It was the great confidence and lack of intellect of Colonel Snitkonoy that had sustained him in the MVD for over thirty years while others fell or were trampled. It was the sense of the theatrical and the imposing figure he presented that had moved him to his present position as director of special projects. He was until recently, it was generally agreed, no threat to anyone.
The irony of Colonel Snitkonoy's current rise in party circles was that his department, a repository of largely ceremonial duties no other branch wanted, had met with singular success. During what appeared to be a routine investigation of a minor problem at a shoe factory, Rostnikov had uncovered a high-ranking KGB officer engaged in extortion. And then Rostnikov and Tkach, while on a routine check of parade security, had foiled a terrorist attempt to destroy Lenin's tomb. Colonel Snitkonoy's star had risen, and now there were some who said that he had been a brilliant survivor who waited for years to build a superior staff and to seize the moment when it was safe to become dangerous.
Whatever the truth, greater autonomy and responsibility had come to the colonel's staff and with it possible enemies. Colonel Snitkonoy was learning what it was like to be vulnerable. He was also reaping the rewards of success, and in just two days he would, as the guest of Gorbachev himself, attend a ceremony in Soviet Square followed by a dinner to honor those who were contributing selflessly to the success of perestroika and peaceful transition.
"Inspector Karpo, Comrade Karpo," he said, deciding to try compassion, "a young woman is dead. I grant that. I lament that. The loss of any Soviet citizen, especially a youthful citizen who holds promise for the future, is of great concern to Colonel Ivan Snitkonoy.'' "There is nothing to lament, Colonel," said Karpo, looking up. "The young woman was Carla Wasboniak, a user and seller of drugs, a probable accessory to several murders, an enemy of the state."
"Yet you feel compelled to find the young man who killed her,'' said the Wolfhound tolerantly, a wiser figure with perfectly groomed silver hair who was sure, now, that the pale figure seated before him would see the weakness in his position.
"His name is Yakov Krivonos," said Karpo. "We have sufficient evidence to believe he has murdered three people, possibly more. He is quite mad, quite dangerous. Inspector Rostnikov and I believe that he was involved in the murder of the visiting German businessman last month."
"Bittermunder?" said the Wolfhound, perplexed but not showing it in the least as he nodded as if he knew where this conversation was going. "Senseless, very brutal."
"Yes," said Karpo.
"Why?"
"Why was he murdered, or why does Inspector Rostnikov believe Krivonos is involved?'' asked Karpo without a trace of sarcasm.
The colonel, like most people, had avoided conversation with Emil Karpo as much as possible. He had always been confident that when the time came he could deal with this creature of the night if necessary. He had always told himself, however, that it was easier to allow Rostnikov to deal with the man. After all, Karpo had worked for years with Rostnikov when they were in the Procurator General's Office, and Rostnikov did not seem to mind the man, even seemed to have some genuine affection for him, which was a mystery to the Gray Wolfhound.
"Answer both if you can," the colonel said with a tiny smile that suggested superior amusement and masked a confusion.
"The weapon," said Karpo. "The bullets taken from the German's body were 76.2-millimeter Winchester Magnum cartridges fired from a high-powered West German sniper rifle, a Walther WA2000. Such a rifle was stolen from the collection of the deputy director of Social Mobilization for the Russias a week earlier. An informant told Inspector Rostnikov that a young man named Yakov Krivonos was making the rounds of underground bars where American music is played, bragging that he had such a weapon, that he had killed a German with it.
We attempted to find Yakov Krivonos but were unable to do so. He was in hiding, but I persuaded a bartender in the Billy Joel-"
"Billy Joel?" the colonel repeated, shaking his head.
"A rock-music establishment," Karpo explained. "Named for the American singer who came here last year."
"Yes," said the colonel. "Go on."
"I persuaded a bartender to tell me that Yakov Krivonos was known to have a companion named Carla. I waited until she showed up at the bar last night and then followed her to the apartment from which she was thrown."
"Or fell," Colonel Snitkonoy amended.
' 'She landed on the rear streetside fender of an automobile approximately fifteen feet from the building," Karpo said. "I watched her descent and-"
"I have been informed," said the colonel, looking toward the window in the vain hope that the sun was finally rising. A childhood memory came back, and he thought that perhaps the first rays of the sun would destroy this vampire. The colonel admitted to himself that he was quite tired.
"The rifle Krivonos fired at me this night was a Walther 2000, the same make as that which was stolen," Karpo went on. ' 'It is likely that the bullets I retrieved and have given to the laboratory will verify that it is the same weapon that killed Bittermunder.'' "I see," said the Gray Wolfhound, resuming his pacing, since intimacy had no effect.
"We do not know," Karpo went on.
"Know? Know what?"
"The answer to your second question. Why Yakov Krivonos murdered Bittermunder."
"Ann," said the colonel. "But really, it doesn't matter. This is murder, a foreign visitor. It is a case for the Murder Squad and not Special Projects."
"On Thursday, Yakov Krivonos will kill again," said Karpo without emotion. "A witness heard him say this to his companion, a man with a beard whom he called Jerold. I saw this Jerold for an instant when he shot at me."
It was more than the colonel cared to keep track of.
"I will try to find Yakov Krivonos before Thursday and stop him from committing this murder," said Karpo.
"You are, as you may remember, on vacation as of tomorrow, '' the Wolfhound said softly, with just the slightest studied tone of warning.
' 'I am the only police officer who can identify Yakov Krivonos," Karpo said.
"A young man with orange spiked hair and wild clothing is not difficult to describe to others," the colonel tried.
"He will change his appearance," said Karpo.
"He will change his appearance," the colonel repeated, as if humoring a dense child. "How do you know this?" ' 'I saw the face of the man with the beard,'' he said. "The man called Jerold will tell him to do it, and he will do it."
"It is late, Comrade Karpo," the colonel said, taking out the 1920 pocket railroad watch that had been given to him in 1972 by the workers of the Kirov Locomotive Assembly Plant after a particularly inspiring speech on the need for maintaining domestic security. "With the increase in crime since… certain political events, too many hours have been put in by all branches. We must all be alert, ready, refreshed for the arduous task of maintaining the peace and controlling crime.
You will take a vacation beginning tomorrow. This is a directive from the General Staff. When you and Porfiry Petrovich return, Tkach and Zelach will also be directed to take vacations. You will visit your relatives in Kiev. You will return in three weeks and not before then. You will return with renewed vitality. You understand my words?"
"Yes, Comrade Colonel," Karpo said, noting that the offer to use the colonel's dacha was no longer in evidence.
"Prepare a report on your findings, a detailed description of this Krivonos and the other man, and leave it with Pankov so I can forward it to the proper parties," said the colonel, clasping his hands before him to show that the conversation and Emil Karpo's investigation had ended.
Karpo understood and rose.
The colonel moved to his desk, sat down behind it, and opened a leather folder the size of a very large book. He took his pen in hand, looked at the contents of the folder, and said, "Enjoy your vacation and return refreshed and prepared to renew your part in our constant vigil against crime."