'All the way from Israel.' Hoffman looked at a third letter. 'Crazy Jews. Somebody else wins the Super Bowl, and he says, 'I'm going to Disneyland!' A Jew wins, he says, 'I'm going to Chernobyl!' '
'They're pilgrims,' Arkady said.
'I get the idea. Now what?'
'Do something.'
Vanko had been following the conversation more with his eyes than his ears. He dug into his pockets and came up with a fresh votive candle.
Hoffman said, 'You happen to have a tallith, too? Never mind. Thank you, thanks a ton. What do I owe you?'
'Ten dollars.'
'For a candle worth a dime? So the tomb is your concession?' Hoffman found the money. 'It's a business?'
'Yes.' Vanko was eager for that to be understood. 'Do you need paper or a pen to write a prayer?'
'At ten dollars a page? No, thanks.'
'I'll be right outside if you need anything. Food or a place to stay?'
'I bet.' Hoffman watched Vanko escape. 'This is beautiful. Left in a crypt by a Ukrainian Igor.'
There were hundreds of prayers in each box. Arkady showed two to Hoffman. 'What do these say?'
'The usual: cancer, divorce, suicide bombers. Let's get out of here.'
Arkady nodded to the candle. 'Do you have a match?'
'I told you, I don't do that stuff.'
Arkady lit the candle and set it on the edge of the tomb. A flame hovered on the wick.
Bobby rubbed the back of his head as if it didn't fit right. 'For ten dollars, that's not much light.'
Arkady found used candles with wax left and relit them until he had a dozen flames that guttered and smoked but together were a floating ring of light that made the papers seem to shift and glow. The light also made Arkady aware of Yakov standing at the open door. He was thin enough for Arkady to think of a stick that had been burned, whittled and burned again.
'Is something wrong?' Vanko asked from outside.
Yakov removed his shoes and stepped inside. He kissed the tomb, prayed in a whisper as he rocked back and forth, kissed the tomb a second time and produced his own piece of paper, which he laid on the others.
Bobby bolted out and waited for Arkady. 'The visit to the rabbi is over. Happy?'
'It was interesting.'
'Interesting?' Bobby laughed. 'Okay, here's the deal. The deaths of Pasha and Timofeyev are related. It doesn't matter that one died in Moscow and one died here, or that one was an apparent suicide and the other was obviously murder.'
'Probably.' Arkady watched Yakov emerge from the tomb and Vanko lock it up.
Bobby said, 'So, maybe you should concentrate on Timofeyev, and I'll concentrate on Pasha. But we'll coordinate and share information.'
'Does this mean that Yakov isn't going to shoot me?' Arkady asked.
'Forget about that. That's inoperative.'
'Does Yakov know it's inoperative? He might be hard of hearing.'
'Don't worry about that,' Bobby said. 'The point is, I'm not leaving, so I'll either be in your way, or we'll work together.'
'How? You're not a detective or an investigator.'
'The tape we just looked at? It's yours.'
'I've seen it.'
'What are you offering in return? Nothing?'
Vanko had been hanging back out of earshot but reluctant to leave a scene where more dollars might appear. Sensing a gap in the conversation, he sidled up to Arkady and asked, as if helpfully suggesting another local attraction, 'Did you tell them about the new body?'
Bobby's head swiveled from Vanko to Arkady. 'No, he hasn't. Investigator Renko, tell us about the new body. Share.'
Yakov rested his hand in his jacket.
'Trade,' Arkady said.
'What?'
'Give me your mobile phone.'
Bobby yielded the phone. Arkady turned it on, scrolled through stored numbers to the one he wanted and hit 'Dial.'
A laconic voice answered, 'Victor here.'
'Where?'
There was a long pause. Victor would be staring at the caller ID.
'Arkady?'
'Where are you, Victor?'
'In Kiev.'
'What are you doing there?'
Another pause.
'Is it really you, Arkady?'
'What are you doing?'
'I'm on sick leave. Private business.'
'What are you doing in Kiev?'
A sigh. 'Okay, right now I'm sitting in Independence Square eating a Big Mac and watching Anton Obodovsky sip a smoothie only twenty meters away. Our friend is out of prison, and he just spent two hours with a dentist.'
'A Moscow dentist wasn't good enough? He had to go all the way to Kiev?'
'If you were here, you'd know why. You've got to see it to believe it.'
'Stay with him. I'll call you when I get there.'
Arkady turned off the mobile phone and returned it to Bobby, who clutched Arkady's arm and said, 'Before you go. A new body? That sounds like progress to me.'
11
Kiev was two hours by car from Chernobyl. Arkady made it in ninety minutes on the motorcycle by riding between lanes and, when necessary, swerving onto the shoulder of the road and dodging old women selling buckets of fruit and braids of golden onions. Traffic came to a halt for geese crossing the road, but it plowed over chickens. A horse in a ditch, men throwing sand on a burning car, stork nests on telephone poles, everything passed in a blur.
As soon as Arkady saw the gilded domes of Kiev resting in summer smog, he pulled to the side of the road, called Victor and resumed his ride at a saner pace. Anton Obodovsky was back in the dentist's chair and looked like he would be there for a while. Arkady rolled along the Dnieper and endured the shock of returning to a great city that spilled over both banks of the river. He climbed the arty neighborhood of Podil, rode around the Dumpsters of urban renovation and coasted to a halt at the head of Independence Square, where five streets radiated, fountains played and somehow, more than Moscow, Kiev said Europe.
Victor was at a sidewalk cafe reading a newspaper. Arkady dropped into the chair beside him and waved for a waiter.
'Oh, no,' Victor said. 'You can't afford the prices here. Be my guest.'
Arkady settled back and took in the square's leafy trees and sidewalk entertainers and children chasing fountain water carried by the breeze. Soviet-classical buildings framed the long sides of the square, but at its head the architecture was white and airy and capped with colorful billboards.
