Nikolai came into the office. He was carrying some photographs.
Dmitri just brought in the snaps of the Georgian's funeral, sir,' he said and laid them on the desk in front of Grushko. There was one in particular he seemed eager to draw to Grushko's attention. It was a picture of Dzhumber Gankrelidze, the Georgian gang boss.
Handsome bastard, isn't he?' said Grushko.
Funny thing,' said Nikolai. While I was interviewing Chazov just now, I knocked these on to the floor. He caught a good look at that one of Dzhumber, sir, and I swear it scared the hell out of him.'
Chazov's restaurant is only a short way off Nevsky Prospekt,' he said thoughtfully. When was that firebomb actually reported?'
About 10.50 p.m.,' I said.
Ten minutes later the State Automobile Inspectorate report Dzhumber's green Merc on Nevsky. So he and a few of the boys could have been driving away from Chazov's after giving him the squeeze.'
Grushko got up from his chair and went over to his cupboard. He opened the door and started to wash his hands in the little sink.
You know,' he said, if we were to pick the Georgians up to help us with our inquiries into the arson attack ' he paused as he dried his hands on the towel that was hanging inside the door we might manage to help keep Sultan Khadziyev alive for a while. At least until we find him.'
His eyes met mine with a question for which I already had the answer.
I think that if Nikolai were to show me his papers, then an arrest protocol could probably be issued. But remember, you'll only be able to hold them for three days.'
Grushko shrugged. Perhaps our friend Chazov will be more inclined to cooperate once he finds that we've got the Georgians in custody. And we might actually get to charge them before our three days are up.'
He put on his jacket and straightened his tie.
Are you ready?' he said to me.
I nodded and followed him to the door.
You're in for a treat,' he said. Sometimes I think that I married the Winston Churchill of cooking. To do so much with so little.'
13
Grushko lived modestly, I thought. Too modestly, it seemed, for someone who could have been having his paw stroked. The colour television set was an old one, but not as old as the record-player. There were more books than I had expected, although many of them were medical textbooks. The sofa and armchairs were made of plastic-vinyl and in need of re-springing, while the linoleum in the tiny hallway was worn in places. About the only thing that looked new was a radio-cassette player in the kitchen and a rather gaudy set of wine-glasses that still had the labels on their bases. Of course Grushko might have been the type who was patient spending any corruptly received money. Maybe he was hoarding dollar bills underneath his mattress for a holiday abroad or, police pensions being as miserable as they were, for the day when he retired. I wondered how I might get a chance to go in his bedroom and make a quick search.
But he had not exaggerated his wife's abilities in the kitchen. We ate a delicious cabbage soup, followed by some deep-fried cheese with mushrooms and potatoes and then a scoop of icecream. We drank some of Grushko's home-made whisky, which was a lot stronger than it seemed, a discovery I was only to make the following morning.
With the exception of Tanya, Grushko's daughter, they were a fairly typical family: the old mother who drank just a little too much of the Georgian wine I brought with me; her daughter Lena, small and neatly dressed, who ate less so that her guest could eat more and who seemed hardly old enough to have a twenty-four-year-old daughter of her own; and Grushko himself, whose strength of character and obvious authority counted for nothing in this, the most matriarchal of Russian institutions, for Lena ran the home and he knew it.
Tanya was a different flock of sheep: young, beautiful and intelligent, she looked like one of those people who can travelmore like a musician or a ballet dancer than a doctor at the Vreden Casualty Institute. Of course the fact that she was so well-groomed I learned was due not at all to Grushko but to her boyfriend, Boris, who seemed to have unlimited access to foreign goods, or so Grushko told me later. She was also a rather capricious young woman, for I can think of no other explanation to account for why she should have chosen the occasion of my being there to announce that she and Boris were planning to get married. Unless it was simply that she knew Grushko was less likely to lose his temper about it with me being there. Or perhaps it was some sort of revenge for all the times he must have embarrassed her with his obvious dislike of Boris. Neither one of the explanations appeared to me to be particularly satisfactory. But then I am a lawyer.
On hearing the news, Lena Grushko and her old mother seemed delighted. But it was all Grushko could do not to take a bite out of his table mat. He did his best to make a show of being pleased but it wasn't much of an act and it didn't last longer than a couple of nods and a thin rictus of a smile. Still, Tanya was not about to let him get away with anything less than a complete Te Deum.
Aren't you pleased for me, Dad? she said.
Well, naturally I'm pleased for you,' he said with considerable difficulty. Naturally.' He frowned as he tried to think of something pleasant to say. Instead he found his line of argument.
But have you thought about where you're both going to live? I mean, you could always have this room '
I could see that this was not an idea that held much attraction for him.
Excuse me,' I said. Where's the. ?'
Left as you go out of the door,' he said.
I left the room and opened the lavatory door, but did not go inside. Instead I went into Grushko's bedroom. I listened to their raised voices for a second and then lifted the mattress.
We're going to live with Boris's parents,' said Tanya. At least until we can get a place of our own.'
That could be a lot harder than you think,' said Grushko. Apartments are not so easy to come by in Petersburg.'
Boris has lots of connections,' she said glibly. He'll sort it out. You needn't worry about that.'
Where do Boris's parents live?' asked Lena Grushko.
On Decembrist's Square.'
Oh, how lovely.'
There was about fifty dollars under Grushko's mattress, on his wife's side of the bed. But this meant nothing. My own wife had amassed almost two hundred dollars before I moved out. I tucked the sheets in at the corners, flushed the toilet and then returned to the dinner table.
Not that modern block on the corner?' said Grushko.
Yes. It's very nice.'
But those apartments were built for people who were imprisoned by the tsar, and their descendants.'
Yes,' said Tanya. That would be Boris's grandfather, Cyril.'
Grushko shook his head impatiently. What I mean to say is that those flats were for people in the Party.'
But things are different now. The Party's finished. You're always saying so.'
Maybe so, but those people who were in the Party are still enjoying their old privileges. Including a nice apartment on Decembrist's Square. Well, don't you see?'
I haven't seen them enjoying many privileges. They still have to queue for bread like anyone else. And they don't own a car like you do.'
Living where they do, I don't suppose they need one,' said Grushko. Besides, Boris has a car. A BMW.'
Grushko's wife shot him a fierce look.
Yevgeni Ivanovich,' she said stiffly. But before she could begin her reprimand the phone rang and Grushko got up to answer it.
I smiled politely at Tanya.
Congratulations,' I said lamely. I hope you'll be very happy.'
We must ask Boris and his family to dinner,' said Lena.