‘And another key…’
‘It’s just a key. People collect keys. I forget what it’s for.’
‘She forgets what it’s for.’ Bogdanov’s style of interrogation included a large measure of sarcasm. He could annoy people into confessing. Ignoring her he leafed through her internal passport and workbook. ‘A Moscow resident’s permit.’ He threw the papers onto the table and from the contents of the bag selected a bottle.
‘Aspirin,’ she said. Kirov detected curiosity not fear, and that made him curious in turn.
‘No drugs? Antibiotics?’
‘I don’t need them.’
‘But Viktor had them, didn’t he? Stocked like a pharmacy.’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I never saw—’
‘But you should have seen, shouldn’t you? That’s the point! You’re Viktor’s woman.’
‘No.’ She didn’t bother to elaborate.
Bogdanov turned to Tumanov. ‘Take her into the bedroom.’ He saw a flicker of alarm cross her face and paused, seeming almost to hold that expression, then he continued. ‘Keep her safe, that’s all.’ He threw her a withered smile. She followed Tumanov.
‘Well? Question her? Hand her over to Bakradze? Throw her out into the street? What do you want to do, boss?’ He stared into the empty cigarette box. ‘The bastards stole all the smokes. Well, what do you want to do?’
‘Why is she here?’
‘Came in today on a flight from Erevan and thought she’d stay with good old Viktor. Officially she lives in a women’s hostel at Lyublino. Unofficially she lives here as Viktor’s woman.’
‘She says not.’
‘So what? She has a key to the apartment — what does that mean? Man, woman, shared apartment — do two plus two still make four these days or have we changed all that?’
‘Why does she say she isn’t Gusev’s mistress when she knows no one is going to believe her?’
‘Search me. She’s crazy? She doesn’t want her mother to find out?’
‘Maybe.’ Kirov dropped the point. He noticed that the television set was switched on. It showed peace demonstrators in Sokolniki Park. Peace was breaking out everywhere.
‘Do you think he’ll succeed?’ Bogdanov caught Kirov’s mood of distraction. ‘Gorbachev, disarmament talks, are they going to succeed? I can see the Army loving that — watching their appropriations vanish!’
‘Things change,’ Kirov murmured, echoing Grishin and Radek. ‘Why wasn’t she tipped off that Gusev had been arrested? He can’t have been working alone and Petrovka have hardly been making a secret of the arrest. Someone must have known. Why wasn’t she warned off coming here?’
‘She was staying in a crummy hotel. The telephones were out of order. She said she tried to phone Gusev last night but couldn’t get a line. Also she wasn’t in her scheduled hotel; someone screwed up, the place was overbooked and the flight-crew moved out. No one knew where she was.’ Bogdanov let his eyes wander to the television again. Kirov followed and saw in close-up the uplifted faces following the speaker’s words. The speaker would be mouthing the Party line and yet the crowd was hanging on to every sentence. The faces expressed hope — sincerity. Maybe they even believed. Grishin was right. Things changed.
Bogdanov switched topics. ‘They found nothing in Gusev’s guts. Fomin called me and told me the result of the operation. Viktor must have puked the lot up. I got the same story from Antipov, minus the bit about the diamonds, which he doesn’t know about, though it makes you wonder why he was at the Butyrka with his team.’
‘He called you?’
‘He thought we’d like to know. Bakradze told him to call me. Spirit of co-operation — that’s the new line. Antipov shoved it at me like he was going to invite me to his daughter’s wedding. We’re all on the same side — official. What he didn’t tell me was why Bakradze and the police team turned up at the Butyrka. What were they expecting? The diamonds? There’s no obvious connection between diamonds and the antibiotics thing so why should Bakradze be looking for diamonds? Conclusion?’
‘He saw Gusev swallow something. He wants to know what.’
‘So simple curiosity drags him mob-handed to the Butyrka? OK, if you say so, I’ll buy that.’
‘Bring her back,’ Kirov said, and while Bogdanov rapped on the bedroom door he tried for a moment to picture the woman here in Gusev’s apartment. But for now the material for his imagination was too thin.
Tumanov opened the door and let the woman through. He looked embarrassed. Five minutes of small talk had exhausted his resources; it wasn’t in the training manual. But the way things were going maybe some day it would be. Nadia Mazurova maintained the same cool distance. She took a seat and faced Kirov.
‘How long have you known Gusev?’ he asked.
She waited long before answering, but it was not a hesitation; rather an appraisal. Kirov remembered that flash of fear before Tumanov had removed her from the room. He played with the choice of continuing as now or recreating that fear. He speculated over its cause. She was saying, ‘I’ve known Viktor two, perhaps three years. We met at a party.’
‘And how long have you been his mistress?’
‘I’m not his mistress.’
Kirov offered her a cigarette but she refused. ‘I don’t smoke.’ Bogdanov took one. He moved behind her chair and leaned to rest his arms on the chair back so that she could feel his weight and sense his presence.
‘You lived here,’ Kirov contradicted her. ‘I found some of your things in the bathroom.’
‘The apartment is more convenient, more pleasant than the hostel. Viktor lets me use it.’
‘Why should he do that?’
‘He likes my company.’ She thought over that reply. ‘You know Viktor. He likes to live well — have the best of everything. It suits him to be seen with a…’ her voice fell.
‘A beautiful woman?’ Beautiful was the wrong word, but Kirov could see the appeal of that composure, particularly for Gusev. The apartment, the gold jewellery, the perfume to pamper his body — he had a feeling that Viktor liked objects. ‘There was nothing sexual?’
‘He held no attraction for me.’
‘Because of his age?’
‘Not particularly.’
‘Because…?’
‘Because he held no attraction for me. It isn’t necessary always to have explanations — is it?’ She smiled for the first time. Good teeth, perhaps too large. The smile gave life and drama to her face so that Kirov had a picture of Gusev arrested by that smile, valuing it like the contents of his apartment. She shut the smile off sharply.
The chair creaked as Bogdanov put his weight on it. He shuffled his hands so that they were either side of her neck, the fingertips hanging down to touch her shoulders.
‘Tell us about Viktor’s business,’ he said. ‘No! No, don’t look at me, look at my friend.’ His leaning posture caused his breath to blow through her hair. Her body stiffened but her face was surprised into a sudden shift of emotion. Kirov registered the fact but could not identify it. The change swept and retreated like the sea through pebbles.
‘I don’t know about Viktor’s business.’
‘Balls to that. Tell the nice man the truth.’
‘He had business interests, but I paid no attention.’
‘No attention?’ Bogdanov said venomously. ‘No attention! You couldn’t walk about this place without falling over the bloody stuff! Boxes of drugs and antibiotics, booze, cigarettes. And’ — he sighed — ‘we ask ourselves where does it all come from, don’t we, darling?’
‘No,’ she answered simply. Bogdanov let go the chair so that the upright snapped back and she was jerked with it. He moved to her side, pulled up another chair; sat down and took hold of her left hand. He squeezed it hard then relaxed his grip and let it rest in his own. With his free hand he stroked the backs of her fingers.