The Sin Collector

ANDREY

Andrey barely managed to catch her as she fell. Masha lay in his arms, pale, her eyes rolled back in her head.

“Hey! Somebody, help!” Andrey shouted.

Clinic staff rushed toward them with a stretcher, and he stumbled over his words, trying to explain that Masha’s mother was here already, shoving his badge under their noses. He said her mother was a friend of Nadya’s, the name springing from his memory like a ping-pong ball even though Masha had only mentioned it in passing. Thank God, Nadya herself soon ran out, and she slapped Masha on the cheeks, trying to bring her around. Andrey stood there gaping like an idiot, shame pounding in his head like a migraine. He trotted along next to the men carrying her stretcher, which they were now loading into an enormous elevator.

Suddenly, Masha woke up and sobbed. “What’s happening to me?”

“You fainted,” Nadya said. “You’re under a great deal of stress. Your mother has an empty bed in her room. We’ll put you in there with her for the day, to rest.”

Andrey swallowed hard and gave Masha’s hand a squeeze. He felt a gentle pressure in response.

“I’ll be back this afternoon,” Andrey said, his voice hoarse. “What can I bring you?”

“Nothing.” Masha closed her eyes. “I don’t need anything.”

“Masha’s best friend died,” he told Nadya when they left the room.

“Good Lord.” She covered her mouth with her hand. “I don’t suppose it’s a coincidence?”

“No, it’s not,” Andrey answered, shaking his head. “This is the third murder of someone close to her, all in a row. I think—I think this is a terrible time for her. She’s going to blame herself.”

“But that’s nonsense!” Nadya objected.

Andrey smiled morosely, nodded, and walked out of the clinic.

A very simple idea still had its hooks in him. It hadn’t stopped nagging at him since the evening before. Andrey just needed one day to check it out, or half a day, if everyone would leave him alone. Andrey passed out assignments to each member of the Sin Collector team. He had one guy drive out to the military post where the soldiers had died, he sent one to interview witnesses at the Victory Park fire, and he asked another to do some research on the governor’s wife’s closest associates.

He could have come up with a hundred other urgent assignments, but they all had the same ultimate goal. He needed to get every member of the group out of the way, get all the secondary problems out of his head. He even ignored a call from Anyutin (blasphemy)! Relieved to find the office empty at last, Andrey locked the door from the inside, yanked the phone cord from the wall, and, in one decisive gesture, swept all the last few months’ worth of papers, business cards, and file folders off the top of his desk. Then he exhaled, and dove into the dossiers on the Sin Collector case that had been delivered to him yesterday. He looked through all of them, right down to the photos of the lacerated hunk of flesh that had previously been Masha’s stepfather.

Andrey scrutinized each file. He had to tease out the ties that bound the killer to the dead. How had the first victims caught the Sin Collector’s eye? What if Innokenty was right and the Old Believers had nothing to do with it? Actually, the Old Believers were out of the question now, weren’t they? Innokenty had been burned as a heretic, after all, so the one doing the punishing must be from some other camp. Could Kenty have been in the army? Or under criminal investigation? The killer was obviously no amateur, so somehow, Kenty must have caught the attention of the professionals: Andrey’s own colleagues from defense or law enforcement.

Garrulous Dobroslav Ovechkin had once been charged with a misdemeanor and gotten off with a suspended sentence. The trial had been half a mile from here at the District Court. Then there was Julia Tomilina, who testified in court against her ex-lover; Alexander Solyanko, who was a party in the case against his competitor over planted drugs; not to mention Kolyan the drunk, who any police station might have hauled in once or twice. Andrey unfastened the top button on his shirt and opened a window. Then again, what if this was another dead end? What if he was wasting time while poor Masha lay in the clinic, sedated?

But Andrey forced himself to control his yearning to run off somewhere, anywhere, and do something, anything, quickly. He needed to be methodical. In control. He would not look at the clock, just at this dossier, page after page. The architect who got the amnesty. The thief, a repeat offender. Turina and all the countless bribes she took. But wait. Yelnik! The murderer they fished out of the Moskva. What had that hapless kid, that other Andrey, told him back in Yelnik’s village? Andrey froze. He remembered Anyutin’s office, their first conversation about the Sin Collector. And their most recent one.

All at once, Andrey understood everything. He jumped up and grabbed his coat. He needed to see Masha. But before that, he needed to prove his theory beyond a shadow of a doubt. He went down to the reception desk, handed in his key, and signed his name in the book. He asked to see the sign-out sheets for the day Masha’s stepfather died. There was Anyutin’s name, and next to it a brief signature executed with military precision and the time he’d turned in his keys. Andrey ran out of the building. He noticed he had started to breathe again. Now he could go see Masha.

Masha was lying with her face to the wall. She wasn’t asleep, and neither was her mother. But they weren’t talking, either. Natasha’s eyes were swollen from crying, and when Andrey came in and said hello, she gave him a look that made his blood run cold. He put a hand on Masha’s shoulder, and she turned over, slowly, and attempted a smile.

“Any news?” she asked.

Andrey glanced over at Natasha’s bed. Without a word, the older woman stood up and quietly left the room.

“I know who it is, Masha,” Andrey told her, even though he hadn’t been sure, on the drive over, that he wanted to tell her the whole story.

“You know?” Masha sat up a little on her pillows.

“Take it easy. You don’t want to get worked up,” he said, then immediately regretted the cliché.

Masha’s brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed. “I’m not sick, Andrey. I can handle it. If you found out who it is, and you’re planning on doing anything without me, I’ll never forgive you. Got it? I have to be there to help you catch him. Because of Katya, and my stepfather”—tears shone in her eyes—“and Kenty.”

“All right,” said Andrey. “Get dressed. We’re getting out of town.”

“Where to?” Masha asked, pulling on her fleece.

“Your friend Katyshev’s dacha.”

Masha frowned. “How did you know Nick-Nick has a—”

“I guessed,” Andrey said, smiling sadly.

“But I don’t know where it is! The last time we went was before Papa died. I remember there’s a little brook, and a forest, but I don’t remember the name of the train station or anything.”

“The village of Narino, off the Kaluga Highway. House number twelve, I think. It is across from the woods, you’re right about that.”

Masha and Andrey turned around. Natasha stood in the doorway, pale as her white nightgown and terry-cloth robe.

“Mama.” Masha sounded unsure.

But Natasha was looking Andrey straight in the eye. “Go. Go right now, before it gets dark.”

They made good time on their way out of Moscow, but Masha said nothing, staring straight ahead.

“Why?” she finally asked, once Andrey had left the city limits.

“Ever since your stepfather died, and ever since Katya, I’ve been asking myself one question: Why you?” Andrey began. “Why was he weaving his web around you, specifically, and why did he seem to be performing for you? As if he were showing off for you or something. Didn’t you ever wonder the same thing?”

“Well,” said Masha, slowly. “I thought it was because I have a sense for how he operates.”

“All that sensing is a load of crap, Masha. It’s metaphysics, fortune-telling.” Andrey sounded angry. “I can’t believe we didn’t see it right after your stepfather died! He knew it was you who had spotted him. Nobody but you had made the connection between those murders. You had teased out his motive, you had connected the crime scenes with Heavenly Jerusalem, you had unearthed St. Theodora’s Journey Through the Tollhouses. You did all that, Masha!”

“Innokenty helped,” she said quietly.

“Stop it!” He slammed one hand against the steering wheel, trying to control himself. He was really angry, but not at Masha.

“Fine,” she said. “So what?”

“So you became extremely interesting to the murderer!”

Masha’s face went pale, and she turned toward the window.

“I’ve known that for a while now. Just yesterday I told you that all this is my fault.”

“You’re such an idiot!” Andrey couldn’t help it. “You’re so smart, but you’re such an idiot! Think! Who knew that you were the one who connected the murders with Heavenly Jerusalem?”

“Lots of people. Please don’t yell.”

Andrey took a couple of deep breaths, and gripped the wheel harder. “I’m sorry. Damn it! The solution was right there in front of us this whole time, and we were stumbling around like blind kittens, distracted by all our fancy theories. Lots of people? Not that many, Masha.” He glanced over at her. Masha was still looking out her window at the parade of country cottages strung along the road. “Remember? Our investigative team didn’t know who first discovered what. Only five people actually knew for sure. You, me—”

“Innokenty, Anyutin… and Nick-Nick.”

“Right, Masha. Your friend Nick-Nick. Chief Prosecutor Katyshev, who took an interest in this case from the very beginning. Katyshev, who straight-out told Anyutin, last time we met, that maybe we should let the killer finish what he started!”

“That’s crazy, Andrey,” Masha objected, her voice hoarse. “He only meant that his own hands are tied, since the justice system—”

“Exactly! Remember our psychological profile. Your profile, again. The killer most likely works in law enforcement, probably served in the military. Katyshev was in the army, wasn’t he?”

Masha nodded without speaking.

“And this sick desire to take justice into his own hands? You told me yourself that’s the hallmark of a maniacal missionary! Who better to judge us all than Mr. Bigshot Prosecutor himself?”

Andrey stopped talking. He took out a cigarette and rolled down his window. He could see Masha out of the corner of his eye, and sensed that she was beginning to believe him.

“And there’s something else. I’ve spent the afternoon going back through all the Sin Collector case files trying to find the link. How does the killer meet his sinners? I still wasn’t sure if it was my boss, Anyutin, or Katyshev. Both of them fit pretty well. Then I realized: all the victims had a run-in with the courts, in one way or another.”

They passed a sign: “Now Entering Narino.”

“Turn right up ahead,” said Masha softly.

Andrey nodded. He made the turn and slowed down.

“Know how I figured out I was on the right track?”

Masha went on looking silently at the country road.

“I remembered the day I went to visit Yelnik’s place in the country. He had Andreyka, the village idiot, working for him. The kid hadn’t seen the killer, just his car. But he said something I didn’t pay attention to at first. On the day he disappeared, Yelnik sent Andreyka away, telling him a friend had come to see him, a very important man Yelnik owed his life to. Now, Masha, can you remember who the prosecutor was at Yelnik’s last trial? The prosecutor who allegedly didn’t have enough evidence to convict?”

They pulled up in front of the very last house on the main road, and Andrey switched off the engine. Masha turned to face him, her chin jutting out stubbornly like a child’s.

“I still don’t believe it. Nick-Nick was my father’s best friend, and he loved my mother.” Masha shoved her door open, then looked back at Andrey. “What if it’s really Anyutin?”

Andrey shook his head. “I checked it out, and it couldn’t have been him. An unidentified visitor rang the doorbell at four thirty, when your stepfather was in that rented apartment for his, um, usually scheduled appointment. But Anyutin was at the office until eight—the logs say so. That’s not a guarantee, I know, so I haven’t told him anything about Katyshev.”

The two of them walked along the edge of the forest. The ground was slippery with fallen leaves and springy with moss underfoot. Andrey took Masha’s hand to steady her. It was damp to the touch, but her face looked calm and focused now, and Andrey was relieved. He knew that giving Masha’s brain some hard work to do would help distract her from other more dismal thoughts. Masha suddenly stopped walking. There in front of them was an old wooden fence, strips of ancient paint hanging off it.

“This is it,” Masha whispered. “Nick-Nick’s dacha. I think the gate is over there.”

They circled the cottage warily. Everything was still. It had been cold enough the past few days that vacationers in the neighboring dachas had gone back to the city, and there weren’t many locals around, either. Just smoke rising from a chimney or two at the other end of the village. Andrey tried to ram through the locked gate with his shoulder, but Masha slipped a thin hand between the boards and opened the latch from the inside. She turned to Andrey.

“Remember what he said? ‘Open up. It’s me!’”

“I remember,” said Andrey. “Your stepdad didn’t know Anyutin, but he did know Nick-Nick. The killer came down from one floor up and rang the doorbell. When your stepdad asked who was there, the killer didn’t even need to say his name. He knew he’d be recognized.”

Masha gulped. “They’re not here. I saw Nick-Nick’s wife today at the hospital. She came to check on my mom. She had a bruise on her arm.” Masha shook her head desperately. “I know serial killers often abuse their families, too, but maybe she just hurt herself somehow? Are you sure it’s him and not Anyutin? I mean,” said Masha, looking at him pleadingly, “Nick-Nick has never been religious. I would have known!”

“Do you want to wait outside?”

“We can’t go in without a warrant,” Masha said, but Andrey had already walked up to the door, raised one hand, and magically summoned up a hidden key. In one ordinary twist of the wrist, he unlocked the door. It swung open with a creak, and Masha followed Andrey inside.