by G. D. Abson
There was a pause, which she assumed was Primakov peering through the spy-hole. He emerged wearing his white nylon suit and blue overshoes.
He craned his neck in the direction of Kuznetsova’s apartment as the old woman’s television blared out. ‘She’s watching repeats of Take It Off Immediately. I can hear everything.’
Natalya shook her head disbelievingly. ‘Leo I’m in a hurry.’
He immediately sounded businesslike. ‘How can I help, Captain?’
‘I’m going to speak to the neighbour, can you brief me in a few minutes?’
‘OK, Captain.’
Lyudmila Kuznetsova’s door had been left ajar and she knocked on it loudly.
‘Come in.’
Natalya took off her jacket and shook it outside then entered. Kuznetsova muted the television as she brushed past the open box of matryoshka dolls. ‘I’m here because of Zena.’
The old woman showed concern. ‘Has she done something?’
‘She’s missing.’
Kuznetsova’s hand went to her mouth, then she crossed herself in the Orthodox style using three fingers from right to left.
‘Have you seen anything unusual over the last week? Any people going to Zena’s place?’
‘Mind if I sit down?’ Without waiting for an answer Kuznetsova eased herself back into the armchair facing the muted TV. ‘A man in a suit. I told you about him. He called me “babushka”.’
Natalya checked her notepad. ‘Grey hair you said. Was he balding?’
Kuznetsova shook her head.
‘Tall?’
‘Medium.’
‘Fat? Thin?’
‘Average. I’ll remember if I see him again.’
‘Anyone else?’
‘Only him.’ She dipped her chin and flicked her eyes to indicate Leo Primakov on the other side of the wall. ‘The one with bags on his feet. I was going to call the police then I figured that’s who he is. I watch Sled on Channel 5 – he looks like one of those people.’
‘Forensics?’
‘Yes.’
She smiled at how different the Russian version of CSI was to reality. ‘He’s with me. We don’t know if Zena’s gone away or if she’s had an accident. We just want to make sure she’s OK.’
Kuznetsova was distracted by the muted television showing the two presenters on Take It Off Immediately appraising a skinny woman in black underwear.
‘What about the apartments above?’
The old woman turned her attention from the screen, then shrugged with her mouth. ‘Students from the Mining Institute. They keep together… already gone for the holidays.’
‘Were they friendly with Zena?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Her mouth moved as if she was chewing on gristle. ‘No.’
‘What about a boyfriend?’
Kuznetsova shook her head emphatically, then added, ‘Unless he’s a vampire. I’m in bed at nine and up before six and I’ve never seen her with a man.’
‘What about anyone else?’
‘A girl, maybe once a week. Looked a bit like you.’
‘But younger and prettier?’
Lyudmila nodded awkwardly.
Her phone had been switched to silent mode and was vibrating. She checked it discreetly and saw Leo Primakov’s face on her screen. She thought for a second of answering it to find out why he couldn’t wait a few minutes, then tapped the phone to send it to voicemail.
‘When was the last time you saw this girl?’
‘Thursday evening. I was just getting ready for bed.’
‘And before then?’
The old woman frowned. ‘Maybe two weeks. She came. She left. Sometime in the afternoon. I remembered because Zena doesn’t get many visitors.’
‘Did they go out or stay in?’ It wasn’t important but helped to build up an image of their relationship.
‘Out.’
Lyudmila was transfixed by the television as the skinny woman reappeared with a new hairstyle and wearing clothes the presenters had selected. ‘These girls never learn, do they?’
Natalya thought it was a callous remark about Zena then realised she was talking about the TV programme. ‘No,’ she said, checking her watch, ‘habits are hard to break.’
She left Lyudmila Kuznetsova watching television and knocked lightly on Zena’s door.
Primakov appeared almost instantly, holding a pair of blue overshoes. ‘Captain, I’ve found something.’
She deposited her leather jacket on the stair rail then pulled them on, though it hardly seemed necessary when the department didn’t have the fancy equipment that justified it. She snapped on a pair of latex gloves then entered, observing grey fingerprint powder on the door handles and light switches, and a handheld device charging from a socket.
She pointed at it. ‘A UV lamp?’
‘For Luminol. I bought some off a website. I checked in the bathroom for blood.’
The tone in his voice told her he hadn’t found any. ‘What is it, Leo?’
‘Did you tell the neighbour?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. I want to go in the hallway and see if it’s the same outside.’
He picked up a white pot with a fine brush resting on the lid; she followed him.
‘What is it?’
He dabbed the brush lightly in the pot then touched the door handle, twisting the brush so its delicate hairs produced a swirling motion. Particles of aluminium powder fell to the floor. He continued to whirl the brush, widening the area to cover a ten centimetre circumference around the handle.
‘Do you see?’
She peered at it intently. ‘No,’ she said eventually.
Her phone buzzed and she removed it from her pocket to check the name. It was Vasiliev. ‘Sorry Leo, I’ve got to answer this.’
She cleared her throat. ‘Colonel?’
‘Captain, I wanted an update by midday. It’s almost 2 p.m. Please make your report now.’
‘Colonel, according to her friend Yulia Federova, Zena Dahl was last seen around 1 a.m. leaving a bar on Ligovsky Prospekt. There are no signs that she returned to her apartment, moreover’ – Primakov tapped her on the shoulder and beckoned her to go inside – ‘there is a possibility she became stranded when the bridges were raised, preventing her from getting to her apartment on Vasilyevsky Island.’
She followed Primakov and watched him point to the inside of a door handle then a light switch on the entrance hall. Both had left a fine sprinkling of aluminium powder on the floor and she was careful to step around them.
‘I assume this is your way of admitting that you have found nothing to indicate a crime has been committed.’
Primakov squeezed the nozzle of an imaginary aerosol can then cupped his sleeve in his hand and rotating his wrist in the mime of a window cleaner. She blocked her mobile’s microphone with a thumb. ‘Who are you, Oleg Popov?’ she asked.
‘Captain, I need an answer,’ she heard Vasiliev squawk.
‘Sorry, Colonel. There has been a development…an indication of criminal involvement.’ She stared at Primakov who repeated the gesture and gave her a thumbs up sign when she nodded to show she had understood.
There was a longer pause and in the background she could hear the sounds of keyboards and muted conversations.
‘OK, come to headquarters. We’ll meet in the Zheglov room.’
‘Now, Colonel?’
‘Yes, now,’ he said with ill humour.
Chapter 9
The enormous five-storey wedge of grey stone and double columns projected strength as well as continuity; ideal attributes for the St. Petersburg headquarters of the Ministry of Internal Affairs. The impression, she often thought, was marred by the air conditioning units that sprouted from every dirty window like alien fungi, lending it an aura of decay. Natalya parked her Volvo at the intersection of Suvorovsky Prospekt and Kavalergardskaya Ulitsa then walked along the main road. Light rain obscured the blue and white confection of Smolny Cathedral in th
e distance and made her walk faster with her head bent and the collar of her leather jacket turned up.
The building was home to a variety of police units including the city’s headquarters for her own Criminal Investigations Directorate. Inside, Sergeant Rogov was waiting for her: ‘Boss wants to see you in Zheglov.’
‘Thanks, he’s already spoken with me.’ She was bemused how Mikhail let Rogov stick so doggedly to him. Perhaps he appreciated some irony in his foul behaviour which she had failed to detect.
‘Not a problem, Natasha.’
She peeled off her jacket and shook the drips to the floor before holding it under her arm to knock on the door. There was an unintelligible call and she entered. Inside, the walls in the meeting room were still nicotine-coloured from the decades of smoking before the public ban took effect four years ago. One side held a portrait of the President in an action shot, throwing an opponent in a St. Petersburg judo competition; another supported a studio picture of Vladimir Vysotsky, who looked a little like the American actor Steve McQueen. Vysotsky had played Gleb Zheglov, a rough cop in the Soviet-era TV series “The Meeting Place Cannot Be Changed.” He was universally worshipped by all the menti but she alone seemed to think it was inappropriate to have a photograph of the actor in the room.
Two tables were arranged in a ‘T’ shape with Colonel Vasiliev sitting in his customary armchair at the head. His steel-wool hair was sculpted into a Teddy Boy quiff making him resemble an ageing rock star rather than the head of a city’s serious crimes unit. On the breast of his checked shirt was an enamelled pin badge. From where she stood it was too small to see clearly but she knew it displayed a tiny bear below the tricolour flag with “United Russia” at the bottom. At the adjoining table for subordinates, Mikhail was maintaining an inscrutable expression; opposite him was a well-built man in dress uniform with a layer of stubble for hair.
There were another twenty empty wooden seats widely spaced around the walls of the room for the other detectives in the directorate, and she took one nearest to the three men.
Colonel Vasiliev fingered his United Russia pin badge as he addressed her: ‘Captain Ivanova, I’m sure everyone in the Ministry knows that I am retiring at the end of July. As a senior officer with a distinguished career in the security services, we are honoured to have Major Kirill Dostoynov join the Criminal Investigations Directorate.’
The new major stood and extended his hand for her to shake. That was a good sign, she thought – no saluting and no hesitation, unlike many of her male colleagues. Perhaps Mikhail had judged Dostoynov prematurely. There again, he was probably right in calling him a prick – people didn’t join the FSB out of altruism.
A minute later Sergeant Rogov came in and sat next to her.
‘Captain,’ began Vasiliev, ‘I have been discussing the Zena Dahl case with your husband and Major Dostoynov. If I may summarise, Yulia Federova reported that her friend has been missing since the early hours of yesterday morning.’ He paused for effect. ‘Is it serious?’
She pulled out her notepad. ‘There has been nothing on the girl’s social media and her phone diverts to voicemail. Her suitcases are intact, so are her toiletries. Coupled with this is the testimony of her friend, Yulia Federova, who reported that Miss Dahl has not been returning her calls.’
‘Nevertheless, this may change things.’ Vasiliev took a paper from his desk. ‘Major, please give this to Captain Ivanova.’
Mikhail took the typed sheet from the Colonel and passed it to her; his eyes creased in a smile. The paper had “For Misha” handwritten in a feminine scrawl on the reverse, presumably from a secretary who owed him a favour. For a moment she felt a pang of jealousy wondering what the favour might have been.
All four men were silent while she read it:
MINISTRY OF THE INTERIOR OF RUSSIA
MAIN ADMINISTRATION OF THE INTERIOR OF THE CITY OF SAINT-PETERSBURG
193015, city of Saint-Petersburg,
Suvorovsky Prospekt, 50/52
The Data Processing Centre of the Ministry of the Interior of the Russian Federation, Main Administration of the Interior of the city of Saint-Petersburg and Main Administration of the Interior of Leningrad Oblast hold one conviction for Federova Yulia Vladimirovna (date of birth March 7th, 1996; Veliky Novgorod) under Article 159 (Swindling). Sentence: September 6 2012, 12 months, Volgograd. Juvenile Detention.
She looked up as Major Dostoynov addressed the colonel, ‘If I may speak to the Captain?’ It made sense. With Vasiliev retiring, Dostoynov would become her superior unless Mikhail took the top job and forced her to transfer. Mikhail was ambitious but she had made it clear she wouldn’t go willingly and the harm to their relationship would be significant – the conversation had come after sex two weeks ago when he had been more than a little sanguine about remaining in his present position.
Vasiliev scratched a thumbnail against his United Russia badge. ‘Permission given.’
Dostoynov spoke with the slow, confident voice of someone used to having his orders followed: ‘Captain, what happened with the two girls that night?’
‘According to Yulia Federova, they were both drunk and had an argument over a boy. She said Zena left on her own around 1 a.m.’
‘And was she telling the truth?’
‘She claimed she didn’t give her full name to the duty sergeant at Vasilyevsky station because her father had been falsely imprisoned and she doesn’t trust the police.’ She held up the typed sheet with the details of Yulia Federova’s juvenile record. ‘Maybe this was the real reason though.’
‘There was something else I found, Major. When I was in Yulia Federova’s home she gave me permission to search her wardrobe. Inside there was a pair of Ulyana Sergeenko sunglasses and a trouser-suit that cost well beyond her financial means. Zena’s bedroom was full of similar items and my guess is Federova got them from her, one way or another.’
‘So you’re saying the girl had motive and opportunity? Why didn’t you bring her in?’
‘Major, I very much doubt she killed her friend.’
Mikhail joined in; his tone was gentle, and a little condescending, ‘Natalya, we’ve met people before who didn’t seem capable of murder yet that’s exactly what they did. Or if they couldn’t bring themselves to do it, they paid a professional to do the job for them.’
‘I didn’t say she wasn’t capable – history shows that most people are. Yulia Federova was angry, not defensive when I spoke to her. She went to the police station voluntarily and even admitted to having an argument with Zena on the night in question. Unless Federova is very cunning, and I don’t believe she is, then they are the actions of an innocent woman. Also, if the motive had been theft, then why didn’t she steal the clothes in Zena’s apartment? There must be thirty to fifty thousand dollars’ worth.’ She caught a sly smile on Rogov’s mouth and made a mental note to ask Primakov to make an inventory of the wardrobe.
Vasiliev chewed on a plastic pen top and she wondered if he had stopped smoking. ‘Captain, did you get anything else from this supposed witness?’
‘Yulia said Zena was distracted.’
Major Dostoynov opened his palms in a magnanimous motion. ‘Perhaps she was drunk and unhappy. A poor, rich girl deciding to end her sea of troubles in the Neva.’
Vasiliev nodded thoughtfully. ‘Sergeant, do you have anything to add?’
She twisted in her seat to study Rogov and also to allow the Colonel’s full attention to focus on him, rather than her. Rogov was wearing a plain white shirt several sizes too large in order to cover his enormous belly. The cuffs covered his palms and the sleeves hung limply from his arms. There was already a sweat mark at the centre of his chest.
‘Colonel,’ Sergeant Rogov began, ‘I called all the hospitals and mortuaries in a twenty-kilometre radius of the city. There was no one matching Zena Dahl’s description.’
Vasiliev scraped his thumbnail against the United Russia badge on his shirt as if there was some dirt on it that couldn�
�t come off it. ‘Sergeant, Major Dostoynov asked specifically about drowning.’
Rogov frowned, evidently unhappy to contradict the new major. ‘A body in the canals or the Neva floats unless weighted with stones. And then, with the White Nights and the tourists, it’s impossible to avoid being seen.’
Natalya hadn’t had lunch and also felt a pressing need for tea, something to take away the dryness in her mouth. ‘Colonel, I do have some important information. Zena Dahl’s neighbour, Lyudmila Kuznetsova, lives in the same block and reported seeing a man calling at her apartment the morning she went missing. She described him as a bureaucrat with grey hair and wearing a suit.’
Vasiliev turned the corners of his mouth down in a shrug. ‘Could be anyone. What else do you have?’
‘Expert Criminalist Primakov has been assisting me. He checked Zena’s apartment for fingerprints.’
‘And?’ asked Vasiliev.
She thought of Leo Primakov’s mimes and hoped she had interpreted them correctly. ‘And he didn’t find any, Colonel. At least not in the places you might expect.’
‘Don’t talk in riddles, Captain.’
‘Sir, Leo Primakov believes the fingerprints were removed from the door handles as well as from the light switch. Wiping can leave smears but the areas he saw were as clean as virgin snow. There was no dust or grease on them.’ She thought of Primakov’s mime of using a spray-gun. ‘He believes a solvent of some kind was used.’
‘Shit,’ muttered Vasiliev.
She turned to Rogov who seemed puzzled and she assumed he was having trouble assimilating the information. ‘After Zena went missing, we believe someone went into her apartment.’
‘I got that,’ Vasiliev said acidly. ‘But why not use gloves?’
‘Maybe they forgot to bring them or thought it looked suspicious to wear gloves in summer.’
‘Or perhaps they had been there before,’ offered Mikhail, ‘and the purpose was to remove all traces of a previous visit.’
‘Yes… Major,’ she said.
‘How did they get in?’ Vasiliev asked.
