"What is it?" said the man who opened the door, looking at the two men on the step below him.
He was tall, erect and younger looking than Rostnikov had expected. His face was surprisingly unlined and youthful though his straight white hair betrayed him. Krasnikov was, Rostnikov knew, fifty-three years old, nearly his own age. The man wore a faded flannel shirt and jeans that looked American. The former general stood straight, head up, hands at his sides, ignoring the blast of frigid air that slapped his bare cheeks.
"I'm Inspector Rostnikov. This is Inspector Sokolov. I am investigating the death of Commissar Rutkin."
"I'm not feeling well today," Krasnikov said, looking like a healthy Olympic wrestler.
"We won't be long," Rostnikov said soberly stepping up on the wooden stoop.
Krasnikov who stood about four inches taller than Rostnikov blocked the entrance.
"I'd appreciate it if you would let us in," Rostnikov said softly. "It is cold and it is important that we get on with our investigation. Others have cooperated fully."
Krasnikov smiled but there was no amusement in the smile. He stood looking at the policeman, almost toe to toe continuing to block the way.
"I would appreciate your cooperation," Rostnikov whispered so that Sokolov could not hear. "Sokolov is monitoring my investigation and it will look bad for me if you don't cooperate."
Krasnikov's mirthless smile turned to a real one as Sokolov moved forward to try to hear.
"I'm a soldier," Krasnikov whispered. "I know how to read a man's eyes. You aren't afraid of being monitored by this one."
Rostnikov shrugged.
"Concerned," he said.
"And if I refuse to let you in? I suppose you'd try to force your way," said the General.
"I would do my best," Rostnikov said softly.
"And I have a feeling it might be enough," said Krasnikov. "I also know how to read a man's body."
"I think it best if you let us in," said Sokolov menacingly.
Krasnikov glanced at Rostnikov to show his disdain for the threat and backed away to let the men in. Rostnikov waited for Sokolov to pass him with a satisfied look in his eyes. Rostnikov followed behind him and Krasnikov closed the door behind them.
It was probably no more than 40 degrees above zero in the room but it felt hot to Porfiry Petrovich, who found himself not in a large room as in the two similar houses but a much smaller room, roughly but comfortably furnished with unupholstered wooden furniture. A desk stood in front of the window and, Rostnikov could see, from the chair behind it Krasnikov could looked down at the town square. On the wall across the room a bear's head was mounted. The bear's mouth was open in an angry snarl showing sharp yellow-white teeth.
Rostnikov looked at the bear's head and back at Krasnikov.
"You like Stalin?" Krasnikov nodding at the bear head. "I killed" him last year. An old Evenk mounted the head in exchange for the meat and the hide."
"You shot him?" Rostnikov asked opening his coat.
"No," said Krasnikov his eyes widening. "I strangled him with my bare hands."
"Impressive," said Sokolov.
"Ridiculous," answered Krasnikov. "Of course I shot the bastard. I was out for a hike. If I hadn't had my rifle with me, he would have torn me to pieces. I filled him so full of holes I didn't think there was enough left of the hide to make it worth having, but the Evenks can work miracles. They can't fight but they can hunt. Sit, but don't expect tea or little cakes."
"Thank you," said Rostnikov moving to a nearby chair. "I've had enough tea today."
Sokolov, who had removed his coat, sat in an almost identical chair to the one Rostnikov had chosen. He inched the chair a little closer to Rostnikov who looked back over his shoulder out the window.
"Very nice view," he said.
"There is no other view," said Krasnikov moving to the only remaining chair, which was large enough for two people but which he managed to fill by putting one booted leg up on it. "In the back you can see trees. Out that way," he said, pointing to a small window in the wooden wall, "you see the Samsonov house and snow. The other way, more trees and snow."
"And so," said Rostnikov, "you sit at the desk and watch."
"I sit at the desk and work," Krasnikov said with irritation. "I'm not a petty sneak or a gossip. You want a sneak, talk to the old man. You want gossip, see the priest."
"Mirasnikov, the janitor?" asked Rostnikov. "He is a sneak?"
"Of course," sighed Krasnikov. _
"And, may I ask, what work do you do at the desk?" asked Rostnikov.
Krasnikov shrugged.
"Military articles," he said. "Alternatives to great battles in Russian history, particularly the war against the Nazis. Strategy is, or was, my specialty."
"I would very much like to see some of your writing if I may." said Rostnikov.
"Perhaps you may," said Krasnikov. "Now, if you have questions, ask them. I have work to do. A routine becomes very satisfying when one is deprived of an outlet for one's skills, especially if one is accustomed to a disciplined military career."
"We will do our best to vacate ourselves from your routine at the earliest possible moment, Comrade," Sokolov said grimly.
"General," Krasnikov said. "I have not been stripped of my tide or dignity, only of my responsibility."
"I stand corrected," said Sokolov. "General."
"Commissar Rutkin interviewed you on three occasions," said Rostnikov.
"Two, three, four. I don't remember," said Kraskinov rubbing his hands together. The hands, Rostnikov could see, were rough, calloused.
"And what did you talk about?" Rostnikov asked.
"If you've read his reports, then you know," said Krasnikov.
Since Rutkin's reports had apparently been scattered to the winds when he died and were now buried in snow or lost in the woods or river, the opportunity to examine them had not been afforded to Rostnikov or anyone else. However, Rostnikov did not plan to share this information with the general.
"There is a story," said Rostnikov, "that Field Marshal Mikhail Kutuzov before the Battle of 1812 called in his artillery officer and asked for a report on positions of Napoleon's army. The officer made his report and was ready to leave when Kutuzov asked him once more to give his report on French positions. The officer, in some confusion, gave his report again and turned to leave. Once more Kutuzov asked for the report. Once more the officer reported and this time, before he turned, he asked the Field Marshal why he had wanted the same report three times. Kutuzov replied that in the third telling the officer, in an attempt to vary his presentation, had added information which he had not given before, information which he had not thought important. Kutuzov told the officer that the added information about movement on the left flank in the cavalry cover would significantly alter his plans for counterattack."
"I've never heard that story," said Krasnikov.
"Maybe it isn't true," said Rostnikov.
"Maybe you made it up," said the general.
"Perhaps if I repeat it you will find some detail that will confirm your suspicion," said Rostnikov.
"Very clever, Inspector," Krasnikov said with a smile. "But remember the real Kutuzov was responsible for abandoning Moscow."
"… and thereby saving the Russian army," added Rostnikov.
"You know military history," said Krasnikov.
"I know Tolstoy,", responded Rostnikov.
Sokolov sighed deeply, clearly impatient.
"I think I like you, Inspector," said Krasnikov, putting both booted feet on the hard wood floor with a clap. "Or, at least, I may have some respect for you, which is even more important."
"What did you tell Commissar Rutkin?" Sokolov said.