“Is that a question?” asked the old man.
“It is.”
“Yes there are,” Ivanov said, still looking at the small part as if it held a secret.
“Do you know where they are?”
“Three of them, but they have all been covered by collapsing walls. Children were killed. One ghost came from the crushed rocks and bits of diamond, the little girl with the lantern.”
“You believe in the ghost girl?”
“I saw her twice.”
“When?”
“I don’t remember. I was a young man. It was just before we were warned for the first time that the Japanese might be on the way.”
“You don’t like the Japanese,” said Karpo.
“I like the Japanese very much,” said Ivanov, trying to take his eyes from the little machined part. “Very smart. Women are pretty. Children are beautiful. I just do not want them to take over all of Russia and turn us into Buddhists and slaves.”
“Could you draw me a map of where the small caves are?”
“No one believes me about the caves. Why do you?”
“I did not say I believe you,” said Karpo. “Nor do I not believe you.”
“I’ll draw it in exchange for a bullet for this gun,” the old man said.
“You shall have it,” said Karpo, reasonably confident he could provide the man with a bullet that would be guaranteed not to work or explode the gun in his hands.
“If I were not too old, I would take you to the caves,” the old man said.
“I understand. There is a man named Boris who takes people into the mine. Could he find the caves using your map?”
“Boris? Stupid boy, but he knows the mine. Yes, he can do it. Are you going in there?”
“I think so.”
“Watch out for the ghost girl. If you hear her sing and you see her, your chances of being found dead are very good.”
“It is a risk I will take.”
“My bullet.”
“I will get it for you.”
“When is he coming home?” asked Nina.
Since her sister was two years older, Nina expected Laura to have answers to all of her questions, and she usually did.
“Soon,” said Laura.
The girls were facing each other under the blanket on the makeshift bed on the floor. They were whispering in the darkness punctuated only by the light from the lampposts beyond the kitchen window.
“What is soon?”
“Three days,” Laura said with confidence and no certain knowledge.
“What is he doing? Is he shooting someone bad?”
“No. The creepy man does the killing.”
“I like him,” said Nina. “I do not think he is creepy.”
“I do not think he is either, but other people do.”
“Sarah and Grandmother Galina?”
“I do not know.”
“I shall ask them. Will Porfiry Petrovich bring us anything from Siberia?”
“There is nothing to bring from Siberia,” said Laura. “There is nothing there but snow and reindeer.”
“When he comes back, he will fix Mrs. Dudenya’s pipes.”
“Yes,” said Laura. “When I grow up, I shall be a plumber.”
“When I grow up,” said Nina, “I will be a policeman.”
“Here is the list,” said Fyodor Rostnikov, handing a printed sheet to Porfiry Petrovich.
They were seated on white folding chairs outside the apartment complex facing the mine, which was closed. It was a crime scene.
Porfiry Petrovich wore his lined overcoat and a black wool watch cap. Fyodor Andreiovich wore a dark blue pea coat and a black fur hat. In the summer, the temperature could reach ninety degrees Fahrenheit for a few days, but in the winter, which was approaching, the temperature averaged negative fifty-six degrees Fahrenheit. At the moment the temperature hovered somewhere around thirty degrees Fahrenheit, which meant that they both considered this a balmy day, nearly perfect for enjoying the afternoon.
Beyond the thick wall of trees that stretched as far to the left and right as Rostnikov could see were mountains and the Vitim River and Lake Baykal, the world’s deepest lake. The city of Irkutsk was somewhere out there.
Porfiry Petrovich looked down at the short list of names Fyodor had given him. They were the names of all senior employees of the mining company who were allowed to enter the mine during the six-hour off shift, which was always between 11:00 p.m. and 5:00 a.m. In addition to the Devochka Council members, there were two resident mining engineers. It was a short list made even shorter by the murder of board member Anatoliy Lebedev.
“As you will see if you go to the mine. .”
“I will go to the mine,” said Porfiry Petrovich.
“As you will see,” Fyodor went on, “there is a steel night fence which covers the only mine entrance. The door in the fence can only be opened with key cards.”
Fyodor reached into the pocket of his jacket and extracted two large naval oranges. He handed one to Porfiry Petrovich who nodded his thanks.
“And who provides these cards?” Rostnikov asked as he carefully began to peel the orange. It was firm and ripe. He brought it to his nose to smell. The world was suddenly engulfed in an orange miasma.
“I do,” said Fyodor.
“And where were you on the shifts when the Canadian and Lebedev were killed?”
Fyodor allowed himself a knowing, if small, smile.
“Home, which, you will see when you come for dinner tonight, is over there: Building Two, ground floor. My children were sleeping. My wife and I went to bed just before midnight. I awoke in the morning at five-thirty as I always do.”
“And your wife is a light sleeper?” asked Rostnikov.
This time Fyodor did allow himself a laugh, almost choking as he said, “She sleeps a sleep that would challenge a roomful of narcoleptics. Nothing wakes her.”
Both men had a lap of orange peels and a ready orb of fruit. They had both separated the oranges into segments and were eating slowly.
“So I am the prime suspect?”
“One of several,” said Porfiry Petrovich, holding up the list and letting his eyes follow the slow walk of a man on the path to the mine.
The list was now covered with sticky fingertip tabs of orange. When he called Sarah later, he would tell her of the nearly perfect orange he had eaten in Siberia.
“During Lebedev’s murder, I will now confess, I was with the person I thought might be the murderer of the Canadian,” Fyodor said after a long pause. “I engaged him in conversation, tried to get him drunk, and wasted a night. It was I who got drunk.”
“His name?”
“Your weight lifting partner Viktor Panin. I did not go to the mine. You can ask Viktor.”
“And Viktor did not go to the mine?” said Porfiry Petrovich.
