‘I don’t. But if there are guns coming from abroad to counterrevolutionary terrorists then things aren’t good. And it occurs to me that the only foreigner we have in the locality is a certain Monsieur from France – if that’s where he really is from. What do you know about him?’
‘Les Pins? A journalist – a friend of the Socialist movement. His articles on Spain were published all over the world – in Pravda as well. I’m sure he must be a Party member. Wasn’t he wounded in the fighting for Madrid? I know he met Savchenko in America back in ’thirty-four, and that’s why he’s visiting here before going on to Moscow. He’s giving speeches in support of the Spanish comrades – I believe he’s to meet Comrade Stalin himself. I can’t see him being mixed up with German guns.’
‘But you say he was in America? Did Lenskaya know him from there? Wasn’t there a traitor involved in that delegation to America?’
‘There was – Danyluk. He wasn’t someone she had much to do with, thankfully, but I don’t know if he knew Les Pins. All I know is that Masha didn’t come across Les Pins on the delegation, or if she did, she never told me.’
This was a new angle, and one whose ramifications Korolev could only begin to consider. If Les Pins was yet another who’d been in America, why had no one mentioned it before? And who else had been there? Danyluk, the traitor – of course. The dead girl – yes. Savchenko and Belakovsky – indeed; although neither could have had anything to do directly with the girl’s death.
‘Was there anyone else in America at the time? Anyone who might have had contact with Les Pins or this fellow Danyluk? Anyone involved in the film’s production, perhaps.’
Lomatkin shook his head, looking utterly exhausted now. ‘I wasn’t there. I wouldn’t be the person to ask. And I know nothing about the guns, Korolev, or I’d have spoken up before – the man I had contact with in Moscow is called Topolski. Babel knows him, he’s a member of the Writer’s Union and easy enough to track down. Give him my regards when you do.’
‘I will,’ Korolev said, and was about to go on when he was distracted by the sound of footsteps approaching quickly along the corridor outside. Generally, in the cells, things moved slowly – there was no rush, the prisoners and their guards had all day long to do whatever they had to do – but here were people moving with intent and urgency, and coming towards their cell.
‘In here,’ a voice said, then a key turned in the lock.
‘Chief,’ Slivka said when the guard had opened the door, her face almost as pale as Lomatkin’s. ‘I got through to my mother.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Korolev’s mind felt assaulted by suggestions, identities, locations, timings, possibilities and a hundred other scraps and facts – and this great swirl of information was twisting and turning and colliding and fragmenting as it rattled round the inside of his skull so that he couldn’t even begin to put it into any semblance of order. Instead he found himself concentrating, with a certain amount of self-pity, on the small ache in his forehead that all this thinking was making appreciably worse. What this case needed was someone with a bit more brain power and that was the truth.
‘They’re both missing?’ he managed to ask, speaking quietly in case they could be overheard. ‘Both of them?’
‘I’m not sure missing is the correct word to use, Chief. But they can’t be found, that’s true enough.’
Korolev looked at Slivka quickly to see if she was making fun of him.
‘But Gradov is a Militiaman – a sergeant no less.’ Korolev could hear the plaintive note in his voice, and so he allowed himself a brief pause to pull himself together before proceeding in a more appropriate growling whisper. ‘He’s in charge of the damned station, the dog – he can’t just go wandering off whenever he wants to.’
Slivka began to look uncomfortable so Korolev, with some difficulty, stopped himself once again, and then continued in what he hoped was a more measured tone.
‘He left no message? Perhaps he was feeling unwell – a visit to the doctor?’
‘Sharapov says the last he saw of him, he said he was going up to the house, got into the car and hasn’t been seen since. Larisa has a good view over the courtyard from that office of hers and says she’s certain he never arrived.’
‘I see. And Les Pins?’
‘Apparently went for a walk after lunch and hasn’t been seen since either.’
‘A coincidence?’
‘There’s more.’
‘Tell me.’
‘I told Sharapov about the morphine in Lenskaya’s stomach. When he was looking for Les Pins, he went up to his bedroom and took a quick look through his belongings. He found a packet of morphine tablets.’
‘Morphine tablets?’
‘Do you think-’ Slivka began.
‘He had a bandaged shoulder – it’s possible there was still some pain. But yes, perhaps that’s where the morphine in her stomach came from.’
‘But if he had a shoulder injury, how could his print have ended up on the bracket?’
‘He would have had help, that much is certain,’ Korolev said and then a thought occurred to him. ‘Did we ever ask where the uniforms were at the time of her murder?’
Slivka’s face was enough of an answer.
‘Why would we have?’ Korolev said. ‘It’s not your fault, Slivka. It’s mine if it’s anyone’s.’
‘Gradov,’ Slivka said bitterly.
‘It could well be.’
‘We have to put out an alert. Another one.’
Korolev considered the suggestion and what it would mean – more roadblocks, more reasons, more explanations. It didn’t take him long to shake his head. This investigation was meant to be a quiet one, and he’d already had the entire region alerted twice. If he did it again, and for a foreigner, that really would make a stink.
‘Not for Les Pins,’ Korolev said, thinking aloud. ‘No, I’ll need to get instructions from Moscow to do anything about him. But seeing as Sergeant Gradov is in the habit of losing guns and prisoners, I think we can ask your boss to put a quiet word out on him, don’t you?’
‘I’ll ask.’
‘Do that,’ Korolev said. ‘How long will it take us to get to Moldovanka and this bar?’
‘We’re driving?’
‘I think it would be a good idea to have a car – in case we have to move quickly.’
‘It might be. But I have to tell you, there’s a good chance it won’t all be there when we’ve finished.’
‘I trust your family to look after it.’
Slivka laughed at that. ‘More fool you then, Chief. I’d only trust them to make off with anything saleable. Particularly if they know it’s a Militia car – it would be a point of honour with them.’
‘How long to walk?’
‘Twenty minutes.’
Korolev looked at his watch – it was five o’clock. According to Slivka’s mother, they were to meet Kolya and his men inside the Moldovanka bar at seven. In the meantime it was essential he called Rodinov for instructions about this damned Frenchman, and tell him exactly what was going on.
Another thought occurred to him. ‘What about Antonova and Belinsky?’ Did you double-check whether they were in the room when the body was discovered?’
‘Antonova is accounted for. She went back to the village with two other women after the night shoot. Likewise Belinsky, who was still packing up camera equipment when the girl was found.’
‘I see,’ Korolev said, his head hurting even more now. He wished the investigation would slow down for a few hours, to allow him to bring some sense to it, but the meeting with Kolya was close at hand and between now and
