"From Brest?" she said, feeling a bit confused. "What do you want with me?"
"Just a few questions, please. Your husband made a trip to Brest last Friday."
It wasn't a question. She nodded.
"Do you recall what time he returned?"
She arched a finely drawn eyebrow. "It was late in the evening. Around nine, I believe. Why?"
"We'll get to that in a moment. Did he act unusual in any way when he arrived home? Did he talk about what he had been doing?"
Her anxiety was growing. Not knowing the motive behind these questions, she spoke hesitantly. But she never entertained a lie. It was not her nature. "No, he didn't talk much, had very little to say. He was tired, worn out from the trip." She shrugged. "He didn't really feel like eating and went straight to bed."
"Something was troubling him?"
She remembered how worried she had been about him that night. "Very much so." Then she stared with frightened eyes, her voice a wistful plea. "Tell me what this is all about, please. Has something happened to Yuri? Is he all right?"
She had provided all the confirmation the militiamen needed, and for the first time Moroz showed evidence of emotion as he replied, "I regret to inform you, ma'am, but your husband faces a charge of premeditated homicide."
"Yuri?" she gasped. "Murder?"
"Of one Vadim Trishin, a resident of the City of Brest."
When he called the hospital, Yuri was told that Larisa had been summoned to the administrator's office but should be back at her post shortly. He asked that she return his call as soon as possible.
She called back about five minutes later. He could sense the tears in her voice.
"Yuri, what have you done?"
His heart sank as he realized what lay behind the summons to the administrator's office.
"Have you talked to someone from Brest?" he asked.
"Yes. Two militiamen. Detectives, I suppose. They said—"
"Don't believe them, Larisa. I didn't do it. Vadim Trishin was very much alive when I left him in front of his apartment."
"Then why were you so upset when you came home? You wouldn't talk… you couldn't eat… "
"Did you tell them that?"
"Yes. They asked if you acted strange, if you were upset. You were, Yuri."
He felt the hole he was in sinking a little deeper, the noose pulling tighter about his neck. "You've got to believe me, Larisa. I can't explain it all now, but I received some depressing information from Vadim. I knew that Anatoli's reputation could be smeared if I pursued my investigation any further. But now it's tied in too closely with the situation I'm looking into for General Borovsky. I couldn't see any way out of it."
She gave a long sigh, then said, "I couldn't believe you would kill anyone except in self-defense. But they were so… what are you going to do?"
"Did the detectives say they planned to arrest me?"
"They said you faced a charge of premeditated homicide."
"That means they're probably on the way here now. Oleg Kovalenko called from Kiev and said a detective had questioned him. He found out that someone anonymously tipped the militia that I was the likely culprit. I've been set up, Larisa. I wanted to explain things to General Borovsky and try to get his help, but he isn't here. The only chance I've got is to prove who killed Trishin. I can't do that if I'm sitting in a jail in Brest."
"Then what can you do?"
"Run, I guess. Hide. Until I can work this thing out."
"Where will you go?"
"I don't know. But I'll call you when I can. And, Larisa, don't let anyone tell the boys their father is a murderer. Tell them I love them. And I love you."
"I love you, too, Yuri. Please be careful."
He hung up the phone and glanced at his watch. He didn't have any time to waste. If they were coming to arrest him, they would probably stop and pick up somebody from the local militia first.
The phone rang and he lifted it hesitantly. Instead of giving his name as usual, he answered with a soft, "Hello."
"This is Selikh, your favorite forensic technician," said a jovial voice. "When you said exotic, you were not just kidding. We're both lucky that little piece of cloth contained only the merest trace of the compound I found, or we'd both be candidates for that casket it came out of."
Yuri shuddered. He hadn't thought of that possibility. "Can I take a guess?"
"Be my guest."
"A nerve gas agent?"
There was a new admiration in Selikh's voice. "I knew you were sharp, Chief Investigator Shumakov, but you surprise me. You're right. It's an organophosphorous compound, probably developed at the C/B warfare labs near Kharkov in Ukraine. It is likely the most deadly nerve agent in the inventory."
"Really?"
"Yes. While working on my graduate degree, I participated in a project involving chemical weapons. Some of my classmates were assigned to Kharkov. If you're interested in the details on this cloth sample, I discovered—"
"Thanks, Selikh, but I'm in a bit of a rush right now." He was not the least bit interested. Organic chemistry was completely beyond him. "Do you have any idea if what you found, that minute amount, could have leaked out from something like a chemical mortar shell?"
"Perhaps if it was old and not handled properly, I'd say that's a possibility."
"Would there be a danger of additional leakage now?"
"I'm really not an expert on military munitions. But I would again hazard a guess that it would depend on how carefully the weapons are handled. Do you know how they were packaged?"
"I have no idea," Yuri said. "Look, I want you to hang onto what you have until I get back to you. Don't mention anything about this to anyone. It involves a highly classified investigation for the Belarus KGB. And one other thing, Selikh. Don't believe the things you're going to hear about me shortly. It's all a smokescreen."
Hopefully that would keep the forensic specialist quiet. Yuri quickly began to gather up his files and stuff them into his briefcase.
Yuri grabbed his briefcase and hurried out the door. With confirmation of his suspicions that General Zakharov's crew had stolen the C/B weapons from Anatoli's building, he decided to try General Borovsky once more. But as he started down the corridor toward the General's office, he glanced at his watch and got a shock. The conversation with Selikh had taken much longer than he had thought. The officers from Brest could be expected at any minute. And if Borovsky was still not in, his secretary would realize that Yuri was leaving. She would give that information to whoever came looking for him. He needed as much of a head start as he could manage. If they thought he was still around the building, or had just stepped out for a few minutes, they would likely wait in his office. He spun on his heel and headed for the back stairway.
At that moment, a Brest Militia car pulled up in front of the building at 30 Komsomolskaya Ulitsa and parked behind a Moskva sedan driven by a local militiaman named Yatsov. Detectives Moroz and Olenev climbed out and walked over to join Yatsov. The three men moved quickly into the building.
25
Long green mango leaves shaded one side of the street. On the other, a profusion of bougainvillea blossoms painted a white wall with splotches of blazing red. The morning air was coated with the sweet scent of tropical flowers as a tanned figure with short brown hair, walking with a virtually imperceptible limp, emerged from the modest two-bedroom house behind the wall and stepped into his small blue Toyota. After three years on Lake Chapala, about forty kilometers south of Guadalajara, he seldom gave thought to the perpetual springtime that had been one of the area's initial attractions. It had simply become part of the background, like canned music in a shopping mall.