The White Russian

by Tom Bradby

  “That is correct, yes. Kitty.”

  “Is she here now? Might I see her?”

  “No. I’m afraid that will not be possible.”

  The woman’s eyes were steely. Despite his fatigue, Ruzsky tried to summon up the energy to be charming. “We have come a long way…” He sought her name.

  “Eugenia Sergeevna.”

  “Eugenia Sergeevna,” he repeated, smiling. “It is a sad case. A young woman and her lover stabbed on the frozen river Neva.”

  “I’m sorry for it.”

  “It would help-”

  “You said the woman is not a suspect.”

  “No.” He inclined his head. “No, no, she is not. But she may be at risk.”

  Eugenia Sergeevna hesitated, her eyes narrowing. “You would not come all this way for such a reason.”

  “She has information that may place her at risk.”

  “Information that you want?”

  Ruzsky did not know what answer to give. His relief that Maria had been telling the truth was clouding his mind. “Yes.”

  She seemed satisfied that he had conceded. “It is a long journey,” she said to herself. “Difficult in these times.” What she meant was that the reason for such a trip must be compelling. “Why could she be at risk?”

  “The victims were colleagues of hers… friends.”

  “Friends?”

  “Yes.”

  She hesitated for a moment more, then shook her head. “Maria Bulyatina returned to Petrograd last night.”

  “Are you sure?” Ruzsky tried to keep the disappointment from his voice. But it did not matter, he assured himself. She had come here to see her sister, just as she had told him.

  “I’m certain.”

  “Would it really not be possible to speak to Kitty? Under your supervision, of course.”

  “No, I’m afraid not. Her health is… fragile.”

  “Miss Bulyatina must love her sister a great deal,” Ruzsky said quietly, “to come such a long way for only one day.”

  The nurse appraised him carefully. “The war has changed many things, Detective, but not love.”

  “Perhaps especially not that.”

  “Perhaps. To make such a journey… yes, it is a mark of love. Sadly, it was not-” She checked herself. “I must be getting back to my work. I’m sorry we cannot be of more assistance.”

  Ruzsky was taken aback by the sudden change in her mood. “Would you ask Kitty if she would speak to me?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I’m afraid that would not be appropriate.”

  “Have you known the family long?”

  “No,” she said.

  Eugenia Sergeevna had half turned away, but something was causing her to hesitate. “Maria Bulyatina is truly at risk?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Ruzsky thought carefully before responding. This was not a woman to be fobbed off with half-truths. “A group of people she was once involved with… some time ago, here in Yalta, has become the target of a killer. Three have been murdered already, in Petrograd. So far as we can tell, the group had only three other members. Maria was one of them.”

  “What kind of group?”

  “A… political group.”

  “Revolutionaries?”

  He hesitated once more. “Yes.”

  “Bolsheviks?”

  “It is not clear.”

  Eugenia considered this and then shook her head. “She did not strike me as that type of girl.”

  “No.”

  “You know her?”

  “A little.”

  Eugenia shook her head. “It’s not possible.”

  Ruzsky did not answer. It was heartening to hear someone so formidable echoing his own judgment.

  “You wish to arrest her?”

  “No.”

  “You are a policeman, however.”

  “But not an agent of the Okhrana.”

  Eugenia’s nose wrinkled involuntarily and Ruzsky thought it a revealing gesture. If you wanted to know the depths of opprobrium the Imperial Crown had fallen to even in the eyes of ordinary, decent, middle-class Russians, it was only necessary to mention the name of the Emperor’s secret police. It was more respectable to be a revolutionary, no matter how violent.

  The woman assessed him for a moment more. “Very well, Chief Investigator. Kitty may choose to tell you what she wishes. It is a decision for her. I will say no more than that.”

  She spun around and led him out of the door and past a neatly tended lawn. Ruzsky tried to keep pace with her. “The sanatorium has been renamed,” he said.

  “Funds were provided.”

  “From the Tatyana Committee?”

  “There are some officers here.”

  As Ruzsky rounded the corner of the terrace, the sight of her stopped him in his tracks.

  Maria stood in front of the steps down to the lower part of the garden, by a long line of tall palm trees, looking out over the sea. She was dressed in white, fringed by the rich dawn light, long, dark hair tumbling down her back.

  Eugenia Sergeevna was still walking toward her. “Kitty?” she asked.

  The woman turned. It was not Maria at all, but the likeness was striking: the same eyes, the same hair and cheeks-the same soft skin delicately lit by the dawn sky.

  Ruzsky opened his mouth to introduce himself, but no sound came out.

  The look in her eyes was different. It was distant, almost ethereal. But in all other respects she was so like Maria they could have been twins. “Kitty,” Eugenia said softly, “this is Chief Investigator Ruzsky from Petrograd.”

  The girl offered her hand, her eyes upon his face. She tilted her head to one side, smiled, and then sat down on the wicker chair behind her. “Hello,” she said, her response delayed, as if her mind only worked very slowly. She stared out toward the sea, still smiling, her face tilted up toward the early morning sun.

  Eugenia leaned forward. Her face radiated concern. “The chief investigator was asking after your sister, Maria.”

  Kitty looked at him for what seemed like an age, her guileless stare as unself-conscious as that of a child.

  “He has come from Petrograd,” Eugenia went on. “He is trying to help your sister.”

  “My sister?”

  “Yes, my dear.”

  Kitty shook her head very slowly, frowning. “No… that is not possible.”

  Eugenia’s face was gentle but commanding. “He is trying to assist her, Kitty.”

  “No…” She shook her head. “That is not possible, Eugenia Sergeevna.”

  “My dear…”

  Without warning, Kitty crumpled into a ball, clutching her knees and resting her head upon the side of the chair, tears creeping into the corners of her eyes. Ruzsky had to force himself to remain seated.

  Eugenia gently touched her hand. Ruzsky noticed the scars on Kitty’s wrists.

  The only sound was the distant murmur of the sea.

  “My dear, she came to see you yesterday,” the nurse whispered again.

  “No…”

  “She traveled all the way from Petrograd.”

  “Did she?” Kitty sounded as if she wanted to believe it.

  Eugenia glanced at Ruzsky.

  “But I do not have a sister, you know that, don’t you?” Kitty turned toward Ruzsky and he saw now that she was the victim Maria had fought to prevent herself becoming.

  “I understand,” he said.

  “Do you?”

  “I believe so.”

  Kitty scrutinized his face with greater interest. “Who is it that you seek?”

  “A Maria Andreevna.”

  “It’s a common patronymic.”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “What has she done, this Maria Andreevna?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then why do you seek her?”

  “Because I fear for her safety.”

  Ruzsky waited patiently.

  “I have no fa
mily,” she said. “Ask anyone here.”

  “How long have you been in this hospital, Kitty?”

  She did not answer.

  “Your sister or…” Ruzsky stopped as she tightened her lips in protest. “This Maria Andreevna came a long way to see you.”

  Kitty’s face was still.

  “Do you know why she came?”

  Ruzsky watched Kitty struggling with herself.

  “What did she ask you?”

  “I do not have a sister,” she repeated.

  “What did this Maria Andreevna ask you?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  Ruzsky waited for her to expand, but she remained silent, staring at the line of palm trees that fringed the sea. “You came here after your parents died?”

  A tear formed in the corner of her eye. The nurse leaned forward to touch her arm.

  “You lived in a white house overlooking the sea,” Ruzsky said softly. “Isn’t that so? With neatly tended lawns, open windows, and a mother with the voice of an angel.”

  Tears rolled down Kitty’s cheeks. She bowed her head. Ruzsky had an overwhelming desire to comfort her, but he remained seated.

  Eugenia forced Kitty to stand and placed her head upon her shoulder, her face concealed by long dark hair. She stroked Kitty’s head gently until her sobbing eased. “It’s all right,” she said. “It’s all right.”

  Ruzsky stared at the ground with regret, then stood. “I apologize, madam.”

  Eugenia looked at him, her expression sympathetic, then took Kitty’s hand and led her slowly across the terrace.

  At the doorway, Kitty stopped and looked back, strands of hair blown across her face. Then she followed Eugenia inside.

  Ruzsky waited. It was a few minutes before the nurse returned. She sat down and straightened her uniform again. “Would you like some tea, Chief Investigator?”

  Ruzsky did not respond. He felt as though he had damaged something priceless. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I did not fully understand.”

  “She has blocked the past from her mind, Detective. The last twenty-four hours have been…” Eugenia’s voice trailed off.

  “She is here because she harms herself?”

  “Yes. And because she is too fragile to cope in normal society.”

  “And she has never acknowledged her family?”

  Eugenia shook her head. “I cannot say that Kitty has never acknowledged her family, only that she does not do so any longer. Maria’s visit was… difficult. She stayed only a short time.”

  “Were you privy to what they discussed?”

  “No. Maria asked to be left alone with her sister. Afterward, they were both… well, I do not think it was easy for either of them.”

  “Did Kitty talk about it?”

  “No.”

  Ruzsky took out his silver cigarette case and offered it to her. She hesitated for a moment, before reaching forward to take one. Ruzsky lit it and watched as she sucked the smoke into her lungs, momentarily relaxing. The act transformed her. “You have worked here long?” he asked.

  “Eight months.”

  “You’re from Yalta?”

  “No. I worked in field hospitals before.”

  “Whereabouts?”

  “In different places. Galicia, close to the front line.” She looked at him with pain in her eyes and saw that he understood.

  “How long will you stay?”

  “I leave at the end of the month. To return to the front.”

  Ruzsky saw the concern in Eugenia’s eyes; the girl was to lose a protector.

  “Kitty will stay here?”

  “She will be well looked after,” Eugenia said, without appearing to be convinced by it.

  “You discussed her situation with Maria?”

  “Yes, of course.” She sucked heavily on the cigarette again.

  Ruzsky tried to ascertain the cause of her apprehension. “Maria was concerned? That is why she came all this way?”

  Eugenia looked at him. “She came to say goodbye.”

  Ruzsky felt the color drain from his face.

  “She did not say as much to Kitty, of course, but that is what she told me. She promised to wire money, but what can we do?” Eugenia shrugged hopelessly. “I did my best to reassure her, but could not make the promise that she asked for. I cannot stay any longer. All of the staff move on, it is the way of things. How can we know who will be here in five months, let alone five years? Kitty is still young. God willing, her life will be long.”

  “I don’t understand. Why did she come here to say goodbye? Where did she say she was going?”

  “She did not explain. Maria said only that she wanted to settle things, to be sure that Kitty would always be all right. She was very sad. She was crying. ‘But if there is a revolution,’ she kept saying, taking my hand, ‘what then? Can’t you stay? Who can I find who will always be here?’ ”

  “Why did she say that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Ruzsky shook his head. “What did she mean about wiring the money?”

  “This is a private sanatorium, Chief Investigator. The Tatyana Committee pays for those officers who are recovering here, but other patients’ fees have to be met from personal funds. Kitty was only moved here a short time ago and Maria came to see that she was well cared for. She wanted to give us enough money in one transfer to ensure her sister would always be looked after here, but…” She shrugged.

  “It would be a sizable sum.”

  Eugenia didn’t answer.

  “Kitty’s parents are dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “They were-”

  “I don’t know the details.”

  “Would it be possible, do you think, to see Kitty’s personal file here. It would be most-”

  “No. We could not do that.” Another nurse had come onto the terrace and was waving at Eugenia to indicate that her presence was required. She stubbed the cigarette out beneath her foot and then brushed the ash from her white blouse.

  “It would be helpful to ascertain whether she has other relatives.”

  “Maria said she had no other family members here.”

  “So Kitty never talks about her past, her family…”

  “Chief Investigator…” The nurse shook her head. “I would like to help, but there is nothing I can tell you.” She stood. “I’m sorry.” She offered her hand. “Good luck.”

  As they shook hands, Ruzsky saw once again in her eyes the strain caused by too great an acquaintance with tragedy. The nurse who had appeared so strong and calm in the hallway within was agitated now. She hurried away.

  Pavel was waiting at the top of the bank, beneath the shelter of a tall fir tree. Ruzsky crouched down beside him and, for a moment, they faced each other in silence.

  “She wasn’t there?” Pavel asked.

  “No, she was.” Ruzsky looked back down toward the entrance to the sanatorium and saw Kitty’s face in the window above the doorway. She was watching him, her nose pressed to the glass. Pavel saw her too.

  They watched her, but she did not move.

  “I need to go back into the town,” Ruzsky said.

  “Sandro-”

  “Just for a few more hours.”

  “Sandro, come on.” Pavel stood, imposing in his bulk. “Maybe Maria was telling you the truth, but she’s still a revolutionary. Groups like Black Terror used to blow officials like your father to the four winds.”

  “I know, but-”

  “Please. Think about it. Prokopiev’s men will be crawling all over the town. We have found what we came in search of: all of the victims were revolutionaries. The question is what were they doing returning to Petersburg. What had they gathered for? If the murders are the key to something bigger, the answer is not here. This is a trap. Don’t you see it?”

  “But why were they killed?”

  “I don’t know, but the answer is in Petersburg.”

  “Why do you assume that?”

  Pavel frowned.
“Well, why did they come back? The American, the man we found at the Lion Bridge…”

  Ruzsky was still staring at Kitty. He thought of the nurse’s assertion that Maria had come to say goodbye.

  He clung to the fact that Maria had been telling him the truth about her sister.

  Had she wanted him to come here? Had she wished him to meet Kitty?

  Pavel put his arm gently around Ruzsky’s shoulder and led him away.

  As they walked down onto the drive, Ruzsky looked back once more at the entrance to the sanatorium.

  Kitty was still there, her hand resting against the glass, as if waving goodbye.

  37

  P avel and Ruzsky stood side by side looking out of the tiny, dirty, barred window at the spires of Russia ’s capital, which were indistinct against a pale, lifeless sky.

  They did not converse, because, even at this speed, the transport carriage proved an almost total bar on audible forms of communication.

  They’d made the assumption that the station at Sevastopol would be watched, so had gone to Simferopol instead and waited many hours before boarding a train bound for Moscow. From there, only troop trains had been moving. In all, it had taken a full two days to get back home.

  This goods wagon was all they’d been able to find and they’d passed the last section of the journey to Petrograd in extreme cold and discomfort, the noise ensuring they were barely able to exchange a word.

  It was instructive, Ruzsky thought, that this carriage was empty. Why wasn’t the government using it to bring food into the city?

  They jumped down from the wagon as it rolled into the Nicholas Station and clambered over to the edge of the track. Ahead of them, amidst clouds of steam rising to the glass and iron roof of the station concourse, a lone conductor furled and unfurled his flag. An engine hooter roared, but the train on the platform did not move.

  Ruzsky and Pavel slipped through a narrow passage between two wooden warehouses, the pungent aroma of engine soot and rye bread carried on the breeze. As they passed the low entrance to one of the warehouses, Ruzsky stopped. Every inch of his body ached.

  The rye bread was in a tin bucket just by the door, but the air was now thick with the smell of cheap tobacco and putrefaction. There was a cough, quickly answered by another. Ruzsky stepped forward and peered into the gloom.