Detective Petelina’s office remained well-lit long into the evening. She had asked the office manager to install additional lamps. This way she could create the illusion that it was still not too late and that she could go on working. The illusion worked – as long as she didn’t look at the clock or turn to the darkened window behind her.
Elena both loved and hated these kinds of evenings. The day’s surprise, with its unidentified corpse, had elevated the case from a simple domestic matter to an enigmatic conundrum. The top brass didn’t like cases like this, whereas Elena, if she had it her way, would work exclusively with such bewildering incidents. And anyway, the unexpected turn of events created room for the possibility, however slight, that Inna Maltseva was innocent after all. Petelina sympathized with women who were in a bind and would often, scrupulously, seek out any details that could soften the indictment. Inna Maltseva still remained the chief suspect but at least now she wasn’t the only one.
Elena hated having to work late because of her daughter. Naturally, Elena’s mother could feed the 12-year-old Nastya and put her to bed. She could even take her to curling practice three times a week, but it was the homework that grandma could not be of much help with. And Nastya already has more B’s than A’s. Any day now, even those would turn to C’s.
The detective had finished studying Dmitry Maltsev’s criminal file when she got a call from Misha Ustinov requesting her presence in the lab. However, when she got down there, Elena had to wait and watch as the Tadpole flitted about in an unbuttoned lab coat between various devices and his computer’s large screen.
«Just a second longer,» he kept promising as he passed.
Finally, the forensic expert raised his arms, stretched comfortably and pushed off on his office chair to the table where the kettle stood. The switch clicked, the water began to hiss, and the crackling of a chocolate wrapper filled the room.
«Would you like some coffee, Detective Petelina? I’ve got some excellent chocolate here.»
Petelina shook her head with a sad smile. The ever-hungry, forensic expert ate chocolate like bread and yet remained stick-thin. For her meanwhile, one extra calorie, especially before going to bed, was like an enemy invasion aiming to secure and expand a beachhead along the coast of her waist.
Thanks but no thanks, I’d prefer to stay a six.
«Vasilich will keep you company.» Elena nodded over at a nearby chair where a skeleton was reposed. This was a plastic anatomy model, with one important peculiarity: Its skull was a real human one. Word had it that a hardened felon named Vasilich had bequeathed it to the Investigative Committee, doing so because he had always wanted to be a detective himself. Skeleton Vasilich had made himself at home in the lab. At any time of day or night, he could be found hunched over a keyboard or just hanging out, taking it easy. Either way, there was always a note with some edifying message pinned to his frame.
At the moment Vasilich’s bony digits had wrapped themselves around a bottle of dubious whiskey, confiscated from a nightclub in the wake of a mass poisoning. The note on his back read, «Don’t drink – lest you become like Vasilich.»
Misha rattled his teaspoon, mixing a generous portion of sugar into his large mug. His lips made a reedy sound as he sipped the coffee.
«Get on with it,» the detective hurried him. «Why’d you call me?»
«I’ve confirmed your version of events, Detective Petelina. Dmitry Maltsev wasn’t killed – the dead man was his brother, Anton. We have his prints in our database.»
«Okay, at least this isn’t a dead end.»
«Why, where do we go from here?»
«I checked out his file. Anton Nikolaevich Maltsev, thirty-three years old, was released from prison just yesterday.»
«Looks like it’s safer to be sitting under guard there than be out here. What was he in for?»
«Article 109—manslaughter. A hunting accident. Dmitry Maltsev testified at his trial. The victim was a business partner of theirs, Vadim Zaitsev.»
«An ominous surname for a hunter,» said the forensic expert, alluding to the – «rabbit» in Russian – at the root of Zaitsev’s name. He broke off another square of chocolate: «I’ve established that the Maltsev brothers were drinking. Their fingerprints are on the cognac bottle and glasses.» zayets
«So they celebrated his release and then Dmitry disappeared. Maybe his wife Inna is innocent? One brother killed the other one and then got out of there.»
«Doesn’t gel.»
«His fingerprints aren’t on the cleaver?»
«Not just that. Dmitry Maltsev’s disappearance was premeditated.»
«Meaning?» Petelina asked surprised.
«Allow me to explain,» the expert uttered his favorite catchphrase and slid his chair toward the computer monitor. «I started monitoring Dmitry Maltsev’s credit card. This morning, he bought a ticket on the express train to St. Petersburg online.»
«Departing at what time?»
«Seven-thirty in the evening.»
«And the murder took place at eight!»
«Give or take five minutes.»
Petelina looked at her watch.
«If Dmitry Maltsev was on a train, then he has an alibi. His cell phone is on but he isn’t picking up. I ordered field ops to find his whereabouts.»
«Hundredth Company received your orders. Look – » Mikhail pointed at the monitor where a bright dot could be seen moving through a map. «Maltsev is arriving in St. Petersburg on time. Or, at least, his cell phone is.»
«Let’s give it another shot.» Elena dialed Dmitry Maltsev’s number again and listened to it ring.
«You should call St. Petersburg and tell them to arrest him, detective.»
«What about the train’s departure time? Clearly he’s not the murderer – best case scenario he may be a witness. Dmitry Maltsev left the apartment at least an hour before the incident.»
«That does seem incontrovertible.» Misha took another sip of coffee and a bite of chocolate. «Then everything points back to Inna Maltseva yet again. Instead of killing her husband, she killed his brother.»
«Why? What’s the motive? That’s what I want to know.»
Misha reclined in his seat and locked his fingers behind his head.
«There were no signs of struggle. The blow came unexpectedly. Perhaps, something happened between Inna and Anton Maltsev, and she decided to get revenge.»
«In the past?»
«Well, why not?
«It’s possible,» agreed Elena, involuntarily recalling her missing brother. «The past holds many secrets.»
«And the husband will help us figure out what those secrets are. We need to arrest Maltsev.»
«Okay. Prepare a description and photo of Dmitry Maltsev. I’ll try to get in touch with the St. Petersburg guys.»
The Tadpole hunched over his computer. When the APB for Dmitry Maltsev was ready on the screen, Elena read it over and said, «Misha, can you bring up Anton’s data beside it?»
Grasping her train of thought, the forensic expert deftly combined the two men’s information and blurted out what was already evident:
«The Maltsev brothers look like each other! Height, body type, hair color – it all matches. Even their age difference is just three years. And Dmitry also cuts his hair short.»
«Inna could have mixed them up. She struck from behind and thought it was her husband.»
«I wonder whether Maltsev will be happy to hear the news. On the one hand, the guy got lucky – but on the other hand… You know, Detective Petelina, this is another reason why marriage just isn’t for me.»
«Random dates involve a higher incidence of murder.»
«I meet people through the Internet. In experienced hands, the web is like a treasure trove of information. I enter a girls contact info and – »
«The less you say about that, the better,» Petelina cut him off, dialing a number on the office phone. «Don’t forget where we work.»
Elena called her colleagues in St. Petersburg. They heard her out, transferred her to some other extension, explained that the senior officers were absent and told her to submit an official request. When the detective’s patience had run thin and she was ready to lose it, Mikhail pulled on her sleeve.
«Detective Petelina, look!»
«What is it now?» Petelina glanced over, annoyed.
«Maltsev is on his way back!» Misha was pointing at a bank statement on the screen. «He just used the card at the train station to buy an overnight ticket to Moscow.»
«What’s the train’s number? And get me the number of the car he’s in.»
«Just a second. Here it is! The train and car number. Train gets in to Moscow at 7:55.»
Petelina hung up on St. Petersburg and sighed.
«I’ll say it again, our field ops are still the best.»
«As well as our forensics,» Mikhail added helpfully.
«You, Misha, are simply amazing,» Elena agreed reaching for her cell phone. «I’ll tell Valeyev the good news. Let him put a welcome party together for Maltsev tomorrow morning at Leningradsky Station. While they’re at it, they can have a chat with the car attendant on duty in the train that Maltsev ran off on.»
«Have you no faith in the power of computer technology?»
«Technical stuff is great and all, but I want to make sure that that cell phone was travelling in its owner’s company.»
Elena got home after midnight. Her daughter was already asleep. In the kitchen, the TV hummed at low volume. Her mother, Olga Ivanovna Gracheva, was waiting for her so that she could go home. Her house was next door. If Elena’s ex-husband had not arranged for her mother to live next door after Nastya was born, Elena would have long since had to quit the her job.
«Catch a lot of killers? Or was it rapists today?» buzzed Mrs. Gracheva pouring the tea. Her tone indicated that a serious conversation was coming. Elena knew the topic too: Normal people work so that they can live – not live so that they can work.
«I don’t want tea, mom. I’m just going to shower and go to bed.»
«Sergey called.» Mrs. Gracheva placed the cup in front of her daughter, like a cable bollard in front of a ship. «He’s inviting you and Nastya to go to Thailand with him during her Fall Break. He’ll pay for the tickets and book you a nice hotel.»
«What’s got into him?»
Sergey Petelin owned a transportation company that was always either on the up and up or barely making ends meet. Nonetheless, he made alimony payments promptly and was never stingy about it. Whenever he made any extra money, he’d bring Nastya expensive gifts and pay for vacations in warmer climes.
«I think he mentioned that he’ll get a room for himself in the same hotel.»
«So that he can show off another long-legged girl for my edification?»
«You have your mother’s legs, Lena! There are none better! But you get your temper from your father.» Mrs. Gracheva glanced at the television and turned it off but remained facing away from her daughter. «Have you called him recently?»
Lena figured that she meant her dad. Out of principle, neither the mother nor the daughter ever called their respective ex-husbands: Over time, they had crossed the lines of communication, as it were. Typically, the daughter would tell her father about how her search for Anatoly was going, while trying to usher him to a point where he’d tell her what had really happened that day. It didn’t work. Meanwhile, her mom had long since labeled the entire topic taboo. After her granddaughter was born, she had redirected all her unspent love toward her disappeared son at Nastya.
«I spoke to him last week.»
«And?»
«He’s living by himself, in case you care,» lied Elena to avoid tormenting her mother.
«Well, who’d give him a second look?» Mrs. Gracheva turned around and looked kindly at her daughter. Her voice became unctuous. «But Sergey, that’s a completely different matter. He’s intelligent, well-off and he loves little Nastya. Sure, he acted like a complete dog but that happens to the best of us. Now he’s suffering from loneliness and thinking of you, Lena. He’s been calling for a month straight, asking how he can fix things between you two.»
«And so you recommended we go to Thailand,» Elena grasped the larger picture.
«Why not? It’s a good excuse to start over. A romantic voyage.»
«What’s romantic about it?»
«Why, everything.» Mrs. Gracheva took a seat next to her daughter and turned serious. «I looked through your swimsuits. Really, you should be ashamed. You need new ones – a one-piece and a two-piece. Also a light dress. Though, you can probably find one in Thailand. I’m sure Sergey will be happy to get it for you as a present.»
«Can you just leave me out of this? If you think he’s so generous, why don’t you go to Thailand with him and Nastya?»
«What do I have to do with it? Sergey wants to see you, not me.»
«It would do you good to get out to the beach. I won’t even be able to get the time off. They won’t let me go.»
«I want to see them try. I’ll go to your boss and let him have it.»
«I told you: I don’t want to, mom.»
«You still can’t forgive him?» Mrs. Gracheva shook her head. «It’s been four years since the divorce.»
«And? Sergey spent the four years before that tumbling around with his sluts, following the example set by his drivers.»
«Have you considered that, maybe, it’s you who is to blame? It’s always work, work, work with you. You come home and pass out. Who could live with a woman like that?»
«That’s enough,» Elena boiled over. «Go home! I want to sleep.»
Mrs. Gracheva stood up, shuffled to the door and stopped.
«Think about it, Lena. Sergey isn’t a bad guy and he has money. Where are you going to find another one like that at thirty-five? And don’t forget about Nastya. The girl needs a father.»
«No one took her father away. And if I’ll need a husband, I’ll find him myself.»
«What?» The mother locked onto the daughter suspiciously. «Are you still thinking about your Tatar? About Marat? He wore out the bench down in our yard when you were in high school and wiped our windows clean with those black eyes of his. And now, like some curse, he’s come back around.»
Lena remembered how stubbornly Marat Valeyev worked to win her friendship. She remembered the shy kisses they exchanged at their senior prom. Her brother’s disappearance, her father’s arrest and her mother’s illness had all created distance between the classmates. Later, Lena found out that Marat had gotten married. Word had it that his parents had arranged it. There was no one to blame, but regret lodged itself like a splinter in the young girl’s soul. Years later, when she was already twenty-three, she ran into another classmate named Sergey Petelin. Sergey had become a businessman and was confident and assertive. Lena was afraid of becoming a spinster. That’s how Nastya came about – first a flustering miracle in her stomach, then a rushed wedding in a roomy dress.
«What does Marat have to do with this?» Elena flared. Her indignation, however, did not come out sounding very convincing.
«Don’t look away! You said yourself that Valeyev asked to move to your district on purpose.»
«He was transferred. That’s just work.»
«Where there’s work, there’s friendship. You know very well what men think about.»
«Come on, I haven’t seen Marat in ten years.»
«Uh-huh. You hear nothing from him for years, but as soon as he finds out that you’re divorced, he starts to put the moves on you.»
«His apartment is in our district. That’s why they transferred him there.»
«You’ve been to his apartment already?»
«Mom, we work together. Our paths cross. And even then, not often,» Lena added for some unknown reason.
«Forget about him, Lena. Forget him! You can’t even take him to a church.»
«I don’t go to church, mom!»
«I never went either. But as soon as I started getting sick, I started going. It’s never too late to come to God. It never hurts to ask Him – nothing bad can come of it. I prayed for you and Nastya – whose full name is Anastasia Sergeyevna, by the way. Now doesn’t that have a nice ring to it? But had you, in your foolishness, gotten mixed up with that Tatar, who would we have now? Nastya Maratovna? Yuck!»
«Enough!» Lena slapped the table. «I’m off to bed. Stay if you like. You know where the couch and the bed sheets are.»
She stood up and left the room without clearing the table.
«Think about the swimsuits, Lena,» her mother’s quiet grousing followed in her wake. «Check the magazines to see if you like any of the newer ones. And don’t be stingy. Swimsuits are like shoes – you should only get good ones. It wouldn’t hurt if you got some new underwear too. Maybe we can go do some shopping some time?»
The next morning, after a quick breakfast, Elena took her daughter to school. The twelve-year-old girl was just beginning to resist such custody, asserting that she would rather go with her friends, but for Elena these ten minutes were basically her only chance to find out anything about her daughter’s school life.
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