“Well… they worked together. Victor, I think, is a distant relative of Valya… I mean, Krivoshein. I think they were good friends. What's happened?”
“Elena Ivanovna, I'll ask the questions.” Onisimov figured that she would reveal more if she were emotionally off balance, and he was in no hurry to clear up the situation. “Is it true that you and Krivoshein were close?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you stop seeing him?”
Elena Ivanovna's eyes became cold, and a blush came and went from her cheeks.
“That has nothing to do with this!”
“And how would you know what does and what doesn't have to do with this?” Matvei Apollonovich perked up.
“Because… because this can't have anything to do with anything. We broke up and that's all.”
“I see… all right. We'll come back to that later. Tell me, where did Kravets live?”
“In a dormitory for young specialists in Academic Town, like all the probation workers.”
“Why didn't he live with Krivoshein?”
“I don't know. Apparently they both preferred it that way.”
“Despite the fact that they were friends and relatives? I see. And how did Kravets behave with you? Did he court you?” Matvei Apollonovich was milking his version for all it was worth.
“He did….” Elena Ivanovna bit her lip. But she couldn't control her tongue. “I think you'd do the same if I let you.”
“Aha, so you let him, eh? Tell me, was Krivoshein jealous of Kravets and you?”
“Perhaps, he was… but I don't understand what all this is about.” The woman looked at the investigator with great hostility. “All these innuendos! What happened, will you please tell me?”
“Calm yourself, citizen!”
Maybe I should tell her? Should I? Is she involved? She is beautiful, and a man could really fall for her, but… it's the wrong milieu for serious sexual crimes. The statistics are against it. A scientist wouldn't lose his head over a woman… but Kravets….
The telephone interrupted Onisimov's ruminations. He picked it up.
“Onisimov here.”
“We've found him, comrade captain!” the operative announced. “Do you want to participate?”
“Of course!”
“We'll wait for you at the airport, car license plate 57–28 DNA.”
“I see!” The investigator stood and looked merrily at Kolomiets. “We'll finish this little talk another time, Elena Ivanovna. Let me sign your pass. Don't be upset, and don't be mad: it's nerves — we're all like that, you and I, included….” “But what happened?”
“We're investigating. I can say no more for now. Good day!” Onisimov walked her out, then got his gun from the desk drawer, locked the room, and hurried, almost at a run, to the parking lot.
The snow white IL jet taxied up to the terminal exactly at 13:00. A light blue, elevated companion stairway pulled up at its door. A heavyset, short man in tight green pants and bright shirt was the first to run down the stairs, and, swinging his colorful traveling bag, he marched down the concrete hexagonal paving stones to the barrier. He kept looking around, seeking someone in the crowd of people greeting the arrivals, found him, and rushed toward him.
“You look great! What's all the rush, the 'fly out immediately' during vacation? Let me get a look at you! You're better looking than ever, even taller! That's what a year away does for your looks! Your face seems noble and I can even look upon your jaw without irritation.”
“And you, I see, have gotten fat off the graduate land.” The greeter looked him over with a critical eye. “Have you furnished yourself with socialist accumulations?”
“Val, it's not simple accumulation — it's an informational material reserve. I'll tell you all about it later, even give you a demonstration. It's a complete turnaround, Val… but let's talk about you first. Why did you summon me before it was time? No, wait!” The recent passenger pulled out a notebook from his pocket and withdrew several ten — ruble notes, “Here's the money I owe you.” “What money?”
“Please, spare me the act!” The passenger raised his hand to forestall further protests. “We know; we're touched: the absent — minded scientist who can't be bothered with prosaic minutiae. Drop it. I know you better than that: you remember debts of fifty kopecks. Take the money and cut the bull!”
“No,” he replied, smiling gently, “you don't owe me a thing. You see — “He stumbled under the direct piercing stare of his companion.
“Goddamn it! So you've started dyeing your hair? And the scar?
Where's the scar over the eyebrow?” His voice dropped to a whisper.
“Who are you?”
Meanwhile the crowd of arrivals and welcoming friends and relatives had thinned out. Five men who had met no one and were in no hurry discarded their cigarettes and quickly surrounded the two men.
“Keep quiet!” Onisimov hissed, squeezing in between the lab assistant and the passenger who was staring at him in disbelief; the second man had money in his fist. “We'll shoot if you resist.”
“Oh, boy!” the astonished passenger said, stepping back a pace; he was immediately grabbed by the elbows.
“Not 'oh, boy! but the police, citizen… Krivoshein, I believe?” The investigator smiled with maximum pleasantness. “We'll have to hold you for a while, too. Take them to the cars.”
Victor Kravets, seating himself in the back seat of a Volga between Onisimov and Gayevoy, had a tired and calm smile on his face.
“By the way, if I were you, I'd drop the smile,” Matvei Apollonovich noted. “You serve time for jokes like this.”
“Ah, what's time!” Kravets waved his arm. “The important thing is that I think I've made the right move.”
“I never thought that my return would begin with an episode from a detective story!” said the passenger as he entered the investigator's office. “Well, once in a lifetime this could prove to be interesting.” Without waiting for an invitation, he sat down and looked around. Onisimov sat down opposite him in silence. Two feelings were battling within him: self — congratulation (What an operation! What success!! Caught two at once — red — handed, it looks like!) and worry. Up until now the case had been built on the fact that Krivoshein died or was killed in the laboratory. But…. Matvei Apollonovich took a hard look at the man sitting before him: a slanted brow with a widow's peak, ridges over the eyebrows, a purplish scar over the right brow, a freckled face with full cheeks, a fat nose with a high bridge, and short red hair. There was no doubt about it; Krivoshein was sitting in his chair! “Boy, was I off. So who was bumped off in there? I'm getting to the bottom of this right now!”
“Is that a hint?” Krivoshein pointed at the barred windows. “To make even the innocent confess?”
“No, this used to be a wholesale warehouse,” the investigator explained, and remembering that the lab assistant had begun yesterday's interview the same way, chuckled at the coincidence. “It's a leftover… Well, how do you feel, Valentin Vasilyevich?”
“Thank you — I'm sorry, I don't know your name and patronymic — I can't complain. How about you?”
“Ditto. Though my condition has no direct bearing on the case.”
They smiled at each other broadly and tensely, like boxers before beating each other's faces in.
“And mine, it would appear, does? I just thought it was standard procedure to enquire about the health of passengers that you grab for no good reason at the airport. So what does my condition have to do with your case?”
“We don't grab, citizen Krivoshein. We detain,” Onisimov corrected him. “And your health interests me in a completely legal way, since I have a doctor's certificate and several witnesses who say that you are a corpse.”
“A corpse?” Krivoshein examined himself with exaggerated playfulness. “Well, if that's your information, you might as well haul me off to the autopsy room.” Suddenly he understood and his smile disappeared. He looked at Onisimov angrily and anxiously. “Listen, comrade investigator, if this is a joke, it's a lousy one! What corpse?”