Brian Freemantle - In the Name of a Killer

Larissa had to get up from the chair arm to serve it and Danilov was relieved. Olga went to help and Kosov insisted on more whisky, while they waited. With the caviare Kosov served chilled vodka. There was imported French white wine with the cold fish and red, French again, with the duck, which Larissa served with marinated cabbage, both red and white. When Olga politely praised the meal Larissa said everything had come from the open, State-free market next to the Circus: every conceivable foodstuff was available providing you were prepared to pay the price. Kosov, who belatedly appeared to realize his wife had been mocking him about the degree of responsibility of a Militia post commander, told interminable police anecdotes whose point or denouement he frequently forgot, relapsing into shrugs and hopeful, join-me laughter and mumbled ‘you know’ and ‘so that was that’. Everyone felt varying degrees of discomfort.

Kosov poured brandy for himself and Danilov while the women cleared away. Kosov said: ‘Isn’t there really any understanding operating at Petrovka?’

‘I believe so, in the general serious crime section. Not in the homicide division though. There couldn’t be, could there?’

‘Of course there could,’ argued the expert. ‘Use the contacts of the serious crime squad not involved in murder.’

‘I haven’t got around to it yet,’ Danilov hedged.

‘Don’t want to obligate yourself, with other colleagues?’ guessed Kosov.

‘Something like that,’ said Danilov, taking the excuse.

‘Then let me help. All you’ve got to do is ask.’

Which would mean he would be taking favours from both members of the family, Danilov thought, knowing a different sort of discomfort. ‘I’ll remember that.’

‘Any time,’ said Kosov. ‘That’s what friends are for.’

Danilov couldn’t remember the other man being quite so openly condescending before. There was some desultory talk about films when the women returned and some quite animated conversation when Kosov announced that he was thinking of applying for exit visas so he and Larissa could take a vacation in Europe, probably both France and Italy. It was Danilov who brought the evening to a close, pleading pressure of work. Kosov kissed Olga goodbye and promised Danilov he would be hearing something from him in a few days. ‘The word’s out on the streets. Trust me.’

When Danilov kissed Larissa farewell she looked directly at him. ‘Don’t forget what Yevgennie said earlier: let’s not leave it so long until we get together again.’

‘Our turn next time,’ insisted Olga as they left, Danilov carrying the wipers in a piece of paper towel.

Danilov trapped his finger again replacing them on the police car but this time didn’t cut himself. He used the paper towel to wipe off as much fresh grease as possible.

‘Isn’t that going to be embarrassing?’ demanded Olga, when he got in beside her.

‘What?’

‘Having them back to us next time. Can you imagine what they’ll think of our apartment? I can remember the time when we had things every bit as good as theirs: better even.’

‘Don’t invite them then.’ Danilov didn’t want another evening like tonight. He’d swung between boredom and embarrassment with Kosov, and Larissa had made him constantly uncomfortable in other ways. And she’d known it: he guessed she hadn’t just felt superior to her husband and Olga but to him as well.

‘We have invited them.’

‘Not a specific date. Just don’t do anything more about it.’

‘Do you like her?’

Danilov looked quickly across the car and wished he hadn’t, from the guilt it might have conveyed. ‘Larissa?’

‘Who else do you think I mean?’

‘Of course I like her. We’ve all of us been friends a long time. Why do you ask?’

‘She was all over you tonight.’

‘Rubbish!’ said Danilov, almost too forcefully.

‘What were you doing in the bathroom?’

‘You know what we were doing. She was dressing my finger.’ It sounded pitifully inadequate.

‘It seemed to take a long time.’

‘I tried to get more muck off my hands.’

‘She had to stay and help you do that?’

‘We were talking.’

‘What about?’

‘I don’t know! Things at the hotel. How I enjoy working at Petrovka. Just talking.’

‘She’s very attractive, isn’t she?’

‘I haven’t thought about it.’ That had sounded wrong, too. Now Danilov was aware of Olga looking across the car at him.

‘Her dress was French. She told me, in the kitchen.’

Danilov didn’t reply. Despite the distraction of the conversation inside the car he found himself staring out into the quiet streets along which they were driving, looking. For what, he demanded angrily of himself. A figure wielding a knife? Or running with a handful of hair?

‘It showed her figure. She hasn’t got any fat, not like me, has she?’

‘I didn’t notice.’

‘She was so close to you I wouldn’t have thought you could have missed noticing.’

‘If we’re making comparisons, which we seem to be doing, I thought you and Yevgennie clung together pretty much tonight.’ Now it was petulance.

‘Yevgennie! Don’t be ridiculous. He’s always like that; always has been.’

Danilov edged off the inner ring road, to cut through minor streets in the hope of reaching Kirovskaya as quickly as possible. Wind-driven rain began misting the windscreen and Danilov had to start the wipers. There was a hard scraping noise as they cleared the screen and he guessed he had re-attached them wrongly.

‘At least he was interested in some physical contact with me. I haven’t been aware of you showing much recently.’

‘Don’t start an argument where one doesn’t exist, Olga!’ He was surprised at not being able to remember the last time they’d made love.

‘I …’ started the woman, loudly, but stopped. Controlling herself she went on: ‘I don’t recall you and I thinking of a vacation in Europe, when you were in charge of the district.’

‘Travel was much more strictly controlled when I was in charge.’ Danilov confronted a No Entry sign he hadn’t expected. He turned left, to make his own detour, acknowledging it wasn’t any longer a shortcut.

‘We still didn’t think about it,’ insisted the woman, stubbornly.

‘Yevgennie didn’t say they were going. It’s the sort of thing he’d do, talk about visas as if the trip is all fixed.’

‘Are you going to do it?’

‘Do what?’ Danilov rerouted himself on to the road he wanted, hoping there would not be any further obstruction. He’d certainly been uncomfortable with Larissa but he hadn’t expected the situation between them to be quite so obvious. Olga could only have a suspicion: he just had to deny any outright accusation and ridicule whatever innuendo she might make. Damn Larissa! She had been amusing herself and in doing so had created stupid, unnecessary difficulties.

‘Take up Yevgennie’s offer to put us into contact with people who can get things … like the old days.’

‘I don’t think so.’ Danilov began to recognize his surroundings and was relieved they were almost home.

‘Why the hell not?’ erupted Olga, loudly again. ‘I’m pissed off, going on like we are now! You told me Petrovka was promotion. Promotion means better things: more benefits. What benefits have we got, since the transfer? None! We’ve actually lost out! You expect me to go on like this?’

Danilov wondered what alternative she was threatening. ‘The job’s not the same any more.’

‘What’s the job got to do with it? Why did you have to give up all the connections you had? There was no reason.’