The Twelfth Department

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The building Shtange had lived in was familiar to Korolev. It overlooked Chistye Prudy-a small green area with a pond on the Boulevard Ring that wasn’t far-about a mile or so-from Bolshoi Nikolo-Vorobinsky. It was the decoration on the apartment building’s external walls that made it a landmark for Muscovites, however. Strange abstract animals and weird elongated plants twisted and turned up its white walls-carved in relief and highlighted with black paint. It reassured him, for some reason-a familiar location was always a good starting point for an investigation.

A baby-faced uniform was standing in front of the building, his summer jacket too tight for him and not as white as it should be. As Korolev approached, he noticed the boy’s gaze kept shifting as if he wasn’t sure what to do with himself or where to look. One moment, he was staring at the ground, then he was peering into the holster that hung from his belt to check his revolver was still there, then he was examining each of his boots in turn, then rubbing them against the back of his trousers to try and make them look as though they remembered what it felt like to be polished. Yet for all his looking, the boy didn’t spot Korolev until he was within a few feet of him-which didn’t say much for his abilities as a guard. When he finally noticed his visitor, the boy’s eyes widened in a mixture of alarm and suspicion and his hand reached toward the holster.

“Korolev-from Petrovka,” Korolev said, holding out his identification card. The boy took it with relief. This, at last, was something the fellow felt comfortable with-Korolev would be surprised if the boy had come top of his class when it came to examining papers.

“Captain Korolev?” he said, reading from the card and then looking up at him, doubt twisting his mouth. Korolev hadn’t had time to change his clothes or clean himself up. Not that there would have been much he could have done about his face anyway.

“I walked into a door,” Korolev said. “It’s me, all right. It’s who you are I’d like to know.”

“Militiaman Kuznetsky, Comrade Captain” the boy said, straightening to attention. “My apologies-it’s just you look…”

“I know what I look like, believe me-I don’t feel much better. So what are you doing here?”

“I was guarding the apartment inside, Comrade Captain, but when they came this morning they told me to wait down here.” He looked up at the apartment building. “I suppose I’m guarding the whole place now.”

“They?”

“You know, Comrade Captain. Them. They were here yesterday as well. And the day before that.”

“I see,” Korolev said. “When did they arrive today?”

Kuznetsky looked at his watch.

“Twenty minutes ago. There are two of our people in there as well. Two forensics men-they came about ten minutes ago-with all their bags and things.”

“What about the body?”

“The doctor took it away the day before yesterday. Not long after it was found.”

“I see,” Korolev said, looking up at the facade once again. “Which doctor would that have been?”

“A lady doctor, Comrade Captain-I didn’t catch her name. She was a well-proportioned lady, not to be disrespectful.”

That would be Chestnova.

“Did you see the body before it was moved?”

“Oh yes, Comrade Captain. I was one of those that found him. His blood went through to the ceiling of the flat below, you see, and they didn’t like the look of the stain it made and called us out.”

“Us?”

“Sergeant Bukov and me. From the station. We broke the door in and there he was-like a pin cushion without the pins. I didn’t know a fellow had that much blood inside him.”

“He was stabbed then?”

“Stabbed? About a hundred times, he was stabbed.”

“So who’s been handling the investigation since?”

Kuznetsky glanced down at his boots, as if they might offer him some assistance in handling a question he clearly didn’t want to answer.

“Them,” he said once again. “Well, only one of them now. It was a different lot before. He’s upstairs. The new one, that is.”

Korolev nodded, guessing that this must be Dubinkin. “I suppose I’d better go and see him then.”

Kuznetsky looked sympathetic.

“He’s up on the second floor-you’ll find it easy enough. I’d best stay here and guard the building.” Then, remembering who he was talking to, he added, “Comrade Captain.”

“Do that, Kuznetsky. But first call Sergeant Bukov and tell him I want to see him. The Militia will be taking a more active role in the investigation from now on-and I’ll need his, and your, assistance.”

Korolev patted the boy on the shoulder as he passed.

He was just about to enter the building when he heard his name being called and turned to find Slivka holding her watch to her ear.

“I’m not late, am I? Damned thing. It’s telling the time all right, just not the right time.”

Her glance took in the state of him and she came to a sudden halt.

“What the hell happened to you, Chief?”

“A misunderstanding-I had some visitors last night. They got the wrong end of the stick.”

“It looks like they beat you with it all the same. Why would someone come to your house in the middle of the night? Were they drunk?”

“No,” Korolev said. “You know the sort of night-time visitor-they come unannounced.”

“Oh. That sort,” Slivka said and ran a hand back through her hair, a gesture that pulled the skin on her forehead tight, but didn’t quite obscure her worried frown. “And you’re here? Not somewhere else? They let you go.”

“They wanted to talk to me about the Azarov case,” Korolev said.

“I’d an idea there might be something more to this.” Slivka looked up at the building and sighed. “The chief just told me to meet you here.”

“When did he call you?”

“About two in the morning. No gentlemen visitors, though.”

“Be thankful-they also managed to frighten Yuri enough that he’s running around the woods somewhere out near Babel’s place. Yasimov’s trying to find him.”

Slivka took this in, shaking her head in disbelief. “He’ll find him though. Yasimov’s like a bloodhound.”

“I hope so. Anyway, here we are-back on the Azarov case.”

Slivka blinked twice then extracted a solitary papirosa from one pocket and a solitary match from the other. She whipped the match down the wall of the building and lit the cigarette.

“The Azarov case,” she said, in a voice that announced to the world that her fate was a dark and gloomy one.

“Another of the professor’s colleagues managed to get himself killed. We’re to handle both investigations-and we’re going to be working directly for State Security.”

“Well,” Slivka said, her mouth trailing smoke, “life isn’t just a walk across a field. And if it is, it should be known that sometimes there’s mud to wade through.”

She nodded, as if that were all that needed to be said. Korolev found a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth as they entered the building. Things couldn’t be that bad if he had Slivka watching his back.