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Authors: Tom Callaghan
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saw no point in holding the body, and we arranged for its removal in the morning.
‘I want to thank you, Inspector, for the delicacy you’ve shown in this matter.’
I nodded. Only the Chief and I knew who the dead girl was, although Usupov must have had some suspicions, having seen the Minister arrive.
‘As I said earlier, you’re to handle this personally, no involvement from my department, official or otherwise.’
I nodded again. The Minister hadn’t survived two revolutions by not knowing exactly where power lay at any moment, and how best to use that knowledge. If his daughter’s death had any political resonance, he would keep silence until the best moment to strike and avenge her.
Tynaliev wrapped his scarf around his throat, pulled on his gloves, glanced over at the door where his driver and a bodyguard were waiting. He strode towards them, saying nothing. He didn’t need to. I had my orders.
The sound of their boots was still echoing off the walls when Usupov appeared. He cocked his head in the direction of the door, and raised an eyebrow. I nodded in answer.
‘Shit,’ he muttered, ‘you’ll have to dance carefully, Inspector. You’re amongst the wolves now.’
‘You think so?’ I asked, fumbling for a cigarette to soothe my nerves.
‘So now you know who she was?’
‘Not was. Is.’
He shrugged but, to me, it made all the difference in the world. Once her killer was caught, once her death was accounted for and laid to rest, then she could silently slip into the past. Until then, I wanted to think of her as an unseen presence, spurring me on, watching from the sidelines. Chinara always said that I wanted the world to be explained, understood, a place where the dead could rest appeased. I wanted to understand Yekaterina’s death, but I didn’t believe in the solace of explanations. Not any more.
I shut my eyes against the glare of the overhead lights and tried to remember when I had last slept properly. Almost forty-eight hours, but it was my soul that was exhausted. Anyway, I’d have for ever to sleep, once I joined Chinara and Yekaterina, and all the others I’ve attended over the years.
‘Here.’
Usupov was shaking my shoulder, and I realised I’d been dozing on my feet.
‘Why don’t you go home, sleep for a while? Even Tynaliev can’t expect you to work without a break.’
I shook my head.
‘That’s exactly what he does expect,’ I replied, rubbing my face as if to massage the weariness out of it. I remembered the pills stashed back home, pharmaceutical speed. Just enough to keep me up for a few more hours, to try to work out where I might find a lead, something to report back to the Chief, and for the Chief to tell the Minister.
I shook Usupov’s hand, told him what time the undertakers would arrive, and took a copy of his report away with me. I decided to walk back to the apartment; another dawn spent trudging through the snow, trying to work out a pattern, sifting my thoughts to see what links I could make.
Usupov shut and locked the morgue door behind me, and I looked around to see what the new day would bring. The snow had stopped, the wind had died down, and it was brutally cold, in the minus twenties, at a guess. I didn’t want to imagine how cold the Torugart Pass would be. It was early yet, but I’d be able to buy a couple of chicken
samsi
on the way home. The thought made me realise how hungry I was. A case like this, I might go for days without a hot meal, but wherever you turn in my country, there’s a bottle of vodka to tempt you.
It was getting light when I got back to my
khrushchyovk
apartment block. As usual, the main entrance door was ajar. People either forget the security code or can’t be bothered to use it. The lift wasn’t working either, so I climbed the three flights of concrete stairs, past the rubble and clutter that communal spaces always acquire. What wasn’t so usual was that the doors to my apartment were open. I stopped, waited
‘I want to thank you, Inspector, for the delicacy you’ve shown in this matter.’
I nodded. Only the Chief and I knew who the dead girl was, although Usupov must have had some suspicions, having seen the Minister arrive.
‘As I said earlier, you’re to handle this personally, no involvement from my department, official or otherwise.’
I nodded again. The Minister hadn’t survived two revolutions by not knowing exactly where power lay at any moment, and how best to use that knowledge. If his daughter’s death had any political resonance, he would keep silence until the best moment to strike and avenge her.
Tynaliev wrapped his scarf around his throat, pulled on his gloves, glanced over at the door where his driver and a bodyguard were waiting. He strode towards them, saying nothing. He didn’t need to. I had my orders.
The sound of their boots was still echoing off the walls when Usupov appeared. He cocked his head in the direction of the door, and raised an eyebrow. I nodded in answer.
‘Shit,’ he muttered, ‘you’ll have to dance carefully, Inspector. You’re amongst the wolves now.’
‘You think so?’ I asked, fumbling for a cigarette to soothe my nerves.
‘So now you know who she was?’
‘Not was. Is.’
He shrugged but, to me, it made all the difference in the world. Once her killer was caught, once her death was accounted for and laid to rest, then she could silently slip into the past. Until then, I wanted to think of her as an unseen presence, spurring me on, watching from the sidelines. Chinara always said that I wanted the world to be explained, understood, a place where the dead could rest appeased. I wanted to understand Yekaterina’s death, but I didn’t believe in the solace of explanations. Not any more.
I shut my eyes against the glare of the overhead lights and tried to remember when I had last slept properly. Almost forty-eight hours, but it was my soul that was exhausted. Anyway, I’d have for ever to sleep, once I joined Chinara and Yekaterina, and all the others I’ve attended over the years.
‘Here.’
Usupov was shaking my shoulder, and I realised I’d been dozing on my feet.
‘Why don’t you go home, sleep for a while? Even Tynaliev can’t expect you to work without a break.’
I shook my head.
‘That’s exactly what he does expect,’ I replied, rubbing my face as if to massage the weariness out of it. I remembered the pills stashed back home, pharmaceutical speed. Just enough to keep me up for a few more hours, to try to work out where I might find a lead, something to report back to the Chief, and for the Chief to tell the Minister.
I shook Usupov’s hand, told him what time the undertakers would arrive, and took a copy of his report away with me. I decided to walk back to the apartment; another dawn spent trudging through the snow, trying to work out a pattern, sifting my thoughts to see what links I could make.
Usupov shut and locked the morgue door behind me, and I looked around to see what the new day would bring. The snow had stopped, the wind had died down, and it was brutally cold, in the minus twenties, at a guess. I didn’t want to imagine how cold the Torugart Pass would be. It was early yet, but I’d be able to buy a couple of chicken
samsi
on the way home. The thought made me realise how hungry I was. A case like this, I might go for days without a hot meal, but wherever you turn in my country, there’s a bottle of vodka to tempt you.
It was getting light when I got back to my
khrushchyovk
apartment block. As usual, the main entrance door was ajar. People either forget the security code or can’t be bothered to use it. The lift wasn’t working either, so I climbed the three flights of concrete stairs, past the rubble and clutter that communal spaces always acquire. What wasn’t so usual was that the doors to my apartment were open. I stopped, waited
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