The Bloody Meadow (12 page)

Korolev looked at his watch – he still had a few minutes before she arrived so he decided to go back over his notes of the Andreychuk interview in case there was something he’d
missed. He’d barely started when there was a knock on the door.

‘Come in,’ he called, without looking up, still focused on Andreychuk’s notes. The door opened and he waved the person to the desk in front of him. There was no movement,
however, and so he lifted his eyes to see who it was.

Barikada Sorokina stood in front of him like a fully limbed and clothed Venus de Milo, a brown fur coat hanging over her shoulders against which her blonde hair shone like gold. For a moment,
Korolev was so surprised by the vision before him that it didn’t occur to him that she might be waiting for something. Then, to his surprise, he found his body had got to its feet, marched
across the floor and given a suspiciously tsarist-like bow to the beautiful actress, who extended her hand, not to be shaken, but to be kissed. Korolev, cheeks burning, found himself complying with
her wishes.

‘Comrade Captain,’ the actress breathed, ‘have we met before?’

Her eyes were a green that was close to emerald, and she seemed well aware of the effect they were having on a bumbling Militia captain. But where else to look? Her breasts stretched against a
khaki shirt that seemed to have been tailored so as to make normal breathing difficult for her. He would have to convince his eyes they absolutely did not exist, and hope that she might cover her
chest with the fur coat in due course. Her fine white teeth might have made an acceptable alternative except for the slight hint in her smile that her full red lips were his to do with as he
wished, should he only ask. He settled at last on her forehead. It was a good forehead, sculpted, uncreased by worry, and it had the advantage that it didn’t make his throat constrict with
inappropriate desire.

‘No, I don’t think so,’ he managed to say. ‘Although I was fortunate enough to see your last film. So in a way, I’ve met you, if not the other way
around.’

‘
Appointment at Dawn
?’

‘Yes – you were executed by counter-revolutionary brigands. At dawn. It was very moving.’ It was true, Korolev had found himself wiping his eyes on the back of his overcoat
sleeve, grateful for the darkness in the cinema. ‘You were inspiring.’

‘Do you remember this?’ she asked and pulled her shoulders back and looked at him with utter disdain. ‘You may shoot me, but the Revolution will never be defeated!’

‘Bravo!’ Babel said, entering behind her. ‘I’m surprised the firing squad didn’t turn Red immediately.’

Which was strange, because Korolev could indeed feel a blush warming his cheeks.

‘You’ve met the beautiful Barikada, then.’

‘Yes,’ Korolev said, pleased that his voice seemed to sound relatively normal. ‘Isaac, we’ll need privacy for Comrade Sorokina’s interview.’

Babel looked a little nonplussed for a moment then nodded in agreement.

‘A shame. I should have liked to see how the best detective in Moscow sets about such an interview. Be careful now, Barikada, don’t go giving away your intimate secrets. He’s a
terrier, this one.’ And Korolev found himself looking at Babel with a sudden professional curiosity – his words had sounded almost like a warning. But Babel had already turned to leave
and Korolev caught only the briefest glimpse of his face in the light before it was gone. Not enough to come to a conclusion, but still – a strange thing to say.

‘Will you take a seat, Comrade? I just have a few questions.’

‘Anything I can do to assist you in your efforts, of course. Poor Masha, how thankful she would have been to know that a detective of your experience is searching for her
killer.’

‘Killer? Who said anything about a killer?’

‘Everyone is saying it,’ Barikada replied, her eyes widening. ‘Although I must admit I’d my suspicions from the first.’

‘Well, we’ll come to that. But for the moment this is just a routine interview to gather all the facts about Citizen Lenskaya’s untimely death.’ Korolev sat down at the
desk to face her, not knowing quite how he was going to go about things.

‘Let us begin at the beginning.’ It was the best place to start, after all. ‘How long had you known Citizen Lenskaya?’

‘Masha? Oh, quite some time. We used to see each other at parties and she was at the State Film School, of course. She was friendly with people I’m friendly with – you know how
it is. Moscow is a small town, in many ways.’

Yes, Korolev imagined it was – if you were part of the elite. Artists like Sorokina and Babel, senior Party cadres, the technocrats and the Lenin Prize winners, they were no doubt all as
thick as thieves.

‘Yes, I’ve heard it said Moscow is surprisingly small,’ he replied, thinking of the teeming millions of Muscovite workers who queued outside bakeries for bread that there was
never enough of and that was often too expensive. ‘But more to the point, was there anything in Comrade Lenskaya’s private life you’re aware of that might have a bearing on this
investigation?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m afraid I have to ask about lovers, associates. Whether she drank too much, had enemies – things like that. I’m sorry – it must seem disrespectful to her
memory.’

‘Oh no – you must ask me anything you like. I consider it my duty as a loyal citizen to answer
any
question you may have for me.’ The actress seemed animated, and
Korolev wondered whether she did indeed have something to hide, but then it occurred to him that, as an actress, this was a role she had played several times before.

‘Well, shall we consider first whether she had any enemies? Have you any thoughts as to who might have done this?’

‘Enemies? Masha? Well, a few of the girls might have been a little jealous of her, but the men all loved her. It was strange, really, because I always thought she was a little mousy. Not
that she wasn’t pretty, you know – because she was, I don’t deny that – but she spent so much of her time reading books, and that makes you squint a little, and then, next
thing you know, you begin to look like a mouse.’

‘A mouse?’

‘In my personal opinion, yes – sometimes you can go too far with education. But the men adored her. Perhaps because she was adventurous, if I could express it that way. And
didn’t restrict herself to one person in particular. She behaved, in many ways, like a man – but still she retained her femininity and charm so that none of them blamed her for it. It
was strange how she dealt with them. I admired her for it, I can tell you.’

‘Any men in particular?’

‘Oh. Well, you probably know about Savchenko, and Belakovsky, of course. Everyone knows about them.’

Korolev made quick notes. So everyone knew, did they?

‘And then that journalist Lomatkin,’ she continued.

‘Lomatkin?’ So the fellow from the plane had been her lover – no wonder he’d looked shaken earlier.

‘Yes, very much so.’

‘She had a lot of lovers?’

‘I’ve known her since she was a student, ten years nearly. I might not be acquainted with all of them, but there were certainly a few. I could name several in Moscow off the top of
my head, including a very important person indeed.’

Sorokina pursed her lips, as though resisting telling him, although at the same time almost begging him to ask. Well, she’d be waiting a lifetime for him to ask that question.

‘How about here?’

‘Well, there was something, and I want to discuss it with you frankly. I have a small suspicion – I’m not unobservant, you know. In fact in
Red Militia
I played a
policewoman myself. You may remember the role.’

‘Yes, I do,’ Korolev said – if he remembered rightly she had died a hero’s death, not an unusual ending to her films. ‘You were excellent, as always.’

‘Thank you, you’re very generous in your praise.’ Sorokina smiled her trademark smile at him, open and warm but at the same time humble. Korolev felt a little like a bear
trapped in honey.

‘And your suspicion?’ he asked, his voice gruff.

‘Andreychuk.’ Her voice became a whisper and she looked at him with a grave expression. ‘The caretaker. I think he murdered her. I saw them arguing.’

‘What were they arguing about?’

‘I don’t know – I didn’t hear much of it. I was walking down to the village. I know it’s not safe, but you can go stir crazy in this place. It was a clear night and
I kept close to the house in case there was any trouble.’

‘Trouble?’ Korolev asked, mystified.

‘With the villagers, of course. The
kulak
class are everywhere around here, and who knows what other counter-revolutionary elements as well. Priests, Makhno’s bandits,
Petlyurists, White Guards, even Trotskyists they say. The resistance to the
kolkhoz
collectivization movement is still strong – it’s why this film is so important. Some of them
are determined to wreck our project, but we’ll struggle with all our might to finish it, and show no mercy to the saboteurs as they’ll show no mercy to us.
The Bloody Meadow
will
be a dagger into the hearts of the Revolution’s enemies – and we mustn’t underestimate the lengths to which these brigands will go to stop us.’

It was quite a speech, and the feeling behind it seemed genuine. Sorokina paused for effect, placed a hand on the table and leant forward for emphasis.

‘I believe poor Masha may have been a victim of just such an enemy in Andreychuk.’

‘So,’ Korolev said, deliberately taking things one step at a time, ‘you think Andreychuk may have killed her because she was working on the film – because he’s
against the drive towards collectivization. Have there been other incidents of sabotage?’

Sorokina looked thoughtful for a moment.

‘Not as yet, but you can see it in the way the villagers look at us. They’ve been waiting for their opportunity, the rats.’

‘I’ve met Andreychuk, he didn’t strike me that way. What were they arguing about?’

‘I couldn’t tell exactly. But you’re right, I’d always thought Andreychuk a good fellow, and he seemed to like Masha as well. Well, you know how it is, the way older men
treat pretty young girls. They go out of their way for them, bring them little presents – I saw him give her some apples once. And another time I caught him looking at her when he thought no
one was watching, and the way he looked at her was more than comradely. Much, much more. And so I was surprised when I found them arguing. And at what I heard him say as well.’

‘And what was that?’

‘He said, “Go back to Moscow, you don’t belong here. It’s dangerous here for you. Get away before it’s too late.”’ She paused and looked at Korolev with
a raised eyebrow. ‘Well, what do you make of that, Comrade Detective?’

‘Interesting, certainly. We’ll have to see what his explanation is. Did you hear anything else?’

‘Not a word. Masha saw me and came over and took my arm. She looked frightened. As though she’d seen the Devil. And we walked back here as quickly as we could. I asked her what the
matter was but she wouldn’t answer, just shook her head and looked at her feet. She was a confident, happy soul – that’s what men liked about her. But that night she was afraid, I
think.’

There was an element of the dramatic in Sorokina’s recollection, and part of Korolev – the tired to the point of hallucination part – felt as though he’d been transported
from reality into a cinematic performance, but the rest of him – the part that was still functioning as a detective – decided the actress was telling the truth, although perhaps with a
large measure of embellishment.

‘But you said he had seemed affectionate to her previously.’

‘Yes, not affectionate, though. More than that.’ She paused and looked to the ceiling as if for inspiration from God, or perhaps, in her case, Comrade Stalin. ‘Passionate.
That’s it. The look he gave her was full of passion. Smouldering. Raw. But it didn’t concern me at the time because there was sadness there as well. I can’t explain it. It was
just an impression.’

Korolev looked down at his notes, ‘smouldering’, ‘raw’, ‘sad’. This wasn’t like many other interviews he’d undertaken. But what was this about
Lomatkin?

‘The journalist. Lomatkin. You said he and Lenskaya were lovers?’

The question seemed to come as a surprise to Sorokina. ‘Lomatkin? But he was in Moscow. I’ve told you about Andreychuk – shouldn’t you arrest him before he gets
away?’

‘I’ll certainly be talking to Citizen Andreychuk again and I’ll confront him with your information, you can be sure of it. But please tell me about Lomatkin.’

Sorokina seemed to focus on him as an individual rather than as an audience for the first time, and interestingly it was with the wary gaze of someone who thought they were being made fun of.
Her lower lip began to harden into the stubborn pout of a spoilt child.

‘Babel said you were an unusual Militiaman.’

‘I’m not unusual at all, Comrade. I just shake the tree till all the apples come down, then work out which one is the rotten one. I don’t presume it’s the first that
falls into my lap.’

‘I like Andreychuk, I hope you understand that. But I saw what I saw. And I heard what I heard.’

‘I believe you, and I’m sure your memory of the incident is correct, but there could be an innocent explanation.’

Sorokina seemed satisfied with that and gave a brief nod.

‘Well, I’ve done my duty in any event. That’s what matters most.’

‘And Lomatkin?’

‘Lomatkin and she, well – I don’t know. I think she loved him, perhaps – there was something there. You’ll have to ask him. But I’ve seen them at parties, her
big eyes drinking him in like a woman dying of thirst gulping down a glass of cold water. She didn’t look at the others that way. He was different. And I’m sure he felt the same way as
well.’

Korolev nodded, and underlined Lomatkin’s name in his notebook. ‘And what about these others?’

Sorokina shrugged, ‘They were men, she was a woman. They were helpful to her – and she gave them what they wanted.’

‘Belakovsky?’

‘You won’t mention me as the source for any of this,’ Sorokina said, as though she’d suddenly remembered who she was gossiping about. Korolev couldn’t imagine
Belakovsky or Savchenko would be grateful – and even such a famous actress as Sorokina had to think about her career.