"I have nothing," the young man said in panic, assuming robbery. "Look in my case. Nothing. Just papers."
"No," said Tkach, putting out a hand to touch the man's arm, to reassure him, short of confessing, that he was a policeman.
The man opened the case and held it out for Sasha to see. He was having trouble catching his breath.
"See, nothing," he said with a trace of a sob. "This can't keep happening. I have nowhere to go."
"I'm not a robber," said Tkach. "I live upstairs. I just want to get to my apartment and change for work."
Without another word, the young man closed his briefcase and hurried past Tkach and down the stairwell.
He would shower when he got to the room. It was early, before dawn. Maybe there would be warm water left. It should take no more than a minute or two to give Zelach a story. He would begin by calling him Arkady. No one called Zelach Arkady. Then he would say, "I was followed last night and had to hide." Or, "I followed a suspicious pair of men. Turned out to be nothing."
He was almost at the door when he caught the slightest odor of Tamara's sweetness. It was probably on his clothing. The clothes would have to be cleaned. He didn't want to wear the same clothes when he went home to Maya and the baby. He should throw them away, wanted to throw them away, but he couldn't afford to. He reached for the door to the apartment and decided that if Tamara insisted on pursuing their relationship, he would have to alter the persona he had developed for Yon. Yon would now suggest violence and the possibility that he was more than a little mad, a person to be avoided.
Sasha reached into his pocket for his key but couldn't find it. No, no, no. He had probably dropped it on the floor of Tamara's apartment when she took off his clothes. And that thought reminded him of his glasses, which were also missing.
What if she looked through them, saw they were plain glass? He would have to see her, to get the glasses back, to get his key. He had planned to knock gently, identify himself to Zelach and unlock the door. Now he would simply have to knock on the door. He raised his hand to do so and realized that the door was not fully closed.
Thoughts came quickly. Was it possible that he had simply forgotten to close the door completely when he left? No. Zelach had gone out, perhaps to look for him, and accidentally left the door slightly ajar either when he went out or came back. Those were hopes rather than likelihoods. Sasha had no gun, no weapon, or he would have taken it out now as he pushed open the door.
The lights were on.
"Zelach," Tkach said softly, leaving the door open behind him.
The first thing he noticed was that the table across the room was empty, that the computer was missing. He stepped into the room cautiously, being certain no one was behind the door, and then he saw the trail of blood across the linoleum.
His eyes followed the trail to Zelach's body, on the floor, halfway into the little bedroom. Zelach was on his stomach, the back of his shirt dark with blood.
And then there was no thought, only action, and Tkach's awareness that he was making sounds, perhaps even speaking but not knowing what he said as he moved quickly to Zelach, knelt at his side, and turned him over. Zelach's left eye was an almost closed purple balloon from which blood curled down his cheek and chin.
The chin was split across as if someone had tried to carve a second mouth in the wrong place. The cut was still wet. A thick, almost circular cake of blood with one pod pointing down his forehead lay in Zelach's hair like a recently dead amoeba. Sasha's hands moved quickly from Zelach's neck down, searching for bullet wounds front and back. He found none. That didn't mean there were none, only that they were not in the most dangerous, most obvious places.
Tkach leaned over, touched Zelach's chest, detected beating, and then put the back of his right hand less than an inch below Zelach's nose. He was sure, at least he hoped, that the fine hairs on his hand moved with the faintness of the fallen man's breath.
"Arkady," Sasha whispered, "eeveenee't'e, pazhah-a 'Ista. Please forgive me."
Tkach's next instinct was to call for help, but he was sure no one would come running to help a shouting man in Moscow at three in the morning. He got up, went into the hall, and knocked on the door to the apartment directly across from the one in which he had briefly lived as Yon Mandel-stem.
"What?" a man called in a quivering, frightened voice.
"Police. Do you have a phone?"
"Yes, no," came the man's voice.
' 'Open the door now,'' said Tkach, knowing that his voice was cracking, "or I will have you charged with obstructing a police officer in the line of duty."
' 'You are the police?'' the man beyond the door said, coming closer.
"Yes," Tkach shouted.
"I am a veteran," the man said, opening the door.
Sasha pushed past the man and had only the impression that he was fragile. He saw the phone and moved to it. He had to hurry, had to get back to Zelach.
With a calmness that amazed and appalled him, Sasha called Petrovka 38 and told the woman who answered to send an ambulance and help. Then he asked to leave a message for Inspector Karpo, to tell him to get to the apartment. The operator paused and then came back on the line.
"Ambulance is on the way. Team dispatched. Inspector Karpo is on vacation."
"Yes," said Tkach, hanging up the phone and hurrying to the door past the fragile man. Rostnikov, too, was on vacation. He would, as he deserved, face this alone.
Zelach emitted a sound, definitely a sound, as Tkach entered the room and moved quickly to kneel next to him.
"Don't move, Arkady. An ambulance is on the way."
"My gun," Zelach said in near panic, his remaining good eye scanning the ceiling and Sasha's face.
Tkach reached around to Zelach's holster. The gun wasn't there.
'I'll find it," said Tkach. "Don't move."
Zelach was panicked now. He put his right hand behind him to try to sit up, and then his left arm made a spastic movement, and Zelach screamed silently. His mouth opened, tears bubbled in the corner of his good eye, and he sank back on the floor. Sasha caught his head before it struck the hard floor. The sudden movement started Zelach's chin bleeding again.
"Computer," Zelach said, trying to turn his head toward the table. He couldn't do it, but the movement started him coughing, and the coughing brought pain.
"It's gone," said Tkach.
Zelach's eye moved to Tkach's face.
"Crying?"
Tkach didn't answer.
"Forme?"
"Who did this?" said Tkach, but he knew; even before Zelach spoke, he knew.
' 'Two men, big, one with a yellow beard, long hair. One with red hair. Water.
Can I have water?"
"Not now," Sasha said. "You may have injuries inside."
"Dry, thirsty," Zelach said, turning his head from side to side, in search of water.
"Soon," said Tkach. "When did they come?"
"Water would be good," he answered. "Tkach, oo men-yah' boleet galavah. My head hurts.'' "Water might be very bad."
"Before I could-"
"We'll talk later, Arkady," Tkach said as he heard the first distant blare of the ambulance.
"Later," Zelach agreed. "Yes. You called an ambulance?"
"Yes."
"I heard you call an ambulance. I'm going to the hospital. Tell my mother. Don't frighten her, please. Tell her I'm fine even if I am not.'' "I will. I want to tell you what happened last night, why I wasn't here with you."
But the lie didn't come. The ambulance was close now. He could get the lie out, but it would not come.
"I was with a woman. I should have been here, but-"
"You know where I live? You know my number?" Zelach said, closing his good eye.
"I can get it," said Tkach. "Last night…"
"Do I look very bad, Sasha?'' he said, so softly that Tkach could hardly hear him, and then a man came through the door, and another man, and a woman and an MVD officer