Tom Smith: Child 44

There were heavy footsteps, too heavy for her mother. Her father must have returned early. Light appeared as the door to the basement was opened. Why was he back so soon? Panicking, Nadya lowered the lid, trying not to make a noise, listening to her father’s footsteps coming down the stairs. With the lid closed she dropped to her knees and clambered under the bed, squeezing herself into the small space, watching the bottom step. There they were — his big black boots, coming right towards her.

Nadya closed her eyes, expecting when she opened her eyes to see his furious face inches away from her. Instead, the entire bed creaked and sank. He was sitting on it. Opening her eyes she had to scramble out of the way. With the gap between the bed and the floor even smaller she watched as he began to untie his bootlaces. He didn’t know she was here. The latch must have locked after she’d shut it. She hadn’t been caught, not yet. What was she going to do? Her father could spend hours down here. Her mother would return and be alarmed that Nadya wasn’t home. Perhaps they’d think she was missing and go looking for her. If they did she’d be able to sneak upstairs and tell some lie about where she’d been. That was her best hope. Until then she had to remain where she was and keep very quiet.

Her father pulled his socks off and stretched his toes. He stood up, the bed rising with him, and fired up the lamp, which gave out a weak light. He walked towards the chest. Nadya could hear the top of the chest being opened but couldn’t see what he’d taken out. He must have left the lid open because she didn’t hear it close. What was her father doing? Now he was sitting at one of the chairs, tying something around his foot. It was a strip of rubber. Using string and rags he seemed to be making some kind of homemade shoe.

Aware of something behind her, Nadya turned her head and saw the cat. It had seen her too, its back was arched, its fur stuck out. She didn’t belong down here. It knew that much. Scared, she turned to see if her father had noticed. He dropped to his knees, his face appearing in the gap under the bed. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t dare move. He said nothing, standing up, lifting the entire bed upright, exposing her curled up in a ball.

— Stand up.

She couldn’t move her arms, her legs — her body didn’t seem to be working.

— Nadya.

Hearing her name, she stood up.

— Step away from the wall.

She obeyed: stepping towards him, her head down, staring at her father’s one bare foot and his other foot wrapped in rags. He lowered the bed, putting it back in position.

— Why are you down here?

— I wanted to know what you do.

— Why?

— I want to spend more time with you.

Andrei could feel that urge again — they were alone in the house. She shouldn’t have come down here: he’d told her that for her own sake. He was a different person. He was not her father. He stepped away from his daughter until his back was pressed against the wall, as far from her as the room would allow.

— Father?

Andrei raised a finger to his lips.

Control yourself.

But he could not. He took his glasses off, folding them up and putting them in his pocket. When he looked at her again she was nothing more than a blurred outline, no longer his daughter — just a child. Indistinct, fuzzy, any child he chose to imagine.

— Father?

Nadya stood up, walking right up to her father and taking his hand.

— Don’t you like spending time with me?

She was too close now, even without his glasses on. He could see her hair, her face. Wiping his brow, he put his glasses back on.

— Nadya, you have a younger sister — why don’t you like playing with her? When I was your age, I spent all my time with my brother.

— You have a brother?

— Yes.

— Where is he?

Andrei pointed at the wall, the photos of the Russian soldier.

— What’s his name?

— Pavel.

— Why doesn’t he visit us?

— He will.

16 July

They were seated on an elektrichka , travelling towards the outskirts of the city, edging closer to their destination — the centre of Rostov-on-Don. The truck driver hadn’t betrayed them. He’d taken them through several checkpoints and dropped them at the town of Shakhty where they’d spent the night with the driver’s mother-in-law, a woman called Sarra Karlovna, and her family. Sarra, in her fifties, lived with some of her children, including a daughter who was married with three children of her own. Sarra’s parents also lived in the apartment, a total of eleven people in three bedrooms; a different generation in each bedroom. For the third time Leo had told the story of his investigation. Unlike the towns in the north they’d already heard of these crimes — the child-murders. According to Sarra there were few people in this oblast who weren’t aware of the rumours. Even so, they knew no facts. When confronted with the estimated number of victims the room had fallen silent.

It had never been a question of whether or not they’d agree to help: this extended family had immediately set about making plans. Leo and Raisa had decided to wait until dusk before travelling into the city since there’d be fewer people at the factory at night. There was also a greater chance the killer would be at home. It had also been decided that they shouldn’t travel alone. For this reason they were now accompanied by three small children and two energetic grandparents. Leo and Raisa were playing the parts of a mother and father while the real mother and father remained in Shakhty. This semblance of a family was a precautionary measure. If the hunt for them had reached Rostov, if the State had guessed that their objective wasn’t to flee the country, then they’d be looking for a man and woman travelling together. It had proved impossible for either of them to change their appearance to any significant degree. They’d both cut their hair short, they’d been given a new set of clothes. Even so, without the family surrounding them, they would’ve been easy to spot. Raisa had expressed concerns about using the children, worried she was putting them in danger. It had been decided that if something should go wrong, if they were caught, then the grandparents would claim that Leo had threatened them and that they feared for their lives if they didn’t help.

The train stopped. Leo glanced out of the window. The station was busy: he could see several uniformed officers patrolling the platform. The seven of them got off the train. Raisa was carrying the smallest child; a young boy. All three children had been instructed to behave boisterously. The older of the two boys understood the nature of the deception and played their part, but the youngest boy was confused and merely stared at Raisa, his lips downturned, sensitive to danger and no doubt wishing he was at home. Only the most observant of officers would suspect that this family was a fraud.

There were guards dotted around the platform and concourse, too many for an ordinary day in an ordinary station. They were looking for someone. Though Leo tried to reassure himself that there were many people being hunted and arrested, his gut told him that they were looking for them. The exit was fifty paces away. Concentrate on that. They were almost there.

Two armed officers stepped in front of them.

— Where you are travelling from and where are you travelling to?

For a moment Raisa couldn’t speak. The words evaporated. In order not to appear frozen, she moved the young boy from one arm to the other arm and laughed.