“No,” said Magda Stern firmly. “I will come to you. I would prefer, if at all possible, that people here know nothing about the incident.”
Elena immediately agreed, and the reporter said she would be on her way to Petrovka within half an hour.
Elena called both the guard station and the uniformed officer at the check-in desk in the lobby to ask that they admit Magda Stern and let her or Sasha know when she arrived.
And then back to the stacks.
When they were finished with their first run-through-they planned to switch files with each other and go through them again-the phone rang and Magda Stern’s arrival was announced. Elena asked if one of the National Police meeting rooms was available. The man in the lobby said he didn’t know; the room log was somewhere upstairs at the moment. So they would conduct the interview in their cubbyhole office. Fortunately Karpo, Iosef, and Zelach were all out, ensuring some degree of privacy.
The two inspectors gathered the green file folders and put them neatly into the empty bottom drawer of Sasha’s desk. Then they went downstairs. The lobby was crowded this morning. People, about two-thirds of them in uniform, moved about in clusters, talking softly as they passed the trio of watchful armed officers.
Magda Stern was easy to spot. She was taller than most of the men. And she was striking. Were she a bit younger, Elena thought, she might have a career as a model somewhere in Western Europe or even the United States. But there was a determined look on the woman’s face that told Elena she was probably not model material. It wasn’t just what had happened to her last night. The look was something Elena was sure had been with the woman for some time. She herself had a bit of it, and her aunt, before her illness, had had it, too.
The two detectives greeted the woman, who was wearing a green suit under her tan leather coat. Her hair was short, dark, nothing out of place. And she wore tinted glasses. She shook the detectives’ hands firmly and followed them up the stairs.
“The elevators are not particularly trustworthy,” Sasha explained.
Magda Stern did not respond. Elena noticed that the woman was wearing stylish red boots, probably from the Czech Republic or the West.
When they entered Sasha’s cubicle, he offered the woman coffee or tea. She refused with a gesture. They sat on the three chairs in the tiny space. Sasha moved his chair around to sit next to Elena and avoid the impression that he was in charge. In some situations the image of command might be valuable. In this case, without a word, Elena and Sasha knew that Elena should lead the way.
The woman did not take off her coat.
“You wouldn’t be talking to me and I wouldn’t be here if I were an individual case,” Magda Stern said. “We’re talking about a man who has attacked other women.”
“Yes,” said Elena. She could now see that heavy makeup covered most of the bruises on the woman’s face, and the tinted glasses probably covered more. Only a red bump on her forehead refused to be hidden. “You’ve been seen by a doctor?”
“Do you have the report on my attack?” she replied.
“Not yet,” said Sasha.
“It indicates my injuries, but it does not contain the essential information,” Magda Stern said, sitting with her back straight, her long legs planted firmly on the floor.
“Essential information?” asked Elena.
“My injuries,” the woman said, “are accurately documented in the report. Concussion, bruises, one rib cracked. It is tightly taped. I have been feeling a mild to intense dizziness since the attack and will see a physician in whom I have some trust later today.”
Sasha was amazed, but he hid his amazement. The woman looked fine except for the bruise.
“I do not intend to give my attacker, should he see me, the satisfaction of knowing the extent of my injuries. I do not intend to have any of my coworkers find out what happened. Both of these considerations, however, I will forgo if it helps to catch the bastard.”
She had used the English word. The Russian language has a wide variety of insults, many of them quite colorful, but the recent style was to pick up insults from the French and Americans. It suggested that the person being insulted did not deserve the Russian language.
“You withheld essential information in your report to the police last night?” said Elena.
“Yes,” Magda answered, her voice even.
“Why?” asked Elena.
“Because the person who attacked me was a policeman,” she said. “And I did not trust the two uniformed men who questioned me at the hospital emergency room. Neither was the one who attacked me, but the report might be seen by him, and the danger to me would be very great.”
“But you’ll tell us?” asked Elena.
“Someone must be told and you are not part of the regular National Police or the district police. I am well aware of the reputation and success of your office. Your director, Colonel Snitkonoy …”
“He’s a general now,” said Sasha. “And he is in charge of security at the Hermitage in Saint Petersburg.”
Elena gave Sasha a look of gentle reproof. Had he not been so weary, he would never have said what he had, but it was too late, and perhaps it would give the newswoman some confidence in their openness.
“And who has replaced him?” Magda asked.
“You’ll have to call the office directly for that information,” said Elena.
Magda nodded.
Sasha wanted to hurry the woman. He was tired. He was on the verge of his old irritability. He knew his usual charm would be of no use on Magda Stern.
“The man who attacked you was a police officer?” asked Elena to return to the subject.
“I recognized the uniform, the shoes,” Magda Stern said. “And once, as he hit me, I rolled into the doorway onto a small bank of snow and got a glance at his face. I’m confident he was unaware that I saw him. I think if he knew, he would have killed me. I covered up as best I could and refused to be intimidated. He tried to rape me but I tightened up. You understand?”
Elena nodded. She understood.
“He grew angry and hit me some more, but he never fully penetrated,” Magda said. “He was frightened away by a car coming down the street. I kept my face down, but I turned just enough to see him get into a police car and drive away.”
Elena and Sasha looked at each other.
“Anything else?”
“He dropped his condom. I pointed it out to the police when they came. I called from my apartment. A car came quickly and took me to the hospital.”
“You can describe your attacker?” asked Elena.
“I can describe him. I would definitely recognize him.”
The next step was clear. There was no need for the two detectives to even discuss it. They would bring their information to Rostnikov and ask him to arrange a gathering of every uniformed officer in the Trotsky Station district, which covered the area where Magda lived. If that failed to yield the attacker, they would go through every one of the more than one hundred districts and every officer assigned to Petrovka itself.
They explained their plan to Magda Stern, who immediately agreed. She asked only that the two officers be efficient and take as little of her time as possible. However, whatever time it took, she would devote to catching the man who had attacked her.
They would also try to convince Ludmilla Henshakayova, the old woman who had fought off the would-be rapist almost a decade ago. There was a chance that if Magda identified him, the old woman might confirm the identification, even though it had been many years since the night she had seen him.
The call came within half an hour not from Rostnikov but from Director Yakovlev. Rostnikov had suggested that it come from the highest authority. As little as Yakovlev liked doing things that might someday have political repercussions, he agreed with Rostnikov and made the call to District 37, Trotsky Station.