Rostnikov had moved to a chair near the window about fifteen feet from the table.
'Such as?' Galich asked, working at the spear which he returned gently to the table.
'Ice. A simple, frozen spear of ice,' said Rostnikov. 'Such as the one that killed Commissar Rutkin.'
'True,' agreed Galich. 'A spear of ice would be unreliable. It might break. But as you said at the hearing, Samsonov must have been insane with hatred.'
'You are most happy this morning,' said Rostnikov. 'May I ask why?'
'Why?' Galich' repeated and reached up to brush back his wild white hair. 'Perhaps the spear, perhaps something internal.'
'Does it have something to do with Samsonov being held for murder, something to do with the fact that if he is convicted he will not leave the country?'
Galich stopped brushing, the dim gray light of the arctic circle outlining him from the window at his back.
'I don't understand,' the former priest said, the joy leaving his voice.
'Samsonov did not kill Commissar Rutkin,' said Rostnikov. 'You killed Commissar Rutkin.'
'I…' Galich said with a deep laugh, pointing to his chest. 'What makes you think…'
'When Kurmu pointed at you at Mirasnikov's bedside, he identified you as the man he saw kill Commissar Rutkin.
I'm afraid your translation was a bit inaccurate, but Mirasnikov was awake and understands the language.'
'He is wrong,' Galich said, his voice now calm and even. 'Mirasnikov is a sick man, an old man. He did not hear correctly.'
'I wasn't sure why you did it though I had some idea. It wasn't till I came through that door a few minutes ago and saw your happiness that I was sure,' Rostnikov said.
'This is ridiculous,' Galich said, his jaw going tight, his hands playing with the brush, putting the brush aside, playing with the spear.
'No, it is not ridiculous,' said Rostnikov. 'The life of the spirit, of the past you came to pursue, to end your life with, was pushed to the side for the life of the body you thought you had put to sleep. Am I right, Dimitri? I've looked at your file, your history. You lost your church. You didn't quit. You lost your church because you were accused of seduction of four of the women in your church.'
'I assume you are not asking me but informing me,' Galich said evenly.
'I'm discussing it with you. I'm trying to decide what to do about this situation,' said Rostnikov.
'I did not try to shoot you, Porfiry Petrovich,' Galich said solemnly.
'Moments after the shooting, I had Emil Karpo get up to the slope. The person who shot at me made a series of trails in the snow, footprints leading to this house, Samsonov's house and General Krasnikov's house.'
'I did not shoot at you. I did not shoot Mirasnikov,' Galich said.
'I believe you, Dimitri, but I am sure you know who did the shooting. And I am sure you will not tell me. Didn't the attempt to shoot me, didn't the shooting of the old man make you suspicious?'
Galich said nothing, simply played with the spear before him.
'You killed Rutkin,' Rostnikov said.
'Your evidence is absurd,' said Galich softly.
'We are not talking about evidence here,' Rostnikov said sitting forward in the chair. 'We are talking about what you and I know.'
'Why did you arrest Samsonov? Why did you have that hearing?' Galich asked softly.
'To deceive a killer,' said Rostnikov. 'A killer, I think, who has a great interest in seeing to it that Samsonov be allowed to leave the country.'
'I don't know what you're talking about. You just said I don't want Samsonov to leave,' Galich shouted.
'You don't, but I wasn't talking about you. Now, let's talk about you. I understand a man can live in those forests indefinitely if he knows what he is doing. I believe you told me that.'
'One cedar tree can provide enough for a man for a year,' agreed Galich with a laugh. 'I might be able to live in the taiga, but I'm too old and too civilized. Is that the option you give me, Rostnikov? I run and disappear and you announce that I'm the killer. The case is closed and everyone is happy. Everyone but me.'
'It is a chance to live, Dimitri,' Rostnikov said softly.
'I've just come back to life,' Galich said. 'I'm too old for any more changes, too old to live alone in the cold and darkness.'
'Dimitri…' Rostnikov began, but before he could say more the Mongol spear was in Galich's right hand, had been hefted over his shoulder and was whistling across the room. Rostnikov rolled to his right breaking the arm of the chair. He didn't see the spear break through the back of the chair but he did hear it clatter to the floor and across the room.
Rostnikov tried to rise quickly, but his leg would not cooperate and he had to roll back toward the chair anticipating another attack by an ancient weapon.
'Dimitri Galich,' he called. 'Stop.'
'I lied,' shouted Galich, picking up a rusted knife with a curved blade. 'I did try to shoot you. I did shoot Mirasnikov.'
Rostnikov was on his knees now as the former priest came around the table knife in hand. Using the remaining good arm of the almost destroyed chair, Porfiry Petrovich managed to stand ready to meet the attack of the advancing man. Galich stepped into the light of the window and Rostnikov could see his red eyes filled with tears. He could also see the ancient flecks of rust on the blade of the knife. He wanted to say something to stop the man, but Rostnikov had seen that look in the eyes of the desperate before. Words would not stop him.
The bullet cracked through the window as Galich raised the knife to strike and Rostnikov prepared to counter the attack. The bullet hit Galich under the arm and spun him around. A rush of frigid air burst through the broken window sending papers on the worktable flying like thick snow. Beyond the window, Emil Karpo stood, arms straight, pistol aimed. Galich recovered a bit and turned for another lunge at Rostnikov. The second shot hit him in the chest and the third and final shot entered his eye at approximately the same angle Galich had stabbed Commissar Rutkin with an icicle.
As he fell the former priest let out a massive groan that sounded almost like relief. When he hit the floor, there was little doubt. Dimitri Galich was dead.
'Come around,' Rostnikov called to Karpo who put his pistol away and made his way around the house as Rostnikov bent awkwardly over Dimitri Galich's body to confirm what he already knew. The wind through the broken window suddenly grew angry, tumbled a book to the floor and whistled shrilly into one of the ancient bottles on the table.
Karpo came through the door and moved to Rostnikov's side.
'Did you hear?' Rostnikov asked.
'A little,' said Karpo.
'He confessed to the murder of Commissar Rutkin,' said Rostnikov, pulling his coat around him as the house quickly grew cold. 'The reasons he gave were muddled. He was a bit mad, I'm afraid. I imagine living in Tumsk for several years does not minimize that risk.'
'Shall I tell Famfanoff to free Dr. Samsonov?' Karpo said.
'Not yet. I have something to do first. Attend to Dimitri Galich's body and then prepare your report.'
'Yes, Inspector. Shall I inform Procurator Sokolov and arrange for air transport back to Moscow?'
'The sooner the better,' said Rostnikov, finally looking away from the body. 'You know, Emil, I liked the man.'
'So I observed,' said Karpo.
And with that Rostnikov headed for the door and a meeting he dreaded.
A slight snow was falling as he stepped out of Galich's house, the first since Rostnikov had come to Tumsk. He wondered if a plane could get through the snow, if there was a chance that he would be snowed in and unable to get back to Moscow, back to Sarah.
He stepped off the small porch and walked the thirty or so yards to the Samsonovs'. He didn't have to knock. Ludmilla Samsonov opened the door as he neared the house.
She was dressed in white, her dark hair tied back, tiny earrings of white stone dangling from her ears. He lips
