The Sin Collector

ANDREY

Perfect! snarled Andrey. Obviously, somebody at the top had pushed Anyutin to take the girl on, but Katyshev himself! Herr Prosecutor! An unblemished reputation, the best of the best, the people’s avenger. Somebody Andrey wouldn’t even be brave enough to ask for a light. And here he and the little honor student were bosom buddies. They might as well be family, the way she kissed him on the cheek.

Andrey was so pissed he opted to storm up the stairs instead of taking the elevator.

Only once he reached his office and sat down at his own desk did he start to recover a little. He turned on the electric kettle, opened a window, found a cigarette, and took a drag. While he smoked, he stirred up some instant coffee and dove into the computer. He went to the missing persons database and typed in his search criteria. Last six months, male. Faces flashed on the screen. Lots of people go missing in six months in Moscow.

But wait. Andrey grabbed for his cell phone and scrolled to see the photos, but he already knew. The drowned man they’d found today shared a not-very-pleasant face with one Mr. I. A. Yelnik, born 1970, missing since February. “Well!” whispered Andrey as the hot coffee burned his throat. His fingers trembled with excitement as he felt the case begin to gain ground.

The first tiny step, even just an inch, was the most important. Andrey thought of a new case like a boulder at the top of a hill. He pushed at it steadily, gradually, until it finally began to budge. Now the next step. Who are you, Yelnik, old pal? The database of past offenders did not let him down. Andrey’s computer screen filled with text and pictures, views from the front and the side, in which Yelnik was clearly much younger than he had been this morning on the banks of the Moskva. Andrey rubbed his nose again, happily this time.

Old Yelnik was a murderer.