Iosef sat in the chair where Yulia Yalutshkin had sat. He could smell a faint scent of perfume. Iosef opened his book and tried to read
Inside the office Yaklovev directed his guests to sit in the chairs he had placed in front of his desk. When they sat, Yaklovev went behind his desk and stood with one hand on the neat, five-inch pile of yellow folders held down by a lead paperweight with the like-ness of Ivan the Terrible looking up at him. Beside the files was a small battery-operated tape recorder, which the Yak made no effort to hide. He handed the pile of files to Yevgeny Pleshkov and sat behind his desk, hands folded on top of it.
Yulia reached for a cigarette and said, “
The Yak said, “Smoking is not permitted in my office.”
Yulia shrugged and lit the cigarette herself. Pleshkov looked up to watch how Yaklovev would deal with this typical Yulia Yalutshkin behavior. The outcome might well affect Yevgeny’s own method of dealing with the duplicate Lenin behind the desk.
“Miss Yalutshkin,” the Yak said calmly, hands still folded before him. “If you do not stop, I will have Inspector Rostnikov take you to an uncomfortable and possibly very dirty cell. All that you have with you will be confiscated and two policewomen will check you and all of your body cavities for weapons. I understand that they are not gentle. Is your defiance worth the outcome?”
Yulia looked at her cigarette, shrugged, and looked around for an ashtray.
“Not in my office,” said the Yak. “Take it out to Pankov and get back here immediately, please.”
Yulia stood, glaring at Yaklovev.
“Now,” said the Yak. “I have much to do and I am growing impatient. I do not wish to waste our time on childish behavior.”
“Damn you,” said Yulia, striding to the door and exiting.
Yevgeny began examining the files-the photos, letters, reports on the body of the German, the evidence of what Yevgeny and the others had done. It was not just his career that was in jeopardy. It was his very freedom.
Yulia came back in, making a show of closing the door slowly.
Oleg wanted no quarrel with the man behind the desk, but he dearly wished he had something to occupy him or pretend was occupying him while he waited what would surely be his turn.
Yulia sat, and as Yevgeny finished each file he handed it to her.
The room was silent except for Oleg shifting in his chair and paper being slowly shuffled. After five minutes, Yevgeny and Yulia returned the files to the Yak, who again piled them neatly with the Ivan the Terrible paperweight on top of them.
“We have the physical evidence downstairs,” said the Yak. “The wooden stake, the body with its crushed skull and the wound to the neck, and, as the report you just read clearly indicates, much, much more.”
“You have your supposed evidence,” said Yevgeny Pleshkov.
“What do you want of us?”
“Perhaps to save you,” said the Yak. “If you cooperate. First, I want a statement from each of you about what actually happened.
Now, if you refuse, I will be forced to proceed with legal action, which the press will certainly hear of. Yevgeny Pleshkov first. The truth.”
“You said you may be able to save us,” said Pleshkov.
“The truth, now. We will see what can be done,” said the Yak, hands still folded before him. “You have examined the evidence report. You have little choice.”
Yaklovev turned on the tape recorder and nodded at Pleshkov, who looked at Yulia and Oleg and began to speak. Pleshkov’s statement was the longest. The others reluctantly confirmed and added some of the details that Yevgeny, in his alcoholic daze, had forgotten. The box with the photos and tapes, the fight with Jurgen, the attempt to destroy the evidence were all laid out with excuses from all three presenting the statement. The German attacked first and would have killed Pleshkov, who was only defending himself. They had burned the body in panic, to preserve Yevgeny’s reputation.
“I was drunk, in the apartment of a. .” Pleshkov began.
“Prostitute,” Yulia supplied.
“Yes,” said Pleshkov. “I had just killed a man who had attacked me. I would be destroyed.”
When they were finished speaking, the trio waited for Yaklovev to probe, ask questions. Instead, he turned off the tape recorder.
Yaklovev took out the tape and replaced it with a fresh one. The taped confession went into the desk drawer. The Yak spoke slowly, not turning on the tape recorder.
“Your story does not explain the evidence. I believe that evidence clearly shows that the following took place: Oleg Kisolev and Yevgeny Pleshkov went to the Yulia Yalutshkin apartment where the German and Yulia Yalutshkin were waiting. There was an argument.
I don’t know what it was about. The German, Jurgen, said he wanted to talk to Oleg. Yevgeny Pleshkov was drunk. Oleg asked Yulia to help Yevgeny to the elevator. She did. When they were gone, the German threatened to expose the fact that Oleg Kisolev is a homosexual.”
Neither Yulia nor Pleshkov showed any sign of surprise at the Yak’s revelation, and Oleg was now sure that they had known before. Yevgeny had hinted at his knowledge of his friend’s sexuality in the past, but Yulia clearly knew. For how long? Had Yevgeny told her?
“Exposure of your homosexuality,” said the Yak, looking at Oleg, “would end your career. You refused to give in to the German’s threat of such exposure. He attacked you. You fought. There was a box. You struck him in the head with it. It broke. You found yourself holding a small, sharp piece of the shattered box. The German attacked again. You struggled. Somehow the pointed end of the piece of wood went deeply into the German’s neck.
“You ran to the elevator. Yulia stood there impatiently. Yevgeny Pleshkov was in a stupor. You told Yulia to take him to a hotel.
Neither Yulia nor Yevgeny learned about the death of the German till the next day. When Yulia and Yevgeny were going down in the elevator, you returned to the apartment where, to protect Yulia, you took the German’s body to the roof and you burned it. You did not murder the German. His death was an unfortunate accident. Your motives in burning the body were honorable. Now, I will turn on the tape recorder and you will-of course providing it is true-tell this version of what happened. If you would like to discuss this with each other before I turn on the tape recorder. .”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Yevgeny Pleshkov. “Will it, Oleg?”
“No, Yevgeny,” said Kisolev softly, his head down. “It will not be necessary.”
“Good,” said Yaklovev. “Then we will begin.”
The Yak turned on the tape recorder and nodded at Oleg, who began speaking very softly in a monotone. The tape recorder was a very good one. It picked up every word of Oleg’s confession and Yulia and Yevgeny’s confirmation, which established their innocence in the death of the German. The entire relation of this version of what had happened took about the same time as the version that was on tape in the Yak’s drawer.
When the three had finished, the Yak again asked no questions.
He turned off the tape.
“What I require now,” said the Yak, “is a complete list of Yulia Yalutshkin’s clients. One of them might be able to confirm the German’s violent tendencies.”
“No,” said Yulia.
“Yes,” said Yevgeny emphatically. “You will provide the list.
Don’t you see what the possible consequences of refusal might be?”
“Yes,” Yulia said, glaring at the Yak, who sat calmly looking at Pleshkov.
“Then,” said Yaklovev, “I can see no reason to hold any of you.
Yulia Yalutshkin, you can go into the outer office where Pankov, my assistant, will provide you with a pen and paper to write the list of your clients. If the list is not complete, I shall have to review your version of events very carefully.”
“It will be complete,” said Yevgeny Pleshkov.
