The Twelfth Department

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Colonel Rodinov listened to Korolev’s account of the day’s events with an impassive face-and it made Korolev nervous, this impassiveness, because Korolev thought it was a story worthy of a little bit of interest.

After all, he’d been threatened by an NKVD colonel-and for a change it hadn’t been Rodinov. He’d nearly been crushed by a lift. He’d had a gun held on him by a murderess. He’d done his level best to muddy the waters in two murder cases. He’d even produced a blood-stained report into the activities of the Azarov Institute, which now sat on the desk in front of the colonel. Of course, he hadn’t mentioned his meeting with the Chief Authority of the Moscow Thieves, but the report alone deserved some excitement-given it was sitting, caked in blood, right in front of him. But Rodinov showed no reaction to a word he said.

The colonel was listening, however-he was listening so hard that Korolev felt as if his words were being sucked right out of his mouth.

“So, you see-I’ve made some progress, not all of it in the right direction, perhaps, but definitely progress.”

Rodinov’s gaze remained remorseless, but Korolev had nothing left to say. He was empty of words and very nearly empty of emotion. It was like that sometimes, when too much happened in too short a period-you just had nothing left, and anything he did have was reserved for Yuri.

“Let’s have a look at this report of Shtange’s, shall we?” Rodinov said eventually, after a pause so lengthy that if they’d been at the theater the management would have opened the buffet and called it an intermission. He pulled the document closer to him, opened up the stiff pages, and began to read.

It seemed to Korolev that the colonel was scanning the report at first-picking up the gist of it without absorbing details-but when he got to the last few pages, the ones that dealt with the alleged financial irregularities, the colonel seemed to take his time. And when he finished and looked up at Korolev, it was his impression that the colonel could have recited those pages line by line.

“This part is interesting, Korolev. Very interesting.”

“The part that deals with financial indiscretions?”

The question got him a raised eyebrow, and Korolev wondered whether it hadn’t been better when the Chekist had stayed stony-faced. Rodinov picked up a pen from the desk and twirled it around-an incongruous gesture from a man who held the power of life and death over him.

“You’re correct, Korolev. Scientific-procedural concerns and ethical dilemmas are all well and good. It doesn’t mean I approve of what went on there-but I live in the real world. On such matters there will be opinions either way. In other words, it would be difficult to act on.”

Rodinov began to tap the pen gently on the table, before continuing.

“But financial indiscretions such as these are different. If they can be proved and laid at the door of Zaitsev-well, then that would be something. Yes, indeed-it would be something, all right. And it would explain Colonel Zaitsev’s actions over the last few days. Looked at in the light of this report, those actions would appear to indicate an attempt to cover up serious wrong-doing on his part.”

The thought did not appear to displease Rodinov-but he was still frowning.

“There’s a problem, isn’t there, Comrade Colonel?”

It didn’t look as though the colonel much liked the question, but Korolev didn’t much like the answer either-he’d thought through his role in this little chess game between Zaitsev and Rodinov, and he’d thought about the report as well. From where he was sitting, there appeared to be only one obvious result for Korolev-and when all your routes of escape are closed off to you then there really isn’t much point in fear.

“Yes, there’s a problem,” Rodinov said. “This is a report prepared by a dead man. It describes crimes, but doesn’t produce evidence for them-the sources it mentions are unavailable to us. The only thing that links anything irregular to Zaitsev is his name written in the margin by another dead man. A dead man who, on the basis of the report, seems the likeliest person to have committed these financial misdeeds. Not that we even know for sure that it was Professor Azarov who wrote Zaitsev’s name. For all we know it could have been you. Or me.”

Rodinov placed the pen back onto the table and shook his head slowly from side to side. “It’s not enough.”

“So there’s nothing to be done.”

Rodinov looked up at him and Korolev thought he detected something in the colonel’s gaze that might amount to sympathy.

“Not at the moment. There may be other ways of authenticating the report’s contents, of course. But it may take time. At least now I know what I’m looking for.”

“What you really need is the institute’s records.”

“They’ll surely have been destroyed by now, Korolev. It would be the sensible thing to do. And Zaitsev is sensible. Look at how he’s handled this-the doorman’s fingerprints in the apartment? He must have had them placed there before we even took over the case, as a precaution.”

Korolev couldn’t deny that, when it came to framing a man, Colonel Zaitsev had talent.

“But if we were able to find out where this ‘house in the woods’ is-this facility near Lefortovo?” Korolev said, getting back to the original point. “There must be a small chance that there’s evidence out there that will make your case.”

The colonel held up the report. “Even if I knew where the place was, I couldn’t send men out there based on this. We’re not dealing with an ordinary citizen here. We’re dealing with a colonel of the NKVD.”

“I thought as much.” Korolev sighed, then looked the colonel in the eyes. “Comrade Colonel, I’ve another twenty-four hours to give Colonel Zaitsev that report, the one there in your hands, or he says he’ll kill my son and likely me as well.”

It was best to be straightforward about these things, Korolev thought. After all, he’d come here to find something out.

“Would you like to give him this, Korolev? I can have a copy made-you can say you found it wherever you like.” Rodinov shook his head. “It won’t make any difference. You should know that. Colonel Zaitsev will be covering his tracks.”

“And I’m a track.”

“I’ll do what I can, Korolev. The situation may be difficult-I can make no promises-but I should be able to protect you. And, as I said, now that I know what I’m looking for-it’s only a matter of time.”

“I’m grateful, Comrade Colonel. But it’s my son I’m concerned about.”

Rodinov shrugged. “I understand that, Korolev-and if I could help you, I would.”

And there it was-the answer he’d expected.

“My advice is to proceed as you have been. I’ll accept Priudski as Shtange’s killer and I’ll accept Shtange as the one who murdered Azarov. I don’t give a damn about Azarova or whoever was poking around in this ventilation system. You can have this report too. It suits me to have Zaitsev think he’s won. Take my advice though, and drag out the investigation as long as you can-call him tomorrow, tell him I’ve demanded more evidence. While this case is ongoing, you still have something to bargain with.”

Korolev nodded-it wasn’t bad advice, but in truth it was like giving him sugar to sprinkle on horse dung. He’d have to eat it all the same.

“There’s one other thing, Comrade Colonel.”

“Go on.”

“I’d prefer if you assigned another of your men to the case-someone other than Lieutenant Dubinkin.”

The colonel’s attention seemed to have turned back to his paperwork. He didn’t look up.

“You have a reason for this request?”

“I’d rather not give it.”

“You’d rather not give it? Where do you think you are?”

“I just don’t feel we work well together.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Korolev. I’ll see you at the same time tomorrow.”

Korolev nodded but the colonel didn’t see it. Nor did he look up when Korolev stood to leave the room.