‘I’m disappointed with you.’
‘Agree with the nice man,’ Bogdanov contributed. He straightened the lapels of Bakradze’s topcoat and smoothed it down as if sending a child to school. He beamed and said kindly, ‘Let’s not piss about, eh? You know the score. He’s the nice one with the questions and I’m the one with the bad temper and the nasty habits — got that? Now answer the questions and we’ll get along fine.’ To Kirov he said, ‘Fire away, boss. I think our friend understands us.’
‘I simply want to know the truth,’ Kirov said with a hint of apology for the manners of his companion. ‘No stories. Just the truth.’
‘No stories,’ Bogdanov interpreted. ‘Remember that.’
‘I want to know about Viktor Gusev.’
‘About Viktor,’ said Bogdanov.
‘About Viktor,’ said Kirov and he let Bogdanov repeat the words again, knowing that by denying Bakradze an opportunity to speak he would force him to.
‘Well, cat got your tongue?’ Bogdanov asked. ‘I think he’s shy, boss. Well, he’s got a lot to be shy about, hasn’t he — haven’t you, huh? Don’t worry, we don’t kiss and tell, I say we don’t kiss and tell. Go on — trust us.’
Bakradze looked to Bogdanov then to Kirov. The look told Kirov that he had been right in his speculation, and he felt the relief that went with drawing back that first veil.
‘What do you want to know?’ said Bakradze. ‘Why was Viktor killed?’
There are as many ways to interrogate as there are human types and human circumstances. This is not true, but the KGB psychologists earned their bread by telling cadets that it was so. Then they met old Chestyakov who told them that people gave information because of brutality, omniscience, affection and co-operation, and also for money but since the students had no money they must consider the alternatives. At bottom interrogation was a deaclass="underline" information in exchange for the cessation of pain, for sympathy, for the photographs and negatives of the embarrassing occasion we don’t talk about — even for love. But in every case the first question establishes the currency of the transaction.
‘Why was Viktor killed?’ Kirov repeated, meaning that he knew the answer already and that it was not fundamentally important. After all, Viktor’s trading had made him into a mere commodity to be bought, sold and disposed of without particular regret. No one could get too excited over the death of Viktor Gusev. Someone had done the world a favour.
‘It was an accident,’ Bakradze answered.
‘No — not an accident,’ Kirov said firmly but quietly.
‘I mean it wasn’t supposed to happen that way — not that way.’
‘Viktor was expecting you that morning, wasn’t he?’
Kirov had stood at the window of Viktor’s apartment overlooking the street where the MVD circus was gathering. Viktor had drawn back the curtains and seen what awaited him and done nothing to hide the evidence that would incriminate him.
‘We called him the night before.’
‘We? You and Antipov?’ Bogdanov interjected. Bakradze nodded, which only annoyed his questioner. ‘Telling him what? That he was going to be arrested? That he had run out of protection? Why should Viktor wait around for that to happen?’
‘Because that was the deal, wasn’t it?’ Kirov suggested.
‘And Viktor knew all about deals.’
Bakradze cried out, ‘It was your fault!’ Just as quickly he apologised. ‘You wouldn’t leave the Great Jewish Antibiotics Ring alone. Week in, week out you wanted a result — a name. We kept feeding you pimps and pushers and it was never enough. You wanted the total explanation, the Big Man.’
There was a tone of admiration in the lawyer’s voice, a tribute to Kirov’s relentlessness in pursuit of the investigation. Yet Kirov did not remember the facts that way. The Great Jewish Antibiotics Ring had been dumped on him by Grishin like a burden of sin, by its nature insoluble. Why Jewish? Evidently Bakradze had seen it differently; but, then, the lawyer had had to live with the fear and uncertainty.
For the moment Kirov changed the subject from Viktor’s death. The other man was keyed to answer charges relating to the latter, and out of relief at avoiding that subject would answer questions on another without reflection.
‘You were providing Viktor’s operation with protection.’
‘Me and Antipov — Antipov mostly.’
‘Of course: Antipov had the soldiers out on the street harassing Viktor’s people if they weren’t paid. And you, I suppose you sidetracked the KGB investigation.’
‘I told Viktor which way we were being forced to move.’
‘You told him when it was necessary to make a sacrifice, to give up one of his dealers.’
‘Yes.’
‘I understand,’ Kirov said consolingly. ‘Cigarette? Drink? Uncle Bog has a bottle somewhere. I’m sorry about all this — really.’
‘It wasn’t as if there was anything wrong in what we were doing,’ Bakradze pleaded.
‘Here’s your drink.’ Bogdanov shoved the bottle into the other man’s hand.
‘We were dealing in antibiotics not opium, for God’s sake! People who needed them and couldn’t get them through the usual channels — we helped them out. There’s nothing so bad about that, is there?’
‘That’s an interesting point. I can see your argument. Come on, have that drink.’
Bakradze took a pull on the bottle. He wiped his mouth and then said carefully, ‘There’s a way out, yes?’
‘Maybe,’ Kirov offered. He glanced out of the window at the fires burning in the darkness and the skeletal shapes of the tramps creeping back through the smoke. ‘I’m not seriously interested in this end of the case,’ he volunteered. ‘There are other aspects — maybe — if you could help.’
‘Well…‘
‘Bugger his help!’ said Bogdanov. ‘No deals!’
‘Pyotr Andreevitch…?’
‘Uncle Bog is more excited about this than I am. Remind me about your meetings with Viktor, the ones you used to hold at the Kosmos. Viktor used to drag along his little jeweller, Ostrowsky.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Liar!’ Bogdanov shouted furiously. ‘Kick this shithead out of the car, boss. We know all we need to know. We don’t need him.’
‘Calm down.’ Kirov addressed Bakradze: ‘All of this doesn’t help. I’ve spoken to Ostrowsky. He used to meet Viktor at the Park of Economic Achievement and trade dollars for diamonds. Viktor was with his friends. Two Georgians, says Ostrowsky. One of them was you, wasn’t he? Do you want me to confront you with Ostrowsky so that he can make an identification? He’d do that. Viktor’s drugs killed his little girl. His loyalty to the Ring is all used up.’
‘All right, all right!’ Bakradze agreed wearily. ‘Viktor and I used to have lunch at the Kosmos. We’d talk things over — the investigation — things.’
‘Why was Viktor buying diamonds?’
‘Honest to God I don’t know.’
‘Not for you?’
‘Please, Pyotr Andreevitch — what use were diamonds to me?’
‘You were paid in certificate roubles.’
‘Yes. Me, Antipov, Ostrowsky — we got certificate roubles and dollars. Ostrowsky was saving for his daughter’s future — that’s what Viktor said.’
‘And Antipov?’
‘He’s a sick man. Bad heart, cancer maybe. He worries about his wife’s future.’
‘It sounds like Viktor was running a charity,’ Bogdanov commented laconically.