‘Good.’ Rodinov pushed a photograph across to him. ‘Then it’s settled. Maria Alexandrovna Lenskaya. She was, until last night, a production assistant on Comrade Savchenko’s new film. Now she’s dead.’
Korolev examined the girl in the photograph.
‘Murder?’
The colonel seemed to consider the question, smelling his way round the answer in that fighting-dog way of his.
‘Apparently not,’ he said, seeming to produce the words reluctantly. ‘She killed herself, or so we’re told. But we want to make certain, which is where you come in.’
‘I see. When did it happen?’
‘She was found at ten o’clock this evening.’
‘Has anyone looked at the body? A pathologist, I mean – I’d recommend Chestnova at the Institute if not.’
‘No one has examined her and she died in the Ukraine, near Odessa, so I don’t think Chestnova will be much use. And we want this matter handled very quietly. At least until we have a better idea of the situation. Comrade Ezhov himself thought of you – he formed a favourable impression from that matter you assisted with last year. He recalled your tenacity, and your discretion.’ That slight emphasis on the word ‘discretion’ was setting off warning bells. Korolev was wide awake now, that was for sure.
‘I’m grateful he recalls me favourably,’ Korolev said, thinking exactly the opposite.
‘A great honour. And, as it turns out, your friend Babel is writing the film’s scenario – a happy coincidence.’
‘I see,’ Korolev said, wondering why me? Surely there was someone in Odessa who could handle this.
‘We think it best if you go there by chance. I’ve spoken to Comrade Popov and in recognition of your excellent performance in recent months, you’ve been awarded a two-week holiday – to be spent where you wish. You wish it to be spent near Odessa. It isn’t the summer down there, but it isn’t as cold as Moscow – so why wouldn’t you visit your good friend and neighbour, Babel? Isaac Emmanuilovich will be made aware of your true purpose and will no doubt do his best to help with your enquiries. One of our more competent Ukrainian operatives, a Major Mushkin, is coincidentally at the location on sick leave but will assist if necessary. If it’s suicide, you have two weeks to spend as you please. If it’s something else – well, I’m sure the local Militia would be grateful for the assistance of an experienced Moscow detective. You will, however, report to me. The local Militia will be involved only to the extent that you consider necessary. Understood?’
Korolev understood. He looked at the girl’s face once again. She seemed an ordinary person – not bad-looking to be sure, but at the same time not visibly worthy of the attention she seemed to be getting.
‘A few questions, Comrade Colonel?’
Rodinov opened his hands to signify his agreement.
‘Who is she?’
Rodinov paused and considered the question for a moment or two, his gaze dropping to the dead girl’s photograph before returning to Korolev. He sighed.
‘If I tell you she’s a personal friend of Comrade Ezhov’s, will that make more sense of the situation for you?’
Korolev felt his left eyebrow rising despite his best efforts to keep his face completely immobile, but the colonel shook his head.
‘Don’t jump to conclusions, Korolev. As you know, we’re surrounded by enemies, both within our borders and beyond them. We have to remain vigilant – careful of even the most innocuous event in case it reveals treachery. The girl was known to Comrade Ezhov – yes. He took an interest in her, as senior Party members often take in younger comrades who promise much for the future. Because of the connection he considers it prudent to make sure there are no suspicious circumstances. The commissar doesn’t understand why a young comrade of Lenskaya’s prospects and ability would kill herself. He wonders whether there might be more to it.’
Korolev didn’t for a moment believe that Ezhov’s interest in the pretty girl was that of a fatherly older Bolshevik for a young protegee, but he wasn’t about to disagree with Rodinov’s version of the story. After all, he still had a working brain and a strong instinct for self-preservation. As for the girl, he’d keep an open mind.
‘It will take me some time to get there by train,’ he said.
‘There’s a plane leaving for Odessa from the Central Airport in two hours and twenty-five minutes. You’ve just got time to go home and pick up some clothes. Todorov will take you. Someone will meet you at the airport with the information we’ve pulled together on this matter – you can read it on the way.’
Korolev had never been in a plane before and had never expected to be in one either. The prospect took him aback for a moment. The colonel seemed to interpret this as concern about the nature of his mission.
‘Look, Korolev. In this case, it’s important we act carefully and establish the truth. We could use the local Militia people, but we want to have direct control of this and someone we know working on it. We could send in the local Chekists, but our people can be too enthusiastic. Certainly, if it’s murder, we might think again – but for the moment it’s your case.’
‘A few things, then,’ Korolev said, pulling himself together. ‘A pathologist should examine her immediately.’
‘No one will examine her until you’re there.’
‘But, Colonel-’ Korolev began, before Rodinov interrupted him.
‘You are Comrade Ezhov’s eyes and ears. You are to be present at every stage of this investigation.’
‘But bodies deteriorate, and there are tests that must be done as soon as possible to determine time and means of death.’
‘Let me remind you, Captain, that as far as the world is concerned this is a suicide, nothing more, and we don’t want to do anything that might suggest otherwise. Let me ask you – would the Militia haul a pathologist all the way from Odessa in the middle of the night for a suicide? These days?’
A fair point, Korolev conceded. Self-homicide had become so common recently that it would be rare for a pathologist to see the body at all. Rodinov nodded, seeing that Korolev understood.
‘The body has been moved to an ice house so it won’t deteriorate, and a pathologist will visit tomorrow at the same time as you arrive. Anything else?’
‘If possible, the place where she died should be protected – if it turns out to be murder there’s no need to make the forensics men’s job any more difficult than it has to be.’
‘I’ll pass that on.’
There wasn’t much else to be said, so Korolev placed the photograph back on the desk and stood up, ready to go. Rodinov also stood and walked him to the door, placing a hand on Korolev’s shoulder.
‘This is an opportunity to perform a useful service for Comrade Ezhov – remember that. He doesn’t forget his friends.’
Korolev nodded, thinking of the dead girl, and wondering whether, these days, it was such a good thing to be Commissar Ezhov’s friend.
Chapter Three
The Central Airport’s administrative buildings, workshops and hangars were surrounded by a thick white mist and Moscow felt a long way away. Korolev had been driven here at breakneck pace on the icy roads by Todorov, the young Chekist, fog notwithstanding. Now, in contrast, everything was still and silent except for the low murmur of conversation from two mechanics, one of them female, who were refuelling the tiny aeroplane that was taking off for Odessa in less than half an hour.
‘A Kalinin K-5,’ a voice behind him said and Korolev turned to see a burly figure dressed in an ankle-length fur coat. The man’s black eyes were the only visible part of him, what with his round fur hat and turned-up collar, but Korolev had the impression of intense watchfulness all the same, as if he were being assessed for some reason. ‘It’s a good plane. Still, best to dress up warm, Comrade – the cabin is heated, but all the same it can get cold up there.’
Korolev turned to examine the aircraft once again. It didn’t look very solid, but that was surely a good thing if
