“You don’t look happy, Korolev-but I hope you’ve had more success than I have. No Priudski, I’m afraid but I do have the files of three residents of Leadership House that the late Professor Azarov felt obliged to bring to the attention of State Security. They make interesting reading.”
Dubinkin placed a pile of thick files on the desk. It looked like there were many more than three.
“Menchikov and Bramson we knew about. Let me guess, the third one is Weiss?” Korolev said, keeping his eyes steady on the Chekist.
“I’m impressed.”
“Slivka did some poking around over at the university.”
“I’ve another five from there and six more from the Azarov Institute.”
Dubinkin took the top five files from the stack and spread them out in a fan shape. These were the university “traitors,” he presumed. Korolev contemplated them for a moment before looking up at Dubinkin. The Chekist seemed to be waiting for him to speak, perhaps to congratulate him. Or was he anticipating something else?
“I’ve good news for you, Comrade Lieutenant,” Korolev said, picking the doorman’s statement up from the table in front of him and passing it over to the Chekist. “Priudski’s shown up after all and, it seems, solved the murders for us at the same time.”
Dubinkin took the sheet of paper, reading through it quickly-his face a moving picture that went from surprise to what looked a lot like irritation. Korolev was persuaded-almost.
“Priudski?” the Chekist said, when he’d finished. “Where did he appear from? I’ve had men going cell to cell in every damned prison in Moscow looking for him.”
Korolev filled him in on how the guilty man had been delivered in a nicely wrapped package with a pretty ribbon round it-a ribbon that had been tied by Colonel Zaitsev himself. When he’d finished, Dubinkin let out a long, low whistle. He seemed at a loss for words but after a moment he took Priudski’s statement and walked to the window, reading it over once again. Korolev watched him as he did so, unsure if he’d correctly predicted the Chekist’s reaction.
“This is extraordinary reading, Korolev,” Dubinkin said, returning to take a seat in front of the desk and pushing the statement toward him. “I can see a few inconsistencies, however.”
“Which in particular?”
“Wasn’t Shtange meant to have been at the institute at the time of Azarov’s death?”
“We don’t have the records for that-they’ve disappeared. We only have Shtange’s word for it-who is dead-and that of the two guards-who have disappeared.”
“And the murder weapon? This only mentions a knife-it says nothing about a scalpel.”
“Yes,” Korolev said, “but remember that the scalpel wound was inconsistent with the others and inflicted after death. It could have been made by someone else. Or it could have been made by him-we think he may be in shock of some form. I’ve questioned him-and well-I don’t think we can rule his story out straightaway. It’s a strange tale and I wouldn’t have picked him as a killer, but then not many people set out to be murderers-it’s more often a result of circumstances than character.”
“Very philosophical.”
“Perhaps. But we need to look into his story, one way or the other.”
“And you’re not concerned that Colonel Zaitsev might have his own agenda?”
Korolev shrugged. “I sat in this room not half an hour ago with a man who told me he killed Dr. Shtange and conspired to kill Professor Azarov. It’s my job to be skeptical, but it’s also my job to investigate likely perpetrators. This fellow is a likely perpetrator.”
“And what will you tell Colonel Rodinov?”
“Exactly what I’ve told you. I didn’t much like being followed around Moscow by Zaitsev’s men, but maybe he had good reasons. It’s not my job to second-guess State Security.”
Dubinkin considered this for a moment, seemingly amused at the idea that someone like Korolev should even contemplate such a possibility.
“No, that’s true.”
“I’ve a question though. People have been telling us that Priudski might have been in close touch with State Security all along. Did you ever look for a file on him?”
Dubinkin shook his head before looking at Korolev suspiciously.
“You’re sending me back to look for more files?”
“We need to find out everything we can about the fellow.” Korolev picked up the photograph of Priudski and slid it across the table. “That’s why Slivka and the uniforms are out showing his pretty face around the locality. And it’s why I’m making my way over to Leadership House to see what else of his story I can confirm.”
“I can’t wait to see the joy on the filing clerks’ faces,” Dubinkin said dryly as he rose.
“They’ll forgive you, I’m sure,” Korolev said. “But if things happened the way Priudski tells it, then it’s a neat ending for us. That’s what we want, isn’t it?”
He wondered if he’d overplayed his hand for a moment, but Dubinkin, after a brief pause, nodded.
“Yes, Korolev,” Dubinkin said. “That’s exactly what we want.”
* * *
After Dubinkin left, Korolev walked over to the window and considered the Chekist. There were certainly other ways that Zaitsev could have known about Korolev’s squeamishness-it was well known in Petrovka, he was sure, and most of the pathologists he dealt with knew he disliked the way they poked and sawed at dead citizens. But the coincidence of Zaitsev referring to his squeamishness the very day after Dubinkin had observed it made him wonder. Could Dubinkin, Rodinov’s man, also be reporting to Zaitsev?
He saw the Chekist appear from the shadow of the building and wait for a tram to pass by-and then out of the shadows cast by the overhanging trees he noticed someone approaching Dubinkin, shaking hands with him. At first he couldn’t be sure who it was, but he thought there was something familiar about the man. They discussed something briefly before going their separate ways.
Korolev let Dubinkin go about his business but kept his eye on the other one, hoping to get a clear view of him. The figure disappeared back into the trees and Korolev thought that was it-that he’d missed him. Then, quite by chance, he caught the briefest of half-glimpses of the fellow through the branches.
He couldn’t be absolutely certain, but it seemed to him it was none other than Svalov, the chubbier of Zaitsev’s watchers.
“Well, well, well,” Korolev found himself muttering.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Thirty minutes later a pensive Korolev parked outside Leadership House and found Priudski’s replacement, Timinov, standing at the entrance wearing a short-sleeved shirt, open at the neck, his face shaded by a flat cap. Korolev envied him, as he sweated, once again, under a gun-covering outer layer.
The doorman tipped the brim of his cap.
“Enjoying the weather, Comrade?” Korolev asked him, offering him a cigarette.
“We’ll miss it in a few months, don’t think we won’t.” The doorman gave him a cheery smile.
“Listen,” Korolev said, lighting their cigarettes. “That fellow Priudski-exactly when was he arrested again?”
“On Tuesday afternoon. At close to six.”
“I thought so. The thing is-I need to know if he was here all that day, before he was arrested.”
“I would think so-I can check.”
“Can you check in a quiet fashion?”
“The schedules are there for us all to see-nothing easier. Are you around for long?”
“An hour or so, maybe longer-I need to talk to one or two of the tenants.”
“I’ll know by then.” He looked around, lowering his voice. “And I’ve something to show you-it may be nothing, but you can be the judge.”
“No better time than now,” Korolev said, and followed him to his office, where the doorman handed him a heavy-looking metal torch.