‘Yes, very much so.’
‘She had a lot of lovers?’
‘I’ve known her since she was a student, ten years nearly. I might not be acquainted with all of them, but there were certainly a few. I could name several in Moscow off the top of my head, including a very important person indeed.’
Sorokina pursed her lips, as though resisting telling him, although at the same time almost begging him to ask. Well, she’d be waiting a lifetime for him to ask that question.
‘How about here?’
‘Well, there was something, and I want to discuss it with you frankly. I have a small suspicion – I’m not unobservant, you know. In fact in Red Militia I played a policewoman myself. You may remember the role.’
‘Yes, I do,’ Korolev said – if he remembered rightly she had died a hero’s death, not an unusual ending to her films. ‘You were excellent, as always.’
‘Thank you, you’re very generous in your praise.’ Sorokina smiled her trademark smile at him, open and warm but at the same time humble. Korolev felt a little like a bear trapped in honey.
‘And your suspicion?’ he asked, his voice gruff.
‘Andreychuk.’ Her voice became a whisper and she looked at him with a grave expression. ‘The caretaker. I think he murdered her. I saw them arguing.’
‘What were they arguing about?’
‘I don’t know – I didn’t hear much of it. I was walking down to the village. I know it’s not safe, but you can go stir crazy in this place. It was a clear night and I kept close to the house in case there was any trouble.’
‘Trouble?’ Korolev asked, mystified.
‘With the villagers, of course. The kulak class are everywhere around here, and who knows what other counter-revolutionary elements as well. Priests, Makhno’s bandits, Petlyurists, White Guards, even Trotskyists they say. The resistance to the kolkhoz collectivization movement is still strong – it’s why this film is so important. Some of them are determined to wreck our project, but we’ll struggle with all our might to finish it, and show no mercy to the saboteurs as they’ll show no mercy to us. The Bloody Meadow will be a dagger into the hearts of the Revolution’s enemies – and we mustn’t underestimate the lengths to which these brigands will go to stop us.’
It was quite a speech, and the feeling behind it seemed genuine. Sorokina paused for effect, placed a hand on the table and leant forward for emphasis.
‘I believe poor Masha may have been a victim of just such an enemy in Andreychuk.’
‘So,’ Korolev said, deliberately taking things one step at a time, ‘you think Andreychuk may have killed her because she was working on the film – because he’s against the drive towards collectivization. Have there been other incidents of sabotage?’
Sorokina looked thoughtful for a moment.
‘Not as yet, but you can see it in the way the villagers look at us. They’ve been waiting for their opportunity, the rats.’
‘I’ve met Andreychuk, he didn’t strike me that way. What were they arguing about?’
‘I couldn’t tell exactly. But you’re right, I’d always thought Andreychuk a good fellow, and he seemed to like Masha as well. Well, you know how it is, the way older men treat pretty young girls. They go out of their way for them, bring them little presents – I saw him give her some apples once. And another time I caught him looking at her when he thought no one was watching, and the way he looked at her was more than comradely. Much, much more. And so I was surprised when I found them arguing. And at what I heard him say as well.’
‘And what was that?’
‘He said, “Go back to Moscow, you don’t belong here. It’s dangerous here for you. Get away before it’s too late.”’ She paused and looked at Korolev with a raised eyebrow. ‘Well, what do you make of that, Comrade Detective?’
‘Interesting, certainly. We’ll have to see what his explanation is. Did you hear anything else?’
‘Not a word. Masha saw me and came over and took my arm. She looked frightened. As though she’d seen the Devil. And we walked back here as quickly as we could. I asked her what the matter was but she wouldn’t answer, just shook her head and looked at her feet. She was a confident, happy soul – that’s what men liked about her. But that night she was afraid, I think.’
There was an element of the dramatic in Sorokina’s recollection, and part of Korolev – the tired to the point of hallucination part – felt as though he’d been transported from reality into a cinematic performance, but the rest of him – the part that was still functioning as a detective – decided the actress was telling the truth, although perhaps with a large measure of embellishment.
‘But you said he had seemed affectionate to her previously.’
‘Yes, not affectionate, though. More than that.’ She paused and looked to the ceiling as if for inspiration from God, or perhaps, in her case, Comrade Stalin. ‘Passionate. That’s it. The look he gave her was full of passion. Smouldering. Raw. But it didn’t concern me at the time because there was sadness there as well. I can’t explain it. It was just an impression.’
Korolev looked down at his notes, ‘smouldering’, ‘raw’, ‘sad’. This wasn’t like many other interviews he’d undertaken. But what was this about Lomatkin?
‘The journalist. Lomatkin. You said he and Lenskaya were lovers?’
The question seemed to come as a surprise to Sorokina. ‘Lomatkin? But he was in Moscow. I’ve told you about Andreychuk – shouldn’t you arrest him before he gets away?’
‘I’ll certainly be talking to Citizen Andreychuk again and I’ll confront him with your information, you can be sure of it. But please tell me about Lomatkin.’
Sorokina seemed to focus on him as an individual rather than as an audience for the first time, and interestingly it was with the wary gaze of someone who thought they were being made fun of. Her lower lip began to harden into the stubborn pout of a spoilt child.
‘Babel said you were an unusual Militiaman.’
‘I’m not unusual at all, Comrade. I just shake the tree till all the apples come down, then work out which one is the rotten one. I don’t presume it’s the first that falls into my lap.’
‘I like Andreychuk, I hope you understand that. But I saw what I saw. And I heard what I heard.’
‘I believe you, and I’m sure your memory of the incident is correct, but there could be an innocent explanation.’
Sorokina seemed satisfied with that and gave a brief nod.
‘Well, I’ve done my duty in any event. That’s what matters most.’
‘And Lomatkin?’
‘Lomatkin and she, well – I don’t know. I think she loved him, perhaps – there was something there. You’ll have to ask him. But I’ve seen them at parties, her big eyes drinking him in like a woman dying of thirst gulping down a glass of cold water. She didn’t look at the others that way. He was different. And I’m sure he felt the same way as well.’
Korolev nodded, and underlined Lomatkin’s name in his notebook. ‘And what about these others?’
Sorokina shrugged, ‘They were men, she was a woman. They were helpful to her – and she gave them what they wanted.’
‘Belakovsky?’
‘You won’t mention me as the source for any of this,’ Sorokina said, as though she’d suddenly remembered who she was gossiping about. Korolev couldn’t imagine Belakovsky or Savchenko would be grateful – and even such a famous actress as Sorokina had to think about her career.
‘You have my word.’
‘Well, one thing led to another and she went with him on some delegation to America. He was smitten with her. She went as a translator and came back as one of his key assistants. She was bright, better at her job than most others at the Film Board – but, well, conclusions were drawn.’
‘Is that where she met Savchenko? In America.’
‘Oh no, Savchenko was a much earlier conquest. She was Nikolai Sergeevich’s student at the State Film School. I told you, she was a clever girl. I don’t mind saying that I sympathized.’
Korolev lifted his gaze to meet Sorokina’s and, for a moment he caught a glimpse of her own past in those green, green eyes of hers – the compromises, the practical decisions, the unwelcome attentions that had had to be welcomed. There was a tilt to her chin that defied his judgement, not that he was making any. Sometimes you had to do things to survive and he’d done worse things than she ever had, he was sure of it. You didn’t fight in wars like the ones he’d been through and come out whiter than white, or redder than red for that matter. He looked at his watch – it was time to finish.