‘It is no longer your investigation.’
‘You said that, too.’
There was the sound of engines from the end of the street and the blocking vehicle moved to admit an ambulance. Panchenko said to the attendants approaching with their wheeled stretcher: ‘To the First Chief Directorate mortuary, not the civilian militia.’
The rigor-hardened body was easy for the men to manoeuvre on to the stretcher: briefly, for no more than a second, the one rigidly outstretched arm pointed directly at Panchenko, who looked abruptly away, back to Bogaty.
‘Don’t forget the official reports,’ he said.
‘Is it likely I would?’
‘What was your name again?’
To show he was not intimidated, Bogaty spelled it out instead of saying it.
‘I’ll remember it,’ bullied Panchenko.
It wasn’t difficult to imagine why people wanted to run KGB officers down. Trying to end the encounter on his terms and not be dismissed by the man, Bogaty said: ‘If I were you I’d start checking garages before whoever did it has a chance to get his car repaired,’ but it didn’t work because Panchenko had already turned away and was walking back to the entrance to the street, without any farewell. Bugger the man, thought Bogaty: he wouldn’t get the expert reports until he asked for them. And asked for them politely. Still too early to go home to Lydia. Just one drink, in the cafe on Sverdlova. Maybe two.
As always Kazin insisted on caution on unsecured telephones so when Panchenko called the man said, simply: ‘Safe?’
‘I did what you ordered,’ replied the security chief, which was not the arranged reply. But it was necessary for the tape recorder Panchenko had attached to his receiver.
Yuri approached the apartment on the opposite side of 53rd Street so that he could establish from her lighted window directly above the Soviet apartment whether Caroline were home, which she was. He closed the outside door loudly and ascended the stairs slowly, but there was no shout from above. He slammed his apartment door loudly, too, and then stood in the middle of the room feeling stupid, which he decided was appropriate because stupidly was how he was behaving. Positively childlike and juvenile, he told himself. He strained to hear her moving about, but couldn’t. He started towards the uncertain television to watch it with the volume high, but halted determinedly. Time to stop being stupid. He’d come to see her and the way to see her was to call, not stumble about like some immature seventeen-year-old with wet dreams and a romantic crush. He didn’t need to look up the number because he’d checked it before he left the United Nations building.
‘Where have you been!’ she demanded, at once.
‘The job took longer than I expected,’ said Yuri. The excitement in her voice sounded genuine.
‘Are you coming to me or am I coming to you?’
So the button-down man wasn’t with her. Yuri said: ‘Why don’t I come up?’ There might be some indication of his being there.
‘Hurry! I’ve missed you.’
She appeared to have done. She was waiting by the open door when he climbed to the next storey and when he got to her she reached out, pulling him to her, holding her face up to be kissed. When they parted she refused to let him go, clutching his hand and leading him back into the apartment, pushing him into a chair and then settling at his feet.
‘It’s good to see you again,’ he said sincerely.
‘No call!’ she complained. ‘Not even a postcard!’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. He wasn’t handling it as he intended.
‘I said I missed you. What about you?’
‘How are walking plants?’ he avoided.
‘Still walking,’ she said. ‘And who gives a fuck?’
Yuri looked around the apartment for some sign of occupation apart from Caroline’s but could not see any. It did not mean she had not slept with the man. Yuri said: ‘So what’s new?’
‘I had a visit,’ she announced.
‘A visit?’
‘My brother, from California. I hoped you’d be back in time to meet him.’ She swivelled, taking a small photograph frame from a ledge, and offered it to him.
Yuri stared down at the picture of the man he’d watched escort Caroline from the advertising agency. The inscription said: ‘To Carro, from Peter’.
Looking up at him, Caroline said: ‘What are you grinning at?’
‘Nothing,’ said Yuri, returning the photograph. ‘I didn’t know that I was.’
‘I told him I’d met you.’
‘Told him what?’ The question only just stopped being abrupt.
‘That I had a new guy who was a journalist. He asked what the magazines were but I couldn’t remember.’
Dangerous, thought Yuri. Like coming here at all. So why had he, without a proper, professional, KGB-approved reason? He said: ‘What does Peter do?’
‘Cameraman at Universal Studios.’
‘Does he visit often?’ queried Yuri cautiously.
‘Once or twice a year.’
Hardly likely to be a problem, Yuri decided. No more than the problems he was creating for himself, anyway.
He said: ‘I still haven’t got anything in. Do you want to go out to eat?’
‘No,’ she said positively.
‘What then?’
‘You really want to know?’
‘I really want to know.’
‘I want to go to bed and eat you.’
Which she did. Fleetingly Yuri wondered if he would have the difficulty with Caroline that had embarrassed him with Inya, but he didn’t. The first time was hurried in their eagerness for each other, like before, but the next time it was slower and better and she screamed out when she came, driving her nails into his back, scratching him. Afterwards they lay quietly, locked together and unspeaking, her head against his chest.
It was Caroline who spoke first. She said: ‘You sure you’re not married?’
‘I told you I wasn’t.’
‘I know what you told me.’
‘So what sort of question is it?’
‘The sort of question that a girl asks a guy when she wants to be sure.’
Unseen above her, Yuri swallowed. He said: ‘No, I’m not married. And I’m sure about it.’
‘Good.’
‘Why good?’
‘Just good.’
‘Isn’t this conversation getting a little heavy?’ he said.
Instead of replying, she said: ‘How long are you back this time?’
‘It’s not definite,’ said Yuri, avoiding again. He was glad her posturing with the cocaine appeared to be over.
‘I want it to be a long time.’
Yuri thought he heard a telephone ringing in the apartment below but decided he had to be mistaken. He said: ‘Maybe it will be.’
‘Stay with me tonight? Sleep I mean.’
‘If you’d like me to.’
‘I’d like you to.’
They made love once more, before they slept, and during the night Caroline awakened him and they made love again. He said: ‘You’re going to exhaust me,’ and she said: That’s what I’m trying to do, tire you out so you won’t have the energy to go with any other girls.’
Yuri had the account already prepared when he entered the United Nations the following day, the explanation that he’d gone to check the apartment and encountered a neighbour again, smiling expectantly when Granov hurried towards him, serious-faced.
‘Where the hell have you been!’ demanded the rezident before Yuri could speak. ‘We’ve tried everywhere to find you!’
‘What is it?’ said Yuri.
‘Your father’s dead,’ said Granov.
Panchenko stared at the scraped and dented wing of the car and the gaping emptiness, where the light had been, remembering Malik’s stumbling, last-minute attempt at avoidance and how he’d had to twist the wheel to hit the man and by so doing made it impossible to avoid the glancing collision with the wall. Nothing more than a minor problem, he decided: now that he had taken the investigation away from the civilian militia there was no danger of any damaging inquiry. Still essential that he take precautions. Repairs through the Directorate motor pool were logged and he had to avoid official records. So it had to be a back-street, no-questions-asked garage: from those same KGB records he wanted to avoid, Panchenko knew the name of every one. But first the car had to be cleaned: there was a surprising amount of blood.