‘It’s written in Russian as well.’
‘Well, it’s not the Russian I’m reading, Comrade Babel,’ he said, giving the writer another of his best glares. ‘And we’ll need to look through the paperwork too.’
Korolev could feel Belakovsky pressing against his shoulder – the Film Board boss, having been excluded from the ice house, seemed determined to be excluded no longer. Korolev ignored him, turning to one of the uniforms who’d come up from the village. With his rosy cheeks and straw-coloured hair, Sharapov looked as though he should be in school rather than wearing a peaked Militia cap one size to big for him. An older, more battered-looking version stood beside him; his superior, Sergeant Gradov. The two other village uniforms, a thin wiry tough from Odessa by the name of Blumkin and a lump of a lad called Olejnik, were already guarding the dining room and the room where the girl had slept.
‘So, young Sharapov,’ Korolev said, and the boy’s crystal blue eyes looked up at him eagerly. ‘No one goes in until the fingerprint team have been over the place. This is where she was last seen alive, so that makes it likely this is where she died.’
‘Understood, Comrade Captain.’
‘Sergeant Slivka?’
‘Yes?’
‘We need to set up an investigation room, then prepare questions for the initial interviews. Where people were last night, who they saw, what they saw, what they know about the deceased, that sort of thing. Gradov?’
The older uniform stood a little straighter.
‘You and your boys will be working under our direction for the next few days, asking those questions.’
‘Of course, Comrade Captain,’ the sergeant said. Korolev didn’t much like the look of him – unless he was wrong, Gradov liked to throw his weight about with ordinary citizens. He just had that look about hin – a brute, and not a bright one either.
‘Comrade Shymko,’ Korolev said, ‘it will be less disruptive if you can find us an office nearby, seeing as this is where the cast and crew are based and we’d like to minimize disruption. We understand the importance of this film politically and bringing the cast and crew backwards and forwards to the village station isn’t going to make your life any easier.’
‘We’re pretty tight for space,’ Shymko said, looking to Belakovsky for support. The film supremo considered the problem.
‘All right,’ he said after a few moments. ‘Give Captain Korolev the big room beside the production office. Is there anything else we can do to assist you?’
‘But Comrade Belakovsky-’ Shymko began.
‘Captain Korolev needs to start immediately, Shymko. And he’s right – we have to keep disruption to a minimum. This film is far enough behind as it is.’ Belakovsky turned to Korolev. ‘If we can work together to reduce disruption to the filming schedule, we’d be grateful, but we understand your investigation takes priority.’
‘Thank you, Igor Zakharovich,’ Korolev said. ‘I’ll certainly do my best to keep the disturbance to a minimum. We’ll need a telephone line, some desks. A typewriter, probably.’
‘Shymko will see to it. This has come as a shock to us all, but now we must come to terms with the news and do everything in our power to assist you. There’s one thing I’d like to ask, however. Comrade Lenskaya was working on a special project for me. There’ll be some papers in her office which I’ll need to recover as soon as possible.’
‘Sergeant Slivka?’ Korolev said. ‘As soon as the forensics men have been in, allow Comrade Belakovsky to look through the papers.’
‘Willingly.’
‘And we’ll need to interview both of you.’ Korolev nodded towards Belakovsky and Shymko. ‘Sergeant Slivka?’
‘I’ll arrange a time.’
‘And Sergeant, find the caretaker, Andreychuk. I want to talk to him first. We need to have some lines of investigation to work on by tomorrow morning – all we have at the moment is a dead girl and a lot of questions.’
As Slivka set to work, Korolev took Babel’s arm and they walked away from Lenskaya’s doorway towards the back of the house. Korolev opened the nearer of the French doors and led Babel out onto the terrace.
‘What do you make of her?’ Korolev asked, walking down the steps that led towards the garden. ‘Not many female detectives – but she seems bright.’
‘I wouldn’t play cards with her, put it that way. A good Odessa girl, bright as a button and pretty as a picture, but tough as a miner’s boot for all that.’
It was true – she was pretty, despite the serious mouth and the shapeless leather jacket. Like so many of the young women whom the Revolution had allowed to pursue traditionally male professions, she’d adopted a mannish mode of dress, but even her leather jacket and her trousers couldn’t hide the shape of her body, and it was a pleasant shape. And while at first her mouth had seemed to have a permanent downturn, when she’d smiled he’d seen high cheekbones, the flash of white teeth and a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. All in all, a much better-looking colleague than his old friend Yasimov.
‘Well,’ he said, as they took a path towards the lake, ‘as long as she gets the job done.’
‘Indeed.’ Babel looked over his shoulder to see if they could be overheard. ‘And do you mind me asking what that job is?’
‘I’d have thought that was clear. We find the fellow who killed Citizen Lenskaya and put him where he belongs.’
Babel unstrapped his wrist watch and looked at it absently, his demeanour pensive. ‘Yes, but why did they send a Moscow detective all the way down here to investigate? And who sent you, if you don’t mind me asking?’
Korolev considered how to respond for a moment, before deciding to start with a question.
‘What did they say when they involved you?’
‘The message came from Major Mushkin, who doesn’t give explanations.’
‘I see. Well, I can’t tell you much more. The first I knew about it was at two o’clock this morning and since then I’ve been running to catch up. They wanted me to have a look at the girl – if it was suicide, I was to have a holiday. If not, lead the investigation – under their direction.’
‘Their?’
‘The Chekists.’ Korolev spoke with a certain amount of reluctance, not least because the conversation was underlining a problem for his upcoming enquiries. If the murder really was to do with the dead girl’s relationship with Ezhov, and Ezhov’s name couldn’t be mentioned, it was going to be difficult.
‘Why wouldn’t they use their own people?’ Babel asked, interrupting his train of thought. ‘Or leave it to the local Militia?’
‘The NKVD is not specialist in criminal investigations, I suppose,’ Korolev said. ‘And they remembered me from the icon business.’
‘It’s just that I’ve heard a rumour that Lenskaya was friendly with a certain Commissar of State Security,’ Babel continued, ‘that’s all. And if that’s really the case – well, I’m wondering if that’s why you’re here. If it’s something to do with him.’
‘Friendly with Ezhov?’ Korolev said with what he hoped sounded like genuine surprise. ‘I know nothing about that, but even if it were true, what could her death have to do with Ezhov?’
Babel shrugged. ‘Ezhov is well protected, physically at least. But politically he’s as vulnerable as everyone else. More so. Stalin doesn’t mind what Ezhov gets up to, so long as his dalliances don’t affect his usefulness to the Party. But if this death turned out to be compromising to him, it wouldn’t be too difficult to think of people who would benefit from it. Both within the State and outside it.’
‘Compromising?’ Korolev said, not liking the suggestion. ‘In what way, compromising?’
‘I don’t know, but why were you sent down here? Ezhov has enemies within the NKVD, you know. Perhaps that’s why you were picked – because he doesn’t trust his own people. Be careful, Alexei – this could turn out to be a nasty business.’
‘It’s already that.’
‘Yes,’ Babel said with a sigh. ‘You’ll have to be careful how you proceed. So – what do you know about Lenskaya? Perhaps I can add something.’