were pink and shiny and her eyes full of fear.
'I've been hoping you would come,' she said fighting back a chill.
'Let's get inside,' he said stepping in, close to her, smelling her, unsure of whether the smell was natural or perfume. She closed the door and smiled at him uncertainly.
'I have some coffee ready,' she said nervously. 'Would you like some?'
'No, thank you,' Rostnikov said removing his hat and unbuttoning his coat.
'Please have a seat,' she said pointing at the sofa. 'Let me take your coat.'
Rostnikov removed his coat, handed it to the woman who brushed his hand as she took it. He sat on the sofa and made room for her when she returned from placing his coat on a table near the window. She straightened her dress, revealing her slim legs, and looked into his face.
'I heard something,' she said. 'It sounded like shots.'
'Yes,' he said. 'I heard it. I'll have Inspector Karpo investigate. You said at the hearing that you wished to speak to me?'
'Yes,' she said leaning close, almost weeping. 'My husband did not kill Commissar Rutkin. He didn't shoot Mirasnikov. He has been distraught by Karla's death. That is true. But he is a gentle man. You must be mistaken. I would do anything for him, anything.'
'Anything?' Rostnikov asked.
'Yes,' she said, holding back the tears.
'Even be very friendly to a rather homely old police inspector?'
'I believe in my husband's innocence,' she said, her eyes pleading, her mouth quivering.
Her teeth, Rostnikov noted, were remarkably white and even. Rostnikov took her hand. She didn't resist.
'And how would I do this? How could I let him go after the hearing?'
'You could find new evidence, evidence that the murderer is the Evenk, the one Mirasnikov saw, the one you talked to,' she said eagerly. 'The Evenk accused Lev to protect himself. Someone, Dimitri Galich, could tell the Evenk, tell him to go away. I'll ask Galich right away.'
She looked into his eyes, squeezed his hand.
'Dimitri Galich is dead,' he said.
Ludmilla Samsonov withdrew her hands and shuddered.
'Dead?'
'Inspector Karpo had to shoot him no more than ten minutes ago,' said Rostnikov. 'He attempted to kill me after confessing that he killed Commissar Rutkin.'
'That's…' she began. 'Then my husband will be freed.'
She breathed deeply and sat back. Rostnikov said nothing.
'I'm sorry,' she went on. 'I was so… My husband has been through so much.'
'And it is very important that he be allowed to move to the West,' said Rostnikov.
'It is what he wants, what he needs,' she said. 'He cannot contain, cannot control his beliefs. If he remains in the Soviet Union, he will get into more trouble. If he remains in Siberia unable to practice, to do his research, he will probably die.'
'And that is important to you?' asked Rostnikov.
She nodded.
'Would you like to know why Dimitri Galich killed Commissar Rutkin?' Rostnikov asked.
'Yes,' she said quietly.
'Dimitri Galich, before he died, said that he killed Commissar Rutkin because you asked him to,' Rostnikov said.
'I… he said I…' she said, her eyes opening, her hand moving to her breast.
'Absurd on the surface,' said Rostnikov, 'but he claimed with the sincerity of a dying man that you and he were lovers and that you said Rutkin was going to reveal your affair as part of the hearing into the death of Karla Samsonov.'
'That's ridiculous,' she said clasping her hands together.
'I don't know,' Rostnikov shrugged. 'He swore and it sounded sincere to me and my assistant.'
'Why would I have an affair with Dimitri Galich?' she cried. 'He was old enough to be my father, maybe my grandfather.'
'As am I,' Rostnikov said, 'and moments ago you appeared to be quite willing to be intimate with me to get me to free your husband. It is possible you knew about Galich's vulnerability, his background and weakness for women and you engaged him with the very thought of getting him to kill Commissar Rutkin. My experience seems to confirm Galich's dying claim.'
'How would I know anything of Dimitri Galich's background, this weakness?' she said, standing and fishing into the pocket of her dress for a package of cigarettes. She pulled one out, put it to her lips and lit it, her eyes fixed on the placid face of the seated policeman.
'My guess,' said Rostnikov, 'is that you are a KGB agent, that you have spent some time in getting close to Samsonov, marrying him. My guess is that Samsonov is finding it relatively easy to leave the country not only as a gesture of glasnost, but because he will be in a position within the western scientific community to learn a great deal about people, developments which would be of great value to the KGB. My guess is that when Karla died, and according to the reports her death was quite natural, quite accidental, and Samsonov went wild in grief and anger, it threatened your plan. Rutkin was sent because he was incompetent. It was assumed he would be fed information, probably most of it true, to prove that Karla died by accident. With your help, it was hoped that Samsonov would believe it, would leave the country, would not go mad. You had invested too much in him to lose Samsonov. Am I close?'
'Go on,' she said taking a deep lungful of smoke.
'Somehow Rutkin stumbled on information about you. Perhaps it wasn't much but it was enough to make it possible for your husband to become suspicious. And Commissar Rutkin was ambitious. Maybe you tried to persuade him to be quiet about what he knew. Maybe you even told him you were KGB. Maybe he didn't believe you.'
'It was ridiculous,' Ludmilla Samsonov said with a deep sigh, reaching over to put out her unfinished cigarette. 'I told him to call Moscow. The phones were out. All that night. He didn't believe me. The fool didn't believe me and he was going to ruin everything. He confronted Galich, told him, told me that he would suggest at the hearing that we might have killed Karla. He came up with some nonsense about Karla having seen Galich and me together.'
'And so,' said Rostnikov still sitting. 'You convinced Galich that he had to kill Rutkin and because he loved you he did it. He was quite happy this morning. He thought your husband was going to prison, that you wouldn't be leaving Tumsk. I'm sorry to say that you handled the situation rather badly. Your attempt to shoot me is a rather good example of what can only be described as incompetence.'
'And what do you plan to do with this information?' she said.
Rostnikov pulled himself up from the sofa with a deep breath and looked at her. She was quite beautiful, even more beautiful now that the guise of vulnerability had been dropped.
'Nothing,' said Rostnikov. 'There is nothing I can do to you without destroying myself.' He looked around the room. 'I will announce that Galich was the murderer. I will 'order the release of your husband. And in a few days the two of you will leave the country with your belongings, your books, your memories.'
'That is a wise decision, Comrade,' she said, 'and I will tell my superiors of your cooperation.'
She held out her right hand but Rostnikov did not take it.
'I do not give my hand to murderers,' said Rostnikov.
She dropped her hand to her side and shrugged.
'As long as you keep your word to them, Comrade,' she said.
Rostnikov nodded, accepted his coat and hat and refused to let her help him put them on. He had learned patience.
General Krasnikov's book would leave the country. He assumed the general had some contact in the West who could pick it up, probably get it published, maybe save some lives including Josefs.
As for Ludmilla Samsonov, Rostnikov was well aware of the need for such operations, the need for intelligence information. But he could not forgive her the seduction and death of Dimitri Galich. Perhaps some day a
