15

The next morning, Operatives Marat Valeyev and Ivan Mayorov were walking down a hallway of the Investigative Committee building. Even their gaits suggested their different personalities. Fit and charming, Valeyev held himself upright and took precise, measured steps. His eyes, however, automatically darted to every pair of passing legs belonging to his female coworkers. On the other hand, tall and dirty-blond Vanya Mayorov wavered constantly between a long stride and a short one. He kept trying to get his partner’s attention.

“Marat, Galya insists that we give you some money for your apartment.” When Ivan spoke, his powerful arms seemed to aid him in finding the necessary words.

“It’s your apartment, Vanya. You’re living in it. Anyway, you’re paying to feed that insatiable feline specimen – that’s enough for me.”

Twenty-eight-year-old Ivan Mayorov had found true love for the first time in his life. His beloved was Police Lieutenant Galya Nesterova, who worked the passport desk in the same building. Vanya was prepared to propose formally, but Galya kept trying to put it off: “Let’s at least wait until you make captain, Mayorov. Then we can commit to a mortgage.” Initially, Vanya and Galya had been renting an apartment on the outskirts of Moscow, but then they quarreled with the landlord after he raised the rent unexpectedly. Valeyev came to their aid, offering them his tiny studio. By that time, Marat had already basically moved in with Elena Petelina and would only stop by his apartment to feed Genghis, his tomcat.

“It’s just too awkward, Marat. We’ve been living there a month already and haven’t given you a dime.”

“Forget it! I was on vacation for two weeks. Someone would’ve had to take care of that cat anyway. How’s old Genghis doing without me?”

“Can’t say he’s had the time to give you much thought. I now understand what the expression ‘as anxious as a tomcat in March’ means. Genghis slips out of the window every night to go prowling. He can’t get enough. You know how fiercely he looks at Galya when she does her morning exercises?”

“Be vigilant, Vanya. Don’t leave your woman in such a situation. Genghis is a real dog!”

“Get out of here!” Vanya noticed the glint of mockery in Valeyev’s eyes and pushed his partner in the shoulder. “Watching Genghis, I start feeling a little like an animal myself.”

“Just a little? Certain women are convinced that men are pure animals and nothing more,” Marat recalled a recent barb of Elena’s. “The only difference is that we’ve learned how to dress ourselves.”

As he related this to his partner, Marat opened the door with a stencil that announced “Senior Detective E.P. Petelina.”

The mistress of the office overheard the last phrase, nodded to the operatives and, without interrupting her work, remarked, “A famous scientist claims that a lion’s behavior and a man’s behavior have much more in common than that of a man and a woman.”

“At least he chose to illustrate his comparison with the noble lion,” muttered Valeyev.

“He was just flattering you guys.”

“We should also establish whether this supposed scientist is a man himself or one of those…” Vanya pursed his lips effeminately in imitation of a homosexual applying makeup.

“Here, I’ll give you his address,” Petelina reached for her address book with a very serious face.

“Why?”

“So you can check out your theory. You can meet him mano-a-mano and conduct an investigative experiment, as it were. Make sure to videotape it, so we can all be sure.”

“I’m certain you’ll take a liking to him,” Valeyev piled on.

Vanya widened his eyes, noticed his partner’s barely-restrained laughter and frowned.

“Detective Petelina…”

“Alright, you have learned to dress yourself!” Petelina flashed a smile and looked up strictly. “I hope that in this case, you’ve come to pay me a visit in your capacity as operatives. What’s your report on that assignment I gave you? Where’s the pimp Boris Manuylov?”

“He didn’t come home last night,” replied Valeyev. “The insert in the door was there this morning.”

“You think he’s panicked?” the detective mused, twirling the pencil in her hand. “I swung by the morgue that they took Ekaterina Grebenkina to. Interviewed the orderlies. Two men came by to see the deceased; neither of them resembled Manuylov. The first was aged about thirty with a prickly look and short hair. He said he was her friend. The second one was about sixty with a cane – a real, old-fashioned aesthete.”

“The murderer is unlikely to show up at the morgue.”

“Unless he needs to get some vital clue. Both of these guys were interested in the girl’s belongings, particularly her purse. It’s a good thing we have it. I checked its contents but didn’t see anything very interesting.”

“Perhaps the murderer’s fingerprints?”

“I already submitted it for tests.”

“Detective Petelina, are you certain that this is a murder case?” Mayorov asked doubtfully. “After all, there was a similar suicide earlier. The second girl could have just jumped out of desperation.”

“She didn’t jump. She fell backwards.”

The desk phone rang. Petelina picked it up, recognized the caller and put him on speakerphone.

“It’s Dr. Lopakhin, the medical examiner,” she explained to the operatives.

“I completed the autopsy. You’ll have the full report within the hour. For now, I can tell you the following,” reported Lopakhin. “The blood alcohol level correlates to one hundred grams of strong liquor, no more. There are multiple internal fractures that are indicative of the fall she suffered. Cause of death was a severe blood hemorrhage in the brain and was basically instantaneous. I also examined her fingernails as you requested. I found nothing that suggested that the girl struggled for her life. And another thing: I found particles of what looks like cement among the hairs on her nape. I collected them so that your Tadpole, as you call him, can run tests on them.”

“Thank you, Dr. Lopakhin.”

“Don’t thank me for my infernal work. The older I get, the younger become those who end up on my table. There’s no justice in it,” Lopakhin sighed. “Am I showing my years?”

“You’re just reminding us that if a victim pays a visit to your table, then we must make sure that the guilty party pays a visit to the defendant’s bench.”

“Godspeed your search, Lenochka. Good luck.”

The medical examiner said his farewells.

“According to Ustinov’s findings,” Petelina explained to the operatives, “the bottle was first opened on the roof. It’s missing about three hundred grams of brandy, and the victim, as we just heard, only drank one hundred.”

“So someone else was definitely up there with her.”

“Someone prudent enough to keep their fingerprints off the bottle. Find me that pimp, Valeyev.”

“To contend and to seek – to uncover and bring to justice,” Valeyev recited the operative’s motto and slapped his partner on the shoulder. “Alright, Vanya. Enough daydreaming about that scientist. Let’s go find us that Manuylov.”

At this moment, Colonel of Justice Yuri Grigorevich Kharchenko, Petelina’s boss, briskly entered the office.

“Lena, you never stopped by last night after your vacation. Now your poor old boss is forced to come down here to welcome you back.”

Petelina flushed.

“Colonel Kharchenko, I brought you a souvenir actually.” She waved to the operatives. “You guys can go.”

“No, no, let them stay – in case you’ve decided to bribe me and I need witnesses.”

From her desk’s top drawer, Petelina produced an elephant miniature carved from teak.

“This is the symbol of Thailand. They have more elephants there than anywhere else in the world.”

“Thank you. I have something for you too. I’m not sure it counts as a present but… Didn’t I hear you mention Manuylov just now?”

“Yes, we are looking for a Boris Manuylov alias Birdless. He’s the pimp and known associate of one Ekaterina Grebenkin, who died yesterday under mysterious circumstances.”

“Well, your Manuylov has turned up. He won’t be able to answer your questions, though. He’s missing more than just a finger these days: Part of his head is gone too. He was shot point blank while sitting in his car last night.”

“Last night?”

“Yes. I’m putting you on that case as well, Lena. The evidence gathered during the preliminary examination will be delivered promptly. I reckon that the pimp’s murder and the death of his, erm, employee are somehow related. It’s only logical you work both cases. What do you say? Is this a present or just the opposite?”

“Well, for Captain Valeyev and Senior Lieutenant Mayorov here this certainly is a present. There’s no need to go chasing after a dead man, after all.”

16

On the screen of his video intercom, General Konstantin Viktorovich Bayukin beheld a tall man of forty years in an unbuttoned car coat and long scarf. The man’s immaculate coif, his self-assured and somewhat insolent look, his excellent clothes – the high collar on his white dress shirt had been drawn tight around his throat by the necktie – and his leather briefcase, all contributed to the impression that this was a very successful man indeed. The general recognized lawyer Denis Gomelsky and opened his door.

“Mr. Gomelsky, at last!”

An exquisite fragrance of perfume sneaked into the apartment behind the lawyer.

“Good day to you, General Bayukin.” Gomelsky passed confidently into the living room, deposited his hefty, expensive briefcase onto the sofa and plunked down beside it. “I must admit that your request came as somewhat of a surprise.”

“Circumstances,” Bayukin spread his arms haplessly.

“I did the due diligence and found out who the detective in charge of the Ekaterina Grebenkina case is. The detective’s name is Elena Pavlovna Petelina. An intelligent, meticulous and beautiful woman they call ‘the Noose,’” said Gomelsky, referencing the nickname, a pun on petlya (Russian for “noose”) with which the felons had christened Petelina. “That is, if she pulls the case around your throat – you won’t squirm your way out.”

“You are familiar with her?”

“I’ve had the pleasure of meeting her, personally.” The lawyer smiled enigmatically, as though recalling some racy affair, but instantly regained his former composure. “I think however that, now, it is my turn to ask the questions. Why are you interested in the Grebenkina case? The girl either jumped off the roof or someone helped her. If I am not mistaken, the girl’s only gainful occupation was prostitution.”

“You are not mistaken. Moreover, I personally made use of her services. The day before her death, Katya was with me and…”

“Finish your thought, General Bayukin. One should keep no secrets from one’s doctor and from one’s lawyer. Sooner or later, your most secret sins, your most noisome ailments, will surface and if by then it is too late, then neither your lawyer nor your doctor will be able to help you.”

“Well, the issue is a bit delicate…”

“What are you afraid of? Did the prostitute have some kind of compromising information about you? Did you incite her to commit suicide? Were you perhaps on the roof with her when she did it?”

“I only spent time with her here. I was an ordinary client, as far as she went.”

“What is it that worries you then? Your colleagues’ whispering or the retribution of some former spouse?”

“I don’t even know how to begin to explain the matter.”

“I can see that you are agitated. Please start with the main problem that is tormenting you.”

“Well, alright,” the general said decisively and called to the closed door to the neighboring room. “Alex!”

Bayukin Jr. emerged into the living room.

“This is my son Aleksey. He is a captain in the armed forces,” the general introduced his son. “He came to Moscow yesterday and I asked him to find Katya’s pimp in order to resolve a certain little problem. He found him and…”

“Battered him?”

“An accidental gunshot, you understand… Basically, the pimp is dead and Aleksey is wounded in his shoulder.”

A wrinkle of displeasure cut through the lawyer’s face. Denis Gomelsky stood up and circled Alex Bayukin as if trying to commit his 3D image to memory.

“Recount to me in detail: where, when and how did this happen?” he asked.

Somewhat unwillingly, Alex related the incident outside of the Wild Kitties strip club.

“And you’re sure the pimp’s dead?” the lawyer inquired. When it came to common criminals – as opposed to his more vaunted, white-collar clients – Denis Gomelsky felt comfortable to speak informally and directly.

“The bullet went clean through his head. Instant death.”

“The gun. How’d you get it?”

“It’s from my unit. It’s a Yarygin Pistol. It was issued and registered to me, but I claimed that it had been lost in combat, so I could have a piece of my own.”

“A Yarygin Pistol? That’s a comparatively new model.”

“Yes, they’ve been issuing them for a few years now. Almost all of our officers has one.”

“Officers! Not criminals! Did the casing remain in the car?”

“I, uh, I didn’t really think at the time – ”

“They’ll find the casing. It’ll lead them to the gun and from the gun to you! It could have been possible to use the combat loss as an excuse, but you’ve already made a whole heap of mistakes! You publicized your pursuit of the pimp, you displayed the gun in the club, and you talked to the taxi driver. In other words, you left a trail of witnesses in your wake, who will all happily identify you!”

“I only wanted to scare him a little! Someone shot me and my finger twitched!”

“Who was the third person in the pimp’s car? Do you know him?”

“Some guy aged about fifty. I heard him refer to the whore as his daughter. He too had a gun on him. He shot me and wounded me in the shoulder.”

“Alright. Now let’s talk about your wound. Where were you treated?”

“You don’t have to worry about that. My mother came to pick me up. She is a doctor and she won’t say anything. The bullet merely grazed me. I feel better already.”

“Better,” the lawyer shook his head acerbically. “You’re in it now!”

“Mr. Gomelsky, will you be able to defend Aleksey?” asked the worried general. “He isn’t guilty. The whore’s father fired first.”

“If you are so certain about his innocence, you are welcome to file a confession.”

“Mr. Gomelsky, I am coming to you as a professional. This is all at least partially my fault. Please help us. I am ready to pay whatever you like.”

“Okay. I know a thing or two from taking on criminal cases in St. Petersburg. The lesson here is that, right after the accidental shooting, you should have called me! It’s far cheaper to solve the problem by dealing with the operatives when they’re first collecting evidence in the field. No evidence – no case – no problem! But now, much will depend on which detective is assigned to the case. Some of them are amenable, while others… But okay! First thing to do is find out who it is.”

The lawyer got his phone, stepped out into the kitchen and shut the door tightly behind him. He returned ten minutes later.

“I have good news and bad news. The murder investigation has been assigned to Elena Petelina – the same Noose I was telling you about earlier. That’s the bad news. Be assured that she will trace the gun and identify your son.”

“What’s the good news?” the general asked, refusing to give up hope.

“The good news is that I am acquainted with Lena Petelina. And our relationship was not limited to work.”

“Can she be bribed?”

“Don’t judge others’ standards by your own,” Gomelsky replied with sudden abruptness. “Money is not the only thing in life. Now, please clarify your intentions for me. What the hell did you need to find a prostitute and her pimp for? And don’t go spinning any tall tales.”

Bayukin the father and Bayukin the son exchanged glances. Alex spoke first:

“Dad wanted me to find an envelope.”

“The cheap bitch stole it.” Bayukin Sr. stepped over to the bookcase. “It was right here, tucked between the books like some trifle, when in fact…”

“I didn’t find it among the whore’s things. The pimp had it.” Alex nodded in the direction of the coffee table, in the center of which lay a blank, white envelope.

“You brought it home from the murder scene?” Gomelsky inquired and shook his head emphasizing the stupidity of such a deed.

He put on some gloves, picked up the envelope gingerly by its corner and shook out its contents. A maroon passport issued by the Republic of Bulgaria fell out onto the table. The lawyer opened it carefully. A man with an untamed mane of hair, reminiscent of the kind that rock musicians prefer, looked out from the photograph. Gomelsky read the Bulgarian name and surname. The lawyer’s grim eyes fixed themselves on Bayukin Jr.

“Whose passport is this?”

“The pimp’s. That’s his mug. The bastard bought it so he could go to Europe without a visa. Or maybe he decided to scram under some stranger’s name.”

“Congratulations! You’ve helped uncover an imposter!” Gomelsky praised Alex without bothering to hide his sarcasm. Am I to understand that you committed homicide over this envelope? And then brought the evidence home with you?”

“I’ll burn the passport.” General Bayukin tore the document in half. “It’s a blunder. This isn’t the envelope that Katya stole from me.”