“Yes,” said Rostnikov. “The answer to the question of the naked ghost girl will tell us who our killer is.”
He pushed through the door. Karpo followed.
Definitely cabbage.
There were six people talking, laughing, and smoking at a rear table in the cafeteria, which could hold perhaps three hundred people. It had originally been built to feed the workers and their families, but gradually the people of Devochka turned more and more to cooking and eating in the privacy of their own apartments. The irony, which did not escape Rostnikov, and which had been shared by Fyodor, was that the budget for the cafeteria had remained the same for almost fifty years. The cooking staff was obliged, lest they lose their funding, to spend their allotment on nearly gourmet-level food.
They moved immediately to the immaculately clean cafeteria line where they were the only ones waiting. The manager of the cafeteria himself gave both men an extra large serving of the cabbage dish.
“And so tonight we go into the mine,” said Rostnikov.
Karpo nodded. He looked at the food piled on his plate and thought it a waste that should not be tolerated.
He had learned, however, that since the fall of the Communist state and ideology to which he had devoted his life, waste and corruption were rampant. He no longer thought that crime could be eliminated in the march toward a near-perfect state. No, the best that could be achieved was to hold the corrupt and the criminal at bay, to work without stop to keep the wall between lawful and lawless from falling under the sheer pressure of individual greed, gluttony, sloth, and occasional madness.
They sat. They ate slowly. They were well ahead of the dinner hour though they had been told that, even when that hour came, the cafeteria would not be overwhelmed.
“What have you noted about my reaction to the mine that might be relevant to our investigation?” asked Rostnikov, taking a large forkful of cabbage and meat. “This is very good.”
“You have avoided going into the mine though you have had ample opportunity. And now, since we have but one day remaining till the deadline given by Director Yaklovev, you seem to have little choice but to descend if you feel it must be done.”
“And why have I avoided the mine?” asked Rostnikov.
Karpo hesitated.
“I do not know.”
“I think you do, Emil Karpo.”
“You are afraid.”
Rostnikov pointed his fork at his associate to punctuate the accuracy of his observation.
“Tunnels,” Rostnikov said. “I have nightmares about them. I do not ride the Metro unless it is absolutely essential.”
“I have observed.”
“And the contemplation of what we will soon be doing makes me more than a bit uncomfortable.”
The contemplation, thought Karpo, did not appear to affect the appetite of Porfiry Petrovich Rostnikov.
Karpo was about to say, “I am sorry,” but Rostnikov anticipated and held up the versatile fork to stop him.
“I tell you this not because I feel the need to cleanse my soul or mind, but to prepare you for what must be done should I literally or figuratively stumble in the lower depths.”
Karpo knew better than to suggest that he go alone. Rostnikov would not forgo his responsibility.
With that, Boris entered the cafeteria, looked around, and squinted at the two detectives before he saw them and moved to join them.
It was evident to both detectives, and not for the first time, that their guide into the earth had very far from perfect vision.
Balta was ready, knife hidden, plan in place. There were no doubt other ways to accomplish his goal, but, he thought, each of us achieves satisfaction in his or her own way. Balta lived for the game. He had the cash he had taken from the woman on the train when he killed her with great efficiency and anatomical knowledge, which he hoped the police appreciated.
He knew the time Rochelle Tanquay was to be at the apartment of Jan Pendowski, the preening babnik, the lecher who had the diamonds. Balta would be there too.
Balta watched. Soon. Balta watched.
The knock at his door was gentle and right on time. Jan Pendowski opened the door. Rochelle Tanquay stood there in a perfectly fitted tan suit, a silk scarf around her neck, her short dark hair brushed down in bangs. She looked, he thought, as if she had just stepped out of an ad for absolutely anything she wanted to sell.
She stepped in, and Jan leaned forward to gently clasp her right arm and kiss her. She did not resist. Her response was welcoming but reserved.
Jan closed the door and kissed her again. This time the response was even more welcoming. Both arms were around her now and his mouth was inches from hers. He could smell the scent of gardenia perfume.
His eyes made clear what he wanted.
“Shall we seal our partnership in bed?”
“When I see that you actually have diamonds, and this has not been an elaborate scheme to seduce me.”
She said this with a smile.
“I am not devious,” he said. “I say what I mean, and when I lie it is simple and direct. Simple and direct lies are the most convincing.”
“I have never done anything illegal before,” Rochelle Tanquay said, stepping back nervously. “Oh, small adventures. Cocaine. Deception in a game of cards with a lover, an Egyptian who could afford the loss, but. .”
“The diamonds must be hidden carefully during your flight,” Jan said.
“I know where I can put them. I fly around the world from Paris. I can go to a customs agent who recognizes me when I arrive. I’ve never been questioned.”
“You know where to go in Paris?”
“Yes.”
“I will meet you there after you get the money,” he said.
“And Oxana?” Rochelle asked.
“Go ahead with your plan for her. Give her a magazine spread. She will be happy.”
“But how will you tell her that she will not be carrying the diamonds to Paris, that she will not be sharing the money? I think it very likely that she may suspect me.”
“I will take care of Oxana,” he said, moving so close that Rochelle could see tiny flecks of green in his blue eyes.
“And now?” Rochelle said, almost purring.
Jan nodded and moved across the room to a small table holding a phone and the mail. The dark wooden table had curlicued legs like those of a delicate mythical animal.
“Antique, dated 1641 and signed by the maker. French. You should appreciate that. Its authenticity has been verified by two dealers, who made substantial offers for it.”
He slid the table away from the wall and stepped behind it.
“It was a gift to me from a very repulsive Tiblisi smuggler who was passing through Kiev with a substantial cache of drugs from Turkey hidden here.”
Pendowski pulled a panel at the back of the table, which slid out to reveal a compartment in which rested a canvas bag tied with a leather thong.
“In exchange for the gift, I let him keep the drugs and be on his way after paying a slight toll in American dollars.”
Jan held up the canvas bag. The contents were substantial enough to create a significant bulge.
He closed the compartment, pushed the table back against the wall, and stepped toward Rochelle Tanquay, opening the bag and tilting it forward to show the diamonds.
Rochelle reached out to take the bag, which he closed and tied. Then he held the bag over his head.
“First we seal our partnership in bed,” he said, leaning so close that their lips were almost but not quite touching.
“Our partnership is dissolved.”
The blade went smoothly and deeply between two ribs and into his heart. Jan Pendowski’s eyes opened wide in surprise. For an instant he did not know what had happened. He thought he might be having a heart attack. Both his father and one of his grandfathers had died young from heart attacks. But Rochelle had said the partnership was dissolved.