made, and the media would be outraged. They would seek out the people who had perpetrated such an injustice, and they would be aided by leaks from the Office of Special Investigation. Monochov might try this approach, but it was doomed to failure.
“Yes, think about it,” said Rostnikov. “But since this is a very important crime, you will appear before a judge within two days and the state will be ready to take you to trial within a week. Think about it, Alexi Monochov, but think quickly and let the guards know when you want to talk to me again.”
Paulinin gathered the material from Alexi’s files and put it back in the envelope as Rostnikov and the man who had made a fool of Paulinin continued to talk.
Though he said nothing, Paulinin believed that the balding man across from him would probably choose neither of the logical options open to him. Paulinin believed the bomber would try to kill himself in the next few days before having to appear before a judge, kill himself as his father had before him. That was if the bomber really had the courage to do so. He might not. In any case, should he kill himself, Paulinin wanted to conduct the autopsy. Normally he would have to wait until some incompetent pathologist butchered the body and either found nothing or drew the wrong conclusions. Only then, usually by official request from someone in Petrovka, would Paulinin get the corpse. Paulinin wanted this one first, wanted to examine the brain in detail. Rostnikov owed him that.
Rostnikov rose awkwardly, using the desk to brace himself. The two men on either side of Monochov rose also and so, finally, did Alexi. The tall, gaunt man who had disarmed him in Rostnikov’s office left the room to find the guard who stood nearby.
The guard returned and Alexi followed him through the door.
When Alexi was gone, Rostnikov said, “He will give us the names. He will consider his choices and choose life.”
“How do you know?” asked Paulinin.
“There was hope in his eyes yesterday when we told him he wasn’t dying,” said Rostnikov. “That hope was there again. And now he wants to distance himself from his father’s madness. He will grow angry. He will curse his father and mother, but he will not want us to think him mad. He wants to live, even if that life is in a prison or a madhouse.”
Paulinin nodded. He still thought Alexi Monochov would kill himself before the week was over.
Leonid entered the apartment about an hour after Yevgeny, who was lying in bed, hands behind his head, working out his plan for murdering Georgi and his roommate.
Yevgeny looked up.
“What happened to you?” he said.
Leonid touched his nose, turned away, and hung up his coat.
“I was robbed and beaten,” Leonid said in mock rage. “A bunch of kids. They had knives, bricks, one even had a gun. I tried to fight, but they hit me, beat me, took my wallet and money, my watch and ring.”
Leonid showed his empty wrist to Yevgeny, who looked up and said, “I’m sorry, Leonid. Let’s take care of your wounds.”
“I’ll be fine,” said Leonid, moving to sit on his bed.
Georgi had worked out this story with a few embellishments from Leonid, who had left his wallet, ring, and watch with Georgi. After Yevgeny was dead, Georgi would return them.
“You didn’t go to the police?” asked Yevgeny calmly.
“No,” said Leonid, his shoulders slouched forward. “What would be the point? They’d never find what was stolen. They wouldn’t even look. And I don’t think we want to go near the police. Not now.”
“Anything broken?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Good,” said Yevgeny. “We do it tonight.”
“Tonight?” asked Leonid. “That wasn’t our plan. I’m in no condition to …”
Yevgeny was aware that his frightened roommate knew full well from the note that had been passed under Georgi’s door that Yevgeny had decided to move tonight.
“Our plan has changed. I have reasons. The police came to the hotel and questioned me about Igor. They plan to question you. The policeman who questioned me suspected something. I want to do it and get out of Moscow before they find you. If they ask you questions, they might trick you. You understand?”
“I understand,” said Leonid. “Tonight.”
“I’ve already told Georgi,” Yevgeny said. “I left him a note.”
“Tonight,” Leonid said, lying back on his bed. The move caused a punch of pain in his stomach where Georgi had hit him. Well, at least he would not have to go to work that night.
Minutes later Leonid was asleep and gently snoring.
Yevgeny looked at his friend and considered killing him right then. It would be easy. A pillow over his face. His arms pinned down. But Leonid would be useful in the night’s work, and it would have been difficult to get rid of the body anyway.
Yevgeny went back to his musing after checking his watch. Eight more hours and with a little luck he would be a very wealthy man.
Elena and Iosef quickly finished their calls to the stations and began to do the paperwork that had piled up on both their desks. Forms, reports, tedium. Sasha had volunteered to go out and take all the photographs. Iosef thought Sasha had done so to leave them alone, out of either goodwill or a desire to get away from their courtship ritual. Elena, who knew Sasha better, thought he had volunteered because of his personal problems. Thanklessly running from station house to station house to take pictures of surly, uncooperative police officers would both keep him busy and let him feel sorry for himself. In any case, he was gone.
“Have you made a decision?” Iosef called from his cubicle.
“The answer is no. I will not marry you,” she said.
“Is that a no for now because you want more time, or a forever no because you don’t love me and you never want to marry?”
“A no for now,” Elena said, trying to read the new form on her desk.
“Then dinner at your aunt’s is still firm?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Elena, wondering when she would shop and cook, what she could make that was quick and easy.
Elena forced attention back to the form that lay flat in front of her. She had gotten to the fourth question: “Is the suspected, perpetrator of the crime able to understand the difference between right and wrong?”
Elena had no idea. Even if she were to question the perpetrator when he was caught she would have no idea. She could ask the suspect questions about whether certain things were right or wrong, but she had learned that answers could seldom be trusted. It was how you felt about the suspect sitting before you that formed your opinion.
The question before her had no answer now and would have none later. She left it blank and went on. Of the twenty-seven questions, she left more than half blank. She was sure when she finished that the form had been created by someone who had never done any criminal investigation work. The form wanted answers where there were no answers. The form wanted certainty where there was usually uncertainty, even if there was some conviction on the part of the officer. She put the form aside and reached for another, going through the pile for something more familiar.
Perhaps there would be
