A Spring Betrayal

Chapter 59

Over the next hour, I outlined the points in the case I had against Morton Graves, reducing Saltanat’s involvement to that of an occasional helper, omitting her role in Albina’s death entirely. If I was going to sink without a trace, I wasn’t going to drag her down with me. He listened in silence, only interrupting occasionally to clarify individual points or the sequence of events.

I finished and looked at Tynaliev. He didn’t look convinced.

“You obviously are aware that I know Morton Graves?” he said. “That we share certain business interests? So I suppose you’re wondering if I’m involved in his other activities? If I enjoy watching rape and murder porn? Maybe even join in with the fun and games? That’s why you’ve taken out insurance?”

I shrugged, noncommittal.

“I don’t think you knew anything about the porn, Minister, or the illegal adoptions, or the rapes and murders,” I said.

I’ve interrogated enough suspects to know when they’re lying to me, and I watched Tynaliev for his reaction.

“But you’re not sure?” he said.

“I’m a policeman,” I said. “Murder Squad. You once said I was the best. That’s because I suspect everyone. Including you.”

Tynaliev stood up and walked toward the window, his back to me as he spoke.

“You did me a great service once, Inspector, in the tragedy of my daughter’s murder. You brought me the man behind her death, in such a way as to minimize scandal and political upheaval. I owe you for that.”

He turned and walked to the door.

“More to the point, Yekaterina owes you that, for giving her justice,” he added, and a hint of sorrow crossed his face, quickly replaced by the mask of a politician.

“Wait here,” he said, and left the room.

I looked over at the vodka bottle, felt more tempted than I had for months. I might have insurance in the form of documents with Usupov and Saltanat, but that wouldn’t help me if I was found floating face down in the Chui.

Tynaliev came back, this time with a gun in his hand. My gun. If you’re going to die from a bullet in the head, I decided, there was a sort of poetic justice in it being the one you’d used to kill other people.

Tynaliev sat behind his desk, my gun pointed loosely in my direction, not loosely enough for my liking.

“This could be the story. You somehow got your gun past my security people, maybe a temporary failure in the scanner, or you bribed someone to smuggle it in beforehand. You came to my study, waved the gun about, and then confessed to taking part in filming the rape and murder of young Kyrgyz citizens. You told me you couldn’t stand the guilt and shame any longer, then you put the barrel of your gun in your mouth and blew your brains out all over my very expensive Parisian wallpaper.”

He paused, raised an eyebrow, moved the gun to aim directly at me.

“I don’t think there would be a problem with anyone believing that story, do you? And your ‘insurance’? Lies spread by an unnamed foreign power, out to discredit me and cause political unrest. Not much of a legacy you’d leave behind you, Inspector.”

“If you’re going to do it, then do it,” I said. “Otherwise, with all due respect, Minister, I don’t think you’ve got the balls.”

Tynaliev nodded, considering his options, pushed the gun toward me.

“Put it away. We’re going to visit my friend, Mr. Graves.”