Brian Freemantle - In the Name of a Killer

Danilov looked for guidance towards Lapinsk, who said: ‘I had to explain everything at the Ministry.’

Danilov’s tiredness was worsening: his concentration kept ebbing and flowing so that sometimes he heard quite clearly what the other two men were saying and at other times could hardly hear them at all. ‘What else is there from the Foreign Ministry?’

‘The relation, the Congressman, has been in direct contact with the American ambassador, who’s sought a meeting,’ said Lapinsk. ‘The man is apparently important. We’re being inundated with demands for information from the Western media. There’s an offer from Washington of technological and scientific help …’

‘Which means they despise our investigatory capacity!’ Gugin broke in. After the organization’s most recent problems, it was going to be important to distance the KGB from any dangerous criticism.

It was difficult for Danilov to hold a thought but again he wondered why the KGB officer had not by now announced KGB control. ‘What’s the official response going to be?’

‘Mainly political,’ Lapinsk disclosed. ‘The Minister is waiting for the meeting with the ambassador.’

Danilov looked pointedly at Gugin. ‘There is some technical help I would appreciate from here.’

Gugin returned the attention in apparent surprise, in reality wondering if this was going to show him the way. ‘What?’

Danilov leaned forward, offering a slip of paper upon which he’d copied Ann Harris’s telephone number. ‘Would there have been any monitor?’

Gugin stared steadily back at the detective for several moments. ‘I won’t know, until I check. We could never admit it.’

‘I don’t want to admit it. I want access to numbers she might have called. If the man she slept with isn’t her killer at least he might know why she got out of bed to walk around Moscow in the middle of the night.’

‘It would be extremely useful,’ encouraged Lapinsk.

‘I’ll inquire,’ promised Gugin. But think and plan first, he decided: there probably would have been a monitor, upon somebody so well connected politically. This really could be the way.

The reply confused Danilov. Now they were openly inviting KGB involvement and still the man wasn’t making the control demands there should have been. ‘I’d like something else.’

‘What?’

‘File photographs of Ann Harris. I’d like to see who she circulated with, socially.’

‘She might not have been targeted. If anything came up, during, say, a normal embassy event it might have been retained.’

‘She was related to a prominent American politician!’ Danilov pointed out. By now he was totally confused by Gugin’s practically acquiescent attitude: it wasn’t right.

‘I’ll check that, too.’ Gugin was sure of an advantage now. It could be very good.

‘That would be extremely helpful.’

‘I’m sure it will be,’ said Gugin, amusing himself. He amused himself further with the obvious surprise of the other two men when he terminated his presence by abruptly announcing he had other meetings for which he was already late. He was anxious, in fact, to consult with others back in Lubyanka.

When they were alone Lapinsk said: ‘How are you going to take this forward?’

‘Routinely. Pavin’s setting up the checks on the mental institutions. It’s going to tie up a lot of personnel: possibly mean other cases will have to be put aside.’

‘That’s unimportant!’ declared the Director at once, anxious again. ‘There is only one priority. This case. Everyone’s frightened. The Foreign Ministry — and the Interior — are terrified of overseas newspaper and magazine stories of monsters and madmen roaming Moscow’s streets.’

‘There is one,’ said Danilov, unhelpfully. He jerked his head in the direction of the door through which Gugin had left. ‘I don’t understand what the Cheka are doing. Or rather, not doing!’

‘Neither did I, at first,’ Lapinsk confessed. ‘Then I sat through a half-hour lecture from the Foreign Minister and his advisers about the pitfalls and the Cheka attitude became entirely clear. They’ll cooperate in what we’ve asked: it makes them look willing participants. But they’re always going to be on the outside, free from any responsibility. They can’t afford or risk any more censure, can they?’

The explanation was still hardly an expression of confidence in either him or the Militia, Danilov recognized. ‘So it begins and ends with us? With me?’ Wasn’t that what he’d wanted? Already determined to fight for?

‘The KGB have far more expertise at political and diplomatic manoeuvre than we have. They’ve always needed it more.’

‘Are there any special instructions?’ And was he going to regret his own ambition, he asked himself. He hoped not.

‘Find who did it, as soon as possible,’ said Lapinsk.

‘I hardly need to be told that.’ The Director’s fatuous reply showed the strain under which the man believed himself to be.

‘You do need to be told to be careful in diplomatic situations. You went too far, entering the apartment. Think more, before you move. Otherwise there’ll be mistakes. And we can’t afford mistakes, any more than what used to be the KGB.’

‘I won’t have gone too far, if it helps me find who did it.’

‘Don’t argue with me about this, Dimitri Ivanovich! There isn’t going to be any glory in this investigation. Just problems.’

‘I’ll try not to offend.’ Danilov could see through the window that it was already dark outside. He tried to remember what Olga had told him she was doing tonight but couldn’t, only that she was going out. So there wouldn’t be any food in the apartment. And he hadn’t eaten at midday.

‘You can call upon whatever facilities you want,’ offered the Director. ‘Everything’s got top priority. I want morning and afternoon briefing: I’m going to be getting queries constantly.’ The man paused. ‘I’m frightened there’s going to be another one.’

‘There obviously will be, unless we’re lucky. And I don’t really know what I mean by being lucky,’ admitted Danilov, with aching resignation. It wasn’t until he was struggling against the crowd at the metro station that he realized one of the facilities he could probably demand was a permanent police vehicle. He’d have to remember, tomorrow.

Olga had not left him anything to eat. Danilov poured the Stolichnaya he had denied himself in the long ago early hours of that morning and carried it to the bedroom. He only drank half before falling asleep. His last conscious thought was to hope that Lapinsk was wrong and that there would be a lot of personal glory if he carried out an impeccable investigation and made an arrest.

The world’s press had a story of a predicted American Presidential candidate — already a well-known politician — connected with a murder in Russia.

The coverage was staggering.

The demand for press conferences and interviews and information was overwhelming, bewildering Russian ministries which believed they already understood the needs of the Western news media, but in fact knew them not at all. The sideways shuffle was as automatic as it was instinctive.

The responding discussion was held at the Foreign Ministry. It was attended by a deputy official of the Interior Ministry and the Federal Prosecutor. General Leonid Lapinsk obviously represented the Militia. The Foreign Ministry delegate lectured on the political importance. The Interior Ministry deputy insisted upon the need for a quick resolution. With weight of authority, both ministries argued that the statement should come from the Federal Prosecutor, a thin, skin-sagged lawyer named Nikolai Smolin. The Prosecutor tried to spread responsibility, summoning Lapinsk the following morning to judge — and for the man to be enmeshed in — the communique. It said the Russian authorities deeply regretted a foul crime. Every effort and every available officer had been assigned to the investigation, for which there was every expectation of a quick conclusion. All information and developments would be made available to the media, as they arose.