'My baby.'
'I know an investigator in the prosecutor's office. He's a decent guy.'
'No prosecutors, no police.'
'Just talk to him. Whoever took the baby could have gone a hundred different ways. Two people can't cover them all.'
'No police.'
'He'll help privately.'
The suggestion mystified her. 'Why would he do that?'
'He's got nothing else to do.'
4
By Kazansky Station was a two-story building with a militia sign so discreet it might have been a public toilet. Over the years Arkady had visited a dozen times to take a suspect for interrogation or to save a suspect from interrogation and the risers of the stairs were appropriately faced with cracked tiles that looked like broken teeth. He climbed the steps to a squad room with the residue of pizza boxes, grease boards, dusty photos of forgotten heroes, old bulletins curled into yellow scrolls, new bulletins in the wastebasket and desks marked by cigarette burns and coffee stains, much the way Arkady felt.
In a corner office Colonel Malenkov, sunburned and slathered with cream, was hanging a certificate on the wall. Every movement looked painful. His bald spot looked painful.
'Enough of fucking Crete and its fucking sun. It was full of Russians anyway.'
The certificate stated that Colonel Leonid N. Malenkov had attended a 'Tenth Annual International Conference on Counterterrorism.' Similar certificates from Tunis, Amsterdam and Rome were already hung.
Arkady said, 'They're tilted.'
'They shift. It's the vibration from the trains. Sometimes the whole building shakes.'
Arkady read the motto that appeared in English on each certificate: 'Vigilance Keeps Us Free. What does that mean?'
'Terrorists cooperate on a global level. We must do the same.'
'Good. You can cooperate with me.'
'You've got some brass.'
'The dead girl in the trailer. She was in your precinct. Why didn't you respond to the dispatcher?'
Malenkov moved stiffly to his desk and settled gently on his chair. 'Renko, you tried to have me up for running a prostitution ring. Fortunately the prosecutor didn't think you had a case. Justice was served and you went home to chew on your dick. Why would I talk to you?'
'You have no one else to talk to. This place is empty.'
'That's right. They're all out on cases. Real cases.'
'Do you mind if I smoke?'
'I wouldn't mind if you blow it out your ass. I can't believe you have the balls to walk in here.'
'How would you like to do it again?'
'Do what?'
'Go through another investigation.'
'You'd lose again.'
'But it was expensive, wasn't it? As I remember, you had lawyers.'
'Fucking leeches.' Usually Malenkov employed physical threats; the sunburn had obviously affected him. 'I heard you were in some kind of deep freeze.'
'Yet here I am.'
'What are you after? You're always after something.'
'A little conversation.'
'Well, you're a little ahead of yourself. An investigator only takes over when the detectives are done.'
'It's not my case. I happened to be riding with Lieutenant Orlov when the call came in.'
'The last time I saw Victor Orlov he couldn't piss straight enough to hit a barn.'
'His aim has improved.'
'Good. Then he ought to be able to handle a simple overdose.'
'We're not certain that it was simple.'
'One dead skank is pretty much like another.'
Arkady handed his cell phone to Malenkov. Olga filled the screen. Death gave her a quiet that only made her youth more poignant. Arkady let the colonel's eyes have their fill.
Malenkov shrugged. 'Okay, she was a pretty girl. Moscow is full of pretty girls.'
'She wasn't in your string?'
'I don't know what you're talking about. A precinct commander doesn't have much contact with the general public unless they're murdered or torched.'
'Torched? That happens often?'
'You know kids. Do you have any witnesses?'
'Sergeant Orlov is canvassing the area.'
'From the freak show here? People here see cockroaches as big as dogs.'
'She was found in a workers' trailer twenty-five meters from where we are right now. Extension cords run from the back of this station house to the trailer. It's your trailer.'
Malenkov slid Arkady's cell phone back across the desk. 'It's an abandoned trailer. Let me ask you, was this girl raped? Beaten? Did you see any 'unusual circumstances'?'
'Her underpants were taken and she was left on display. That sounds 'unusual' to me.'
'Really? How unusual is it for a prostitute to remove her panties? As I remember, that's what they're paid to do. You say she was 'on display'? Some clients only want to watch. Girls arrive from the countryside every day to let them fuck, watch or whatever. We have a flood of them. They shoot up and overdose because they're not the brightest individuals in the world. So we don't waste time on ODs.'
'You bury them as quickly as you can.'
'Life is unfair. Why should death be any different?'
An audible shimmy ran through the building as two hundred tons of diesel locomotive approached on a near track. The certificate from Crete shifted, Rome trembled, Tunis leaned and Amsterdam followed suit. While Malenkov was occupied with adjusting them Arkady scooped his cell phone into an envelope, taking care not to smear the colonel's fingerprints.
5
Zhenya didn't understand why Maya refused to go to the militia; this was one of those rare occasions when the police might do some good. There should be a manhunt and pictures of the baby shown on the news. How else to cover three major railway stations and their Metro connections? Instead, she insisted on begging for information from platform conductors, cleaning ladies and cafe staff while she refused to divulge her own name or where she came from. The more questions she asked the more suspicion she aroused.
When evening came they found themselves still in Yaroslavl Station, wading through row after row of sleeping figures. Carefully. Families could misinterpret the intent of a stranger hovering over their babies. The upstairs waiting room had a piano behind a velvet rope; Zhenya had never heard anyone play it. A peek into the luxury lounge found only Americans and potted plants.
When Maya began to stagger Zhenya led her outside for fresh air. At this hour Three Stations had the stillness of a circus when the show was over and tents were struck. Zhenya bought an apple at a twenty-four-hour kiosk and sliced it for Maya with a folding knife. Maya ate listlessly, mainly at his urging.
