Red Moth

‘Who is this man, Inspector?’

‘Who is this man, Inspector?’ asked Kirov, as they stepped out of the building a few minutes later, the icon wrapped in three layers of brown archival paper and safely tucked under Pekkala’s arm.

‘His name is Valery Semykin and he is an expert at identifying works of art and, in particular, whether a piece is genuine or a forgery. Before you see him, Kirov, we have one more stop to make. This is not a man you’ll want to deal with on an empty stomach, and neither are the isolation cells of Lubyanka.’

‘I suppose this means we’re going to the Cafe Tilsit?’ asked Kirov in a long-suffering voice.

Noting Kirov’s tone, Pekkala glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. ‘I don’t know what you have against that place.’

‘It’s not a cafe,’ he replied indignantly. ‘It is a feeding trough.’

‘Nevertheless,’ Pekkala told him, ‘they make the kind of art I can appreciate.’