away.’
Korolev was struck dumb for a moment, turning to Slivka for confirmation that his ears hadn’t been deceiving him. Her grim look of contempt confirmed they hadn’t.
‘Show me this brick,’ Korolev said, his voice revealing some of his rage. ‘Slivka? If Firtov’s still up at the house taking people’s prints, get him to come down. Make sure no one touches anything in the meantime.’
Slivka nodded and Korolev turned to see the sergeant reaching for the door handle.
‘What did I just say?’ he barked.
‘About the fingerprinting?’
‘And what the hell are you doing now? Understand this, Sergeant, you do not touch one damned thing in this station until Firtov has been through this place and given it the all-clear. And even then you ask permission – do you hear me?’
The sergeant nodded, and Korolev pointed him back to the wall and picked up a cloth from the desk that looked relatively clean, relieved to hear that Slivka seemed to have got through to someone in the border guards.
‘It’s near Krasnogorka, Comrade,’ she said, ‘but you’d better make it a general alert. Now here’s his description. Ready?’
Korolev carefully opened the door, touching only the thin sides of the handle that would yield no fingerprints. Then he picked up a rock and placed it against the door to wedge it open so that no one else would contaminate the handle until Firtov and the Greek had done their work.
‘The brick?’ he said, looking around outside.
‘Here it is, Comrade Captain,’ the sergeant said, walking to the corner of the building and pointing down the narrow alley between it and the Party offices. A yellow clay brick lay on its side, illuminated by the light from the Militia station window. Korolev looked from the brick back to the road – anyone passing could have seen the sergeant hide the keys, but not even that would have been necessary, given it was his long-term habit to conceal them this way.
‘I doubt there’s a man, woman or child in this whole village doesn’t know you leave the keys there,’ he said. ‘Did you see anyone on your way up to the house?’
‘No one, Comrade Captain. All the village is at a meeting in the tractor barn. Those that aren’t are over with the film people.’
‘On the way back?’
‘I saw Comrade Lomatkin near the house, and Comrade Mushkina was out for a walk. I saw no one else.’
‘I see. And this brick – you left it flat, correct? And it’s now on its side?’
‘Yes, Comrade Captain.’
‘Right, Sergeant. You stand here beside this damned brick and this damned door and you protect them with your worthless life until the forensics men get here. And I mean with your life. No one is to touch anything except for Comrade Firtov. And if it rains you will cover the brick and the door handle with your body rather than let one drop of water fall on them.’
Which would be difficult, given they were some distance apart, but a point had to be made.
The worst thing was he now had to call Rodinov and inform him of this mess and it wasn’t a conversation he was looking forward to. Telling Slivka he needed to go to the investigation room, he got into the car, turned the key, and pounded the driving wheel with frustration when the starter motor wouldn’t turn. The sergeant looked over at him nervously and Korolev pointed at the bonnet.
‘Don’t just stand there, man – crank it.’
The sergeant was soon cranking the starting handle for all his worth and the engine growled into life. Perhaps wisely, Gradov retreated quickly from in front of the vehicle, and placed the starting handle on the back seat as if it were burning him. Korolev leant out of the window.
‘Who was he friendly with? In the village? Someone must have helped him.’
‘No one, really. He kept to himself up at the College. Maybe some of the people who worked up there knew him better.’
‘Find out who. And find out if anyone saw him leaving. I don’t need to tell you where you’re heading if we don’t track this man down, and fast.’
Korolev pushed the gearstick into place and, with the angry scream of an over-revved engine, the car bounded forwards.
Korolev felt utter fury, but he understood himself well enough to know that his anger came from fear and guilt as much as it did from exasperation. After all, if he was the man running this investigation then it was his responsibility to ensure it ran properly – he knew the likely consequences of failure, not only for himself but for others as well, and he should have taken appropriate precautions. He should have realized the village Militia station wasn’t secure – he’d interviewed Andreychuk there, after all, and seen how it was run. And it was no excuse to say he was tired. All right, the old man probably wasn’t involved in the murder itself, but he almost certainly had vital information – if nothing else, then about that trip to Krasnogorka. Damn it.
He pulled the car up outside the stable block where the investigation office was and caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror – he looked like a man about to kill someone. Or be killed, he thought to himself as he opened the car door.
The phone was ringing as he entered the investigation room and he wondered grimly if it might be Rodinov, already calling to blast him for his incompetence. But it wasn’t.
‘Comrade Korolev?’ The operator’s voice.
‘Yes, that’s me.’
‘I have a phone call for you. I’m putting him through now.’ There was a change in the crackling noise from the receiver.
‘Korolev,’ he said warily.
‘Good evening, Comrade Captain, it’s good to hear your voice.’ That deep actor’s intonation with its undercurrent of menace. Count Kolya. The Thief.
‘It’s good to hear yours as well, Citizen,’ Korolev said, wondering how the hell the gangster had managed to get hold of the telephone number.
‘All going well with your investigation?’ Kolya asked.
‘Not too bad, not too bad. Berry by berry, and the basket will be full.’
‘I hear one berry has rolled away.’ Kolya laughed and Korolev felt his hand tighten on the receiver. This was ridiculous. Kolya must have someone in the Militia headquarters feeding him information. Damn the man.
‘I think we know where it’s rolling to,’ Korolev said, trying to keep his voice matter-of-fact.
‘Good for you,’ the Thief said, with the implication that he couldn’t care less. ‘Anyway, you asked a question, about morphine. I looked into it. Go to your journalist, he might have an answer for you.’
Lomatkin? But he’d been in Moscow. How could he have been responsible? Korolev coughed, clearing a throat which felt a little constricted, like his brain.
‘He was some distance from here at the time in question,’ he managed to say. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure of nothing – all I know is the fellow has a past, and the past involves the substance in question.’
‘I see,’ Korolev said, wondering where it left him.
‘And another thing. The delivery I mentioned. They’ve found another way. It’s happening tomorrow night.’
The guns. The German guns.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Certain,’ Kolya said, his voice laconic.
‘Where?’
‘That we’ve yet to find out. But we will.’
‘You’ll let me know?’
‘It’s our business.’
‘Then why are you telling me?’
