“Perhaps,” said Elena.
“Porfiry Petrovich has a great deal of pressure on him from those above,” said Anna. “It was he who would be held responsible if the crime was not solved quickly.”
“He could have talked to me,” Elena said, looking at the dark, simmering soup and wondering for an instant what kind it was. She remembered and took it off the burner.
When she turned, she saw that her aunt had set the table, put out the tea, and sliced thick pieces of bread. Baku was in the third chair.
“He talked to me. I am talking to you. Your job is to do what Porfiry Petrovich tells you to do,” said Anna, pouring cups of tea for all three of them.
“And if I don’t like it?” asked Elena grimly. She sat down in her chair.
“Many times our Porfiry Petrovich did not agree with an order I gave him,” said Anna with a smile, setting a cup of tea on Bakunin’s chair.
“But he did what he was told,” Elena said wearily.
“No, he did what he wanted to do if he could get away with it,” said Anna. “And though I was often extremely angry with him, his way usually worked. There is no single right way to approach any case, and the pressures from above are always frantic and in conflict with one another.”
“So,” Elena said, pouring soup. “I should ignore what my superior officer tells me? Less than a year on the job, the only woman in the department, and I should ignore my superior officer?”
“No,” said Anna. She held a spoon suspended in the air as she looked down suspiciously at the dark brew in the bowl before her. “You should do what he tells you. You should learn from him. I’d say you are a year or two away from defying him. Remember, however, when you do decide to defy him, do it quietly and be sure you are right, at least most of the time.”
“I’ll lose my job,” Elena said, tasting the soup. It wasn’t too bad.
“I don’t think so,” said Anna.
“Aunt Anna,” said Elena, reaching for a piece of bread, “if you were back as a procurator and someone asked you to describe me, what would you say in your report? Be honest.”
Anna continued to eat, glancing down at the cat to be sure he had made a reasonable attack on the tea. As she spoke, she poured a bowl of soup for Baku and blew on it.
“Five feet five inches tall. Weight, around one hundred forty pounds. Figure full but well proportioned. Fairly large breasts, firm. Hair a light brown, cut short. Eyes a very dark brown. Complexion excellent, skin rosy. Nose straight. Perhaps a touch of the Oriental in her quite-pretty face.”
“Thank you,” Elena said.
“It is not flattery. It is accuracy. You want more accuracy?”
“Why not?”
“The soup is edible but not very good.”
“It is the price we pay for living together,” said Elena. “Baku likes it.”
“Baku’s charm,” said Anna, looking approvingly at the cat, who leaned over his bowl, “is his unpredictability. One morning he leaps into my lap and naps. Another morning he lurks and turns from me.”
Elena looked up at her aunt and paused, spoon halfway to her mouth. “What do you mean?”
“Mean? Just what I said,” said Anna, not quite ready to re-attack the soup, and then she understood. Anna was well experienced in picking up the unexpected hint of reaction from a suspect.
“Who?” she asked.
“Who?” Elena repeated, drinking rather quickly and reaching for another slice of bread.
“The man who seems interested one day, indifferent the next,” said Anna. “The one who makes you ask me questions about how you look.”
“No one,” said Elena.
“No one,” said Anna.
“It does not interfere with my work,” Elena said.
“I didn’t claim that it did,” said Anna. “It may, however, have contributed to your anger at Porfiry Petrovich.”
“So,” said Elena, banging her spoon on the table, “because you think I am interested in his son, you think I can’t do my job. Because I am a love-starved woman-”
“The men are worse,” said Anna. “But they have learned to hide it better.”
“Now you are a psychiatrist,” said Elena sarcastically.
“I am a former deputy procurator, the highest rank a woman has yet achieved in the Russian procurator’s office, and likely to be the only one since the system is being torn apart. That is better than being a psychiatrist.”
“I’m tired,” said Elena.
“Go to bed. I’ll do the dishes.”
“If you like, I’ll play a game of chess first,” said Elena, standing.
“A good game of chess requires desire, mind, and heart,” said Anna, starting to rise. “I don’t think you could give me any of these tonight.”
Elena had begun sleeping in the tiny bedroom while Anna and Baku slept on the sofa. It had been Anna’s preference. She rose frequently during the night and read or listened to the radio or both. Besides, for reasons that were clear only to those who had built this one-story concrete building around a concrete courtyard, the bathroom was located not in the bedroom but in a corner of the slightly larger living room. Anna’s visits to the bathroom had increased during the year in which her brother’s daughter had lived with her.
Anna returned to her chair.
“Don’t forget the exercises,” Elena called, retrieving a long nightshirt from the closet.
“I will do sit-ups, push-ups, and knee bends,” said Anna. “When we have enough money, you can buy me weights. Within a year I’ll be stronger than Porfiry Petrovich.”
“Just the sit-ups,” called Elena. “Not the jokes.”
“Thank you for acknowledging my attempt at humor,” said Anna.
Baku jumped into her lap and purred as Anna petted him gently.
It was mad, Elena thought as she prepared for bed even though she wasn’t tired. She would try to find something to read, something to distract her. Iosef Rostnikov had not called her in two weeks-two weeks and one day. He had pursued her. She had resisted. They had made love twice, both times very good. Emotionally volatile. Perhaps he had gone back to Trina. Elena had met Trina. She was a slim, very young, dark beauty who worked with him at the theater. And Trina had been nice.
Did Porfiry Petrovich know? Elena couldn’t help remembering what it had been like in bed with Iosef, who looked more like his mother than his father. Iosef was light, taller than either of his parents. She wanted his bare chest next to hers, his mouth open on hers. She wanted him to call. She decided to lie in bed listing his deficiencies, but the effort failed.
Was he still attracted to her at all? She had picked up hints of Iosef’s behavior with women from the odd comments and sly smiles of the actors and other people he worked with at the theater. She had gone twice to watch him direct rehearsals at the little theater that used to be a small church.
Tomorrow, she thought, tomorrow I will stop this foolishness. Tomorrow I will indicate to the young bull of a sergeant who heads the morning squad that protects Petrovka that I will go to dinner with him. He seemed nice enough, reasonably smart, certainly strong, decent-looking, unmarried. She turned out the lights and hoped that if she were to see the sergeant out of uniform, he would not be too hairy.
In the other room Anna turned on the radio. Her hearing was excellent and the music was low, but Elena could hear it through the thin door. She rolled over, found her rubber earplugs in the night-table drawer, and put them in.
The Gray Wolfhound sat in his office in full uniform, back straight, hands resting before him on his perfectly polished desk. He looked to Rostnikov as if he were posing for a portrait.
“Chief Inspector,” the Wolfhound said, “you are filthy.”
“Major Gregorovich said there was no time for me to wash and change.”
Major Gregorovich stood at Rostnikov’s side thoroughly enjoying this encounter.
“Major,” said the colonel, “you are dismissed. Please wait outside.”