Everyone stared, wide-eyed. The casket was empty!
"What the hell?" Oleg Kovalenko looked around.
"It appears that Ilya Romashchuk has flown the coop," said Yuri, folding his arms and staring down at the open box.
Father Andreyev quickly stepped forward to gaze in open-mouthed disbelief. He shook his head in confusion. "This is terrible. Who would have done it? Why?"
"Good questions, Father." Yuri continued to study the interior of the casket. It had obviously been well sealed. The white fabric lining was hardly soiled. What little discoloration he observed had not resulted from body fluids. If the late Ilya Romashchuk had occupied this burial crypt, he realized, the corpse must still be in mint state, as a coin collector might describe it. But if a body had not occupied the casket, what had?
"If some member of the family should come to see the grave," Father Andreyev moaned disconsolately, "what should I tell them? What can I do?"
Kovalenko stepped over to lay a large consoling hand on the priest's shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Father. In the first place, I doubt any of the family are likely to come here. Let us do some quiet checking into the situation. I suggest we replace the casket for the present and say nothing. Obviously, it's a very strange affair. If the people who did it are unaware of what we know, we may stand a lot better chance of coming up with some answers."
"You have my full cooperation," the priest said, obviously happy to have the burden lifted from his own shoulders. "I shall say nothing to anyone."
As they talked, Yuri thought about the explosion in the Nikolayev Oblast, some 400 kilometers to the southeast. The casket had been buried within twenty-four hours of the disastrous event that had taken his brother's life. And as he recalled the circumstances, a shocking thought suddenly hit him, a brilliant flash of intuition. He reacted instantly. Taking out his pocket knife and checking to see that the others were focusing their attention on Kovalenko and the priest, he leaned over and grasped the fabric lining with his handkerchief, sliced off a small square, folded it into the handkerchief and shoved it back into his pocket. It was a wild chance, but it also might be the key to the whole mystery of his brother's death.
During the drive back to Kovalenko's office, the two investigators puzzled over their startling discovery. "I don't believe there was ever a body in that casket," said the burly Ukrainian.
Yuri nodded. "Not unless he was swathed like an Egyptian mummy."
"So what was in it? Why bury it at that church? Why dig it up now?"
"I hope you're about to give me some answers."
"Ha! I have no damned idea. Do you?"
"The only thing that seems certain is that Major Romashchuk was involved."
"Romashchuk. And what do we know about him, except that he deals in cash? Would he have hidden cash in that casket? Maybe gold? Maybe diamonds?"
Yuri looked out at the large tree-filled park they were passing, an oasis of green that reminded him of home. He wondered if he would be able to make it back to Minsk tonight. He turned back to Kovalenko. "I think our man prefers to keep his money in Swiss banks. But it sure would help to know what he spends it on."
"I'll see if they've made contact with that truck driver yet. Perhaps he can enlighten us."
When they got to his office, Kovalenko called the militia detective charged with keeping an eye out for the driver. The man still had not been seen. Then the investigator got a sudden summons for an audience with the Kiev prosecutor.
"I don't know how long this will take," he apologized. "If you—"
"Don't worry about me. I have a little errand to run."
The "little errand" took him over to Pecherskaya Lavra. He found Father Dedov at the Historical Museum. A thin, slightly emaciated man with stringy white hair, the elderly priest was puttering around the exhibits of Ukrainian folk art, staring through thick lenses at a display of krashenki, delicately painted Easter eggs.
"It took a fine eye and a steady hand to do that," Yuri said in admiration, standing behind the old man.
"Two things that I lack," replied the priest without turning his head.
"I'll wager you had them in your earlier days."
That prompted him to look around. "Yes, I was a fair painter in my time. Was that just a guess, or do I know you?"
"A guess, Father Dedov. My name is Yuri Shumakov. I'm from Minsk. Father Andreyev told me I would find you here."
That brought a thin smile. "And how is my young replacement?"
"He's fine. He said you might be able to tell me about a man named Ilya Romashchuk you buried at the church back in 1991."
The priest's smile faded abruptly. It was as though a light in his eyes had been switched off. "Why do you ask?"
Yuri kept his voice casual. "I'm trying to locate his brother, Nikolai. I believe he made the arrangements."
"Are you a friend?"
The old priest was being guarded. Apparently he knew something of Major Romashchuk's background. Yuri decided to play it straight. "I'll be frank with you, Father. I'm a chief investigator for the Minsk procuratura. I am pursuing an investigation that involves Nikolai Romashchuk."
"Then you know he was a KGB major."
"Yes, sir. Which makes this burial in a Christian cemetery a bit strange."
"'Strange' is a rather mild way of putting it," said Father Dedov, looking over the top of his glasses. "It was bizarre."
"Would you tell me about it, please?"
After a moment's hesitance and a shrug of resignation, the priest began his story. "He came to me two days before the funeral, dressed in his intimidating uniform. Said his brother, Ilya, was at the point of death. Ilya had expressed the desire for a Christian burial. I told him I was sorry but all the space in the cemetery was taken. I really didn't want to have anything to do with him. But he wasn't accustomed to being told 'no.' He insisted, said he was prepared to make a very generous contribution in his brother's name. Well, you may have heard how, in the early days, those who made the largest contributions were given the choicest burial spots. And you know from seeing it that the Church of the Blessed Savior is a very poor parish. I decided if setting cemetery priorities was good enough for the early saints, it would certainly do for a latter day saint. So I admitted there was one gravesite available. I showed it to him, and he obviously liked the location."
Because of the gate, no doubt, Yuri thought. "That doesn't sound so bizarre."
"I haven't come to that part. He gave me the money, a very large sum for that church, and said he would contact me about the funeral. Well, I didn't expect to hear from him for maybe several days. But two mornings later, quite early, he came knocking on my door, said his brother had died the night before and they were ready for the funeral. I told him I would have to make arrangements with the grave diggers. Forget it, he said. He had his own grave diggers. I told him I would need to prepare for the mass. Forget it, he said. Say a prayer, then see that no one disturbed them while they buried his brother.
"There was another officer he called 'General,' and four other men, all in KGB uniforms. They went back to the cemetery and dug up the grave. Then they brought out the casket, a beautiful, expensive casket, and he said 'go ahead and pray.' By then I was beside myself. But somehow I managed to say a prayer for that poor departed soul. Then they marched back to the grave and lowered the casket into it. They shoveled the dirt over it and left without another word. It was an experience I'll never forget. And, I might add, one I have never related to anyone before."
When the old priest lapsed into silence, Yuri nodded. "I agree. That was bizarre. What kind of vehicle did they bring the casket in?"
"Something like a military truck. It had canvas over the back. The officers were riding in a long, black Chaika limousine."