bathroom had increased during the year in which her brother’s daughter had lived with her.
Anna returned to her chair.
“Don’t forget the exercises,” Elena called, retrieving a long nightshirt from the closet.
“I will do sit-ups, push-ups, and knee bends,” said Anna. “When we have enough money, you can buy me weights. Within a year I’ll be stronger than Porfiry Petrovich.”
“Just the sit-ups,” called Elena. “Not the jokes.”
“Thank you for acknowledging my attempt at humor,” said Anna.
Baku jumped into her lap and purred as Anna petted him gently.
It was mad, Elena thought as she prepared for bed even though she wasn’t tired. She would try to find something to read, something to distract her. Iosef Rostnikov had not called her in two weeks-two weeks and one day. He had pursued her. She had resisted. They had made love twice, both times very good. Emotionally volatile. Perhaps he had gone back to Trina. Elena had met Trina. She was a slim, very young, dark beauty who worked with him at the theater. And Trina had been nice.
Did Porfiry Petrovich know? Elena couldn’t help remembering what it had been like in bed with Iosef, who looked more like his mother than his father. Iosef was light, taller than either of his parents. She wanted his bare chest next to hers, his mouth open on hers. She wanted him to call. She decided to lie in bed listing his deficiencies, but the effort failed.
Was he still attracted to her at all? She had picked up hints of Iosef’s behavior with women from the odd comments and sly smiles of the actors and other people he worked with at the theater. She had gone twice to watch him direct rehearsals at the little theater that used to be a small church.
In the other room Anna turned on the radio. Her hearing was excellent and the music was low, but Elena could hear it through the thin door. She rolled over, found her rubber earplugs in the night-table drawer, and put them in.
The Gray Wolfhound sat in his office in full uniform, back straight, hands resting before him on his perfectly polished desk. He looked to Rostnikov as if he were posing for a portrait.
“Chief Inspector,” the Wolfhound said, “you are filthy.”
“Major Gregorovich said there was no time for me to wash and change.”
Major Gregorovich stood at Rostnikov’s side thoroughly enjoying this encounter.
“Major,” said the colonel, “you are dismissed. Please wait outside.”
Gregorovich nodded and marched out. The Wolfhound looked at the handprint on the major’s back and turned to Rostnikov when Gregorovich had gone.
“Why are you so filthy?”
“I have been plumbing,” said Rostnikov. “It is a hobby of mine.”
“Plumbing?”
“Plumbing.”
Thoughts of the rattling sound in his pipes at home came to the colonel, who shook them off. He had both an impression to make on the chief inspector and a problem to be addressed. He spoke in his measured baritone. “Emil Karpo, with your approval, is pursuing a gang that is dealing in stolen nuclear materials, materials they plan to sell to a foreign government.”
“There may be nothing to it,” said Rostnikov.
“But there may,” Colonel Snitkonoy countered. “And I should have been informed.”
“I planned to do so as soon as we had some solid evidence that there actually was a theft of nuclear materials.”
The colonel rose from his chair and leaned forward, hands on the table, knuckles up. “It is essential that I be informed,” he said.
“You have been informed,” said Rostnikov.
“Yes, but not by you. By a foreign government, by the Americans, by the FBI.”
“Hamilton,” said Rostnikov.
“It was Hamilton’s superior who reported it to me,” said the colonel. “Agent Hamilton is now in charge of this investigation. He will work closely with you and Karpo. He is an expert in such matters. That is why he is here. Porfiry Petrovich, we cannot afford to insult the Americans at this crucial time when our government needs their financial support and investigative expertise. Is this all clear?”
“Perfectly,” said Rostnikov.
“Consider yourself reprimanded,” said the colonel sternly.
“Am I on unpaid leave?”
Snitkonoy shook his head. His mane of perfectly groomed white hair vibrated with annoyance. “You know and I know that you are too valuable for me to give you time off. I ask you to be more mindful of the delicacy of my position.”
“I will endeavor to do so,” said Rostnikov.
Snitkonoy sat again and looked at his chief investigator. “I have a pipe somewhere in my house that is making a terrible noise when I turn on a tap,” said the colonel. “Can you fix that?”
“Yes,” said Rostnikov.
“Wash up, get some sleep, and be back on the job in the morning. We’ll talk tomorrow of my noisy pipe. Go.”
Rostnikov moved to the door as quickly as his leg would permit.
“And send in Pankov as you leave.”
An instant after Rostnikov had departed, the tiny mass of quivering nerves named Pankov entered the office.
“Rostnikov has left a trail of dirt in here. See to it that it is cleaned up before morning. Supervise it yourself.”
“Yes, Colonel,” said Pankov, knowing that there was no way he could find a custodian who would clean the office. It was Pankov who would do it. “Anything else?”
“Tell Major Gregorovich that he may go and that I say he has done a good job.”
“Yes,” said Pankov.
When he was gone, the colonel moved to the window to look out at the chill night sky. He looked down at the single flowering bush in the garden. In the broad beam of a streetlight it seemed to have far fewer flowers today.
TEN
It was moments before midnight. The street was empty. Somewhere above him in one of the rooms of a building, someone coughed. Sasha couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. The cough sounded decidedly unhealthy.
A new wind had come with the night. Sasha’s hands were plunged into the pockets of his jacket. He hoped the police widow had coffee. It would be difficult to stay awake through the entire night. He had failed to get any sleep at home. After Lydia’s shower, he and Maya had talked softly together, listening until Lydia began to snore. Then they waited to see if Pulcharia would come out to complain about her grandmother’s snoring. They waited twenty minutes. The girl did not come out of the bedroom.
And then, in the near darkness, a lone candle lit for the occasion, they had made love a second time, something they had not done since well before the baby was born. Sasha had been filled with passion, which
