Mongols had ever been through here.'
The shaman spoke again and Galich answered before turning to Karpo.
'He wants to know if you're a Tartar?'
'No,' said Karpo reaching up unconsciously to touch the beads around his neck.
Kurmu spoke again.
'He says, good. Let's go.'
Before they were down the small slope and into the forest again, Karpo had the sensation of bright, scorching yellow and knew that his headache was already beginning to fade away.
It was just before dawn when Sasha Tkach entered his apartment. Maya sat at the table near the window breastfeeding Pulcharia who turned her head toward the clack of the door.
'Is Lydia here?'
'No, she had to leave early. What happened?'
Sasha brushed back his hair and touched his face. His hair grew quickly though his beard was light. Nonetheless, he needed a shave.
'What happened?' he repeated her question, moving to the table, kissing his wife on the head and looking down at his daughter who had returned to her feeding.
Sasha opened his jacket and sat in the chair where he could watch his wife and daughter.
'We found the black market. We found Volovkatin,' he said. 'We found him, brought him in, and the Deputy Procurator on duty sent a team to the apartment. And you know what they found?'
'No,' said Maya concerned about the strange smile on her husband's face.
'Nothing. They found nothing,' he said. 'Everything Zelach and I saw there was gone. Someone had cleaned out every piece of stolen property. There was no evidence.'
'But who… how?' she said softly, trying not to frighten Pulcharia who sucked away, her eyes partly closed.
'An old drunk,' said Sasha. 'There was an old drunk there named Viktor when we took Volovkatin. He must have sobered up quickly and gotten help in cleaning out the apartment. Now I've got to go out and find the drunk. It's a cycle. It never ends.'
He laughed, shook his head and glanced at the window. In profile, Maya thought her husband looked very strange and very tired.
'So they had to let this Volovkatin go?' she said gently.
'No,' laughed Tkach. 'Kola the Truck and Yuri Glemp have already signed confessions. Zelach and I will testify to what we saw. The Procurator wants Volovkatin, claims he is a major fartsovscbiki, black marketer. No little thing like missing evidence will get in the way of a conviction, particularly a conviction concerning economic crime. The Procurator wants to show the KGB that he is alert, swift. The Wolfhound will probably even get another medal.'
'So?' said Maya puzzled.
'So,' repeated Sasha. 'You get attacked. I catch the hounds who did it and they get spanked and sent home to their parents. I catch a dealer in stolen goods who has probably never physically harmed anyone in his life and he'll go to jail for years, without evidence. If the KGB gets involved he might even be shot.'
'How do you know he never physically harmed anyone?' she asked as the baby paused to catch her breath before continuing.
'Actually,' he said with a laugh, 'I don't know. He's probably murdered hundreds of innocent people. He had a gun when we caught him. I was just trying to set up a contrast so I could feel even more put upon by the system.'
Maya laughed and Tkach felt better, much better. He even considered laughing but he couldn't quite bring himself to do it.
Mirasnikov moaned through the night, moaned and ranted, growing feverish, perspiring, going quiet and cool for brief periods and then burning with fever.
After three hours, Rostnikov had the old woman sit with her husband while he dressed, went out and made his way across the square and up the slope. He doubted if the killer would make another attempt on his life. It was possible, but the killer would have to be waiting up all night in the hope that Rostnikov would come out of the People's Hall of Justice and Solidarity. In addition, it was much lighter out now that what passed for day in this part of Siberia was coming. The killer would find it much more difficult to hide.
Rostnikov stopped at Galich's house and knocked at the door. There was no answer. He pounded mightily and the sound of his pounding vibrated through the village. Finally he heard movement inside and Famfanoff in his underwear opened the door.
'Comrade Inspector,' he said.
'Get dressed, go down to the People's Hall of Justice and guard Sergei Mirasnikov,' said Rostnikov. 'I've got to get the doctor.'
'What happened?' Famfanoff asked half asleep.
'Mirasnikov was shot last night,' Rostnikov said. 'You heard nothing?'
'I… I was…' Famfanoff stammered, resisting the urge to scratch his stomach.
'Get dressed and get down to the People's Hall,' Rostnikov said and closed the door.
, Famfanoff cursed, turned and moved toward his small bedroom, wondering if he had lost his last chance to escape from the arctic circle. I was drunk, he thought, hurrying to his room to get into his badly wrinkled uniform. His wife had warned him but he hadn't listened. Now it would be different.
'No more drink,' he said aloud to himself. 'Tonight, right now you begin. No more and that's final.'
But even as he spoke, deep within him Famfanoff knew it was a lie.
Ludmilla Samsonov answered the door when Rostnikov knocked. She was dressed in green, her hair pinned up on top of her head.
'Please come in,' she said. 'We've been unable to get to sleep. Is Mirasnikov worse?'
'I am afraid he may be,' Rostnikov confirmed.
'And you?' she said examining his face with her large, moist brown eyes. 'You look very tired. Let me get you some coffee. We have real coffee we save for special occasions.'
'Thank you,' he said, 'but I would appreciate your telling your husband that I think he should come down and take a look at the old man.'
'I will,' she said, starting toward the rear of the small house and then pausing to look back and add, 'I heard about your call to Moscow. I hope your wife will be well.'
'Thank you,' Rostnikov said, sinking back into the same chair he had sat in the last time he had been in the house.
'How long have you been married?' she asked.
'Twenty-nine years,' he said. 'And you?'
'Lev and I have been married for almost two years,' she said.
'Then Karla was not your daughter?' he asked yawning and closing his eyes.
'Inspector,' she said with a small smile. 'You must have known that.'
Rostnikov held up his hands in mock defeat.
'It's difficult to stop being a policeman.'
'I loved the child very much,' Ludmilla said, her eyes growing more beautifully wet. Rostnikov regretted not having paused to shave before coming up the slope. 'She was so… I'll get your coffee and my husband.'
Rostnikov was dozing, probably even snoring when he felt the presence of someone in the room and came suddenly awake. Samsonov stood nearby, his coat on, his black bag in his hand. He looked tired. At his side stood his wife holding a cup and saucer. Rostnikov rose with a grunt and stepped forward to accept the cup of steaming coffee.
'I warned you,' said Samsonov. 'He is an old man, conditions here are not the best even for a simple procedure such as I performed last night. Add to this that I've not worked with shoulder trauma in years.'
'No one blames you, doctor,' Rostnikov said, sipping the black, hot coffee, feeling both its liquid heat and caffeine surge through him.
'Is that right, Inspector? I am blamed for a great deal but I also hold others responsible for a great deal. What have you discovered?'
