"I don't see why not. Incidentally, another weird thing happened in regard to our Major."
"Oh?"
"A report came in yesterday of a grave apparently disturbed at a local cemetery. The deceased was one Ilya Romashchuk."
"A relative?"
"The cemetery is at an Orthodox church," Kovalenko said. "After I saw the report, I got the priest in charge to check his records. Next of kin was listed as a brother, Nikolai Romashchuk."
"Has the Major been digging into his past?"
"According to the priest, he was walking through the cemetery when he noticed the dirt over the grave had been 'freshly turned.'"
"Does that translate as 'dug up'?"
"He didn't know what had been done, just said it resembled a new grave."
"How long had this Ilya been buried there?"
There was a pause while he checked his notes, then Kovalenko said, "Since September twenty-first, 1991."
Yuri Shumakov's heart did a flip-flop. That was the day following the explosion that killed Captain Anatoli Shumakov.
22
The Church of the Blessed Savior was a small, undistinguished stone structure on the western edge of Kiev. If the saints came marching in, said Chief Investigator Kovalenko, they would probably pass it by without a glance. It was worlds removed from downtown Kiev's eleventh-century St. Sophia's Cathedral, with its thirteen onion-shaped domes, where Kovalenko had attended services on a few occasions since his daughter's family had embraced Christianity. The main lure was his two small granddaughters, who were always decked out like a pair of oversize dolls.
The only thing of notable proportions about the Church of the Blessed Savior was its cemetery, which was surrounded by a weathered stone wall. The investigator introduced himself and his colleague Shumakov to the priest, Father Andreyev. They walked through a stone archway and headed for the final, though apparently not tranquil, resting place of one Ilya Romashchuk.
A robust young man, the priest had long, flowing black hair and a beard that gave him a biblical look. It also made him appear older than his thirty years. He was a dedicated young man of God who had joined the priesthood at a time when the government was doing everything possible to discourage such a life. He was not easily swayed by officials, oppressive or otherwise.
"I've only been here about ten months," he said, "so I can't tell you much about the man in the grave."
"Do you know if he lived around here?" Kovalenko asked.
"Not according to one of my parishioners I talked with yesterday. She said the man had requested to be buried here and Father Dedov agreed. In return, the brother made a generous contribution to the church."
That was an interesting gesture for a dedicated Kah-Geh-Beysh-nik, Yuri thought. He was sure General Borovsky would enjoy that little twist. The General had arrived at his office shortly after the call came in from Oleg Kovalenko the previous afternoon. Yuri had immediately briefed him on the new development. Judiciously, he had omitted mention of the coincidence in the burial date and that of his brother's death. In fact, he decided to see where this new aspect of the case might lead before cluttering it up with questionable events from several years ago. Borovsky agreed that he should follow up on the situation immediately. He had headed for Kiev early this morning. Larisa could only shake her head at word that he would be on the road again. He vowed to make it up to her the moment things calmed down.
"It's this one over here," said Father Andreyev, pointing beyond a sharp twist in the broad graveled path between the graves.
Yuri noted the rectangular plot had been squeezed into an area near an iron gate, which provided an opening in the wall on the side away from the church. He saw the name "Ilya Romashchuk" on the headstone and bent down to press his hand against the mound of dirt. It had not been packed down by years of rain and sun.
"Yuri Danilovich," Kovalenko said, staring at the path beside the grave, "did you see this?"
"What?"
"Looks like broom marks along the edges. Must be where they piled the dirt."
"And did a neat clean-up job," said Yuri. "These were fastidious vandals."
Kovalenko turned to the priest. "Have you had any problem with grave robbers in the past?"
"I am not aware of any."
"I believe you told me on the phone that your quarters are over on the other side of the building. You heard nothing that night?"
"I could not have heard anything unless they were terribly noisy."
"What about others in the area? Have you questioned anyone else?"
The cross on the chain about his neck swung like a gold pendulum as the young priest leaned forward and nodded. "I talked with three families who live nearby. They are older people and sleep soundly. No one heard a thing."
Yuri walked toward the iron gate and called back over his shoulder, "Has this been used lately?"
"Only once since I've been here, and that was several months ago. There hasn't been a burial in at least a year. We have only a few plots left. Those destined to fill them are still in remarkably good health."
The ground around the gate appeared to have been scraped by someone obliterating footprints. Weeds just outside showed obvious signs of having been trampled recently. "They must have gone in and out through here," Yuri said.
A car screeched to a halt somewhere beyond the wall, and a few moments later four stalwart young militiamen came strolling up the path carrying shovels as though they were rifles.
"Chief Investigator Kovalenko, your grave digging squad is reporting for duty," said the senior policeman with a broad grin.
Father Andreyev frowned at this seeming disrespect for the dearly departed.
While Kovalenko instructed the militiamen in what he wanted done, Shumakov turned to the priest.
"You mentioned Father Dedov," Yuri said. "Is he still around?"
"He's retired now. Lives at Pecherskaya Lavra."
Yuri nodded. "I visited the caves when I was here recently. Fascinating place."
"Yes. I talked to him a couple of weeks ago. He's enjoying himself. Works some in the Historical Museum."
"It won't take them long," said Kovalenko, rejoining Yuri and Father Andreyev.
The priest's frown deepened as he watched the dirt fly. "Please ask them to be careful of the graves nearby," he cautioned.
"Hey, you clowns!" the investigator bellowed. "Don't mess up the other graves. We need to leave the place just as nice as the people who dug it up the first time."
The men began to peel off clothes as the dirt pile grew larger. Kovalenko called them down a time or two and apologized to Father Andreyev as the exertion brought on some rather salty language. Finally a shovel clunked against the lid of the casket. Heavy ropes were worked under either end, and they began to haul it up. Yuri and Kovalenko guided the big black box to a resting place at the graveside.
Yuri was surprised to find very little deterioration, except on two corners near the bottom. That had apparently resulted from accidental damage that marred the surface. The casket was obviously an expensive one, quite large, well made of a very hard species of oak and treated to resist rot and decay.
Kovalenko checked the lid carefully, then released the latches that sealed it shut. Yuri noticed Father Andreyev watching with a tortured look. He clearly was opposed to disturbing the remains of those who had gone to meet their Maker.
"Well, let's see if we can find any indications of something being removed from the body," said Kovalenko, heaving up the heavy lid.