look a plea for help. Maybe Elena was mistaken. She looked again, but the gap between the two women had been filled again by the men.
The room was hot in spite of the cooling weather. Too many bodies in too little space. About half of the men were smoking.
“What did your brother plan to do with his collection?”
“Nothing. He wanted to have it nearby. He wanted to save books, icons, and paintings that the Communists wanted to destroy after the Revolution.”
There was a brief moment of silence. No one in the room was openly Communist, and very few would have acknowledged that they had ever belonged to the party.
“Did he have partners? Who are they?”
“We lived alone and had no friends. Ivan worked. He saved. He bought.”
“Relatives?”
Natalya shook her head.
The men in the room were growing restless. They pushed for position, muttering threats and insults. They all knew that they were in competition for evidence, clues, and leads in the now nearly empty treasure room. But if there were leads, they had long since trampled them. They had contaminated the scene, and Elena admitted to herself that her own department had also done so with a pair of evidence specialists borrowed from the Petrovka forensics laboratory.
“How could-?” a man with a gruff voice began.
“No more,” Natalya Dokorova interrupted. “No more.”
“Then,” said a man up front, “we will have to take you with us for further questioning.”
There was a fresh rumble of argument among the men.
“You will have to?” one man shouted. “It is we with whom she will come.”
“I have committed no crime. There is no crime here except the theft of my legacy,” Natalya said.
“There is more than a little doubt that the property belongs to you,” shouted a man close to Elena. “We will have to determine if the items have been stolen by your brother or by someone who sold them to your brother.”
“Decide who will arrest me and for what crime,” Natalya said, standing slowly. “Or leave my house.”
“We are here to help retrieve the items,” a new voice called out with a fresh plan. “When we find the items, if they are judged to be yours, they will be returned to you. Surely you want to cooperate with us.”
“If and when I understand who you are,” said Natalya, “I will answer your questions. I am not defying the law. I am attempting to cooperate with it. Now, you will all leave, or one of you will have to arrest me.”
More talking, more shouts, debates, tempers rising. Elena’s eyes and those of the old woman met again for an instant.
An older man, probably the oldest in the room judging by his white hair and weary face, finally said, “We will meet with our superiors and determine jurisdiction, and some of us will return. Those of us who do return will want answers, and you shall either give those answers or face arrest.”
Natalya did not respond. Reluctantly the men began to file out of the kitchen, down the short corridor, and out the front door. Pressed at the edge of the crowd, Elena waited, and found herself the last one to leave. A hand on her shoulder stopped her. She turned and faced Natalya Dokorova as the last man to depart turned back and witnessed the two women standing beside each other. But in an instant he had turned his head again and was gone.
Natalya stepped into the hall to be sure the men had departed.
“Cannibals,” said Natalya. “And they’ve made my kitchen stink. Let’s go into the parlor.”
Elena followed the old woman into a modest living room with two windows. The thick drapes had been closed either to keep out the sun or to protect its occupant from the eyes of reporters and the curious.
“I have some questions to ask you,” Natalya said, sitting down on a straight-back chair and pointing to an identical one for Elena. Elena sat.
“Are you married?”
“No,” said Elena, smoothing down her straight skirt and trying to get reasonably comfortable.
“You live alone?”
“With my aunt. She’s ill. She used to be a procurator.”
“That’s more than I wanted to know.”
Elena didn’t speak.
“You were with that vampire yesterday,” Natalya said.
“Inspector Karpo, yes,” replied Elena.
“I’m glad he is not back,” said Natalya. “He recognized my brother’s accomplishment, but he did not seem to appreciate it.”
“Inspector Karpo is not an emotional man,” said Elena.
The old woman nodded in understanding.
“If they find my brother’s collection, will you see to it that I get it back?”
“I don’t know,” said Elena. “That is up to my superiors. And those above them. I’m sorry.”
“Do you think there is any chance that the collection will be returned to me if they find it, any chance at all? Please, the truth.”
“No,” said Elena.
“They will steal it,” she said, suddenly sitting erect, her arms tight on the arms of her chair. “These piranha ready to devour the carcass of a fatted calf. This ‘state’ of chaos. They will sell it to the Japanese and the Americans and will throw the money away on economic plans that don’t work.”
Elena said nothing.
“The creature you were with yesterday. This …”
“Karpo.”
“He knew the real value of my brother’s collection, not just its worth in rubles.”
“Yes,” said Elena.
“And you?” Natalya asked.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I am in awe of your brother’s collection. I recognize that it is special, something awesome.”
“Awesome, yes,” said Natalya, savoring the word. “Those men who tromped through here and asked me stupid questions, they know nothing of what my brother has done.”
Elena agreed that this was probably true, but she remained silent.
“Are you comfortable?” Natalya asked.
“The chair is exceptionally comfortable,” said Elena.
“A woman’s chair,” Natalya said with satisfaction, running her hands over the carved wood of the arms of her chair. “They were made for Catherine the Great. What do you think of that?”
Elena looked at the dark, smooth carved arms, and finally said, “A sense of history … awe.”
“I’ll help you,” the old woman said. “As much as I can.”
At that moment Elena Timofeyeva knew why Rostnikov had assigned her to the theft. He couldn’t have anticipated that Natalya Dokorova would seek her out, but he must have believed that the old woman would be more likely to confide in Elena than in any man, including himself.
“Then let’s begin,” said Elena, removing a notebook from the red bag she carried.
“Shall I make tea?” Natalya asked. “That would be nice,” said Elena.
In Alexei’s dream he had been looking out a window in the old printing house at 15 Nikloskaya. He had a sense that he was looking from his office building. Below on the sidewalk a man paused to look up at him. The man’s hands were in the pockets of his lightweight coat. The eyes of the two men met, and Alexei knew he was looking down at himself. Suddenly a car stopped behind the man on the street. People hurried by, other cars passed. Two men emerged from the stopped car, their faces covered with black ski masks.
Alexei tried to shout a warning to himself. The two men in ski masks were carrying weapons. The Alexei who stood on the street did not seem to understand. The Alexei in the window pointed, gesturing in helpless desperation while his doppelganger was hauled into the backseat of the waiting car.
Alexei Porvinovich opened his eyes. He was sweating. He dimly remembered where he was and was
