“I understand that we’re both sick to death of the subject of keys,” Misha said gently, “so let’s wind it up. Try to remember when you lost your keys and whether you changed the lock after that.”
“I think I did. But maybe not.” Veronika wrinkled her low brow, trying hard to remember. “You see, I haven’t been able to focus on all those everyday trifles since I was a child. Even in school I was always forgetting everything—my notebook, my textbook. I even developed a complex and nearly went nuts. I kept being afraid I’d forgotten some shit or the other. But then I started working with a good psychotherapist, and I learned how to fight the complex. My memory didn’t improve, though. I still forget everything, but now I don’t give a shit.”
“And what psychotherapist are you working with?” Misha smiled and leaned back in his chair.
“Oh, she’s a marvelous doctor. She treats all kinds of complicated psychological complexes. She cures schizos without medicine. You know, all those psychotropic medicines, they’re so dangerous, even more than narcotics. But I’m afraid she would be too expensive for you.” She smiled slyly. “You were asking for yourself, weren’t you?”
“You’re a smart woman. You don’t miss a trick. I really was asking for myself. In my work, a good psychotherapist is essential. Watch out or you’ll lose your marbles. Will you give me her phone?”
“No.” Veronika shook her head. “It’s too expensive for you, and I doubt she’s taking new patients. She’s got enough work as it is.”
“Oh well.” Misha sighed. “I’ll have to get through my poverty and misery without a psychotherapist.”
You slipped, honey, he noted gaily to himself, and now you’re trying to sweep away your trail with your tail, like that fox in the story.
“Was Yuri Azarov also seeing the good doctor?” Misha inquired casually.
“Yuri was as normal as a stump.” Veronika sighed. “He could have used a little crazy, a few strong emotions, some foolish acts of heroism.”
Both of them! I’m chipping away now! Misha thought. For sure, that psychotherapist needs a good vetting before she’s questioned. There’s something shady about this doctor. Was she the one who prepped this doll so well for her interrogation? This could be very interesting.
“So you like reckless acts of heroism, then?” he asked.
“Of course! Life’s so boring without it. I love the broad gesture, so that sparks fly. But Yuri was a skinflint, pardon the expression.”
“So maybe they killed him over debts?” Misha suggested, and he thought if she latched on to that now, then he definitely had to consider her a suspect.
“What else?” Veronika grinned. “I personally have no doubt of it.”
“So why did you need him, Veronika Ivanovna, if all he had was debts? With your beauty, surely you could find someone better.”
“Why did I need him?” She thought about that and touched her lips with a sharp nail. Her nail polish and lipstick were the same color—bright red. “Probably for variety,” she spoke dreamily and nipped her nail.
Leaving Petrovka and sitting behind the wheel of her nice new red Zhiguli, Veronika Rogovets replayed the entire conversation with that idiot of an investigator and was pleased with herself. Regina Valentinovna had been right when she had said they were all fools in the scheme of things, and no man could resist Veronika’s charms. Even that stupid cop, no matter how hard he tried to resist her, eventually succumbed to her charms and swallowed the whole yarn she spun.
The only slipup was when she’d blabbed about Regina. But she’d caught herself in time and shifted the conversation to a different topic. Regina had asked her not to mention her at all; she didn’t name names and she didn’t give him her phone number. It was as if Regina had a crystal ball; Sichkin had picked right up on her importance. He had a pretty good eye. It was all right, though, she’d given him the slip.
She did wonder who had offed Yuri, though. These stupid cops weren’t going to find him, whoever he was. You couldn’t do anything on that kind of salary. All they did was loaf and take bribes. Obviously no one had bought this Sichkin yet.
Veronika Rogovets had disliked the police since she was a kid. She hadn’t had any run-ins with them lately, but she knew from experience that they were all bastards and mercenaries. The only people who became cops were newcomers from the provinces and morons. Maybe they were even the ones who had offed Yuri. After all, he’d sung at Thrush’s birthday party, and there’d been two cops there. Maybe to keep Yuri from ratting them out, they offed him.
She’d done well zeroing in on the debts. That Sichkin had been happy to swallow it hook, line, and sinker. He’d be looking for Yuri’s creditors now. Well, let him look!
In fact, Azarov had had no debts. He never borrowed or lent. He really was a skinflint. Veronika didn’t figure that out until after their seventh date, when she asked for a diamond ring like the one Irina Moskvina had. Naturally, she could have bought herself the ring; it only cost fifteen hundred dollars. But buying yourself diamonds was a bad omen. You had to be given them or else inherit them, otherwise they brought bad luck.
Veronika knew everything about stones. At home she had an entire shelf of books about the mystic and healing properties of stones. The fact that a diamond had to be given by a lover was a fairly basic and well-known fact. Veronika had told Azarov this when she parked her car by the Princess Dream jewelry store on Tverskaya Street. You could buy on credit there, and Azarov had three cards in his wallet. But he didn’t buy Veronika the ring. He didn’t even go into the store with her; he stayed in the car and wasn’t the teeniest drop embarrassed. Veronika wanted it so badly she had to buy it for herself.
She reminded Azarov of the incident often and bore a grudge. She nearly told him to go to hell, but at the time she couldn’t. She was in his third video, and that was good money, so it wasn’t worth arguing with him.
She’d even discussed the problem with Regina.
“It’s easy to twist a hero’s arm,” Regina had said. “And boring. But you need to learn to twist Azarov’s. It’s excellent training that will stand you in good stead later. If Azarov doesn’t start spending money on you, you’ll only have to crook your little finger at others. Don’t be in such a hurry to break with him.”
Veronika was a fine pupil. She didn’t break it off with Azarov. But the diamond had brought bad luck, only not for Veronika, but for Azarov, who had been too cheap to buy it for her. They killed Yuri. His karma had been bad—cheap, low-quality karma. But she wasn’t going to explain that to the idiot cop at the Petrovka. He didn’t even know words like that.
Veronika had very high-quality karma—not just high but super-high. And if something wasn’t right, Regina Valentinovna would correct it right away. She could sense these things. Even over the phone, she could adjust Veronika’s aura if need be.
CHAPTER 7
The dark blue Volvo with the tinted glass sailed smoothly toward the gates of the old mansion in the middle of Moscow. The gates parted without a sound, let the car through, and then closed right behind it.
“Good evening, Regina Valentinovna!” The armed guard opened the front door of her car and held out his arm to the tall, thin woman sitting at the wheel. The woman cautiously placed one suede high-heeled boot on the ground and, leaning on the guard’s arm, climbed out of the car.
“Hello, Gena. Don’t take it to the garage. I won’t be long.”
Entering the house, Regina Valentinovna dropped her light mink coat into the arms of the maid who had run up. In the big mirror in the black antique wooden frame, Regina Valentinovna saw an elegant forty-year-old lady in a severe silk suit with a long-legged, tapered figure and a perfectly regular face. Her thick, straight hair the color of ripe wheat had been cut in a simple, severe bob without bangs and barely covered her sleek, slender neck.