Afterwards, as the crowds drifted slowly away, Nina remained standing by her husband's grave and watched as the gravediggers began to fill it in.
Grushko spoke to Nikolai, Sasha and myself.
Wait in the car,' he told us. I'm going to try and have a word with her. If she is holding back on us then now's the time to squeeze her.'
To me this seemed insensitive of him but I said nothing until the three of us were back in the car.
How can he do that?' I asked. Surely she has the right to a little privacy at her husband's funeral?'
Nikolai pointed to the television crew that had covered the event and were now loading their equipment back into a van.
What privacy?' he said.
No, he's right,' said Sasha. Grushko can be a hard bastard sometimes.'
Nikolai pursed his lips and lit a cigarette.
I'll tell you something,' he said. I never met a fairer cop. Not anywhere. If he said he thought the Patriarch himself was a crook, then I'd believe him. If Grushko thinks that she needs a squeeze, then that's good enough for me.
Besides,' he added, if she's not telling us the whole story then now's the best time to find out. When she's feeling vulnerable. There's no telling how long a woman like that might give you the run-around.'
Grushko found Nina walking alone on the Poet's Pathway.
May I talk to you?'
It's a free country now,' she sighed. So they tell me.'
He took a deep breath and spat it out.
I don't think that you've been entirely honest with us,' he said. Have you?'
She was silent for a moment.
Grushko repeated the question.
You know, Colonel, when I was younger, I used to imagine that my father was buried here. You see, he was a writer too. Not that I really knew him. I was just a baby when he was arrested. We never found out what became of him. Where or when he died. I like to think that if he had lived, he would have been good enough to come here with the rest of them.' She smiled sadly. Ironic, isn't it? I never thought I'd ever marry a man whom they buried here. I don't suppose it would have crossed Mikhail's mind either.'
I didn't know about your father,' said Grushko. I'm sorry. But look, things are different now.'
Are they?' She shrugged. I don't know. Maybe.'
So how about it? Some straight answers.'
She looked up at the blue sky and Grushko saw that there were tears in her eyes.
You were right,' she said. When you asked about that bodyguard. Mikhail did try and hire one. But it wasn't because he was scared of anyone in particular.'
I'm not sure I understand.'
It was more of a collective thing really. You see, Mikhail was never happy unless he was working on a story that involved a degree of risk. He was always in danger from somebody or other. He thrived on that. Despite all the threats, all that hate, he wouldn't have changed places with anyone. As I told you before, it was beginning to get to him. But the idea of having a bodyguard seemed to be a way of helping him to cope with the pressure of what he was doing. That and his drinking. So he tried to hire one of your own police thugs: the ones they use to put down riots.'
The OMON squad?
Yes. Only the man wanted too much money. That's why I told you we couldn't afford it. I'm afraid I was rather angry with the militia, Colonel. I was bitter at the idea that, but for a few more roubles, Mikhail might still be alive.'
This man from the OMON squad: do you remember his name?'
Georgi. Rodionov.'
Grushko made a note of the name. Nina sighed deeply and laid her hand on her chest.
And now if you don't mind, I'd really like to be left alone for a while.'
While we were waiting, Iron Lenya rang from the morgue on Grushko's car phone. There was a body she wanted us to come and have a look at. When Nikolai had finished speaking to her, Sasha groaned loudly. I hate the morgue,' he said.
Nikolai fed another cigarette into his mouth, lit it with the last one and chuckled.
Look on the bright side,' he said. At least it'll take away your appetite.'
12
Of the two to three hundred people who died every day in St Petersburg, most were taken north-east across the River Neva, past the Piskarov Memorial where 500,000 victims of the blockade were buried, to the suitably contiguous Bureau of Juridical Medical Examinations.
It was late in the afternoon when we followed this sad trail off Piskarovksy Prospekt and on to a rough track leading down the side of the pre-Revolutionary Mechnikov Hospital. Seen from a distance, the fortress-shaped building that was the Bureau could not have looked less morbid. Sunlight warmed its pink brick and illuminated the yellow-tinted windows so that it resembled some fantastic sugar-candy palace in a children's fairytale. Certainly there was nowhere else like it in Russia. Grushko told me that the Director, Professor Vitali Derzhavin (who was descended from the great Russian poet), claimed that only Helsinki and New York had a similarly comprehensive forensic facility. Catching my eye in his driving mirror, he added:
You'll make a friend for life if you take my advice and say something nice about the place. Derzhavin's very proud of it. So proud he even had a time capsule installed in one of the walls telling the story of him and all his staff.'
We parked the car and were ushered into Professor Derzhavin's office. While we waited for him to finish his telephone call I studied his collection of silver roubles that was displayed in several glass cases on the walls.
Thallium,' he said. Yes, that's what I said. Thallium 203.' He waved at us to be seated. Oh, highly poisonous. They used to use the sulphate as a rodenticide. Well, she's a Professor of Chemistry, isn't she, Lieutenant? It wouldn't be too difficult for her to get hold of some. All right then. No problem. Yes, you'll have the written report in the morning. Goodbye.'
He replaced the receiver, stood up, and shook hands all round. Grey-haired with a light suntan, he wore a white coat and an easy-going sort of expression.
How about that?' he said, to nobody in particular. Some bitch has been poisoning the people she shared her flat with. With thallium. Just to get hold of an extra couple of rooms.'
Is that a good way of doing it?' asked Grushko. Only my neighbour has this piano. The kid practises all the time, and it's not even in tune.'
I thought of my own wife and her music-teacher lover. Thallium. I never thought of that.
The professor grinned, collected his cigarettes off the desk-top and buttoned his coat.
Get my secretary to order some for you,' he said.
We followed him out through his secretary's office. She looked up from behind a smart new IBM typewriter and smiled sweetly.
Colonel Shelaeva's waiting for you in Detective-Room Number five,' she announced and carried on with her typing.
The professor led the way out of the office and turned down a long, sloping corridor.
I sectioned this fellow myself,' he explained. We left him on the slab for you, just in case you were thinking of having lunch.'
Very thoughtful of you,' said Grushko.
The militia found him early this morning. Not far from where Mikhail Milyukin was murdered. Unfortunately, due to someone's incompetence, the body was removed and brought here before it was realised that these homicides might be connected. Lenya's pretty mad about it.'
I'm sure,' said Grushko.
He's been outside for about a week I'd say, and you know how warm it's been. Also I think some small animal has been feeding on him. One side of his face is more or less eaten away, so I'm warning you, gentlemen, he's no icon.'