Child 44 - Страница 25

— So you’re going to put the place back together again?

— That’s right.

— You still think your wife is innocent?

— I’ve found nothing to suggest otherwise.

— May I give you some advice? Find another wife. Raisa is beautiful. But there are many beautiful women. Maybe you’d be better off with one who wasn’t quite so beautiful.

Vasili reached into his pocket, pulling out a set of folded photographs. He offered them to Leo. They were photographs taken of Raisa outside the school with Ivan, the literature teacher.

— She’s fucking him, Leo. She’s a traitor to you and the State.

— These were taken at the school. They’re both teachers. Of course it’s possible to take photographs of them together. It proves nothing.

— Do you know his name?

— Ivan, I think.

— We’ve had an eye on him for some time.

— We have our eye on lots of people.

— Perhaps you’re a friend of his also?

— I’ve never met him. I’ve never spoken to him.

Seeing the heap of clothes on the floor, Vasili bent down and picked up a pair of Raisa’s underpants. He rubbed them between his fingers, crumpling them into a ball, placing them under his nose and never taking his eyes off Leo. Instead of feeling anger at this provocation Leo contemplated his deputy in a way that he’d never bothered to before. Who exactly was this man who hated him so much? Was he motivated by professional jealousy or by raw ambition? Watching him now, sniffing Raisa’s clothes, Leo realized there was something personal about this hatred.

— May I take a look around the rest of your apartment?

Fearing a trap of some kind, Leo replied:

— I’ll come with you.

— No, I’d prefer to do it by myself.

Leo nodded. Vasili moved off.

Hardly able to breathe, his throat constricted with anger, Leo stared at the upturned bed. He was surprised by a soft voice beside him. It was Fyodor.

— You’d do all this. Search through your wife’s clothes, turn your bed upside down, rip up your own floorboards — pull your own life apart.

— We should all be prepared to submit to such searches. Generalissimo Stalin—

— I’ve heard this too. Our Leader said even his apartment could be searched if need be.

— Not only can we all be investigated, we must all be investigated.

— And yet you would not investigate the death of my son? You would investigate your wife, yourself, your friends, your neighbours but you would not take a look at his body? You would not spare an hour to see how his stomach was cut open, and how he died with dirt shoved in his mouth?

Fyodor was calm: his voice soft — his anger was no longer raw. It had turned to ice. He could speak in this fashion to Leo — openly, frankly — because he knew Leo was no longer a threat.

— Fyodor, you didn’t see his body either.

— I spoke to the old man who found his body. He told me what he saw. I saw in the old man’s eyes his shock. I spoke to the eyewitness, the woman you scared away. A man was holding my son’s hand, leading him along the tracks. She saw that man’s face. She could describe him. But no one wants her to speak. And now she’s too afraid to. My boy was murdered, Leo. The militia made all the witnesses change their statements. This I expected. But you were my friend. And you came to my home and instructed my family to keep our mouths shut. You threatened a grieving family. You read us a fiction and told us to commit those lies to our hearts. Instead of looking for the person who killed my son, you placed the funeral under scrutiny instead.

— Fyodor, I was trying to help you.

— I believe you. You were telling us the way to survive.

— Yes.

— And in some ways I’m grateful. Otherwise, the man who murdered my son would also have murdered me and my family. You saved us. That is why I’m here, not to gloat, but to return the favour. Vasili is right. You must sacrifice your wife. Don’t bother looking for any evidence. Denounce her and you’ll survive. Raisa is a spy, it’s been decided. I’ve read Anatoly Brodsky’s confession. It’s written in the same black ink as my son’s incident report.

No, Fyodor was wrong. He was angry. Leo reminded himself that he had a simple objective — to investigate his wife and report his findings. His wife was innocent.

— I’m convinced the traitor’s remarks concerning my wife were motivated by revenge and nothing more. So far my investigation supports that.

Vasili had re-entered the room. It was impossible to tell how much of their conversation he’d heard. He answered:

— Except that the other six names he listed have all been arrested. And all six have already confessed. Anatoly Brodsky’s information has proved invaluable.

— Then I’m pleased I was the one who apprehended him.

— Your wife was named by a convicted spy.

— I’ve read his confession and Raisa’s name is the last on the list.

— The names weren’t given in order of importance.

— I believe he added it out of spite. I believe he wanted to hurt me personally. It is unlikely to fool any one, an obvious, desperate trick. You’re welcome to help with my search — if that is why you’ve come round. As you can see…

Leo gestured at the ripped-up floorboards.

— I’ve been thorough.

— Give her up, Leo. You need to be realistic. On the one hand you have your career, your parents — on the other hand you have a traitor and a slut.

Leo glanced at Fyodor. His face showed no sign of pleasure, no malicious relish. Vasili continued:

— You know she’s a slut. That is why you had her followed before.

Leo’s anger was displaced by shock. They’d known. They’d known all along.

— Did you think that was a secret? We all know. Denounce her, Leo. End this. End the doubt; end the niggling questions at the back of your mind. Give her up. We’ll go drinking together afterwards. By the end of the night you’ll have another woman.

— I’ll report my findings tomorrow. If Raisa is a traitor, I’ll say so. If she’s not, I’ll say so.

— Then I wish you luck, comrade. If you survive this scandal you’ll one day be running the MGB. I’m sure of it. And it would be an honour to work under you.

At the front door, Vasili turned:

— Remember what I said. Your life and the lives of your parents are being weighed against hers. It’s not a difficult decision.

Leo shut the door.

Listening to them walk away, he noticed his hands were shaking. He returned to the bedroom, surveying the mess. He replaced all the floorboards, screwing them back down. He made the bed, carefully straightening all the sheets and then crumpling them slightly, in imitation of how he’d found them. He replaced all Raisa’s clothes, folding and stacking them, conscious that he couldn’t remember the exact order in which he’d pulled them out. An approximation would have to do.

As he lifted a cotton shirt a small object fell out, hitting his foot and rolling onto the floor. Leo bent down and picked it up. It was a copper rouble coin. He tossed it onto the top of his bedside cabinet. On impact the coin split in two, the separate halves rolling off opposite sides of the cabinet. Perplexed, he approached the cabinet. He knelt down and retrieved the two halves. The inside of one had been hollowed out. When slotted together it looked like an ordinary coin. Leo had seen one of these before. It was a device for smuggling microfilm.

21 February

Present at Leo’s deposition were Major Kuzmin, Vasili Nikitin and Timur Raphaelovich — the officer who’d taken Leo’s place during Anatoly Brodsky’s interrogation. Leo knew him only in passing: an ambitious man of few words and much credibility. The discovery that Raphaelovich was prepared to vouch for everything in the confession including the reference to Raisa was devastating. This man was no lackey of Vasili. Raphaelovich didn’t respect or fear him. Leo wondered whether Vasili could’ve inserted Raisa’s name into the confession. He had no sway over Raphaelovich, no leverage, and according to their rank he would’ve been the subordinate officer during the interrogation. For the past two days Leo had been working under the assumption this had been an act of revenge by Vasili. He’d been mistaken. Vasili wasn’t behind this. The only person who could’ve organized the fabrication of such a confession backed up with such a high-ranking witness was Major Kuzmin.

It was a set-up, orchestrated by none other than his mentor, the man who’d taken Leo under his wing. Leo had ignored his advice regarding Anatoly Brodsky and now he was being taught a lesson. What had Kuzmin told him?

Sentimentality can blind a man.

This was a test, an exercise. The issue under scrutiny here was Leo’s suitability as an officer: it had nothing to do with Raisa, nothing at all. Why appoint the husband of a suspect to investigate his wife unless the primary concern was how the husband would conduct himself during that investigation? Hadn’t Leo been the one who’d been followed? Hadn’t Vasili come to check whether he was searching the apartment properly? He wasn’t interested in the contents of the apartment: he was interested in Leo’s approach. It all made sense. Vasili had goaded him yesterday, told him to denounce his wife, precisely because he hoped that Leo would do exactly the opposite and stand up for her. He didn’t want Leo to denounce Raisa. He didn’t want him to pass this test — he wanted him to put his private life above the Party. It was a trick. All he had to do was show Major Kuzmin that he was willing to denounce his wife, prove that his loyalties were absolutely with the MGB, prove his faith was unquestioning, prove that his heart could be cruel — if he did this then they’d all be safe: Raisa, his unborn child, his parents. His future with the MGB would be assured and Vasili would be an irrelevance.