looked at the massive operative sympathetically. A spark of attraction flashed across her eyes. Vanya described the man he was looking for.
«Exactly! He got the money out of a woman’s purse. A torn one.» The cashier smiled. «That’s why I remembered him.»
«When was this?»
«About ten minutes ago.»
«What did he buy?»
«Just some vodka. Didn’t even want a bag. Simply stuck the bottle in his pocket.»
«Thank you. You’ve helped me a lot.»
«Hang on a second!» the cashier called him back. «Don’t you want to leave your number, officer?»
«Why?» Vanya didn’t understand.
«Maybe I’ll remember some other detail. Or you could just write down mine,» the girl offered coquettishly.
Vanya smiled and stuck his hand in his pocket to get a business card. Strange how as soon as one girl fell for him, others started paying attention to him. Was it some kind of competitive vibe? Was it pheromones? In his pocket, his hand stumbled across the ring box. Vanya remembered Galya’s breath on his lips. Then he imagined what would happen if some strange woman called at that moment.
«I don’t have time right now. Some other time,» he repeated the same line that he had heard from girls so often.
Outside of the store, Mayorov looked around. He recalled the mad look in the man’s eyes. If such a person goes to the store to get vodka, there’s a good chance that he’ll be drinking it somewhere nearby. Some place quiet and discreet.
67
Each breath gave rise to a pain in her chest. The shot from the nonlethal revolver let itself be known. I’d be happy if my ribs are alright, thought Elena Petelina, and all I have is a massive bruise. She had already calmed herself, taking comfort in the thought that if he hadn’t killed her right away, then he still had some need of her.
Dmitry Maltsev started from the sound of his phone ringing in his pocket. He pulled it out and flung it against the pavement — then stomped it to pieces with his heel.
«Looks like I’m not the only one getting on your nerves,» Petelina remarked.
«Shut up!» Maltsev clenched Elena’s elbow tighter and dragged his captive onward. He held the revolver in his other hand, wrapped in the scarf.
The detective did not know self defense and had held a gun only during firearms training. Elena had spent her career fighting criminals with her intellect as opposed to her fists. What was she supposed to do now? Scream?
An old lady came hobbling toward them with a cane.
«What’ll you do if I scream?»
«You’ll get socked in the mouth,» Maltsev replied impassively.
«In the eye is a better bet. You can knock me right out.»
«Bitch!» hissed Maltsev, once they had passed the pensioner.
«You lost, Maltsev.»
«You don’t have anything on me. Just a few hunches.»
This answer filled Elena with hope. He was counting on surviving this whole thing. In her position, it was better to talk to the criminal than to stay silent.
«I know about Koltsov’s will — your father-in-law.»
«Sniffed it out, eh?»
«Drozdova’s email.»
«I knew that she was an idiot. Like all females.»
«You won’t get Inna’s money. Even if you kill her.»
Maltsev laughed.
«You’re only repeating what I already said. You may as well consider the money mine.»
If he insists on thinking I’m stupid, then I’ll act stupid.
«That’s impossible. When Inna learns the truth, she won’t give you a dime.»
«And who’s gonna ask her? She’s deranged.»
«You wanted to make her out to be insane, but that’s not the case.»
«I always get what I want! Krasin did his deed and I don’t need him anymore. The report declaring Inna mentally incompetent is right here. All I need is a day to file the application and I’ll become her legal guardian. You should be thankful, Noose. It’s the only reason you’re still breathing.»
A scooter rattled through a nearby alley. Petelina wished that someone really had tailed her.
«They’ll find us,» she declared.
«Who? The fuzz? They’re dumber than you are! I’ve led them around by the nose more times than I can count in my day.»
«You mean the Vadim Zaitsev case? Or were there earlier times too?»
Maltsev ignored these questions. The anticipation he was feeling from his current plan made him want to burst.
«Soon enough I’ll be in London, presenting all the proper paperwork to that notary. You won’t be able to get to me there. You haven’t managed to get a person out of there yet. You know why? Because the English respect the rich. They got rich themselves by robbing their colonies. Our businessmen are the same as they once were — we’ve just killed less people. The English left heaps of corpses and ransacked countries in their wake, whereas our guys only wiped out their competitors and ransacked companies. In the sum of it, our newborn businessmen are cute little bunnies in comparison to the lions of the English aristocracy.»
«And you’ll be the littlest bunny among them.»
Maltsev stopped. The gun barrel under the scarf dug deep into Elena’s side. His evil eyes consumed the woman.
«The point is — I will be. And you won’t.»
68
Waiting for backup to arrive, Valeyev carefully examined the service compartment. What had happened here? How had this tragedy unfolded? Lena was meeting with Semyonova when Maltsev and Krasin showed up. Or had they arrived earlier? They were interested in making sure Semyonova stayed quiet, and one of them killed her. The motive was clear. Then, who had stabbed Krasin? And where were Maltsev and Lena right now?
Marat noticed that the attendant still had her cell phone in her hand. He pried open her rigid fingers and extracted the phone. Her last call had been made to a Sonya.
That’s her daughter, Marat remembered. She could’ve heard something!
Valeyev called her.
«Mom!» answered the girl’s frightened voice. «Mom!»
«This isn’t your mom,» said the captain.
«Where’s my mom? Who are you?»
«I am a friend. I am your friend.»
«No! I don’t believe you!»
«Tell me — »
«Leave me alone! Mom told me not to open the door for anyone!»
The girl hung up.
Valeyev frowned. Sonya was panicking. Her mother had managed to warn her about something and ordered her not to let anyone in. Why? She had been afraid that someone would go to their apartment — someone dangerous — who? The girl had been frightened by his male voice. Maltsev-Bugaev had been here. His phone had been identified within a half-mile from here. And Vanya had mentioned that Semyonova’s apartment was somewhere nearby.
Valeyev dialed Mayorov’s phone. He had to find out Semyonova’s address and go there as quickly as possible.
Ivan Mayorov went around to the back of the store. Through the gates of an aluminum warehouse, he could see some men unloading a truck. He walked around the warehouse’s corner and found a heap of scrap tires. The man he was looking for was sitting behind them. He was drinking vodka straight from the bottle. It was going slowly due to the doser in the bottle’s neck.
Nikolai Semyonov lowered the bottle and wiped his lips with his hand. Less than a fourth of the bottle remained. Noticing someone taking an interest in his person, he covered the bottle with his jacket and cast Mayorov an unkind look.
«Don’t bother,» he warned. «You can’t have none.»
«Where’s the purse?» Vanya demanded. «You had a woman’s purse.»
Semyonov was looking at him from under his brow. He didn’t like the purse being mentioned. He had found a wallet with money inside.
«What’d you want? Get outta here!»
«Where’d you get the purse?»
«None of your business. Scram!»
«Get up!» Vanya jerked the man to his feet. «Where is the woman whose purse you stole?»
«That’s my wife’s purse — she’s an attendant!»
«Semyonov!» Vanya realized and gave the man a good shake.
«Well, that’s my name. What of it?»
«Listen up, Semyonov. If you don’t tell me where you got the purse, I’ll — »
«Pshh!» the schizophrenic shrugged him off and tried to get another drink from the bottle.
«Stop drinking!»
Vanya knocked the bottle out of his hands. The bottle smashed against the pavement. It began to smell of vodka. Semyonov followed his loss with a dull look. His mouth warped.
At this moment, the senior lieutenant’s phone began to ring. Vanya relaxed his grip, fished out his phone and saw that Valeyev was calling.
«I found the guy with the purse!» he reported joyfully. «He was slurping on some vodka behind the store. He’s the husband of Semyonova, the car attendant.»
«What did you find out about Petelina?»
«I’m asking him about it now.»
«That’s my purse, go to hell!» Semyonov was burbling half to himself.
He bent down to the heap of tires he was sitting on. The purse was hidden within, but when his hand reappeared it was holding the knife.
«Hurry up,» Marat was saying. «I need Semyonova’s address.»
«I’ve asked Galya about it a bill — »
The schizophrenic turned around and struck the operative with the knife. Vanya stifled his scream and looked down at the knife handle sticking out of his stomach, surprised.
« — ion times,» he finished his sentence.
Semyonov was running away with the purse under his arm, his glassy eyes scanning for a place to buy some more drink.
«Vanya? What happened?» Marat began to suspect something was wrong. «Vanya!»
«He… he…»
Valeyev heard the large man’s moan, followed by the sound of the massive body collapsing.
69
Elena decided that even if you’ve found yourself taken hostage, you can go on doing your job as a detective. The unordinary situation simply offers new opportunities. Maltsev is convinced of his power, while she affects weakness. He is the omnipotent master of the situation; she is his obedient victim. She must strive to extract information from the criminal under any and all conditions.
«I’m astonished that you’ve managed to fool everyone.» Elena decided to appeal to Maltsev’s vanity. «Fooling me I can understand: I have a dozen other cases to deal with. But your brother — your wife… How did you pull it off? Surely Krasin masterminded the whole thing?»
«What? Krasin is just a pawn in my game. I’m the one who found him and got him to dance to my tune.»
«You expect me to believe that someone can manipulate a psychiatrist?»
«If a man finds himself in a tight spot, you can take him with your bare hands. Krasin needed dough. He got a huge mortgage, without a way to pay it off. I found out about it and offered him a deal.»
«He diagnoses your wife with schizophrenia and you give him a part of the inheritance?»
«Half of the first million. But then he decided that wasn’t enough and asked for more. Bastard! He got his. By the way, it was that schizo Semyonov who stuck him back in the train. I had nothing to do with it.»
«He stabbed his wife too?»
«Let’s let the investigation establish that. One murder weapon, time and location matches, and the schizo has the knife on him. Seems cut and dry to me. Any detective would happily latch on to that to close the case.»
Maltsev smirked the smirk of a winner who had managed to triumph over everyone. It was not the type of smile one would see on the face of someone talking about others’ deeds. Petelina noted his demeanor but didn’t react to it. Every criminal loves to tell stories about how he outfoxed the cops.
«The story with the train is clear,» she agreed. «But who killed your brother Anton? We’ve established that Krasin made the trip to St. Petersburg in your place.»
«What really happened doesn’t matter. What does matter is what the official report says. And that would be Semyonova’s statement. She won’t get a chance to change it now.»
«Why all the bodies, then, if all you wanted was for Inna to be diagnosed as schizophrenic?»
«It’s not that simple. Without aggravating symptoms, the process could’ve drawn on forever. And she could’ve found out about the will at any moment. I had to act quickly and accurately. Plus, there was another reason.» Maltsev spit. «When her daddy took off and the money began to run dry, Inna started whining about how worthless I was — that I couldn’t come up with anything without her daddy’s help. So I came up with something! To spite her! If only you could’ve heard how many times she called me „a loser.“ Fashionable word that.»
«So this was your revenge? You exacted revenge against your wife because you felt humiliated?»
«Well, what man will stand for that kind of thing? Sure, there are some spineless savages that’ll just redecorate her face, but I came up with something more elegant. I turned smart little Inna into a total idiot!»
«And your own brother? You don’t pity him?»
«Didn’t feel like sharing.»
«But he had nothing to do with the will. He had just gotten out of prison.»
«That’s just the problem.»
«So it was you who killed Zaitsev during the hunting trip,» Elena realized, «and your brother served your prison sentence for you.»
«You’re a smart one.»
«You promised your brother money for every day he spent inside.»
«One grand per day. I would’ve paid him too, if the father-in-law was still around to launder his stolen money through my construction company! But he took off as soon as it started getting hot.»
«You married Inna because of her father?»
«Why, who’d want to live with her mental ass?»
«She is just a woman who wanted a child.»
«And I am just a man who wants money! I met her in Greece, made some calculations and put the moves on her. I’d been stranded before — and here all of a sudden there were a ton of options.»
«Stealing government funds?»
«What’s wrong with that? It’s business! If it wasn’t me, it’d be another. So they got rid of the father-in-law and took away my manger… Well, what now? You think there’s more money in the budget? Tosh! Now there are others who are even more greedy and hungry! That’s just the system!»
The blue scooter stood in their way. Elena tensed. This apparition had been following her all day. Or maybe she simply hadn’t noticed it before? How many blue scooters are there in Moscow anyway? But the rider with the black helmet is nowhere to be seen and at the moment, she needed to worry less about her imagined stalker and worry more about the very real barrel pointed at her stomach.
More than anything, however, she wanted to figure out this tangled case. Her professional thirst to get at the truth superseded even her fear.
Having mulled over all the information in her mind, Elena said, «I think I know how it all happened.»
«Well?» smirked Maltsev.
«You ordered Krasin to seduce Inna. This wasn’t difficult for the experienced psychiatrist. He let the woman see the photo of the cute girl — supposedly his daughter. Then he convinced her that the girl was being tormented by his ex-wife. He convinced Inna that the shortest way to happiness was to become the mother of this girl and take over her husband’s money. To do that, she’d need to get rid of the evil woman. That was easy — all she had to do was pull the trigger. She already had a gun, after all. Drozdova played the role of Krasin’s wife. You wanted to frame Inna so that she’d confess to a fictitious murder. Then Krasin could declare her insane.»
«So far so good. But my plan was a more cunning.»
«You decided to get rid of your brother while you were at it,» Elena started as she said this. She had spent so many years trying to find her own brother, hoping that at least he was alive, and here was Maltsev killing the closest person to him in cold blood. «You knew when he’d be released. On that day, Krasin told Inna where she could ambush the woman in the red Volvo. Inna waited for Drozdova and killed her. She knew how to use her dad’s gun. But you swapped the round for a blank one. Drozdova collapsed, playing dead. Inna went home. There she was supposed to discover the body of her husband who had been killed by Krasin. He assured her that a motive-less murder couldn’t be solved.»
«Isn’t that the case?»
«Aside from the motive there is also evidence and witnesses.»
«That’s exactly what you fell for.»
«Initially, yes,» Elena admitted. «At the time of the murder, Krasin ensured you had an alibi. He made use of his acquaintance with Semyonova, the car attendant, promising her to lock her violent husband up in the psychiatric hospital. In return, she made a false statement. In reality, you were at home at the time, meeting your brother.»
«We had a drink. Drozdova called and said that everything was going according to plan. My brother went to take a shower, while I stood at the window waiting for Inna. She did as she was told. She tossed the coat, gloves and sunglasses into the trash. I put on exactly the same coat, glasses and a wig that looked like her hair. Then I took the cleaver with Inna’s prints on it. After the deed was done, I screamed bloody murder and ran down the stairs. I assume the neighbor reacted as I predicted?»
«The disguise worked.»
«Of course it did. And here you are, saying „witnesses and evidence.“ I got Inna’s stuff out of the trash and calmly drove to Tver.»
«Where you switched places with Krasin.»
«As soon as he got on the train, he went to the restaurant car and stayed there. I switched with him and went back to the passenger car completely smashed. It was a pleasure to answer your dumb questions that morning. Admit it — it was a genius plan.»
«I’ve never seen anything like it in my career,» Petelina praised the murderer grudgingly.
«And how do you like the second part?»
«Inna’s escape from the hospital?»
«I needed to rid myself of Drozdova. She knew everything and wanted a share.»
«Drozdova was probably in love with you.»
«I didn’t need her love — I needed the government funds! All she was good for were crumbs. But the main thing was that I wanted to convince you that Inna was an utter schizo. Did it work?»
Maltsev was searching for approbation in her eyes, but Petelina’s reply caught him off guard.
«That’s what I figured. But you, it turns out, injected Inna with a tranquilizer as soon as you left the hospital’s gates.»
«Of course! Krasin faked an escape and told her that she could take his car and go see his „daughter.“ She bought it. I was hiding in the backseat. I injected her with the tranquilizer, put on the same coat that I’d killed Tyoma in, put on the wig and got behind the wheel. Earlier, I had arranged to meet Drozdova at her house in order to recreate a photo of her murder, which supposedly some random witness had snapped. She too bought it. God are females a dumb breed! Later, I was looking out my apartment’s window as you discovered Inna and went dumpster diving for your little coat with evidence from both murders. Now come on and tell me, ain’t I a genius?»
«You sure are.»
«There you go!»
«But you made one mistake.»
«Nonsense. You’re just pissed.»
«We found the gloves and the coat alright, but we also established that the gunpowder on the gloves is used only for making blank rounds.»
«Eh, overdid it,» Maltsev grimaced. «Female gloves were too narrow for my hands. I should have tossed Inna’s pair on my way back, like I did with mine. But I thought it was better to provide the entire outfit for the sake of plausibility. It’s a good thing that none of this matters anymore.» Maltsev looked at the house number and pushed Elena toward the courtyard. «We’re here.»
Petelina didn’t reply. She was too busy thinking through another mistake that the killer made in their conversation just now.
70
Marat Valeyev hopped out of the train car and, crawling, crossed under the train to its other side. An ambulance was approaching the railroad, sirens blaring. Valeyev ran up and opened the door stenciled with the red cross. An anxious EMT emerged from the cabin.
«Did you provide first aid? Which car are they in?»
«None,» Valeyev shook his head.
The medic frowned. He was clearly faced with a dysfunctional person.
«We’re responding to a call,» explained the medic. «A stabbing in a train car.»
«That call will have to wait. Follow me.»
«Hey bub, why don’t you take it easy?» another EMT emerged from the cabin.
«Get back in the ambulance, the both of you! We’ve got to go! I’ll show you the way!»
«The police are about to be here,» the first EMT warned.
«I’m already here!» Instead of producing his badge, Marat whipped out his gun.
The ambulance driver yanked the keys out of the ignition and took off running. Marat shook his gun in his direction.
«You bastard!» he cursed helplessly.
«We were called here,» the EMT insisted. «There’s someone dying in there.»
«It’s my friend who’s dying! Alright, you’re going to come with me!» Marat stuck the gun’s business end under the medic’s jaw. «Got it?»
«Whatever you want.»
«What do we need to take? Quickly!» Marat grabbed the indicated bag from the ambulance and turned to the second EMT. «You go to that train over there, car number twelve. You won’t be able to help the woman, but the man is still breathing.»
Then, Valeyev took off running with the EMT bag, pushing the medic in front of him.
«Where to?» The EMT stopped between the buildings to catch his breath.
«Vanya said he was behind the store.» Valeyev looked around. He saw a woman and asked loudly, «Where’s the grocery store ma’am?»
«To the right…» Frightened, the passerby took a step back.
«Run for it! We’ve got to make it in time.»
The supermarket’s sign appeared. Marat led the medic around the back of the store. He could tell where he needed to go by the clump of people already gathered there. He pushed his way through the crowd and beheld a horrible image.
It was cold beside the ice. Parents had gathered alongside the boarding that encircled the ice rink to watch their daughters get ready for the curling tournament. The rumble of the rocks died down as the time for warm-ups drew to a close.
Pushing off with her gripper foot and gliding on her slider foot, Nastya swooped up to Sergey Petelin. Beneath the painted-on Russian flags, the girl’s cheeks were flushed a bright red.
«Where’s mom? We’re about to start.»
Sergey shrugged his shoulders.
«Ask her yourself if you like.» He offered the phone to his daughter.
Nastya called. As the unanswered tones rang on, the child’s eyebrows furrowed and she pursed her lips tighter.
«She’s not answering.»
«She was always like that. For your mother, work is more important than family.»
The color on the girlish cheeks faded to its customary pale pink. Dejected, the girl glided off toward the center of the circle called «the house.» Her team was to go first. Nastya’s first job as the skip was to show her teammates where to aim the heavy, smooth rocks.
«Let the doctor through!» Marat screamed. «Move aside!»
Ivan Mayorov was lying on the ground. His eyelids were pressed shut, his mouth was taking rapid, shallow breaths. A young woman with a tear-stained face and a cashier’s apron was cradling his head on her chest. Every so often, she’d moisten Vanya’s lips with a little water. The handle of a kitchen knife was sticking out of the operative’s stomach. The medic got on his knee and opened his travel kit.
«Everybody, make light! You, cut the jacket.» The medic directed Marat to the scissors and began to pull on a pair of Latex gloves. «Don’t touch the knife!»
«Hold on, Vanya, hold on. I’m right here,» Marat assured his partner as he got to work.
Mayorov cracked his eyes, saw Valeyev and managed a smile. Marat cut the blood-soaked jacket. The fabric was hard to work with. A clumsy motion rocked the blade and a grimace of pain contorted the operative’s broad face. Vanya suppressed a groan and tried to smile again.
«Save him!» the cashier screamed desperately.
71
The elevator rose higher and higher. The digits on the floor indicator grew accordingly. Between the twelfth and thirteenth floors, Maltsev hit the «stop» button. The elevator jerked to a halt. Maltsev pushed Elena up against the wall and screwed the gun’s barrel into her temple.
«The girl’s name is Sonya,» he warned. «You’ll show her your badge and tell her that her mother sent you.»
Elena did not look away from his enraged eyes.
«Watch it, you’ll mess up my hair.»
She had figured out where they were. He was after the car attendant’s daughter. Now was the perfect time to scream. She’d get a bullet to her head, but the girl would remain unscathed.
«Did you understand me, you bitch?» Maltsev pressed.
Elena remembered Nastya. She was late to the opening match of her daughter’s first serious tournament. She was a bad mother! A bad mother who was a good detective. How could she make everyone happy? She looked into Maltsev’s cold eyes. She spent more time on lowlifes like this one than on her own daughter. That wasn’t fair. But would it have been any better if the city that her daughter lived in was full of killers who ran free with impunity?
Elena looked down at Maltsev’s nose. He had looked different once. Once more, the weight of her professional duty drowned out her maternal anxiety.
«You called your brother „Tyoma.“»
«What?»
«He had a hump removed from his nose. Just like you did.»
«Everyone wants to be beautiful.»
«But not everyone kills their classmates.»
«What classmates?» Maltsev flinched in all but his gun hand.
«I remember. Vadim Zaitsev was Artyom Bugaev’s classmate. Artyom had an older brother named Denis, who called him Tyoma.»
«What’re you talking about?»
«The Bugaev brothers were gangsters. In’ 94 they decided to vanish and faked their deaths. They had these very conspicuous humped noses. So they had them redone and came back to Moscow after many years under different guises. Their noses became upturned. But the main thing they changed was their names. Shall I go on?»
Maltsev didn’t say anything. Having lowered his gun, he was looking at Petelina hatefully, calculating something in his mind.
«Artyom and Denis changed their names to Anton and Dmitry. Has a nice ring to it, no? They didn’t even have to forge their passports. When a ferry sank in Greece, they showed up at the Russian embassy and pretended to be victims from the disaster. The embassy provided them with attestations based on their accounts. Then in Moscow they got new passports with their new last names.»
«You should shut up…»
«That’s how the Bugaevs became the Maltsevs,» Petelina concluded stubbornly.
«How’d you figure it out?»
«I wouldn’t have, if the Bugaev brothers hadn’t extorted my dad’s store in the nineties.»
Maltsev’s eyes narrowed. He looked over Petelina with some interest.
«What store?»
«Audio-video. My last name was Gracheva back then.»
«You met… the Bugaevs?»
«No — but my brother, Anatoly, did. The Bugaevs beat him up when he refused to give them the money.» Elena watched Maltsev’s reaction closely. He was obviously enjoying her tale.
«What happened after that?»
«That same night, the Bugaev brothers perished in a fire in the sauna. Supposedly.»
Maltsev broke out in a broad grin.
«A good fire. But the ones who died in it, weren’t who people thought they were. The only ones who knew were me and my brother, Tyoma. Later, Vadim the Rabbit also figured it out, but he didn’t react to the news appropriately. So we had to get rid of him.»
«With such elegance? A hunting accident?»
«Because Mr. Maltsev wasn’t a Bugaev! I wanted to live differently with my new last name. My job was business, not violence. So I wanted to stay on the good side of the law, as much as I could.»
«And yet you killed him anyway, him despite your good intentions.»
«Circumstances, Noose, circumstances. I’ll snag the jackpot and be done! I’ll become a proper English gentleman. And you’re gonna help me do it.»
«Don’t count on it. I’ll put you away.»
Maltsev smiled.
«I figured you out too, Noose — just now, here in this elevator. Actually putting a criminal away, for you, is no more than an afterthought. You get a kick out of figuring out the designs of others’. Soon as you’d identified me, your eyes went cold. You don’t care what happens later: whether they’ll put me away or not — what sentence they give me — what’s the difference! The main thing for you is to decode the secret behind the crime.»
«And to prove the perpetrator’s guilt.»
«Paperwork is a burden for you. Isn’t that right?»
«Meaningless details don’t exist in my line of work,» Elena refused to agree with Dmitry Maltsev aka Denis Bugaev, though deep inside she knew that he was right about many things.
«And so, dear Noose. You’ve figured out many things, but not everything.»
«I know the main one.»
«Well what would that be? Whether or not my wife is mentally incompetent? Or do you want to figure out what happened with your brother that summer night near the sauna? I’ve got the answers…»
Elena’s head began to spin. She was ready to risk anything to figure out the secret that she had struggled with for eighteen years. Maltsev sensed this.
«That’s a good girl! Do what I tell you, and you’ll find out.»
He pushed the button for the thirteenth floor. The elevator ascended; the doors opened. Maltsev pushed out the detective, looked around and nodded toward the apartment on the right.
«Smile,» he ordered and rang the doorbell to apartment number 73. Then he pressed himself flat against the wall so as to remain out of sight of the peephole. The gun barrel continued to stare at Elena.
«What’d you want?» a voice came from the door.
«Sonya — your mother sent me.»
«Who are you?»
«A detective. I catch criminals,» Petelina held up her badge.
«A man called me on mom’s phone!»
«Something bad has happened to your mother,» Elena admitted honestly.
The lock turned. The door opened.
«What’s going on?» Sonya’s frightened face peeked out of the crack in the door.
Maltsev struck the girl with the back of his hand, sending her flying to the floor. He pushed Petelina into the apartment and tried to shut the door, but here, he encountered some kind of obstacle — something was keeping the door from closing all the way. Maltsev looked back and down.
Someone had stuck their foot in the door.
72
«Your friend was looking for a man with a woman’s purse,» the cashier was explaining to Marat, «who had purchased some vodka from me. That’s his bottle.» The girl pointed at the glass shards. «I remembered him and can describe him if you like.»
«Yes, of course. Go ahead.»
The medic had called his ambulance over. Its driver, the man who had fled Valeyev earlier, was now giving the captain dirty looks. Marat ignored him. He was thinking of a way to find out Semyonova’s address. Maltsev and Elena could be there.
«What’s your friend’s name?» asked the cashier, having finished describing the criminal.
«Vanya.»
«Va-nya,» the girl mouthed softly. «A good name.»
Marat dialed Galya Nesterova’s number.
«Hey Galya. Do you remember the address of Semyonova, the car attendant.»
«Vanya asked me about it a billion times,» laughed the carefree girl. «Ask him.»
«Do you remember it?»
«Sure I do. Where’s Vanya?»
First business, then the bad news, Valeyev thought to himself. His voice wavered, however, betraying him.
«Give me — the address, Galya.»
«But what happened?»
«Do you remember where Semyonova lives or not?»
«Sure I remember!» The woman recited the address. She was no longer laughing. «Valeyev, where is Vanya?»
«Well…» Marat hesitated.
«What happened to him?»
«He’s been wounded. It’s bad.»
«What a bastard you are, Valeyev. Tell me where he is this instant!»
The EMT and the driver had heaved Mayorov onto a gurney and were about to load him into the ambulance.
«He’s right here. He can hear you,» Marat put the phone to his partner’s ear.
«Vanya. Vanechka. My love,» Galya Nesterova said anxiously. «Please don’t die!»
Vanya opened his eyes a little. His lips twitched.
«Galchonok…»
Standing in earshot, the cashier bit down on her bottom lip painfully. It was no good — the hurt she was experiencing inside remained greater. Sniffling and smearing her ample tears across her cheeks, the girl turned and plodded off back to the supermarket.
After three ends, Nastya’s team was down by three points. It was all her fault. She was the skip and, as the skip, it fell to her to make the final delivery of each end. Because of her anxiety, however, none of Nastya’s deliveries were going where she needed them to go.
Taking her position in the house, Nastya scanned the stands for the hundredth time. She couldn’t see her mom anywhere. The girl looked at her father inquisitively. Sergey Petelin smiled supportively and raised her phone.
He dialed Lena’s number. After the second ring, the call was cut off. «The number you are trying to reach is busy,» said the message. «Please hang up and dial again.»
What was she so busy with on a Saturday? Couldn’t she see that her daughter was calling her?
Annoyed, Sergey Petelina dialed again.
A black motorcycle helmet slipped into the apartment behind the foot. The tinted visor hid the rider’s face. Maltsev screened himself with the detective and pointed his gun at the stranger. Fear of the unknown surged through him. Who was messing with him now? A cop?
The motorcyclist pushed the door and entered. Maltsev glanced at his hands. They were empty! No weapon. Who cares then who it was? The dumbass! Maltsev fired.
A rubber bullet slammed into the stranger’s leather jacket, propelling him back into the door, shutting it. Maltsev fired again. The stranger collapsed. Sonya began to scream behind him. Petelina tensed and began to struggle.
Here, Maltsev flew into a rage. He had not planned on making a racket in the apartment. First, he coldcocked Petelina with the revolver. Then, he turned to the girl, scowling.
«Shut up or you’ll get a bullet too!» He waved the barrel before her face.
Sonya started to whimper and crawl away from him along the floor. Maltsev booted the fallen motorcyclist out of his way and caught up to the girl. Luckily, he had brought duct tape with him. A great way to stopper a captive’s mouth — and useful for binding them too. Every single last one of them!
He taped Sonya to a chair first. Taping up her mouth, he pushed her up to a desk littered with school textbooks and notebooks. Petelina got a worn-out armchair. The motorcyclist Maltsev dragged over to the radiator and spread and taped his arms across the length of a horizontal water pipe.
His work done, he wiped the sweat from his face and listened. Everything seemed quiet. The neighbors weren’t raising an alarm. No doubt, they were used to the inebriated racket of Semyonov the schizophrenic.
Maltsev approached the motorcyclist and lightly kicked him with his foot. The motorcyclist stirred, the tinted visor still hiding his face.
«It’s high time we met,» Maltsev said with threat in his voice and ripped off the helmet.
«We already have,» the motorcyclist whispered.
73
Valeyev lost his way in the unfamiliar district and yet again failed to find the building he needed. He had asked some passersby a few times, but the captain’s frothed up look either evoked torpor or a vague wave of the hand, «That way.» Running into yet another courtyard, Marat almost tripped over himself. A solitary man with a woman’s purse sat in the playground slamming back vodka from a bottle.
That was the guy — there was no mistaking it! The cashier had described him to a T. And anyway, Marat had no trouble recognizing Elena’s purse.
All the anger accumulated from all the recent misfortunes surged into the captain’s fist and acquired a new, concrete target. Lena, Vanya, the stabbed bodies in the passenger compartment — yet here he was, this piece of filth, hungrily sucking vodka and letting his excess saliva dribble over his knees.
Marat walked over calmly, allowing no unnecessary motion. He knew that his last step would bring his feet and torso into the proper, striking position. That’s how it happened. The right hook loped square into the alcoholic’s jaw. The bench the man was sitting on failed, its back splintered and, with a groan, the drunk went plunging heels over head.
As so often happens in Russia, a Good Samaritan was instantly on the scene.
«What’s going on here?» cried the elderly lady. «Assault! They’re beating law-abiding citizens in broad daylight now! Police!»
His anger had faded with the blow. Marat stood over the spilled bum. Once again, the injustice of it all horrified him. How was it that this beast in the guise of a person was alive and well, but a true human being, young and hale Vanya, was somewhere fighting for his life this very instant?
The captain produced his badge and waved it in the direction of the screaming lady. The shriek gave way to an anxious mutter and rapidly retreating footsteps. A phone began to ring from the purse which the alcoholic had dropped on his backwards trajectory. Marat fished it out, noting the knife-punctures in the purse. He found Petelina’s phone ringing in his hand.
«Hello?» he answered.
«Who is this?»
«Marat Valeyev.»
«Where’s Lena?»
«She…» Marat didn’t know what to say and dropped his hand in resignation. The phone’s mic began picking up the dull moans and groans of the battered alcoholic.
Sergey Petelin violently pushed «End Call.» He wasn’t about to listen to some stranger’s babble into his ex-wife’s phone. Obviously, she had seen who was calling her and given him the phone on purpose! And who else but that same old classmate of theirs! That loser! A run-of-the-mill cop, who was even beneath her in rank. A man who scribbled sophomoric nonsense under people’s windows.
Who does Lena think she is anyway? How low she’s fallen! Her daughter needs her support and she’s out there breaking bad with some lout. Sergey imagined his ex-wife laughing at him that very moment and began to batter the boards with his fist from rage.
The first half of the match drew to a close. Nastya had given up another two points. The other girls on her team were fuming at their skip for choking on her deliveries. Five to zero! It was almost a rout.
Nastya looked at her dad. He looked agitated and occupied with himself and not looking at her at all. Both her mother and father had forgotten about her. Only her grandmother still loved her, even though she had stayed home since she didn’t understand the first thing about curling.
Suddenly Nastya caught someone taking an interest in her. An older man was sitting in the stands, watching her closely. Their eyes met. There was something familiar in his face, especially his eyes. The spectator raised a closed fist and rocked it in Nastya’s direction — just as her mother would do when at critical moments the two would pound fists! That was her mother’s way to cheer her up!
And Nastya realized who the old man was. She knew about him but had never seen him. It was her grandfather! He had decided to show up for the first time to see her compete and now here he was witnessing this humiliation!
Nastya answered the man’s gesture with her own raised fist. Simultaneously, grandfather and granddaughter gave each other a thumbs up.
74
Gripping the motorcycle helmet tightly, Maltsev examined the ghost from his past. A shaved head, a stubborn arc to the eyebrows, moving lips:
«Where’d your nose go, Bugay? I thought you’d long since recouped your sins.»
Maltsev couldn’t recognize him. A melancholy fear — one that had for years resided only in his nightmares — now reinvested him. He had always been worried that one of his own would recognize him. Then, he would have to face uncomfortable questions about the fire in the sauna, the dead mobsters, the stolen money. Once upon a time, Vadim Zaitsev had recognized his brother and him. They had managed to pull the wool over the thug’s eyes: first, they paid him off and later they destroyed him. But who was this facing him now?
«Is Artyom no longer around? I knew that you two would devour each other eventually,» smirked the shaved ghost.
«Who are you?» Maltsev raised the helmet, threatening to strike.
«Don’t ruin your karma, Bugay. Just think of all the lives you’ll need to live to cleanse yourself.»
«What are you, a damn Buddhist? Give me your name, I said!»
«Untie us and leave. Do at least one good deed. Think about your soul. Otherwise, you’ll suffer for all eternity, Bugay.»
«You were following me, you bastard!»
«I don’t care about you.» The shaved man looked past Maltsev. «I’ve come for her.»
Maltsev turned around. Petelina’s eyes were doing cartwheels; she was trying to say something through the duct tape. Maltsev started. The eyes! He remembered seeing the Buddhist’s eyes before and, had it not been for his shaved head, would have recognized him immediately. A deep-set, indomitable gaze: The guy was lying on the floor half-dead and yet somehow managed to speak down to Maltsev despite that fact. No different than the proud Noose!
Fear left Maltsev. This wasn’t one of the mobsters he had cheated. This was a failed avenger and a naïve Buddhist. Maltsev dropped the helmet, praising himself for having put on gloves beforehand. So he would have to deal with three captives instead of the original two. The challenge was greater. But it could still be overcome. All that remained was to act out the last scene of their lives. He was decisive and he always saw things to their logical conclusion. And that was because he was brutal. Unlike this weakling.
«Well, it’s good to see you, Baby Rook. Have you come to see how your little sister’s doing?» Maltsev stepped over to Elena who was bellowing through the tape. «What’s your brother’s name? Tolik? I heard that you’ve been looking for him for a long time. Have a good look now.» He bent down to her, devouring her with his eyes. «Did you know, oh Senior Detective, that your brother is a criminal? He wanted to kill me and my friends! Only, he got cold feet. But I didn’t — not back then and not today!»
The mercurial Maltsev turned back to Anatoly.
«Nothing to say? What’s the matter? Tell her how you doused the sauna with gas. Come on now! Cat got your tongue?»
«Consider your sins, Bugay. Save your karma. It’s still not too late to take the right path. Cleanse your soul before reincarnation.»
«I can see that you’ve had your bald brain washed clean through. Where’d you come from after all those years?»
«I was living in India and Nepal. In a monastery.»
«So that’s where you ran off to! Praying your sins away. And? Was it a success? You know, I was looking for you that night — and the next day. You were the last surviving witness.»
«Leave the girl and Lena. I’ll stay with you. I’m ready to die.»
«Dumbass. You’re a naïve fool! Who in their right mind just lets a detective waltz out of a situation like this?» Maltsev looked at Petelina. «Anyway, your sister still hasn’t understood anything. She wouldn’t leave if I gave her the chance. Remember, she’s a detective: All she cares about are answers to questions like who, how and why. She’s ready to risk her life for the sake of the truth. She thinks that this is a great strength of hers. But it’s her greatest weakness. Do you know how I lured her here?»
«I heard your conversation in the elevator.»
«She came here because I promised to tell her about you. And I will tell her — if you yourself are up to it. She has to learn that there are no saints in this world and that even her own brother can be a lowlife!»
«Release them.»
«You sound like a broken record. I’m not the Buddha. Your prayers won’t help.» Maltsev kicked the helmet at his foot. «Everything that happened was your fault back then. If it weren’t for your jerrican… You listen, Noose, listen well. Baby Rook here was supposed to bring the money to the sauna. While Karas was playing with his girls, Tyoma and I decided to play a prank. We were going to rob the little fool when he showed up and then demand the money all over again. We heard the car, grabbed our guns, put our masks on, and slipped out the back. But as we came sneaking up, we found a surprise. It turned out that the Golyanovo boys had decided to pay us a visit — packing heat and a jerrican, the bastards. They wanted to burn us down and shoot us up. Tyoma and I exchanged looks and hit them first. What else were we supposed to do? Self-defense. It was either us or them. There were three of them and we got them all.»
Maltsev darted up to Sonya. The girl was whimpering into her duct tape.
«Cut the racket! One more peep and I’ll finish you.»
The girl shrank into herself, eyes straining at the gloved hand that had coiled around her throat.
«There you go. Sit quietly now.» Maltsev returned to Petelina. «Karas praised us and ordered us to hide the bodies — but here it hit me — this was our fate! If they didn’t get us then, they’d do it the next time. It was time to get out — and do so with fair compensation. I knew where Karas kept his fund. I whispered to Tyoma and he agreed. We went back to the sauna and wiped out the guys and girls. It wasn’t difficult. They were naked and we had guns. Then we threw in two of the Golyanovo guys to take our place. It didn’t feel good and we decided to have a drink for the road.»
«You didn’t just kill your friends. You killed your karma too. But it’s never too late to take the right path.»
«Oh shut it, you Buddhist! Anyway, that was when you showed up. We heard you dousing the sauna in gasoline. Wasn’t that what you were doing?»
«I recognize my own sin — and not just that one.»
«You got away, Baby Rook. We went looking for you, but you couldn’t see a thing in the forest that night. Admit it — weren’t you hiding somewhere nearby?»
«I saw everything.»
«I figured that you were spying on us. But there was nothing we could do, so we went back and set the sauna on fire. That was when I heard the sound of a car leaving and realized that that was you. We gave chase but you booked it like a madman…» Maltsev broke into a smile, glancing between Anatoly and Elena. «I think that you can tell your sister about that episode yourself.»
Anatoly Grachev stuck his chin into his chest and looked up again. The brother and the sister were looking at each other. Elena was neither flinching, nor shaking her head, nor struggling to get free. She was waiting. She was waiting for an explanation. It had been eighteen years.
«I was looking behind me as I drove. He jumped out into the street. I didn’t have time to do anything, Lena… The impact sent him flying. He flew up and over the roof. When I stopped, he was lying nearby. The sauna was blazing behind me and they were coming. If they caught me… So I took off. I drove that entire night. I stopped only once I was far from Moscow. Forgive me, Lena.»
Elena couldn’t speak because her mouth was taped shut. She clenched her eyelids to keep her tears from escaping.
«I was crushed. I had killed my father. The mob was after me and no doubt the police would join them soon too.»
«We were astonished. Baby Rook had killed Daddy Rook,» smirked Maltsev. «But it was too risky to go chasing after him with a body in the trunk. We had more important business: get the fund before anyone raised an alarm and then disappear. Do you want to hear more, Noose?»
Elena tried to say something.
«What are you mooing about?»
Maltsev got out a knife and slipped the blade between her taped lips. It went almost to the back of her mouth. It was evident that Maltsev enjoyed the sound of the steel catching her teeth as he cut an opening.
«The garage,» Petelina exhaled when Maltsev, smiling obligingly, had put away his knife. «Your garage, Bugaev.»
«What, d’you dig up the third Golyanovo guy? Back then, the detectives didn’t even think to question the version we’d set up. Anyway, where else were we supposed to put him? We buried him in the garage and then laid low in there for a few days. We’d only leave to find out what was going on. That’s how we learned that we had been declared deceased. Everyone was sure that the Golyanovo tards had wiped out the Izmaylovo guys, snagged their stash and ran off. Baby Rook also disappeared, while his pops was in a coma. That’s what we needed. Did you get out of Moscow right away, Baby Rook?»
Anatoly was still looking at his sister.
«I went to Kazakhstan and from there to Tashkent. There I sold the car and went to India.»
«Why so long?» Elena asked. «So many years.»
«I thought I had killed dad.»
«He thinks that you died because of him.»
Overwhelmed by the moment, Elena was looking at the very brother she had spent eighteen long years searching for. He had returned, but he had changed. Everyone had: she, her father, her mother. Even Bugaev had become Maltsev.
«Did you see dad?»
«Yes.»
Elena remembered the torn-out page with the Kingfisher photo.
«You went to his house without him knowing?»
Anatoly nodded.
«Why didn’t you let him know?»
Her brother bowed his head mournfully.
«All these years,» Elena kept pressing, «dad’s been plagued by guilt.»
«I was too,» her brother replied quietly.
«Enough!» Maltsev interrupted. «Your evening of remembrance has now come to an end. Baby Rook flitted away to India, while baby bro and I went off to Greece. It was a good life until the cash ran out.»
«Good?» Petelina smirked. «You were shaking like a leaf the entire time. You even had half your beaks sawed off.»
«I’d rather have my nose adjusted than my brain washed.» Maltsev pointed at Anatoly.
«In your next life, you will return as a rat,» the Buddhist replied serenely.
«Yeah? Well, guess what? I’m about to arrange for your premature reincarnation.»
«I am not afraid of death. I am prepared.»
«That’s great. Really.»
«At least let the girl go. That will count for something.»
«Alright, I’ve had enough of your prophecies.»
Maltsev duct taped Anatoly’s mouth and looked at Sonya, who was whimpering again, and Petelina, who was sitting quietly. One, two, three. Well, no big deal. He was a strong man. He would not amend his plans. The kind Buddhist would not pose much trouble. The time had come to do what he came here to do.
75
One final delivery remained. Nastya assessed the current position in the house. Her team’s rock, marked yellow, lay closer to the button — the bull’s-eye of the house. To the right of it lay a pair of their opponents’ blue rocks, protected by a third blue rock acting as a guard. Beyond those, lay another yellow rock. With this current position, unless she messed up, one point was as good as theirs.
«Throw it out,» her vice skip advised. «At least it won’t be a total blow-out.»
«I can turn it in.»
«Don’t make me laugh.»
Nastya looked at her grandfather. The man raised a closed fist.
«Time!» the referee prompted the girls.
Nastya answered her grandfather’s gesture with her own.
«I’ll turn it in and for a double takeout,» she decided and began to glide to the hack line.
«You’ll only make it worse!»
Nastya wiped the rock’s running surface. Mrachina, the vice skip, was stubbornly indicating the line past the house. Nastya pushed off, slid out to the right and smoothly released the rock, giving it a left turn. The granite rock began to curve in an arc as it travelled to its target.
«Sweep!» cried Nastya.
The other two girls on her team began to brush the ice in front of the oncoming rock. Nastya, squatting on one knee, followed the trajectory. The rock came around the guard and headed for the button.
«Sweeeeep!» Nastya was yelling. «Yes! Yes!»
What she needed now was for the rock to maintain its speed with enough momentum to do a double takeout. As the stone entered the house, Nastya fell silent. There came a stiff Tock — Tock. Nastya’s rock hit the opponents’ rock which, in its turn, knocked out its fellow. Only the three yellow rocks remained in the house.
The girls squealed with joy and began high-fiving each other. Nastya looked over at her grandfather who gave her a thumbs up and applauded.
Valeyev jerked the alcoholic to his feet and checked his pockets, finding a prescription from the psychiatric hospital for a Nikolai Semyonov.
«Were you in the train car? Where’s Petelina? Tell me now!»
Semyonov was moaning. His jaw was fractured in at least two places. I overdid it, thought Marat without, nevertheless, feeling sorry about hitting the man.
«Where’s your house? Show me — or you’ll get it agai
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