on our way to this restaurant, Nikolai.'
As Andrei relayed the message, Grushko looked at me inquiringly.
Yes, I'll come.'
Sounds like a few of our pigeons coming home,' said Nikolai.
You've got a car, haven't you?' Grushko said to Andrei when he had finished the call.
Yes, sir.' There was no mistaking the alacrity in Andrei's young voice. Later on, Nikolai told me that this was Andrei's first month with Criminal Services.
Good. Because there's something I want you to do. I want you to take Mr Semyonov home.'
Andrei's face fell, but he knew better than to argue with a man like Grushko.
Lieutenant Khodyrev was an attractive-looking woman in her early thirties, with dark hair gathered in a bun at the back of her head and the healthiest teeth I had ever seen in any Russian's mouth. No one goes to the dentist very much these days: the cost of any kind of health care is hugely expensive and most people rely on folk remedies and old wives' tales when they get sick.
She was wearing plainclothes and although Grushko seemed too preoccupied to pay Khodyrev much attention, it was clear to see that Nikolai was very taken with her, holding open every door for her as if he had learned his manners at the court of the tsar.
Have you been with the militia very long, Lieutenant?' he asked her as the four of us came upstairs to Nina Milyukin's flat.
Four years,' she said. Before that I was a gymnast with the Olympic team.'
Which explained her generally healthy demeanour.
Colonel Grushko, sir,' she said, there's something else I've discovered.'
Something else that slipped your mind? Or are you intending to impress us with your investigative abilities in instalments?'
No sir,' she said patiently. The fact is I've only just been transferred to Station 59 and it's taken a little while to find my feet there. I found out about this other thing just after I called the Big House.'
We arrived on the landing outside the flat.
Well, what is it?'
About three months ago, before I went to Station 59 '
All right,' said Grushko, I get the picture. None of this is your fault.'
Thank you, sir. Mikhail Milyukin came into the station and asked for police protection. He said that the Mafia was after him. He would have got it too, only my predecessor, Captain Stavrogin, was ordered to turn him down.'
Ordered? By who?'
Someone in the Department. I don't know why exactly. But the official reason was that no Russian citizen should be given any special privileges.'
I'd like to speak to this Captain Stavrogin,' Grushko said thoughtfully.
I'm afraid you can't, sir,' she said. He died of lung cancer, a couple of weeks ago. That's why I've been transferred. All I know is that when he told Mr Milyukin the decision, the captain advised him to hire a private bodyguard.'
And did he? Hire a private bodyguard?'
Khodyrev pursed her voluptuous lips. It doesn't look like it, sir,' she said.
Grushko nodded curtly and then rang the sonorous doorbell.
Nina Milyukin looked less than pleased to see us.
I'm sorry to bother you again,' said Grushko. Just a few more questions. It won't take long.'
You'd better come in,' she said and stood aside.
We advanced into the hall and then waited politely while she bolted the door behind us.
Would you like some tea?' she said and led the way into the communal kitchen.
I was disappointed by this invitation. I had been hoping to get a chance to step inside that wardrobe-study again and get another look at the photograph of her that was on Mikhail Milyukin's pinboard.
The kitchen was the standard arrangement. Two fridges, two cookers, two sinks and, hanging on the wall, two bathtubs.
Suspended from the ceiling was a large wooden clothesrack on which the day's wash was drying as well as it was able in that damp old flat. A large and battered brass samovar stood on a well-scrubbed wooden table and in the corner of the room lay an equally large, equally decrepit-looking black cat. Nina Milyukin found some glasses, drew off some tea and handed it round.
I'm afraid there's no sugar, and no milk,' she said.
We all shook our heads dismissively.
A couple of days before he died,' Grushko began, Mikhail Mikhailovich reported a break-in.'
Nina Milyukin's head sat back on her shoulders.
A break-in?' She smiled. There's been no break-in here. Surely you've seen our front door?'
Lieutenant Khodyrev shook her head. According to the report, Mr Milyukin believed that they gained entry using keys that he had lost.'
Yes, he did lose his keys,' she said thoughtfully.
Apparently his Golden Calf Literary Award and fifty roubles in cash were taken,' said Khodyrev.
It's the first I've heard of it. But now you come to mention it, I had wondered about the Golden Calf. I haven't seen it in a while. Even so, I can't imagine why anyone would have wanted it. After all, it's not real gold.' She smiled sadly. If it were we would have sold it.'
Well, whoever took it obviously thought it was real,' said Grushko. Have you noticed anything else that's missing?'
She sipped her tea and shook her head silently.
Perhaps some papers? Tapes?'
How could I? You took most of Mikhail's things away with you the other day.'
Yes, I did,' said Grushko. Well, how about before that?'
No.'
This is good tea, said Grushko.
I heard myself grunt in agreement.
I was speaking to Yuri Petrakov at St Petersburg Television, the other day.'
Yes, I saw the programme. Zverkov gave you a rough time, didn't he?'
Nina was smiling. I almost thought that she might have enjoyed that: Grushko being cross-examined.
Zverkov's a bully,' she added. Mikhail never liked him. He said that underneath the pretence of being pro- reform he was really a wicked man. But you only have to look at his work. The man's a complete opportunist. He doesn't care about people at all. They're just stories to him. All Zverkov cares about is Zverkov.'
What did he think of Mikhail?'
There was no love lost there, she said. 'A couple of years ago there was an evening organised by the Leningrad branch of the Soviet Cultural Fund, to mark the fiftieth birthday of the writer Josef Brodsky. It was held in the Public Library on Ostrovskovo Square. After it was over the two of them bumped into each other and exchanged a few insults. Zverkov had said something disparaging about Yeltsin. That he was a drunkard or some such nonsense. Mikhail called Zverkov a Fascist. There was a scuffle and Mikhail got his eye blacked.
About six months after that there was a three-day conference at the Academy of Sciences.' She snorted with laughter. Man in the World of Dialoguea__, or some such nonsense. And they had another argument. I think it was about Lithuanian independence. Or was it Latvian independence? I don't remember.' She shrugged. Either way, who cares?
Anyway, no one was really hit, but Mikhail kicked Zverkov's car and damaged it. Since then, nothing. They never spoke. But after the August coup was over Mikhail kept agitating for Zverkov's programme to be taken off the air. He said Zverkov had been sponsored by the KGB. The only reason Mikhail accepted a job offer from national television was because he knew they were also considering Zverkov for the same spot.'
Grushko said nothing for a moment but I could tell what he was thinking: did Zverkov have sufficient reason to have wanted Milyukin dead?
I find it extraordinary that he said nothing about all this.'
