A Killing Winter

Chapter 38

Sverdlovsky Station hadn’t changed in the time I’d been away. A half-asleep uniform still lurked outside the door, Kalash drooping over one arm while he gripped a papirosh in the style of soldiers and policemen everywhere, glowing tip concealed by his palm. As I walked past, he glanced away, and I suspected the hot word had gone round the station that I was no longer the Chief’s golden boy.

I knocked on the Chief’s door and waited for him to bellow. But instead, the door was flung open, and Illya Sergeyevich jerked a thumb over his shoulder. I walked in, and saw he already had a guest, one considerably more important than me.

‘Good morning, Minister,’ I said, with the humble tone appropriate in front of someone who could ship me off to some shithole at the scrawl of a pen.

Mikhail Tynaliev turned round, stared at me, found my face in his mental card index.

‘I hear you’ve been busy, Inspector,’ he said, and gestured at the chair next to him. I was sure the Chief would have preferred me standing ramrod straight while he shoved a two-metre stick up my arse, but what Ministers of State Security want, they usually get. So I sat, got the Chief’s ‘pay for it later’ glare.

In deference to the Minister’s visit, there was no sign of the customary bottle, but I’d no doubt there was one quietly hidden away, not that I was likely to be offered anything wet other than blood from a smack in the mouth.

The two men stared at me, both looking as if they intended pissing on me from a great height.

‘The Chief tells me you’re not convinced that the case of my daughter’s murder has been solved.’

I could feel the Chief’s eyes boring into me, but I really didn’t have any option but to answer the Minister. The Chief could have me shipped out to the border, but I could always resign and become one of the little people again. With Tynaliev, I could simply disappear into a cell somewhere.

‘I greatly value the Chief’s opinion,’ I said, cautious to the point of stupidity, ‘but there have been too many crimes with a similar pattern over too great a set of distances, including in Tashkent, for it to be solely the work of Tyulev and Lubashov.’

The Chief scowled, and I did my best to appease him.

‘Even if the men I shot were responsible for the murder of your daughter, there is a motive behind it that goes much higher than two small-time razboiniki high on something and looking for kicks.’

The Minister dismissed my words with a gesture.

‘I told you to bring me Yekaterina’s killers. Alive. Instead, you gun down two men who may or may not be responsible. Now you tell me, they possibly didn’t do it. And even if they did, they were acting under orders.’

Technically, I hadn’t killed Vasily, but it didn’t seem a good idea to mention it. Tynaliev stood up, and again I sensed his power, his control over everyone who crossed his path.

‘But you still can’t tell me who did it?’

I decided it was time to placate the Chief and give up some of what I knew.

‘I have an informant, someone high up in the Circle of Brothers here in Bishkek. He says some criminal – and he was very careful not to tell me who – got asked to carry out a few simple requests. Of course, he means ordered to, or face the consequences for disobeying the Inner Circle.’

I turned to Tynaliev.

‘I very much regret, Minister, that your daughter was targeted by these people. Why, I don’t yet know. But he said the aim of the people who paid him was to spread terror and confusion. His exact words –’

The Chief held his hand up to stop me.

‘This mystery informant of yours; does he have a name?’

‘Chief, this station has more leaks in it than the Naryn Reservoir. I wouldn’t even file his name on a piece of paper, and expect him to be breathing by the end of the day. There’s always someone with their palm face up, looking for a few som to pay for his beer.’

Reminding the Chief of the force’s corruption didn’t divert him from the question.

‘You know Maksat Aydaraliev?’

‘The name, of course,’ I answered, all too certain where this was taking me.

‘More than just the name?’ the Minister asked.

‘I interviewed him a couple of times, when we had that little gang war a couple of years ago. Nothing stuck, of course. It’s been a long time since he got blood and flesh trapped under his fingernails – if he still had any, that is.’

‘You think you should interview him, see what he can cough up, maybe with a little persuasion?’

If anyone could have got answers out of Aydaraliev in his current condition, they’d be the smartest cop in history. But I pretended to think about my reply.

‘Chief, he had his hand smashed and his fingernails pliered out two floors below where we’re sitting now, and he didn’t sing then. I shouldn’t think he’s mellowed with the years.’

The Chief exchanged glances with Tynaliev, the sort of look that confirmed something they’d discussed earlier.

‘You’re right, he won’t be spilling his guts to you. Maybe his brains, what with having two bullets in his head.’

I did my best to look startled, then shrugged, trying not to let anything show in my face.

‘He was the old-school top boss. He made a lot of enemies. Or maybe his own people, impatient for the throne and a bigger slice. If you’re satisfied that we’re getting nowhere with the other murders, you’re giving me his case?’

‘I wouldn’t waste an hour of a rookie’s time on that piece of shit,’ the Chief said, then gave me the hard stare. ‘Don’t you want to know how he was killed?’

‘You said, Chief, two in the head. Execution-style, I guess.’

‘You don’t want to know where?’

I held my hands wide.

‘If I’m not handling the case, why should I care where he was dumped?’

The Chief’s eyes flashed; I’d blundered.

‘Who said he was dumped?’

‘The big guys have security wherever they go. His gang must have been taken out, then a torpedo takes Aydaraliev somewhere quiet, does him, dumps him.’

The Chief considered this, nodded, apparently satisfied.

‘He was found outside the Kulturny about five this morning. The funny thing is, someone rang in a call earlier, about one of Aydaraliev’s muscle boys, given a kicking outside that shithole. And while the uniforms were loading him into the patrol car, they found one of his pals nearby, with his neck broken.’

I did my best to look unconcerned.

‘So Aydaraliev gets done outside the Kulturny, or somewhere else, makes fuck-all difference. His successor will have already called a conference to slice up his inheritance. Maybe a couple of guys will join him on Usupov’s slab, then it all calms down. It always does.’

Impatient, Tynaliev turned to the Chief and jabbed a stubby finger at him.

‘This officer believes my daughter’s death needs further investigation, but you say the case is closed, right?’

The Chief was on the ropes, but he was too skilled a fighter not to defend himself.

‘It’s the Department’s considered belief that the two men killed outside Fatboys were about to murder the Inspector here, to end his investigation. The probability is they were hired to commit her murder, or other murders, with no evidence, no witnesses, nothing to suggest otherwise.’

The Chief placed his hand on the Minister’s shoulder, adopted a sorrowful expression.

‘You should comfort your wife, mourn your daughter, remember her in all her beauty. Nothing can bring her back, but your memories are always yours.’

He’d said the same anodyne rubbish to me when I returned from the mountains after burying Chinara, and it sounded just as insincere then. Tynaliev was no more taken in by it than I had been.

‘Thank you for your advice, Chief,’ he said, pulling on his overcoat, turning to me. ‘Inspector, walk with me to my car?’

‘Naturally,’ I said, happy to get out of the Chief’s presence.

We walked along the gloomy corridors, down the bare concrete steps, saying nothing. Trudging through the slush in the yard towards his official car, the Minister suddenly stopped.

‘Forget what that fat buffoon says. Last time, I told you what you have to do. Nothing’s changed.’

He considered his words for a moment, beckoned me closer. I looked up at the Chief’s window, but there was no sign we were being watched.

‘Do this for me. Off-duty. No one to know you’re still on the case except me. Understood?’

I nodded, helpless in the political crossfire.

‘You’ll find my support very useful in your career, Inspector,’ he said, his narrow-lipped smile never even attempting to reach his eyes. ‘And if you fail, well, I’m sure there’s a lot more to Aydaraliev’s unfortunate demise than you’re telling me. And no one is ever above the law. Not as far as I’m concerned, anyway.’

His threat lingered in the air as he clambered into the back of his car. As he pulled away, his driver splashed my boots with muddy half-melted snow and dirt.