— I’ve seen one of these bodies, a young boy, his stomach cut open, his mouth filled with bark. I’ve seen it, Ivan. I was there. Someone did this to a child, someone enjoyed doing this and they’re not going to stop. And they’re not going to get caught by the militia. I know you have every right to be suspicious of us. But I can’t prove it to you. If you can’t trust me, then I’m sorry for coming here.
Leo stepped forward, ready to collect up the files. Ivan put his hand on top of them.
— I’ll take a look. Close the curtains. And both of you sit down, you’re making me nervous.
With the room cut off from the world outside, Leo and Raisa sat beside Ivan and narrated the specifics of the case, reciting as much information as they thought was useful. Leo summed up his own conclusions.
— He persuades these children to come with him. The footprints in the snow were side by side, the boy had agreed to walk into the forests. Even though this crime seems insane, an obviously insane man would ramble, make no sense, an obviously insane man would scare these children.
Ivan nodded.
— Yes, I agree.
— Since it’s very difficult to move about this country without a designated reason, he must have a job, one that involves travel. He must have papers, documents. He must be integrated into our society; he must be acceptable, respectable. The question we can’t answer is—
— Why does he do it?
— How can I catch him if I don’t understand why? I have no image of him in my mind. What kind of man is he? Is he young or old? Is he rich or poor? We simply have no idea what kind of person we’re looking for — beyond the basics, that he has a job and must appear on the outside at least, to be sane. But that is almost everyone.
Ivan was smoking his pipe, absorbing everything Leo had said.
— I’m afraid I cannot help you.
Raisa sat forward.
— But you have Western articles about these kinds of crime, murders that aren’t conventionally motivated?
— What will they tell you? I might be able to get together a couple of articles. But they wouldn’t be enough to give you an image of this man. You can’t build a picture of him from two or three sensational pieces of Western journalism.
Leo sat back: this had been a wasted journey. More worrying than that: had they set themselves an impossible task? They were hopelessly ill-equipped both materially and intellectually to tackle these crimes.
Ivan drew on his pipe, watching their reactions.
— However, I know a man who might be able to help. His name is Professor Zauzayez, a retired psychiatrist, a former MGB interrogator. He lost his sight. Going blind gave him a change of heart, an epiphany, just like you, Leo. He’s now quite active in underground circles. You could tell him what you’ve told me. He might be able to help.
— Can we trust him?
— As much as you can trust anyone.
— What exactly can he do?
— You’ll read him these documents, describe the photos: perhaps he’ll be able to shed some light on the kind of person who’d do this such as his age, his background — that kind of thing.
— Where does he live?
— He won’t allow you to go to his apartment. He’s very cautious. He’ll come here, if he’ll come at all. I’ll do my best to convince him, but I can make no guarantees.
Raisa smiled.
— Thank you.
Leo was pleased: an expert was certainly better than some journalistic scraps. Ivan stood up, putting his pipe down, moving to the side cabinet, the telephone.
The telephone.
This man had a telephone, in his apartment, his tidy, well-furnished apartment. Leo took in the details of the room. Something was wrong. This was no family apartment. Why did he live in such comparative luxury? And how had he managed to escape arrest? After their exile he should’ve been taken in. After all, the MGB had a file on him: Vasili had showed Leo the photos. How had he evaded the authorities?
The call had been set up. Ivan was now speaking on the phone.
— Professor Zauzayez, Ivan Sukov here. I have an interesting task I need your help with. I can’t speak about it on the phone. Are you free at the moment? Could you to come to my apartment? Yes, immediately if that’s possible.
Leo’s body tensed. Why did he call him professor—if they were so close? Why call him that unless it was for their benefit? This was wrong. Everything was wrong.
Leo leapt up, his chair flying back. He was across the room before Ivan had a chance to react, grabbing the phone and twisting its cord tight around Ivan’s neck. Leo was behind him now, back pressed up against the corner of the room, throttling him, tightening the cord. Ivan’s legs were slipping on the polished floor, he gasped, unable to speak. Stunned, Raisa got out of her chair.
— Leo!
Leo raised his finger, indicating that she remain silent. With the cord still wrapped around Ivan’s neck he lifted the receiver to his ear.
— Professor Zauzayez?
The phone went dead. They’d hung up. They were on their way.
— Leo, let him go!
But Leo tightened the cord. Ivan’s face was turning red.
— He’s an operative, he’s under cover. Look at how he lives. Look at his home. There is no Professor Zauzayez. That was his State Security contact; he’s on his way to arrest us.
— Leo, you’re making a mistake. I know this man.
— He’s a fake dissident, placed underground, flushing out other anti-authority figures, accumulating evidence against them.
— Leo, you’re wrong.
— There is no professor. They’re on their way. Raisa, we don’t have much time!
Ivan’s fingers were frantically clasping at the cord. Raisa shook her head, prising her fingers under the cord, relieving the pressure on his neck.
— Leo, let him go, let him prove himself.
— Haven’t all your friends been arrested, every one, except for him? That woman Zoya, where do you think the MGB got her name from? They didn’t arrest on her on the basis of her prayers. That was just their excuse.
Unable to get free, Ivan’s legs began slipping across the floor, forcing Leo to take his full weight. Leo couldn’t hold him for much longer.
— Raisa, you never spoke to me about your friends. You never trusted me. Who did you confide in? Think!
Raisa stared at Leo then at Ivan. It was true: all her friends were dead or arrested, all except him. She shook her head, refusing to believe it — it was the paranoia of today, the paranoia created by the State that any allegation no matter how far-fetched was enough to kill a man. She caught sight of Ivan’s hand reaching for the cabinet drawer. She let go of the cord.
— Leo, wait!
— We don’t have time!
— Wait!
She opened the drawer, riffling through. Inside was a letter-opener, sharp — the item Ivan was reaching for to defend himself. She could hardly blame him for that. Behind that was a book, his copy of For Whom the Bell Tolls. Why was it not hidden? She picked it up. A sheet of paper was inside it. On it was written a list of names: people the book had been loaned to. Some of the names were scored through. Her name had been scored through. On the other side of the page was a list of people he intended to loan the book to.