In the Name of a Killer

Chapter Thirty-Eight

They assembled as before in the ante-room of the main conference chamber of the Federal Prosecutor’s building, but on this occasion the mood was quite different, incongruously light-hearted. The immaculately uniformed Yevgennie Kosov was clearly nervous but concealing it well, politely deferential to both General Lapinsk and Nikolai Smolin. There had been several clean shirts for Danilov to choose from that morning and Olga had pressed the trousers of his suit without being asked. When he thanked her she said she was going to Larissa’s flat, to watch the conference on their large-screen television. She seemed to expect Danilov to say something but he didn’t. The American ambassador and Ralph Baxter accompanied Cowley but made it clear they did not intend taking part in the conference, but were there to observe. Cowley remarked to Danilov that the forensic findings settled everything: Danilov admitted, but only within the other investigator’s hearing, that he was relieved. Until the Washington confirmation he’d considered the proof too circumstantial, by itself. He still had the feeling of anticlimax.

The room had been set up as it had been for the first conference, with a long row of tables on a raised dais at one end of the room, and translator facilities for the journalists. Danilov guessed the hall was more crowded now than it had been the first time. There was a lot of noise and it was hot under the camera lights. As he sat down Danilov saw the man who had asked the question about Ann Harris’s hair shearing and realized he had forgotten to complete the inquiry he’d had Pavin begin. It didn’t matter any more.

The orchestrating skills of Senator Burden’s media organizer were badly missed: for the first time Danilov was aware of the shallowness of Smolin’s voice, which frequently failed to carry, despite the microphones. Several times there were shouted requests, both in Russian and in English, for the man to repeat himself and to speak more loudly.

The Federal Prosecutor tried. He insisted there was no doubt of the guilt of the man they had in custody. With unhesitating distortion, Smolin said forensic tests both in Washington and here in Moscow had positively identified samples recovered from the man’s clothing as having come from the bodies of the victims. They had also recovered the murder weapon, a single-edged knife the man had been carrying in a home-made sheath at the time of his arrest. Like a conjuror reaching his favourite trick, Smolin abruptly produced the knife from inside his jacket and held it aloft: there was a renewed explosion of camera lights and repeated requests for Smolin to show it in various ways to various camera positions. Cowley frowned sideways to Danilov, who shrugged: he’d thought the knife was still in the forensic laboratory. That was where it should have been.

Once more there was a moment of surprised silence when Smolin finished talking, but this time it was more understandable because the Federal Prosecutor had provided no identification of their suspect. Demands for a name echoed, both in Russian and English, from several parts of the hall. Smolin said that at this time no decision had been reached about publicly identifying the man. There was a long history of mental illness. There had been two earlier instances of attacks upon women, for both of which he had served periods of detention in psychiatric clinics. He was in such a clinic now. The psychiatrist treating him there had assessed the man incapable of understanding what he was accused of: at the moment and in the foreseeable future it would be impossible to bring him before a court. The absence of any formal charge and subsequent criminal conviction on the overwhelming evidence was regrettable but in the circumstances unavoidable. And because of those circumstances, it would be wrong to divulge a name. Under repeated pressure Smolin conceded that the man was twenty-nine years old, worked as a labourer — although he refused to say where — and was unmarried. He lived at home with his mother.

Trying to keep the chronology in sequence, the Federal Prosecutor introduced Kosov, who performed better than Danilov had expected from the ante-room apprehension. Kosov said the seizure had resulted from sound, practical police work, undertaken from the moment of his Militia station receiving the request to be on the look-out for suspicious characters or behaviour within the area in which all the murders had taken place. The man had tried to hide and then run when he had been challenged by a foot patrol. There had been a brief struggle but the man had not positively tried to resist arrest, although he was extremely — if not unnaturally — strong as he could personally attest. The remark created precisely the questioning reaction Kosov intended and he allowed the cell fight to be drawn out of him.

Danilov despised the boastfulness, but was scarcely successful in minimizing it when the questioning switched to him after Kosov named him as the other person involved in the fracas. Danilov was forced to admit it had taken two of them to subdue the unnamed Yezhov: Danilov guessed — correctly as it later transpired — how that would be appear in print when an American reporter suggested that Yezhov possessed the strength of two men.

The conference shifted, with questions answered alternately by Danilov and Cowley. They disclosed the finding of some buttons in Yezhov’s possession and then more hidden beneath the floorboards of his bedroom. Danilov slightly redressed the prosecutor’s earlier exaggeration by deferring to Cowley to explain the pyrolysis and gas chromatographic techniques for matching the buttons and confirming by deoxyribonucleic acid analysis that the hair samples came from the murder victims. To a question from the man who had talked of Ann Harris’s defilement at the first conference and whom Danilov knew to be a New York Times reporter named Erickson, Cowley agreed that DNA tests were legally and scientifically regarded as infallible.

After the general conference, both Danilov and Cowley gave separate interviews to the three major American television networks and following that took part in a shared interview with British, French and German networks. The British interviewer asked if there had been any friction in their working relationship. Both Cowley and Danilov said there had not, at any time.

Later, in the ante-room, Nikolai Smolin declared the morning to have been a complete success. Having heard the British TV exchange, the Federal Prosecutor added that the whole affair had established that joint investigations were possible, which should be kept in mind in the future. The American ambassador promised to convey the feeling to Washington. He understood there was a personal letter of thanks on its way from the Secretary of State for the complete cooperation of the host nation. Senator Burden was also writing, but had asked in advance for his gratitude to be expressed.

Kosov carefully chose a moment when Danilov was briefly apart from anyone else in the room. ‘It did go well, didn’t it?’

‘I thought so.’

‘I found it easier than I thought I would.’

‘You were very impressive,’ praised Danilov, waiting.

Kosov quickly ensured they were still by themselves. ‘You heard any syndicate names yet?’

‘No.’

‘You won’t forget to tell me, if you do?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Have you spoken to Agayans?’

‘No.’

‘I think he might feel less pressured.’

‘That’s good,’ said Danilov. He’d make another visit to Leninskii Prospekt soon. But not to seek an outright gift. He’d insist on paying Agayans’s price for whatever he wanted. He guessed Agayans would want dollars, though, not roubles.

Danilov rode back to Petrovka beside the chauffeur-driven General. Lapinsk said: ‘It’s a very successful conclusion to my command.’

‘I’m pleased it’s worked out as it has.’

‘I’ve only got another fifteen months to go.’

‘Let’s hope it’s quiet.’

‘Before you arrived this morning I was talking with Smolin about my successor.’

Danilov looked across the car, beginning to concentrate on the conversation. ‘Who is it to be?’

Lapinsk smiled. ‘A final decision hasn’t been made. But you’ve impressed a great many people, Dimitri Ivanovich. I personally don’t have any doubt who it will be. So, in advance, congratulations.’

Danilov said: ‘I’m very pleased,’ and wished he were more so.

Danilov had been in his office for an hour when the convenient direct-dial telephone sounded. Larissa said: ‘You looked very good on television. Better even than last time.’ She sounded subdued.

‘I thought Yevgennie was good.’

She ignored the remark. ‘I didn’t know you actually fought the murderer.’

Convicted without the formality of a trial, thought Danilov: he was glad Yezhov’s name had been withheld. ‘It was really quite different from how it sounded.’

‘Olga watched with me. She seemed surprised you hadn’t told her.’

‘She said she was coming.’

‘She asked me, outright.’

The unease stirred through Danilov. ‘What did you say?’

‘I wanted to tell her it was true. And that I loved you. But I didn’t. I said she was being silly.’

‘Did she believe you?’

‘I don’t know. I miss you.’

Danilov supposed he was missing Larissa. ‘It’s best this way.’

‘I don’t think so.’

Danilov didn’t respond.

‘Are you still there?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ve called several times before.’

‘I’ve been out of the office a lot.’

‘I’m sorry. For how I behaved before.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘If I hadn’t been like that, Olga wouldn’t have suspected.’

Danilov supposed she was right, it’s too late now.’

‘I don’t want it to be too late. To end.’

‘We both decided it had to.’

‘I didn’t decide. You did. Come to see me at the hotel. Just to talk.’

‘There’s no … it wouldn’t achieve anything.’

‘I promise not to be like I was before.’

‘No.’ He shouldn’t give in: as much as he wanted to, he shouldn’t give in.

‘And I won’t go on about your leaving Olga and my leaving Yevgennie. I won’t make demands. We can just be together, whenever you want.’

He didn’t want her to talk like this; to prostrate herself. This wasn’t Larissa. ‘There’s a lot to do. Tidying up.’

‘I said whenever.’

‘Maybe I can telephone? We could talk on the telephone.’

‘I meant what I said. About loving you. I really do.’

Danilov refused to respond as he knew she wanted. ‘I’ll telephone,’ he repeated.

‘It won’t become difficult, not again.’

It would if he let it, Danilov decided, replacing the telephone. He thought he knew now what was giving him the unsettled, anticlimactic feeling. The telephone jarred into the office again, breaking any further reflection.

Cowley said: ‘All the forensic stuff has come in overnight.’

‘We may as well assemble it today,’ suggested Danilov. He might even be in time to present it to the Federal Prosecutor, although there was hardly any hurry.

‘That’s what I was thinking,’ Cowley agreed. He couldn’t imagine his having to stay in Moscow more than another few days: there was nothing more to do. He wondered if Pauline would accept an invitation for them to have dinner together before he left.