The Twelfth Department

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

There was an atmosphere in Shtange’s study it would have taken a mechanical saw a week to cut through-Dubinkin kept glancing at him with a curiosity that Korolev found unnerving, Slivka appeared to have been subsisting on a diet of lemons since breakfast, while poor Kuznetsky looked like a nervous child caught in the middle of an argument he knew nothing about.

Well, Korolev could get rid of one of them, at least.

“Go outside and guard the building, Kuznetsky.”

He immediately regretted the tone in his voice. Not that the young Militiaman seemed to notice.

“Of course, Comrade Captain. From who?”

“From you, for all I care.”

“And the telephone? Who will answer the telephone?”

Korolev looked at him, wondering if the scamp was daring to be cheeky, but it wasn’t that-the boy was just confused. But Korolev’s glance, murderous as it must have been, soon shifted him.

“I’ll be outside, Comrade Captain,” Kuznetsky said, and the door was shut behind him almost before he’d finished speaking. Korolev turned his attention to Dubinkin.

“What did you find out about our friend, Priudski?”

Korolev still had Azarova’s small automatic in his pocket and was surprised to discover that his hand had gripped the butt of the weapon-his finger inside the trigger guard and the muzzle pointing at Dubinkin. He slowly unwrapped his fingers from the gun, and crossed his arms over his chest, so that there was less likelihood of a moment of irritation causing him to inadvertently shoot a Chekist.

“He was as you said. A State Security ear. Interestingly though, he didn’t report to the Fifth Department, as I’d expect-instead he reported to the Twelfth Department. It looks as if Zaitsev wanted to keep tabs on the professor and was using Priudski to do it. Zaitsev holds the file so I can’t tell you as much as I might like. But the clerks were able to do enough cross-referencing to give a good picture of what he was up to.”

“Just because he reported to Colonel Zaitsev-” Korolev began.

“Of course,” Slivka interrupted him, “we shouldn’t jump to conclusions. That would be wrong. After all, we have a perfectly good solution to these crimes already.”

“That’s enough, Slivka.”

Slivka said nothing, but it looked as though the lemons were repeating on her.

“As you know, I visited Leadership House this morning,” Korolev said, conscious that the other two seemed to be examining him as if he were a criminal trying to spin them a tale. “It seems possible Priudski could have left there on Tuesday morning and made his way here, just about. I also spoke to Dr. Weiss and I’m satisfied he had nothing to do with either Azarov’s or Shtange’s death. So will you be, when you read this letter.”

He passed it to Dubinkin.

The Chekist read it through and nodded-it seemed nothing much fazed him. At least Slivka had the good grace to look impressed.

“What about you, Slivka?”

“Me?” Slivka said. “I spent the day talking to tram drivers, bus conductors, metro workers, kiosk workers, street sweepers, and duck feeders. I even hot-tailed it back here to meet you, although you’d slipped off before I arrived. Not that it made any difference. No one saw Priudski. No one saw anything.”

“We don’t need them to have.” Korolev spoke deliberately.

“We don’t even need evidence now?” Slivka wasn’t so much indignant as mystified.

“We have evidence. His confession.”

“But it’s inconsistent with much of what we know.”

“We have other evidence.”

“What evidence?”

“His fingerprints. Forensics found them all over this apartment. He did it all right.”

Slivka’s mouth dropped open far enough for Korolev to be able to make out her tonsils quite clearly from where he was sitting.

But it was Dubinkin’s quick smile, a smile that he suspected he wasn’t meant to see, that really caught his attention.