had the gap teeth of an honest man.
“Well, seeing as how you’re an investigator…”
“Seeing that…,” Arkady agreed.
“Okay.” Gleb dropped his voice. “They were doing renovations to extend the basement cafeteria. A bunch of Turkish workers were digging. They got a little surprise.”
Excavation work had torn up part of the sidewalk. Arkady joined the onlookers on the precarious edge, where klieg lamps aimed an incandescent light at a power shovel in a hole two stories deep and about twenty meters square. Besides militia, the crowd on the sidewalk included firemen and police, city officials and agents of state security who looked rousted from their beds.
In the hole an organized crew of men in coveralls and hard hats worked on the ground and up on scaffolding with picks and trowels, plastic bags, surgical masks and latex gloves. One man dislodged what looked like a brown ball, which he placed in a canvas bucket that he lowered by rope to the ground. He returned to his trowel and painstakingly freed a rib cage with arms attached. As Arkady’s eyes adjusted he saw that one entire face of the excavation was layered with human remains outlined by the snow, a cross section of soil with skulls for stones and femurs for sticks. Some were clothed, some weren’t. The smell was of sweet compost.
The canvas bucket was passed fire brigade style across the pit and pulled by rope up to a tent where other shadowy bodies were laid out on tables. The colonel went from tent to tent and barked at the men sorting bones to work faster. In between orders, he kept an eye on Arkady.
Sergeant Gleb said, “They want all the bodies out by morning. They don’t want people to see.”
“How many so far?”
“It’s a mass grave, who can say?”
“How old?”
“From the clothes, they say the forties or fifties. Holes in the back of the head. In the basement of the Supreme Court yet. March you right downstairs and
The colonel joined them. He was in full winter regalia with a blue fur hat. Arkady wondered, not for the first time, what animal had blue fur.
The colonel said loudly, “There will be an investigation of these bodies to see whether criminal charges should be brought.”
Heads turned along the line, many amused.
“Say that again,” Arkady asked the colonel.
“What I said was, I can assure everyone that there will be an investigation of the dead to see whether criminal charges will be brought.”
“Congratulations.” Arkady put his arm around the colonel’s shoulders and whispered, “That is the best joke I’ve heard all day.”
The colonel’s face turned a mottled red and he ducked out of Arkady’s grip. Ah, well, another enemy made, Arkady thought.
Gleb asked, “What if the grave runs under the entire court?”
“That’s always the problem, isn’t it? Once you start digging, when to stop?”
2
Arkady took his time. His relationship with Zurin had deteriorated to a game like badminton, in which each player took mighty swings that feebly propelled loathing back and forth. So instead of racing to Chistye Prudy Metro station, Arkady stopped in a lane of brick buildings hung with banners that filled and emptied in the wind. Arkady couldn’t see all the banners, but saw enough to learn that “Studio Apartments-Concierge Services-Cable” would soon be erected on the site. “Interested Parties Should Subscribe Now.”
He kicked his way through snow down a flight of stairs and knocked on a basement door. There was no answer but the door was unlocked and he pushed his way into a black space with no more than a seam of street light along the top of the basement windows, about as hospitable as an Ice Age cave. He found a light switch and an overhead rack of fluorescent tubes flickered to life.
Grandmaster Ilya Platonov sat sprawled face down on a table, asleep between chessboards. Arkady thought the fact that Platonov had found that much room was remarkable since chess sets and game clocks covered every surface: antique, inlaid and computerized boards, men lined up like armies summoned and forgotten. Books and magazines on chess crammed the bookcases. Photographs of the Russian greats-Alekhine, Kasparov, Karpov, Tal-hung on the walls along with signs that said, “Members Are Requested Not to Take Boards to the W.C.” and “No Video Games!” The air reeked of cigarettes, genius and musty clothes.
Arkady stomped the snow from his shoes and Platonov’s arm compulsively shot out and hit the game clock.
“In your sleep. That’s impressive,” Arkady said.
Platonov opened his eyes as he sat up. Arkady guessed his age at about eighty. He still had a commanding nose and a pugnacious gaze once he rubbed the sand from his eyes.
“In my sleep, I would still beat you.” Platonov felt his pockets for a wake-up cigarette. Arkady gave him one. “If you played your best game, maybe a draw.”
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for Zhenya.”
“Zhenya, that little shit. I say that most affectionately. A frustrating boy.” Platonov hobbled to a desk and began searching loose papers. “I want to show you the results of the last junior tournament, in which he was a complete mediocrity. Then, the same day, he defeats the adult champion, but for money. For money your little Zhenya is a different player altogether. This is a club for people who love chess, not a casino.”
“I understand.” Arkady noticed a “contributions” jar half full of coins.
Platonov abandoned his search. “The main thing is, Zhenya is ruining his game. No patience. He surprises opponents now because he’s just a boy and then he swoops in for the kill. When he encounters the next level of players they will wear him down.”
“Have you seen Zhenya in the last twenty-four hours?”
“No. The day before, yes. I threw him out for gambling once again. He’s welcome back if it’s to play and learn. Have you ever played him?”
“There’s no point. I’m no competition.”
Platonov scratched his chin. “You’re in the prosecutor’s office, aren’t you? Well, intelligence isn’t everything.”
“Thank God,” Arkady said.
“Chess demands discipline and analysis to reach the top. And in chess if you aren’t at the top, where are you?” Platonov spread his arms. “Teaching idiots basic openings. Left, right, left, right! That’s why Zhenya is such a waste.” In his passion the grandmaster backed into the wall and knocked a framed photograph to the floor. Arkady picked the photograph up. Although the glass was a whirl of shards he saw a young Platonov with a vigorous head of hair accepting a bouquet and congratulations from a round man in a bad suit. Khrushchev, the Party Secretary from years ago. Behind the two men stood children in costume as chess pieces: knights, rooks, kings and queens. Khrushchev’s eyes sank into his grin. Platonov gently took the picture away. “Ancient history. Leningrad, nineteen sixty-two. I swept the field. That was when world chess was Soviet chess and this club, this undersea wreck was the center of the chess world.”
“Soon to be apartments.”
“Ah, you saw the banner outside? Apartments with all the modern conveniences. We will be demolished and replaced by a marble palace for thieves and whores, the social parasites we used to put in jail. Does the state care?” Platonov rehung the photo, cracks and all. “The state used to believe in culture, not real estate. The state-”
“You’re still a Party member?”
“I am a Communist and proud of it. I remember when millionaires were shot on principle. Maybe a millionaire can be an honest man, maybe pigs can whistle. If not for me, they’d already have their apartment house, but I
