The Bloody Meadow (31 page)

‘I told her it was just for money and that I’d dealt with it. I never put Andreychuk and the baptism certificate together, though. He’d changed his name, of course.’

‘Of course,’ Korolev agreed. ‘Why do you think they killed her?’

‘It was my fault,’ Lomatkin said. ‘I kept her out of it as much as I could, but when Masha started coming down here so often, their man in Moscow, the Ukrainian, wanted me to
slip the documents into her belongings. Sometimes microfilm was hidden in the binding of a book and when she arrived here the book would be swapped for a duplicate, and the film retrieved. It was
their idea, not mine. But I should have resisted because, you see, she must have found it this time. That’s why I had to come down so suddenly. They’d put something in the binding of a
report she was working on, but when they went to find it, it was gone.’

Belakovsky’s report on his plans for a Soviet Hollywood. Korolev whistled. This wasn’t something a Moscow flatfoot should be involved in. This was something for Rodinov when he
arrived. No matter what the risk. He’d have to tell the colonel everything now and the sooner the better.

Lomatkin went on. ‘They must have thought she was going to expose them. Whoever it was, I don’t think Andreychuk had any part in it – but if he was a Petlyurist during the
Civil War . . . well, who knows?’

‘I don’t think Andreychuk was responsible – I’m not sure who was, though,’ Korolev said. ‘This report – it was for Belakovsky? Some idea he has for a
film town – Kinograd, I think.’

‘Yes, I believe so.’

‘It was missing when he went to look for it,’ Korolev told him, wondering what its absence might mean. ‘Tell me, we found a fingerprint that puts your friend Les Pins at the
spot where Lenskaya was found hanging. What do you make of that?’

‘Les Pins? He can’t have been involved in this, can he? What would a Frenchman have to do with this?’

It occurred to Korolev that, all things considered, Lomatkin was remarkably calm – especially given that his life expectancy had radically shortened in the last couple of minutes. But that
was sometimes the way it went with criminals who’d been living with guilt for a long period of time – when they were finally uncovered it was almost a relief. He extracted his cigarette
packet and offered the journalist one.

‘I’m guessing it’s to do with these guns,’ Korolev said as he lit up.

‘I know nothing about guns,’ Lomatkin said, and Korolev noticed how his face had grown a little paler. It could be the effects of the cigarette but more likely it was the mention of
that terrible word, plural. Guns would mean the NKVD wouldn’t go easy on him when he fell into their clutches, and into their clutches the journalist was inevitably going to fall.

‘The information you were passing on through Lenskaya has been exchanged for a shipload of Mausers, or so I’ve been told.’

‘Mausers? Do you know how many?’

‘I don’t. But if there are guns coming from abroad to counterrevolutionary terrorists then things aren’t good. And it occurs to me that the only foreigner we have in the
locality is a certain Monsieur from France – if that’s where he really is from. What do you know about him?’

‘Les Pins? A journalist – a friend of the Socialist movement. His articles on Spain were published all over the world – in
Pravda
as well. I’m sure he must be a
Party member. Wasn’t he wounded in the fighting for Madrid? I know he met Savchenko in America back in ’thirty-four, and that’s why he’s visiting here before going on to
Moscow. He’s giving speeches in support of the Spanish comrades – I believe he’s to meet Comrade Stalin himself. I can’t see him being mixed up with German guns.’

‘But you say he was in America? Did Lenskaya know him from there? Wasn’t there a traitor involved in that delegation to America?’

‘There was – Danyluk. He wasn’t someone she had much to do with, thankfully, but I don’t know if he knew Les Pins. All I know is that Masha didn’t come across Les
Pins on the delegation, or if she did, she never told me.’

This was a new angle, and one whose ramifications Korolev could only begin to consider. If Les Pins was yet another who’d been in America, why had no one mentioned it before? And who else
had been there? Danyluk, the traitor – of course. The dead girl – yes. Savchenko and Belakovsky – indeed; although neither could have had anything to do directly with the
girl’s death.

‘Was there anyone else in America at the time? Anyone who might have had contact with Les Pins or this fellow Danyluk? Anyone involved in the film’s production, perhaps.’

Lomatkin shook his head, looking utterly exhausted now. ‘I wasn’t there. I wouldn’t be the person to ask. And I know nothing about the guns, Korolev, or I’d have spoken
up before – the man I had contact with in Moscow is called Topolski. Babel knows him, he’s a member of the Writer’s Union and easy enough to track down. Give him my regards when
you do.’

‘I will,’ Korolev said, and was about to go on when he was distracted by the sound of footsteps approaching quickly along the corridor outside. Generally, in the cells, things moved
slowly – there was no rush, the prisoners and their guards had all day long to do whatever they had to do – but here were people moving with intent and urgency, and coming towards their
cell.

‘In here,’ a voice said, then a key turned in the lock.

‘Chief,’ Slivka said when the guard had opened the door, her face almost as pale as Lomatkin’s. ‘I got through to my mother.’

KOROLEV’S mind felt assaulted by suggestions, identities, locations, timings, possibilities and a hundred other scraps and facts – and this great swirl of
information was twisting and turning and colliding and fragmenting as it rattled round the inside of his skull so that he couldn’t even begin to put it into any semblance of order. Instead he
found himself concentrating, with a certain amount of self-pity, on the small ache in his forehead that all this
thinking
was making appreciably worse. What this case needed was someone with
a bit more brain power and that was the truth.

‘They’re both missing?’ he managed to ask, speaking quietly in case they could be overheard. ‘Both of them?’

‘I’m not sure missing is the correct word to use, Chief. But they can’t be found, that’s true enough.’

Korolev looked at Slivka quickly to see if she was making fun of him.

‘But Gradov is a Militiaman – a sergeant no less.’ Korolev could hear the plaintive note in his voice, and so he allowed himself a brief pause to pull himself together before
proceeding in a more appropriate growling whisper. ‘He’s in charge of the damned station, the dog – he can’t just go wandering off whenever he wants to.’

Slivka began to look uncomfortable so Korolev, with some difficulty, stopped himself once again, and then continued in what he hoped was a more measured tone.

‘He left no message? Perhaps he was feeling unwell – a visit to the doctor?’

‘Sharapov says the last he saw of him, he said he was going up to the house, got into the car and hasn’t been seen since. Larisa has a good view over the courtyard from that office
of hers and says she’s certain he never arrived.’

‘I see. And Les Pins?’

‘Apparently went for a walk after lunch and hasn’t been seen since either.’

‘A coincidence?’

‘There’s more.’

‘Tell me.’

‘I told Sharapov about the morphine in Lenskaya’s stomach. When he was looking for Les Pins, he went up to his bedroom and took a quick look through his belongings. He found a packet
of morphine tablets.’

‘Morphine tablets?’

‘Do you think—’ Slivka began.

‘He had a bandaged shoulder – it’s possible there was still some pain. But yes, perhaps that’s where the morphine in her stomach came from.’

‘But if he had a shoulder injury, how could his print have ended up on the bracket?’

‘He would have had help, that much is certain,’ Korolev said and then a thought occurred to him. ‘Did we ever ask where the uniforms were at the time of her murder?’

Slivka’s face was enough of an answer.

‘Why would we have?’ Korolev said. ‘It’s not your fault, Slivka. It’s mine if it’s anyone’s.’

‘Gradov,’ Slivka said bitterly.

‘It could well be.’

‘We have to put out an alert. Another one.’

Korolev considered the suggestion and what it would mean – more roadblocks, more reasons, more explanations. It didn’t take him long to shake his head. This investigation was meant
to be a quiet one, and he’d already had the entire region alerted twice. If he did it again, and for a foreigner, that really would make a stink.

‘Not for Les Pins,’ Korolev said, thinking aloud. ‘No, I’ll need to get instructions from Moscow to do anything about him. But seeing as Sergeant Gradov is in the habit
of losing guns and prisoners, I think we can ask your boss to put a quiet word out on him, don’t you?’

‘I’ll ask.’

‘Do that,’ Korolev said. ‘How long will it take us to get to Moldovanka and this bar?’

‘We’re driving?’

‘I think it would be a good idea to have a car – in case we have to move quickly.’

‘It might be. But I have to tell you, there’s a good chance it won’t all be there when we’ve finished.’

‘I trust your family to look after it.’

Slivka laughed at that. ‘More fool you then, Chief. I’d only trust them to make off with anything saleable. Particularly if they know it’s a Militia car – it would be a
point of honour with them.’

‘How long to walk?’

‘Twenty minutes.’

Korolev looked at his watch – it was five o’clock. According to Slivka’s mother, they were to meet Kolya and his men inside the Moldovanka bar at seven. In the meantime it was
essential he called Rodinov for instructions about this damned Frenchman, and tell him exactly what was going on.

Another thought occurred to him. ‘What about Antonova and Belinsky?’ Did you double-check whether they were in the room when the body was discovered?’

‘Antonova is accounted for. She went back to the village with two other women after the night shoot. Likewise Belinsky, who was still packing up camera equipment when the girl was
found.’

‘I see,’ Korolev said, his head hurting even more now. He wished the investigation would slow down for a few hours, to allow him to bring some sense to it, but the meeting with Kolya
was close at hand and between now and then every minute would be precious. The more he thought about the Moldovanka meeting, the more he was convinced that if things came to a tussle with armed
terrorists it would be good to have a fast car close to hand. On top of which, he didn’t like the idea of doing this without his back being covered.

‘Is there someone we could trust to keep a car nearby, someone quiet? What about Firtov? Or the Greek?’

‘I could ask them.’

‘Do it, Nadezhda Andreyevna, and find me somewhere private to call Moscow. There are matters we need direction on, and from the highest level.’

§

It was strange the silence that came when Korolev asked the operator, a police operator no less, to give him a line to Moscow, the Lubianka, Colonel Rodinov. It lasted a few
long seconds and when the operator finally spoke it sounded more like a thirsty man’s croak than speech, but it was refreshing how quickly you could sometimes be connected when the recipient
had such an impressive address.

‘Rodinov,’ came the voice down the line, the colonel pronouncing his name as though he were chewing a piece of raw meat. And Korolev told him everything.

‘Les Pins, Lomatkin, Danyluk, this rat Topolski in Moscow, the girl’s father and this damned Militaman. It’s a conspiracy, Korolev – the Devil alone knows where it might
end. We’ve got to intercept those guns, do you hear me? I’ll call our people in Odessa – they’ll have that place surrounded in ten minutes’ time and then we’ll
have the lot of them, and we’ll see what holes the rats crawled out of, and what holes we can find to put them in when we’ve finished with them.’

‘Colonel, as I understand it, Moldovanka is a tight neighbourhood, inward looking, the kind of place where strangers are viewed with suspicion. And if I know Kolya and his cohorts,
they’ll be on the lookout – if not for Chekists, then for the terrorists. If you send the wrong type of people in the wrong numbers, well – it might be counter-productive. We
don’t know where the guns are yet, after all.’

There was a pause at the other end of the line, and Korolev shook his head in self-admonition. What kind of idiot was he? Offering advice to a Chekist colonel on how to do his job? He ought to
be locked up in a place where he couldn’t harm himself or others. How he’d managed to survive this long in a hard world was a mystery to him.

‘Now’s not the time for explanations, Korolev.’ The colonel seemed calmer now and his voice was an interesting mixture of curiosity and menace. ‘But you’ll be
telling me before tomorrow is out, face to face, why the Thieves think you’re a man to be trusted. And I can’t wait to hear your explanation.’

If I survive that long, thought Korolev, I might even give you one.

‘Of course, Comrade Colonel,’ he said, deciding that if the colonel was happy enough to wait for twenty-four hours then there was no point in jumping the gun.

‘You may be right,’ Rodinov continued. ‘All the same we’ll quietly monitor any movements out of the city. It’s crucial those guns don’t get away. If you fail,
we’ll try a different approach.’

Korolev didn’t want to think about that and, anyway, there was another sensitive subject he needed to raise.

‘Comrade Colonel. About Major Mushkin.’

‘Go on.’

And so Korolev did, reminding Rodinov that the major had interceded for the missing Sergeant Gradov when his gun had gone missing.

‘Mushkin’s father was a Petlyurist, of course,’ Rodinov said when Korolev had finished.

‘I wasn’t aware of that.’

‘Oh yes, Mushkin’s mother shot him herself – a famous story and an example to all Bolsheviks.’ There was a lengthy pause. Eventually the colonel came to a decision.

‘Mushkin will be informed and be part of the operation, but he won’t be heading it and he won’t be given all the information until the last moment. Leave that to me. As for
what you say about the Moldovanka – I’ll talk to our people and see what can be done, quietly as I’ve said. And, if necessary, we’ll be ready to shut the city down tight as
a clam. Is this girl Slivka trustworthy?’