— You’re sure this man’s killed before?
— Yes. And if we find another victim the case reopens. The evidence against Varlam Babinich is specific to this girl. If there’s a second murder, the case against him falls apart.
— You said this boy Varlam had learning difficulties. Sounds like a perfect person to blame for any crime. They might just blame him for both murders.
— You’re right. That is a risk. But a second body is the only chance I have of reopening this case.
— So, if we find another body, you have an investigation. If we don’t, if we find nothing, you promise to let this drop.
— Yes.
— All right, then. You lead.
Awkward, uncertain, they set off, deeper into the forest.
After almost thirty minutes, walking alongside each other, Raisa pointed ahead. Crossing their path were two sets of tracks, an adult’s and a child’s, side by side. There was no sign of any disturbance. The child hadn’t been pulled along. The adult’s boot prints were enormous and deep. He was a tall, heavy man. The child’s footsteps were faint. The child was small, young.
Raisa turned to Leo.
— These might continue all the way to some rural village.
— They might.
She understood. Leo was going to follow them to their end.
They’d been walking for some time, following the tracks, with no sign of anything being amiss. Leo had begun to wonder if Raisa was right. Maybe there was an innocent explanation. Suddenly he stopped walking. Up ahead an area of snow had been flattened, as though someone had lain down. Leo moved forward. The footprints became confused, as if there’d been a struggle. The adult had walked away from the disturbance while the child’s tracks went off in the opposite direction, their footsteps unevenly spaced, ragged — the child had been running. From the impressions in the snow it was clear that the child had fallen over, there was a single hand print. But the child had got up and continued to run before falling again. Again the child had struggled on the ground although it was impossible to work out with whom or what they’d been struggling. There were no other footsteps. Whatever had happened here, the child had managed to get up, running once more. Desperation could be read on the snow. However, the adult’s footsteps were still nowhere to be seen. Then, several metres up ahead, they reappeared. Deep boot prints emerged out of the trees. Yet something was odd — the adult was running in zigzags, this way and that, inaccurately converging on the child’s position. None of it made any sense. Having walked away from the child the man had changed his mind and run erratically back towards him. Judging from the angles of the footprints he had caught up at some point past the next tree.
Raisa stopped, staring ahead at the point where the tracks would meet. Leo touched her on the shoulder.
— Stay here.
Leo moved forward, stepping around the tree. He saw the bloody snow first, then the bare legs, the mutilated torso. It was a young boy, maybe no more than thirteen or fourteen years old. He was small, slight. Just as the girl had been on her back, so was he, staring up at the sky. There was something in his mouth. Out of the corner of his eye Leo caught sight of movement. He turned to see Raisa standing behind him, staring down at the boy’s body.
— Are you OK?
Slowly, Raisa raised her hand to her mouth. She gave Leo the smallest of nods.
Leo knelt down beside the boy. Tied around his ankle was string. The string had been cut: only a short length trailed in the snow. The boy’s skin was red where the string had rubbed, cutting into his flesh. Steeling himself, Leo turned to look at the boy’s face. His mouth had been stuffed with soil. It gave him the appearance of screaming. Unlike Larisa there was no layer of snow over his body. He’d been killed after her, maybe within the last couple of weeks. Leo leant over, reaching towards the boy’s mouth and taking a pinch of the dark soil. He rubbed it between his finger and thumb. It was coarse and dry. The texture wasn’t like earth. There were large, uneven chunks. Under the pressure of his fingers the fragments broke apart. It wasn’t soil at all. It was bark from the trunk of a tree.
22 March
Some thirty-six hours after he and Raisa had found the boy’s body, Leo still hadn’t reported the discovery. Raisa was right. Instead of throwing the case open the second murder could be blamed on Varlam Babinich. The boy had no sense of self-preservation, he was open to suggestion — whisper something in his ear and he was likely to go along with it. He offered a convenient and swift solution to two horrific murders. Why look for a second suspect when there was one already in custody? It was unlikely Babinich would have an alibi, given that staff working at the internat wouldn’t remember his movements or be prepared to vouch for him. The charges would almost certainly jump from one count of murder to two.
Leo couldn’t simply announce the discovery of the young boy’s body. First he had to establish that Varlam Babinich knew nothing about it. That was the only way to save him: to collapse the proceedings against the militia’s prime suspect — their only suspect. However, this was exactly what Nesterov had warned Leo against doing. It would mean that a criminal case would be opened without any suspect: a criminal case against persons unknown. The problem was exacerbated by the fact that Babinich had already confessed. Local MGB operatives would almost certainly become involved if they heard that a confession had been discredited by the militia. Confessions were the bedrock of the judicial system and their sanctity needed to be protected at all costs. If anyone else found out about the second murder before Leo could establish Babinich’s ignorance, they might decide that it was far easier, simpler and safer for everyone involved to amend the confession and spoon-feed the suspect the necessary details — thirteen-year-old boy stabbed in the woods, on the opposite side of the tracks, several weeks ago. This solution was neat, efficient and upset no one, not even Babinich himself since he probably wouldn’t understand what was going on. There was only one way to guarantee that news of the second body didn’t filter through and that had been for Leo to remain silent. On returning to the train station he hadn’t raised the alarm or called his superior officers. He hadn’t reported the murder or set up a crime scene. He’d done nothing. To Raisa’s bewilderment he’d asked her not to say anything, explaining that he couldn’t get access to Babinich until the following morning, which meant leaving the body out in the woods for the night. If the boy was to have a chance at justice then he couldn’t see that there was any other option.
Babinich was no longer in the militia’s care — he’d been handed over to the lawyers from procurator’s office. A team of sledovatyel had already obtained a confession to the murder of Larisa Petrova. Leo had read the document. There were differences between the confession obtained by the militia and the one obtained by the sledovatyel but this hardly mattered: they were broadly the same — he was guilty. In any case, the militia’s document wasn’t official and wouldn’t be referred to in court: their job had only been to point out the most likely suspect. By the time Leo had made his request to speak to the prisoner the investigation had all but been completed. They were ready to go to trial.
Leo had been forced to argue that the suspect might have killed more girls and that before he was taken to trial the militia and sledovatyel should jointly question him in order to establish if there were any more victims. Nesterov had cautiously agreed: it was something they should’ve done already. He had insisted upon joining the interrogation, which had suited Leo fine; the more witnesses the better. With two sledovatyel and two militia officers present Babinich had denied knowing anything about any other victims. Afterwards the team had agreed that it was unlikely the accused had killed anyone else. As far as they were aware, there were no other missing girls with blonde hair, which was the motive in this case. Having achieved mutual agreement that Babinich was unlikely to have killed anyone else, Leo had feigned uncertainty, claiming they should search the forests just in case, widening the search to include any part of the forests within a thirty-minute walk of the town’s perimeter. Sensing that Leo had an agenda, Nesterov’s uneasiness had grown. In ordinary circumstances, had Leo not been connected to the MGB, his request would’ve been dismissed. The idea that the militia’s resources should be spent actively looking for a crime was ridiculous. But as much as Nesterov mistrusted Leo he’d seemed afraid to oppose the suggestion, afraid that to do so would be dangerous since the order might be coming from Moscow. The search had been arranged to take place today: thirty-six hours after Leo and Raisa had found the boy’s body.