Sapphire Skies (14 page)

Ilya turned to Dmitri. ‘Has anyone opened the crypt since the body was placed there?’

Dmitri shook his head. ‘To the best of my knowledge, no. After the war the cemetery wasn’t used any more. I can take you there now. You can see for yourself.’

The old village cemetery was a short walk from the farm through a field and a wood. It was shaded by lime trees, and overgrown grass rose up around the tombstones and the Russian Orthodox crosses. Some of the graves were marked out by iron fences that had rusted and sunk over the years. Towards the back of the cemetery stood a stone crypt with a copper domed roof that had gone green with age.

Dmitri’s sons and neighbours had followed the group to the cemetery; even the dogs had accompanied them. Orlov remembered that people in the countryside did everything together. He was grateful, however, when the onlookers stayed respectfully outside the cemetery’s gate. The crypt was now a site of investigation.

Dmitri walked ahead of Orlov and Ilya, beating the grass down with a stick, no doubt hoping to scare away any snakes that might be lurking there. But Orlov wasn’t worried about being bitten. He kept his eyes on the crypt. Angel statuettes stood guard either side of the two steps that led to the iron gate. A bronze Catholic cross, tarnished and lopsided now, stood on top of the dome. It was an elaborate tomb for this part of the country. Olga had said that it had belonged to a Polish family who had gone from the region. Orlov wondered if they had left voluntarily, or if they had disappeared during the years of collectivisation, when wealthy landowners had their properties confiscated and were exiled to remote parts of the country.

The crypt’s iron gate creaked on rusty hinges when Dmitri opened it. The wooden door beyond it was swollen with rot and wouldn’t budge when he tried to open it. He asked Ilya for permission to break it.

‘There appears to be no other way,’ agreed Ilya.

Orlov thought Dmitri would return to his farm to get an axe. He gave a cry of surprise when the farmer took a step back before thrusting his shoulder into the door. The wood splintered but didn’t give way. Stepping back again Dmitri kicked it. The door fell inwards with a crash and the men found themselves staring into the dim space of the crypt.

As Dmitri moved aside, Ilya entered the crypt but Orlov hesitated, bracing himself the way he used to do before he went into battle. Once inside the crypt, the air was musty and Orlov’s eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the gloom. He squinted and saw in front of him a coffin with a collapsed lid. If there had once been a body inside, it was nothing but dust now. There was another coffin on the shelf above it, equally decrepit.

He turned and saw Ilya standing beside something. Orlov’s knees buckled. Natasha was lying there on a stone shelf, dressed in white, her blonde hair cascading around her face. Her skin was as luminous as it had been when he last saw her. She turned to him and smiled with her full red lips.

Then he blinked and realised that wasn’t what he was seeing at all. Lying on the shelf, shreds of cloth sticking to its ribs and hip bones, was a skeleton. Its arms were folded across its chest and underneath the hands was a piece of mouldy fabric and a rusted gun. Ilya took a torch from his pocket and illuminated the bald skull with its gaping mouth and yellow teeth.

‘There are two holes in the skull,’ he commented. ‘It’s in keeping with what Olga told us.’

Orlov barely heard him. It was taking all his willpower not to collapse to his knees. Everything pointed to the remains being Natasha’s, but according to Olga the pilot had been carrying her identification capsule; that left Orlov with some doubt.

Ilya shone the torch along the length of the skeleton: the spinal cord and limbs were intact. He brought the light back to the skull to examine the holes more closely. He touched the cranium and his hand brushed something that rattled. ‘What’s this?’

He shone the torch onto what at first looked like a bullet but turned out to be the identification capsule Olga had mentioned. Ilya deliberated over opening it. Unlike the stamped tags used by the German and British armies, the Soviet capsules weren’t even airtight or watertight. On some recovery digs, Ilya and Orlov had opened the capsules to find nothing but dust inside.

Ilya glanced at Orlov. Even if they were to open it in ideal laboratory conditions, there was no guarantee that the paper inside wouldn’t disintegrate.

Orlov had to know. Was this Natasha or not? ‘Open it,’ he urged.

His heart seemed to skip beats as Ilya unscrewed the capsule and used the tweezers on his Swiss army knife to carefully open the paper. It appeared to be intact. Ilya read the information and took a breath before turning to Orlov.

‘It’s hers. Natalya Stepanovna Azarova of Moscow. Daughter of Sofia Grigorievna Azarova.’

The blood rushed to Orlov’s ears. It
was
Natasha’s identification. Why had she taken it with her that day? Had she been so upset by what he’d told her that she had forgotten to give it to Svetlana? Or did she deliberately take it, intending to die on that mission?

He staggered out of the tomb, needing some air.

Dmitri, who was standing near the stairs smoking a cigarette, turned to look at him. ‘Are you all right?’

Natasha had gone missing fifty-seven years ago but the grief that was gripping Orlov’s insides was fresh. He desperately wanted to give in to the tears that were welling behind his eyes but he controlled his emotions.

‘We’ve found her,’ he said. ‘It is indeed Natalya Azarova.’ He felt faint and sat down on the steps.

Ilya came out of the crypt and put his hand on Orlov’s shoulder. ‘Well done, my friend. Your determination has paid off. You have done the honourable thing by your wingman. Now she can be buried with honours and any slur can be removed from her name.’

He turned to Dmitri and explained that they would seal off the crypt and inform the local police. Once he got back to Orël, Ilya would call the Ministry of Defence so that they could collect the skeleton. Dmitri left to tell his sons and neighbours, who were still waiting outside the cemetery gates, what had taken place. Their little village was about to become famous.

‘Is that all?’ Orlov asked Ilya, still not able to believe his long quest was finished. ‘Won’t the Ministry of Defence want to run forensic tests for absolute confirmation?’

Ilya took a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. ‘A forensic anthropologist will be able to tell the age of the skeleton and how long it has been in the crypt. Natalya Azarova was a young healthy woman with no deformities. The skeleton confirms that. But as she doesn’t have any relatives to check the skeleton’s DNA against, they will have to use the circumstantial evidence and decide what to make of it. With the location of the plane, the identification capsule, the skeleton and Olga’s testimony, we will have to hope that the Kremlin will agree to confirm that we have found Natalya Azarova’s remains. That part will depend on the mood of the powers that be.’

Orlov looked away.

‘Valentin,’ Ilya said gently, ‘we have found her. You know we have. Everything adds up.’

A pain was crushing Orlov’s chest. He nodded.
Drink a glass of bitter wine to the fallen friend
: the words of Natasha’s favourite song echoed around in his head.

Then Ilya said something that turned everything upside down again.

‘I’m puzzled about one thing. When Olga described the pilot’s body and said that the helmet and pistol were found next to it, I assumed Natalya Azarova had shot herself to avoid capture.’

The skin on Orlov’s neck prickled. ‘Yes, go on.’

‘Well, I study airplanes and not people, but from what I can see the injuries to the cranium aren’t consistent with a self-inflicted wound. The hole at the front of the skull is larger than the one at the back, and lower, suggesting she was shot at close range from behind by someone standing above her.’

Orlov jumped up. His mind was racing. ‘An execution? But that makes no sense. A pilot would have information that the Germans wanted. She would have been taken to the commander of the nearest air-force regiment for questioning, not executed on the spot.’

‘It makes no sense for the Germans to have shot her,’ agreed Ilya, looking off into the distance. ‘But the only person who can answer our questions is the person who killed her.’

L
ily added the rice to the sautéed mushrooms and onion and mixed them together. She took the dough out of the refrigerator, rolled it and cut it into small pieces, then flattened them with a rolling pin. Making her grandmother’s mushroom
pelmeni
was one of her ways to relax. She was glad it was Friday night. She’d been shocked how, after Kate’s death, things had returned to normal so quickly at the office. Scott was noticeably saddened, and had arranged to go to England to give the hotel’s condolences at Kate’s funeral, but apart from that everything carried on as normal. A bilingual temp from an agency had been hired to help the sales department with its administrative work. Mary didn’t mention Kate again, and Richard, after a couple of days of being grief-stricken, was back to joking around the office and forwarding humorous emails. Lily found it impossible to believe that someone as popular as Kate could be so easily forgotten.

When the
pelmeni
were ready for cooking, she took three plates out of the cupboard and then set knives and forks on the dining table. Poor Rodney, she thought. He’d been so devastated by Kate’s death that he’d returned to England, asking friends to close his affairs in Russia. He’d said he never wanted to return to the country that had given him many happy memories and then wiped them out with one horrific blow. Lily folded the serviettes. She knew that everyone expected Rodney, who was only twenty-six, to eventually find love again. She stopped mid-action when she remembered what Adam’s mother had said to her at the funeral. ‘You’ll get on with your life, and in a year or two you’ll meet someone else. But for our family, the grief will last forever.’

Shirley had been like a second mother to Lily, and together they’d tended to Adam through his illness. But after his death, Shirley couldn’t bear the sight of her. It had been crushing to be thrust so coldly from Adam’s family when she’d needed them most.

‘Mrrr!’ Lily looked down to see Mamochka sitting at her feet. This was the closest the cat had come to her.

Since they’d moved into Yulian’s more spacious apartment, Mamochka had stopped hiding but she still didn’t let anyone touch her. Now, she stretched out her paw towards Lily’s foot. Lily reached down so Mamochka could sniff her fingers.

‘Good girl,’ she said. She knew it was a courageous step for Mamochka and didn’t try to pat her. Trust had to be earned slowly.

Lily glanced towards the bedroom, where Babushka was resting on the bed with Laika. With the extra guests, Lily was glad that Oksana had let her use Yulian’s vacated apartment. Like her own apartment, it was decorated in Russian froufrou style, with teal damask wallpaper and white laminated furniture, but the living room was four times bigger and had a sofa long enough for Lily to stretch out on when she slept on it.

‘I have some raw beef for Laika,’ Lily said to Babushka, placing the plate under the bedroom window, next to Laika’s water bowl. ‘Oksana is going to join us for dinner. She is so busy caring for sick kittens that she doesn’t have time to cook for herself.’

Laika jumped down off the bed to eat her food. Babushka stared at the wall as if she hadn’t heard anything Lily had said. Babushka was often lost in her own world, Lily had noticed. Was it simply age or something else?

There was a knock at the door. Lily assumed it was Oksana and was surprised to find Luka the vet standing in the hallway, casually dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans.

‘Hi,’ he said, ‘I have some medications for Oksana’s cats. She was in the middle of syringe-feeding a kitten and couldn’t open the door so she asked me to leave them with you.’

Lily was so taken aback to see him that she took the package of medicine without saying anything.

Luka glanced at the table. ‘You’re about to have dinner. I won’t keep you.’

It was bad manners in Lily’s family not to offer food to someone who turned up at a mealtime. Although she hadn’t been expecting extra company, she had to ask. ‘Would you like to stay? I’ve made plenty of
pelmeni
.’

Before he could answer, Oksana appeared out of the elevator carrying a bottle of wine.

‘How’s the kitten?’ Luka asked her.

‘She ate well. She’s asleep on a heat pad now. Thank you for not charging me for Artemis and Aphrodite, by the way.’

‘My pleasure. You can put the money towards feeding the colony cats instead.’ He turned back to Lily. ‘Thank you for the invitation to join you for dinner, but I’m vegetarian and I don’t want to impose.’

‘You could never impose, darling,’ Oksana told him, ushering him inside, ‘and besides, Lily makes her
pelmeni
with mushrooms.’

Lily helped Babushka to the table and left Oksana to introduce Luka to her while she went to the kitchen to boil water for the
pelmeni
.

‘She’s a dear friend of the family,’ she heard Oksana telling Luka. ‘Lily has kindly lent her room, as I have no space in my apartment.’

Lily placed the
pelmeni
in the water. Oksana was sharp. She’d given an explanation that wouldn’t raise too many questions.

Lily returned to the dining table and put out the wine glasses. ‘But don’t you find it creepy — hunting for the dead?’ Oksana was asking Luka.

‘Not at all,’ he replied. ‘My grandfather never came back from the war and my grandmother went to her grave still hoping he would return. I wasn’t able to find out what happened to him, but after one dig I was able to give a man the control column of the plane his father had been flying when he was shot down in 1942. The man wept. “My father held this,” he said. He thanked me for giving him a connection to the man who had died before he was born.’

‘Your relic hunting is healing work then,’ said Oksana, pouring everyone a glass of wine. ‘You bring comfort to other human beings. It’s no coincidence that your parents named you after the beloved physician in the Bible.’

Lily returned to the kitchen and dished out the
pelmeni
before adding dill and sour cream.

‘Mmm, smells good!’ said Luka when she placed his serving before him.

‘Your uncle tells me that you are an excellent cook,’ Oksana said.

Luka shrugged. ‘He exaggerates, but I’ve learned a few things from my mother who is indeed a very good cook.’

Babushka picked up her fork. Lily was surprised when Luka stood to push the old woman’s chair closer to the table. In Lily’s experience, men with his exceptional good looks were often insensitive to others but Luka seemed the opposite.

Lily took her seat at the table. ‘Can you salsa dance?’ Oksana asked her. ‘Luka goes out salsa dancing with friends a few times a week. You should go too.’

Lily looked at Oksana askance. She should know that Lily wasn’t ready to go out dancing with attractive men.

‘You only need the basic steps to enjoy yourself,’ Luka said. ‘It’s up to the guy to do the rest. I can teach you.’

Lily smiled awkwardly. She’d gone to salsa lessons with Betty because Adam had thought that Latin dancing was ‘too girly’ for him. Now, the idea of lively South American music and people dressed in skimpy clothes didn’t appeal to her.

Babushka put down her fork and turned to Lily. ‘When he paid you attention, it was like the light in heaven was shining on you,’ she said. ‘But when he turned cold, you were truly in the dark.’

Lily waited for her to say something more, but her expression went blank again and she turned back to her food. Lily glanced at Oksana.

‘Babushka gets a little confused sometimes,’ Oksana whispered to Luka. In a louder voice she asked him, ‘And how are Valentino and Versace doing?’

Lily was relieved that the interruption had taken everyone’s minds off the salsa dancing.

‘Oh, they’re great!’ replied Luka. ‘They zigzag, step over, roulette and drag their toy balls like professional soccer players.’

‘Who are Valentino and Versace?’ asked Lily.

‘Luka’s cats,’ replied Oksana.

When everyone had finished eating, Lily collected the empty plates from the table to take to the kitchen. Something dawned on her and she stopped short at the sink. Of course! Now everything made sense about Luka: the snappy dress sense; the dancing; the cooking; two cats named Valentino and Versace. He was gay! Oksana wasn’t being insensitive at all. She was simply trying to get Lily to go out with people her own age.

Luka appeared in the kitchen doorway. ‘I’m sorry that I have to leave so early,’ he said. ‘I’m giving a lecture tomorrow and I need to finalise my presentation.’

‘Let me show you out,’ said Lily, appraising him with new eyes. Of course! He was too perfect in every way to be straight.

‘So would you like to come salsa dancing next week?’ he asked, stepping out into the corridor. ‘I can pick you up Thursday night at seven?’

‘Sure,’ said Lily. The invitation wasn’t threatening now that she realised Luka wasn’t interested in women. After all the generous help he was giving Oksana, she didn’t want to come across as unfriendly. She waved as he disappeared into the elevator.

‘Do you mind if I turn the television on?’ Oksana asked after Lily shut the door. ‘There’s going to be something about the court case regarding the site in Zamoskvorechye. If it gets the go-ahead we’ll have to somehow get those cats out of there sooner.’

‘Of course,’ replied Lily.

She washed and dried the dinner plates, put them back in the cupboard, then turned the kettle on to boil. The sound of the evening news program came on as she made tea and arranged dried fruit and nuts on a plate. Then the volume faded. Lily placed a cup of tea in front of Babushka and went to help Oksana with the controls.

‘The sound goes in and out sometimes,’ she said. ‘There must be a loose wire. It’ll come back in a moment.’

The sound returned a second later and an image Lily recognised appeared on the screen. It was the black-and-white photograph of the female fighter pilot she’d read about in the
Moscow Times
, the one whose plane had been recovered.

‘The Kremlin announced today that the body found in a village in Orël Oblast is in fact that of missing war heroine Natalya Azarova,’ said the newsreader. ‘Since the pilot went missing in 1943, controversy has surrounded her disappearance.’

The image changed to that of a middle-aged man in a beige jacket with the words
Ilya Kondakov: Airplane Archaeologist
highlighted on the lower part of the screen. Next to him stood a distinguished-looking gentleman in a military uniform with rows of medals on his chest.

‘The dedication and persistence of General Valentin Orlov in searching for Azarova’s plane and body is recognised today. It is thanks to his faith in the loyalty of his wingman that her name will now be cleared and her remains given a dignified burial.’ The camera returned to the newsreader. ‘According to the Kremlin’s findings, after surviving a parachute jump from her damaged plane, Natalya Azarova was shot from behind at close range, which was a common military execution method at the time. However, German officials maintain that they have no record of Natalya Azarova ever being captured or executed. The commanding officer of the German air regiment stationed in the area at the time was killed in July 1943 when he was shot down by General Orlov. Therefore, while her plane and the body have now been recovered, who killed Natalya Azarova remains a mystery.’

Lily and Oksana were startled by the sound of china smashing. They turned towards the dining table. Babushka had risen from her chair, her face deathly white. Her teacup and saucer were in pieces on the floor.

‘Oh God,’ cried Lily, rushing towards her. She was certain the old woman was having a heart attack. ‘Call Doctor Pesenko,’ she said to Oksana. ‘And get an aspirin from the bathroom.’

Lily attempted to get the old woman to lie down. But Babushka pushed her away with more strength than she expected.

‘No, wait,’ Lily said to Oksana. ‘She’s only weeping.’

Babushka dropped to her knees and tears poured from her eyes. ‘Never make promises to each other, that’s what everybody said. But we thought we were invincible.’ She wept harder.

Oksana crouched beside her and held her by the shoulders. ‘Listen!’ she said, in the same gentle but firm tone she used with misbehaving cats. ‘We’ve had enough of this game. Do you understand that you are very sick and that this young woman,’ she indicated Lily, ‘has taken you, a stranger, into her home? We want to help you, but you’re going to have to give us your name. You need to tell us what happened to you. That would be the decent way to treat us after all we’ve been doing for you — and for Laika.’

The woman’s weeping grew softer. Her mouth twitched as if she was trying to remember a word she hadn’t spoken for years. She looked from Oksana to Lily.

‘My name is Svetlana Petrovna Novikova,’ she said finally. ‘I was Natalya Azarova’s mechanic during the war. I know exactly how she died.’