The Sin Collector

ANDREY

Andrey was not in the habit of lying to himself. If he had fed Marilyn all the food he wanted that morning, if he had put on his new pants and a clean shirt, if he’d driven to work like a madman while listening to some cheesy classical station, it must be because he was excited about seeing Masha Karavay.

But, Andrey told himself, that excitement was purely because the work was moving along nicely now, and if it weren’t for Masha, they never would have linked all those cold cases. Intern Karavay had turned out to have a good head on her shoulders, and Andrey Yakovlev wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. Terrifying as it was, he was beginning to suspect their unnamed killer knew it, too. Otherwise, why would he have picked Masha’s best friend as a victim? He’s playing with her, Andrey thought. Challenging her to a duel. And suddenly he was overcome with fear for Masha, deep in his gut. That crazy fuck. Try coming at me, asshole! I’ll—

Unfinished thoughts whipped around in his brain. You threaten a girl, but you don’t have the balls to come after me? Then he realized it wasn’t a question of balls at all. Andrey simply didn’t interest the killer. But Masha did.

He got out of his car and slammed the door, annoyed and maybe even jealous. There was something between those two. An intelligent young woman and a merciless killer. A mental connection could be more powerful than a physical one. But how could Andrey protect her from… coupling, in some horrible way, with a maniac? Andrey opened the door to his office, nodded to his colleagues, and strode right to Masha’s desk.

“Masha!” he said gruffly.

Masha looked up with a smile, which quickly disappeared. Andrey was panting like he’d just run the hundred-meter dash. In fact, he had—up the stairs and down the hallways of Petrovka.

“Masha,” he repeated sternly, sitting down across from her and trying to even out his breath. “I’m taking you off this case.”

Her face went pale, enough to make her eyes glow behind the long eyelashes.

“Why?” she asked, her voice calm. “What am I doing wrong? Why do you hate me so much?”

“No, Masha,” he whispered in response. “Seriously, for such a smart girl, you’re an idiot! Do you think we’re playing games here? He killed your best friend. Do you realize what that means? He walked into your apartment, dressed her in your clothes, put her in your car, and ran her right into a concrete wall! He knows who you are. And I’m not going to continue putting you in danger. You don’t have enough experience. You haven’t had time to develop the professional instinct that we have here, the sense that lets you sniff out danger—”

“But I sniffed out the pattern!” Masha interrupted in a furious whisper. “I had enough knowledge and intuition for that, when nobody else here had a clue! If he killed Katya, that means he was trying to tell me something. It’s a message. Subconsciously, serial killers often want to be caught, right? If I don’t figure out his riddle, that means Katya will have died for nothing.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you!” Andrey answered, roaring this time. “This isn’t a riddle or a game! He’s going to kill you for your sins, and only he knows what they are! And he’s going to kill you in some twisted, medieval way, and it’s going to be my fault!”

“Don’t worry,” said Masha, her voice devoid of emotion. She was already stowing documents in her bag. “Nobody’s going to accuse you of anything. Definitely not gratitude, anyway.” And she walked quickly out of the office.

“Karavay!” Andrey barked, but she didn’t even slow down. Woman’s stubborn as a mule, he thought. She was going to keep digging around, anyway, no matter what he said.

Andrey grabbed his jacket and took off after her, oblivious to his colleagues’ silence and the astonishment in their eyes. Masha was already outside by the time he caught up with her, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her silently to his car. She didn’t resist, just walked along next to him, looking off in the other direction. Andrey opened the passenger door, put her inside, got in himself, and steered the car quickly, angrily, out of his parking spot.

“We’re going to the morgue,” he said after a while, though she hadn’t asked. “Another woman got killed this weekend.”

From the passenger seat, he heard a barely audible gasp.

“She might not be one of ours, but she lived at an address on Innokenty’s list.”

“Where?”

“Pushkin Square.”

“Bely Gorod.” Masha sighed. “The third fortified wall, after the Kremlin and Kitay-gorod. Built at the end of the sixteenth century, and, just like in Jerusalem, it had sixteen gates. The Tver Gate was where Pushkin Square is now.”

“For God’s sake,” said Andrey, making a sharp left. “I’m starting to think you can’t spit in Moscow without hitting something from Jerusalem.”

“There are a lot of places that fit. Basically, the whole historical city center,” Masha said. “He used to make more of an effort, try to leave the bodies in important places like St. Basil’s. But now, I think he knows we’re onto him, so he’s rushing, looking for convenient spots closer to where the victims are.”

“What?” Andrey slammed on the brakes to park the car. “How can you possibly know that he knows that we know? I mean—you know what I mean!”

Masha shrugged. “I just have this feeling.”

“A feeling?” Andrey snapped. “You ought to do what my grandmother does, and cross yourself when you get a feeling like that!”

Andrey and Masha were standing on opposite sides of the car now, staring furiously at each other. When he realized what he’d just said, Andrey heaved another sigh. What had the world come to when a godless atheist like him was talking about sins and the sign of the cross!

“This is great, just great!” he grumbled under his breath. He turned and stalked into the morgue, not bothering to check that Masha was following him.