western embassy would receive a call or a note suggesting that Ludmilla Samsonov was not what she appeared to be. Perhaps and perhaps not.
Rostnikov moved quickly away from the house and down the slope. The snow had stopped. He was on his way home to Sarah.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Before he left Tumsk, Rostnikov ordered the release of Lev Samsonov with apologies and announced that for reasons unknown Dimitri Galich had murdered Commissar Rutkin and, when he was discovered, was killed trying to resist arrest.
Samsonov was presented with the information confirming his daughter's death by natural causes and his wife, in an emotional plea to her husband, helped to convince him that Rostnikov's report on Karla's death was accurate, that there was no conspiracy.
Procurator Sokolov brooded but could find no fault with Rostnikov's actions other than his lack of consideration for the representative of the Procurator General's Office.
Rostnikov said goodbye to the officer at the weather station and the Mirasnikov's. He promised Famfanoff that he would write the letter for him supporting his request for transfer.
The last resident of Tumsk Rostnikov saw before he left the town was General Krasnikov who was standing at his window when Rostnikov, Karpo and Sokolov came out of the house with their bags and headed for the waiting helicopter.
'Summarize,' the major said. 'I'm not concerned about the investigation itself. I've already been informed about that. The conclusion is satisfactory. I wish a listing of each error, indiscretion, delay in Inspector Rostnikov's investigation. We will be getting a similar report from Inspector Sokolov of the Procurator's Office.'
'I will prepare the report on my observations of the investigation. I will also give you copies of my part of the investigation. I have that in my travel case. I will, however, inform Inspector Rostnikov, who is my immediate superior, that I have done so. This is in accordance with MVD and CID regulations.'
'I am well aware of the regulations,' Major Zhenya said. 'In matters of national security, such regulations are superceded.'
'National security?' asked Karpo. 'I am unable to see how Inspector Rostnikov's conducting of this investigation deals with or compromises national security.'
'It is not your place to understand,' said Zhenya. 'If you do not comply you will be obstructing an investigation dealing with national security, an investigation which involves much more that you do not see or understand.'
'Then I will have to accept the consequences of my decision. It is also my responsibility to inform you that my report on Inspector Rostnikov will contain no citations of impropriety. His methods are not always within the borders of suggested investigatory procedure, but they are well within his rights of discretion and his results are undeniable.'
Zhenya shook his head at the pale, unblinking man before him. He reached up to straighten the out-of-place hairs above his ear and reclasped his hands tightly. Karpo could see the major's knuckles go white with anger.
'Have you considered your future, Comrade?' Zhenya asked.
'I have no ambition, Comrade,' said Karpo. 'I wish only to do my work for the State. I do that work diligently and, I believe, efficiently according to regulations. To deprive the State of my training in retaliation for my unwillingness to perjure myself in a report would itself be disservice to the State. I am not, however, foolish enough to think that it is beyond your power to do so.'
'Get out,' Major Zhenya said evenly.
Karpo stood, said nothing more and left the room, closing the door gently behind him. One of the two men who stood outside the door of the major's office handed him his travel bag. Karpo noted that the zipper was almost fully closed, not one-half of an inch open as he had left it. They had been through his things, probably already copied his duplicate notes on the investigation of Commissar Rutkin. There was nothing in the notes to compromise Porfiry Petrovich Rostnikov.
When he reached the front of the building, Karpo checked his watch and found that it was slightly after five. It was also Wednesday. He had slept on the plane to Moscow and needed no further rest. He would work on several outstanding cases if there were no new assignments on his desk. And that evening' he would be seeing Mathilde Verson. Emil Karpo came very close to smiling.
Porfiry Petrovich Rostnikov, meanwhile, had arrived at the clinic where a very thin woman in white, with a voice that reminded him of a teacher he had had as a child, met him as he came through the door. She had been called by Dr. Yegeneva and had been waiting for him.
The woman chattered away in a whisper and led him down a short corridor and pointed at a door on the left.
'First bed. Doctor said no more than half an hour.' She went on smiling at him.
Rostnikov nodded, went through the door and put his case on the floor. The early morning sun was bursting brightly through the window on the three beds in the room. An older woman in the bed furthest to his right snored gently. In the center bed, a woman, possibly a child, lay curled up on her side, her dark hair covering her face. She breathed gently, asleep. In the third bed, the bed nearest him, lay his wife, her head covered by a turban of white bandages. Sarah lay on her back, eyes closed, hands at her sides.
Porfiry Petrovich moved to the side of the bed and reached down to hold Sarah's hand. It was cool. She stirred, her mouth moving, and her eyes fluttered open and found him. She smiled weakly and squeezed his hand and then closed her eyes.
Rostnikov touched the bridge of his nose, glanced at the other two sleeping women and reached into his pocket. He leaned over, kissed his wife gently on the forehead and under her pillow placed a very small, slightly odd smelling red sack of reindeer hide.
