The Sin Collector

MASHA

Masha caught up with him in the hallway.

“Andrey!” Masha shouted, startling herself. She had never called him by just his first name before. He spun around, looking like a hurt child. “I’m sorry, I tried to tell you, but you—”

“‘I’m not yet ready to provide a full analysis?’” the captain roared, and Masha thought for a second he was going to hit her. “Where do you think you are, some rich girls’ finishing school? This is Petrovka! We have discipline here! If you have something to say, you sure as hell better back it up with facts!”

“I can,” said Masha, quietly.

“I’m listening!”

“I’d like to bring in an outside expert for this discussion. Could we have lunch together?”

Her mannered tone made Andrey grimace like he had tasted something sour.

“With pleasure,” he said with a fake smile, and with obvious scorn he clicked his heels like a nineteenth-century Prussian soldier. With uncharacteristic elegance, he bowed to her, then turned and took off down the hall.

Masha waited until he was safely around the corner, then took out her phone and dialed Innokenty.

“Kenty! Come rescue me, please!” she whispered. “I need your moral support, or this denim-clad crocodile of mine is going to eat me up.”

“What sort of support do you require, my unfortunate Medea?” But Kenty’s irony quickly turned to sympathy, and he added, “Is he really getting to you?”

“Yeah,” said Masha, “but it’s my own fault. I started to share my theory with the bosses before I told him about it. Now I need you to come in, show some authority, be the guy five minutes away from getting his doctorate in history, and back up everything Gluzman said yesterday.”

“Not a problem, seeing as I really am that guy,” Innokenty bragged. “And I know a great little place near your office.”

“Just nothing too expensive,” Masha warned. “My denim detective is obviously not swimming in money.”

“Good! Given where he works, that’s probably a sign of moral rectitude,” Innokenty reasoned.

They hung up, and ten minutes later Kenty texted her an address. When Masha told Andrey, he just nodded, not looking up from his papers. Masha felt terrible. She looked at the back of his crew-cut head and cursed herself for not showing more restraint. But there was just no way she could keep this insane theory inside. It was tickling her lips, begging to be set free. How could Yelnik’s bizarre murder be a one-off? Could Yakovlev really not see it?

Masha made herself sit patiently till lunchtime, thinking over every point all over again.

When the time came, Maria Karavay and Andrey Yakovlev took an awkward walk down the stairs together and stepped out of the building without exchanging a word. As she tried to match his stride, Masha noticed with surprise that the girls they passed were looking appreciatively at Mr. Denim. They say there’s a demographic crisis, she thought, but I didn’t realize men were that hard to come by.

As usual, Kenty had selected the ideal place. Nice and quiet, with tables placed a discreet distance apart, and judging by the decor and the customers, not too posh.

When Innokenty stood up from the table to greet them, Masha saw Andrey’s face go dark. Tall, broad-shouldered Kenty in his expensive jacket made the poor captain look like a nobody. Masha realized how much they both must irritate him, as a short, obviously provincial man without much money. But to hell with him! thought Masha. Did she have to please everybody she met? It wasn’t her fault her father was a lawyer rather than a truck driver, or that her mother was a doctor who ran a private clinic. Why was she always apologizing to this guy? The revolution was supposed to have made everyone equal, and look how that had turned out! Why shouldn’t Andrey look at her and Kenty, and see that they were different?

As she sat down at the table, Masha very deliberately, with a slow, genteel gesture, tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Then she clearly dictated her order to the waiter, and turned to the captain in a rather majestic posture.

“What will you have, Andrey?”

Glowering, he ordered the first thing he saw on the menu. Then they settled in to wait for Innokenty, who after pondering for a while finally ordered the same thing as Masha. As he extended his arm to hand his menu to the waiter, the light reflected off his cuff links.

Masha smiled wryly, and took the file on the murders out of her bag.