Tom Smith - Child 44

The door opened. Vasili entered. The doctor pulled back, stood up, stepping back. Vasili was annoyed.

— She’s not injured. There’s no need for you to be here.

— I was just making sure.

— You may leave.

Zarubin took his case and left. Vasili closed the grate. He crouched down beside Raisa, observing her tears.

— You’re strong. Maybe you think you can hold out. I understand your desire to stay loyal to your husband.

— Do you?

— You’re right. I don’t. My point is it would be better for you if you told me everything immediately. You think I’m a monster. But do you know who I learnt that particular line from? Your husband, that’s what he used to tell people before they were tortured — some of them in this very room. He meant it sincerely, if that matters.

Raisa stared at this man’s handsome features and wondered, as she had in the train station all those months ago, why he appeared ugly. His eyes were dull, not lifeless or stupid, but cold.

— I’ll tell you everything.

— But will that be enough?

Leo should have been conserving his strength until there was an opportunity to act. That moment wasn’t now. He’d seen many prisoners waste their energy banging fists against doors, shouting, relentlessly pacing their tiny cells. At the time he’d wondered why they couldn’t see the futility of their actions. Now that he was in that same predicament he finally appreciated how they felt. It was as if his body was allergic to this confinement. It had nothing to do with logic or reasoning. He simply couldn’t sit and wait and do nothing. Instead, he strained against his restraints until his wrists began to bleed. Some part of him actually believed he might be able to break these chains even though he’d seen a hundred men and women secured to them and not once had they broken. Lit up with the notion of a great escape, he ignored the fact that this kind of hope was as dangerous as any torture they could inflict.

Vasili entered, gesturing for the guard to place a chair opposite Leo. The guard obeyed, positioning it just outside of Leo’s reach. Vasili stepped forward, picking up the chair and moving it closer. Their knees were almost touching. He stared at Leo, taking in the way his whole body was straining against his restraints.

— Relax, your wife is unharmed. She’s next door.

Vasili waved the guard towards the grate. He opened it. Vasili called out:

— Raisa: say something to your husband. He’s worried about you.

Raisa’s voice could be heard like a faint echo:

— Leo?

Leo pulled back, relaxing his body. Before Leo could answer the guard slammed the grate shut. Leo looked at Vasili.

— There’s no need to torture either of us. You know how many sessions I’ve seen. I understand there’s no point in holding out. Ask me any question, I’ll answer.

— But I already know everything. I’ve read the files you collected. I’ve spoken to General Nesterov. He was very keen that his children shouldn’t grow up in an orphanage. Raisa has confirmed all his information. I only have one question for you. Why?

Leo didn’t understand. But his fight was gone. He just wanted to say whatever it was this man wanted to hear. He spoke like a child addressing a teacher.

— I’m sorry. I mean no disrespect. I don’t understand. You’re asking why…?

— Why risk the little you had, the little we allowed you to keep, for this fantasy?

— You’re asking about the murders?

— The murders have all been solved.

Leo didn’t reply.

— You don’t believe that, do you? You believe that someone or some group of people are randomly murdering Russian boys and girls up and down this country for no reason at all?

— I was wrong. I had a theory. It was wrong. I retract it fully. I’ll sign a retraction, a confession, an admission of guilt.

— You realize you’re guilty of the most serious act of anti-Russian agitation. It feels like Western propaganda, Leo. That, I could understand. If you’re working for the West then you’re a traitor. Maybe they promised you money, power, the things you had lost. That I could at least understand. Is this the case?

— No.

— That is what worries me. It means you genuinely believe these murders were connected rather than the actions of perverts and vagrants and drunks and undesirables. To be blunt, it is madness. I’ve worked with you. I’ve seen how methodical you are. And if the truth be told, I even admired you. Before, that is, you lost your head over your wife. So when I was told of your new adventures it didn’t make sense to me.

— I had a theory. It was wrong. I don’t know what else I can say.

— Why would anyone want to kill these children?

Leo stared at the man opposite him, a man who’d wanted to execute two children for their parents’ association with a vet. He would’ve shot them in the back of the head and thought nothing of it. Yet Vasili had asked this question in earnest.

Why would anyone want to kill these children?

He’d murdered on a scale comparable to the man Leo was hunting, perhaps even greater. And yet he scratched his head over the logic of these crimes. Was it that he couldn’t understand why anyone who wanted to kill simply didn’t join the MGB or become a Gulag guard? If that was his point then Leo understood it. There were so many legitimate outlets for brutality and murder, why choose an unofficial one? But that wasn’t his point.

These children.

Vasili’s confusion came from the fact that these crimes were apparently motiveless. It wasn’t that the murder of children was unfathomable. But what was the gain? What was the angle? There was no official need to kill these children, no notion of it serving a greater good, no material benefit. That was his objection.

Leo repeated.

— I had a theory. It was wrong.

— Perhaps being expelled from Moscow, from a force you’d loyally served for so many years, was a greater shock than we expected. You are a proud man, after all. Your sanity has clearly suffered. That is why I’m going to help you, Leo.

Vasili stood up, mulling the situation over. State Security had been ordered, after Stalin’s death, to cease all use of violence against arrestees. A creature of survival, Vasili had adapted immediately. And yet here was Leo in his grasp. Could Vasili just walk away and leave him to face his sentencing? Was that enough? Would that satisfy him? He turned towards the door, realizing that his urges towards Leo were now as much a danger to himself as they were to Leo. He could feel his usual caution giving way to something personal, something a little like lust. He found it impossible to resist. He gestured for the guard to approach.

— Bring Dr Hvostov.

Even though it was late, Hvostov didn’t feel put out by the abrupt call to work. He was curious as to what could be so important. He shook Vasili’s hand and listened as the situation was summarized, noting that Vasili referred to Leo as a patient not as a prisoner. He understood that this was necessary to guard against the accusation of physical harm. Having heard in brief the patient’s elaborate delusions about a child-killer, the doctor ordered the guard to escort Leo to his treatment room. He was excited about picking away at what lay beneath this outlandish notion.

The room was exactly as Leo remembered it: small and clean, a red leather chair bolted to the white-tiled floor, glass cabinets filled with bottles and powders and pills, labelled with neat white stickers and careful, tidy black handwriting, an array of steel surgical instruments, the smell of disinfectant. He was secured to the same chair Anatoly Brodsky had been secured to; his wrists, ankles and neck were fastened with the same leather straps. Dr Hvostov filled a syringe with camphor oil. Leo’s shirt was cut away, a vein was found. Nothing needed to be explained. Leo had seen it all before. He opened his mouth, waiting for the rubber gag.