The Bloody Meadow (10 page)

‘I thought it best to take a few practical steps; they’ll assist another detective if I’m not released by my chief.’

‘Or if it turns out to be suicide,’ Mushkin said in a flat tone. ‘Anyway, your chief was only too pleased that Moscow CID should be in a position to assist their Odessa
colleagues. Isn’t that right, Marchuk?’

That same snide undercurrent again, Korolev thought. He found himself hoping that a day would come when the leadership would point out to these arrogant protectors of the State that the People
they were meant to be protecting were the same people they spent their time harassing and intimidating.

‘Yes,’ Marchuk agreed, his eyes slipping away from Korolev’s with something approaching shame. ‘Comrade Popov was most impressed that you put the State’s needs
before your own. We’ll do everything we can to assist, of course. Peskov will have a full autopsy report ready by the morning and I’ll have the forensics men work through the night if
need be.’

‘Thank you, Comrade Colonel. I take it I’ll report to you, then.’

The abashed colonel turned to Mushkin, his mouth opening as though he felt he should say something but he wasn’t quite sure what.

‘No,’ Mushkin answered instead. ‘It’s been decided you’ll report to Moscow. The case has sufficient connections with the capital to justify it. Your investigation
will be independent of Odessa CID at this stage, as well as the local procurator’s office.’

‘Unusual,’ Korolev replied, thinking he’d never heard of a case not involving the procurator’s office. After all, it was the procurators’ role to take the case to
court, so they usually had some oversight of the investigation to ensure the evidence was properly gathered. In theory Militia detectives acted under their direction, although, of course, it
didn’t always work out that way in practice. Still, it was the way things were done.

‘Why? We aren’t even certain it’s murder yet, are we? Officially you’re investigating a suicide: be sure to make that clear to anyone you speak to.’

‘Of course, Comrade Major.’

‘I’ll leave you and Marchuk to discuss the details. Be quick though, Korolev – you’ll be receiving a phone call in the next few minutes.’

Korolev looked at the back of Mushkin’s leather coat as he marched away, then at the colonel, whose pale face didn’t offer any reassurance.

‘Comrade Colonel, we may have hundreds of interviews to do so I’ll need all the help I can get. Sergeant Slivka? Is she to work with me?’

She was, it seemed, as well as Gradov and the other uniforms from the village. In fact, the colonel gave the impression that he’d have happily given the Moscow detective his first-born
child if it would get him shot of his involvement in the investigation any faster, and as soon as the conversation had finished, the colonel’s car was rattling down the driveway.

§

Korolev sat behind the desk farthest from the door. The phone rang just as he felt his eyelids begin to close under their own weight and he picked up the receiver
tentatively.

‘Korolev,’ he said, his voice sounding much more confident than he felt.

‘Well, Korolev, I hear you have a murder on your hands.’ It was Rodinov, and the colonel listened silently as Korolev brought him up to date on developments. When Korolev had
finished he gave a series of instructions – Sergeant Slivka came in to hear Korolev repeat the word ‘Yes’ several times and then thank the Comrade Colonel for his time. She sat
down in front of him and waited for him to finish.

Korolev put down the phone with the feeling that things could certainly be a lot worse. Yes, he was under strict instructions to see that Ezhov’s name didn’t feature in the case in
any way, but that he had expected – particularly after his conversation with Babel. On the other hand, he had permission to proceed as he saw fit, except for the proviso that he should try to
avoid disruption to the film – and that was something he’d already agreed with Belakovsky.

All well and good, until the colonel had mentioned the foreigner.

‘What foreigner?’ he’d asked, and so it had emerged that there was a French journalist, a guest of Savchenko. He was to be treated very carefully and if questioning was to be
carried out, it was to be discussed with Rodinov first. He could do as he liked with the Soviet citizens, within reason, but this fellow Les Pins was a different story. He was an important
supporter of the Soviet Union in the West, and Rodinov wanted it kept that way.

‘Did you know about this foreigner?’ Korolev said, looking up at Slivka.

‘A foreigner?’

‘Some Frenchman. He’s been fighting on our side in Spain, so he’s probably all right. But who knows? Foreigners are always trouble.’

‘Yes, they can be tricky. Those Ukrainians are the worst.’

Slivka’s teasing smile was a surprise. She must be a confident young woman if she felt comfortable making fun of a stranger twice her age with the rank to go with it, but Korolev
didn’t mind. It was more pleasant to work in a comradely atmosphere.

‘We’re all Soviet citizens here, Slivka,’ he said, deciding the time had come to drop the ‘sergeant’. ‘Even you Ukrainians. It’s the rest I’ve my
doubts about. They should leave all the foreigners to the diplomats if you ask me. If they have to be dealt with, it’s better done by professionals.’

Slivka smiled and took a look around her.

‘So this is where we’ll be working? Will we have to sleep here too, do you think? I wonder: will they give us a couple of mattresses? Maybe a handsome actor as well? Not for you, of
course.’

Korolev laughed – Marchuk had probably offloaded her onto him, not quite sure what to do with a sparky young female detective, and Korolev couldn’t swear he wouldn’t have done
the same in his shoes.

‘Slivka, I’m not sure I introduced myself properly before. My name is Korolev,’ he said and then, thinking there was no harm in being specific, ‘Alexei Dmitriyevich,
Captain, Moscow Criminal Investigation Division. Petrovka Street.’

He stood up and extended his hand, which Slivka took with a surprisingly firm grip.

‘Don’t ask me why I’m running this case, Slivka, but I am, and I plan to catch whoever killed that poor girl, with your help.’

‘A sound plan.’

‘Good, so let’s get down to business.’

‘Agreed,’ Slivka said, ‘but before we start, can I ask a question?’

‘Of course.’

‘Don’t be offended, Comrade Captain, but is this a Moscow investigation, or an Odessa one?’

Korolev rubbed a hand up the back of his neck, feeling the bristly scrub of his short-cut hair.

‘It’s a good question – all I can say is that the responsibility for this investigation falls mainly on us, the two of us. We won’t be reporting to Colonel Marchuk, and
we won’t be involving the procurator’s office. We’ll be reporting to Moscow, but we’ll have to make most of the decisions ourselves. I can’t tell you any more than
that, except that if we mess this up it could go badly. So we’d better not mess it up.’

Slivka sucked in the last of the cigarette she was smoking, stubbing it out in the ashtray, shrugged as if the strange circumstances surrounding the investigation were but a minor concern to
her, reached into her pockets, extracted another cigarette and lit it by scratching a match along the sole of her boot. She inhaled, cupping her hand round the cigarette the way soldiers and
policemen, used to smoking in the open, often did.

‘Well, I thought something might be up, Comrade Captain, which is why I asked. I like to know what’s what. You can find yourself in trouble if you don’t know what’s what.
And who’s who.’

She blew out a perfect smoke ring, then took two folded pieces of paper from her pocket and handed them to him.

‘One. A list of the cast and the crew, including all the production staff, catering etcetera, etcetera, and the staff of the College who aren’t away with the students, which
isn’t many; and, two, a list of the people who have keys to the house. In other words, people who might have had access to the scene of the crime yesterday evening.’

Korolev looked through the longer list. Beside each name was a number from one to three. ‘And the numbers?’

‘I had Comrade Shymko rate each person by the amount of contact they had with Citizen Lenskaya. 1 is daily contact, a 2 means occasional and a 3 means little or none.’

‘Excellent. We’ll start with the people who had daily contact.’ He looked down the list – his optimism was misplaced. ‘Most of them, it would seem.’

‘Yes. More than we’d like, for sure. Thirty-four.’

Korolev sighed. He was beginning to feel the dead weight of exhaustion again, as if the last of his energy was being sucked into the floor through the soles of his feet. He rallied himself for
one last push.

‘Well, the sooner we start – the sooner we finish.’

‘I agree. Can I suggest we use Shymko’s people to arrange the interviews; it will be less disruptive for them if they know what we’re up to.’

‘Good thinking,’ Korolev said. ‘Let’s try and keep them short – we’ll interview them again tomorrow likely as not, but our first objective is to identify
potential motives and perpetrators, and anyone who could have been in the house at the time of death.’

‘And
cherchez l’homme
, right?’

‘Possibly,’ Korolev said, thinking that the most obvious lover to have been responsible for Lenskaya’s death was probably Ezhov and that wasn’t something he wanted to
think about too much. ‘As it turns out, she may have been romantically inclined, if you take my meaning. Savchenko for one, or so it seems, and probably Comrade Belakovsky as well, although
as Savchenko was filming down in the village and Belakovsky was in Moscow, that doesn’t take us too much further. Still, there may have been others – let’s find out who. It
doesn’t feel like a crime of passion, though; whoever did this was careful and covered their tracks, or tried to at least. My suspicion is that it was premeditated. Also, whoever did it must
have been quite strong. How much did Lenskaya weigh? Sixty kilos or so? It must have been difficult to lift her up to the bracket.’

‘Indeed,’ Slivka said, writing in her notebook.

‘We need to find out as much as we can about her background as well,’ he continued. ‘I have her Party record, but there’s a lot missing and not much about her private
life. And nothing about her relationships with the people on the filmset. Here, you’d better read it.’

Slivka took the report and again there was that slight raising of the eyebrows.

‘Her Party record? It takes us a bit of time to get them even when they’re held in Odessa.’

‘Perhaps things are different in Moscow.’

‘I’ll go through it. Anything else I should have? Or know?’

Korolev decided to give her the report on the film and the other information Rodinov had provided. He handed her the envelope and Slivka took the documents out, looked through them and
whistled.

‘Not to be discussed other than with me. And I mean with anyone. For both our sakes.’

Slivka nodded her agreement, slipping the papers back into the envelope.

‘I have Andreychuk waiting outside for you,’ she said when she’d finished.

‘Good, I’ll see him as soon as I’ve spoken to the forensics men. In the meantime – ’ Korolev tapped Slivka’s lists – ‘we need to whittle these
down – opportunity, ability and motive. That’s what we’re looking for. Same as always.’

‘They filmed the crowd. Maybe we could identify some people from it – rule them out perhaps?’

Korolev considered her proposal: the problem was he didn’t know any of the people on the film – not yet anyway – and neither would Slivka.

‘It’s a good suggestion – look into it. We’ll need help, though. I know the writer Babel from Moscow. He’s offered to assist – perhaps we should take him up
on it.’

‘Babel?’ Slivka said. ‘I get to work with the author of
Odessa Tales
? My mother might even forgive me for joining the Militia. Tell me he can he type as well, and it
will be like New Year.’

‘I suppose he can. He’s a writer after all – in fact, I’ve seen a typewriter in his study.’

‘Good, because I’m a detective, Captain, not a typist. Just so we’re clear about that. It’s a point I sometimes have to make.’

Korolev smiled – he liked this Slivka.

‘Well, I’m no typist either, but I’ll pull my weight. Still, it’s a good point. I want the interview notes to be typed and clear – if we’re to crack this
case, it’s because we organize the information well. Let’s see if any of these uniforms from the village can drive a typewriter. If not, we’ll have to see if we can persuade
Comrade Shymko to lend us someone. And the uniforms won’t have done too much work like this before – let’s make sure they know exactly what questions to ask.’

‘As per your instructions, Chief. Where were they? When did they last see the girl? Who did they see at the film shoot? What did they know about her? Did anyone dislike her? Who was she
most friendly with? I’ll have it all set out and typed up for them.’

§

Korolev found Andreychuk outside in the cold and told him to wait in the investigation room until he came back, then he started to walk towards the house, allowing himself a
little smile as he did so. All right, it was true this case was likely to turn out to be a terrible mess – but at least Slivka seemed as though she’d be useful to have around. Nadezhda.
Hope. And not just for the investigation: youngsters like Slivka were the future and, maybe, with citizens like her, a country would emerge from all this turmoil and fear that would shine as an
example to the world of how humans could live together, working as one, striving for a common goal. Maybe.

By the time he arrived at Lenskaya’s office, the forensics men were packing their equipment while the youngster Sharapov watched them with keen interest.

‘Sharapov. Out to the stable block. Sergeant Slivka has plenty of work that needs doing.’

The young Militiaman gave a cheerful salute and followed his instructions.

‘You were quick. Any luck?’ Korolev said to the forensics men.

The older of the two, whom Colonel Marchuk had introduced as Firtov, looked up, a grey-haired man with solid shoulders, silver-grey eyes and a cavalryman’s moustache. When he stood, he had
the bow-legged stance of a man more comfortable on a horse than on his feet.