Michael Beres - Chernobyl Murders

If there had been a window in his small corner cubicle, Lazlo would have seen what appeared to be a typical noontime crowd in the street below. But the cubicle had no window. Lazlo never spent much time here. The only reason he came now was to try again to call the Moscow hospital treating Nina and the girls. But each time he called, the line was busy.

Deputy Chief Investigator Lysenko, passing by and looking surprised to see him, leaned into the cubicle.

“I didn’t know you were here, Detective Horvath. I have a message for you. It came upstairs earlier this morning and…”

Lazlo grabbed the message. It said a woman was waiting at the downstairs desk. It said the woman chose to wait even when told Lazlo might not be in the office today. While Lazlo read the note, Lysenko stood before him, smiling like a fool. The note said the woman was young and attractive, and her name was Juli Popovics.

At first the Hungarian name made Lazlo think of the village of Kisbor, the farm where he and Mihaly grew up. But then he recalled the afternoon last winter when Mihaly confessed to him about his lover named Juli.

Citizens of Pripyat fleeing south to Kiev. It had to be. Mihaly’s lover here, to see him. Mihaly dead, Nina and the girls taken to Moscow, and Mihaly’s lover comes to him. Lazlo put the note down on his desk, and when he looked up, Lysenko was still there smiling.

“What do you want, Lysenko?”

“I thought I should fill you in. The trouble has begun. We’ve been told to watch for looters smuggling goods south in hay bales.

In villages farther from the power station, children were moved out ahead of adults, so we’ll have to watch for them at the roadblocks.”

“Anything else?”

“Since you ask,” said Lysenko, “I need to tell you Chief Investigator Chkalov questions why you did not visit the militia station when you were in Pripyat. Apparently he wonders if you might have something to add to the current Pripyat situation.”

Lazlo raised his voice. “Anything else?”

“Nothing else, Detective Horvath.”

“Then why do you stand there like a baggage handler waiting for a tip?”

Lysenko frowned, shook his head. “I thought we would be able to share a professional conversation, Detective Horvath. I thought this woman might relate to a case you’re involved in.” Lysenko straightened his tie. “Since I am Chief Investigator Chkalov’s assistant, it seemed reasonable to take an interest, just as you took an interest in the roadblocks, so much of an interest that you went to the chief investigator’s home last night.”

Lazlo wanted to grab Lysenko by his tie. But as he stepped closer, he controlled the urge. “Is my brother being killed a good enough reason?”

Before Lysenko could react, Lazlo moved past him and hurried down to the front desk.

Like a true refugee, Juli Popovics carried a small overnight bag and wore a scarf and a coat too heavy for the season. The scarf was not on her head, but tied loosely about her neck. Her hair was dark brown, brushed out straight. Her face had a look of innocence, perhaps because she wore no makeup or perhaps because her eyes, large and greenish-gray and unblinking, were full of questions.

“Detective Horvath, my name is Juli Popovics. I know your brother, Mihaly. I came from Pripyat, where there has been trouble.”

“I know.” Lazlo led her to the stairs. “I recognize the Hungarian accent in your Russian.” When she nodded, he switched to Hungarian. “Come, let me take your bag.”

As he climbed the stairs ahead of her, he replayed what she’d said in his head. “I know your brother, Mihaly.” He wondered if her use of present tense was similar to the talk of relatives at a funeral, speaking of the deceased in present tense. How could she be in Pripyat and not know Mihaly was killed?

Lazlo put her bag on his desk, pulled his chair out, and sat before her, feeling vulnerable to her penetrating eyes. In the moments of silence before speaking, he stared at her. She did not know about Mihaly.

“Forgive me, Miss Popovics, my name is Lazlo.”

“Mine is Juli. We traveled all day yesterday and most of the night. Friends dropped me north of the city and went to stay with relatives. I waited at the Hotel Dnieper until morning.”

“Is it bad in Pripyat?”

“People are leaving. No physical damage. The explosion and fire was several kilometers away. But the radiation… everyone who knows about radiation has gone by now, most coming south because the wind has been blowing north. On our way here, we saw buses and army trucks going north.” Juli stared at him, her eyes open wide. “You know something about Mihaly.” She forced a smile. “He’s come here. Mihaly and his family are here!”

Lazlo stared into her eyes as he spoke. “Until this morning, I knew only about an accident at the Chernobyl plant. I was at the roadblock on the road from Korosten all night waiting for Mihaly and Nina and the girls to come. Anna and Ilonka would run to their uncle, and he would lift them up in the air. I would have driven them to my apartment. I’d still be there if this were true. I’d be celebrating with my brother and his family. But they did not come.”

Juli’s eyes moistened, her lips held tightly together, trembling.

Suddenly he felt very close to her. A link to his brother, as though he were about to tell Nina her husband had died. Where was his anger at this woman who might have torn Mihaly away from Nina?

Tears began to flow down the cheeks of this woman named Juli, tears like his at the cathedral where he’d protested the injustice of Mihaly’s death, as if there were such a thing as justice in this world.

Despite her tears, Juli continued staring at him. “It’s Mihaly.”

“He’s dead.” Lazlo had to swallow to continue. “I found out this morning.”

He expected her to break down. But she simply blinked her eyes and said, “What about Mihaly’s wife and little girls? I went to the apartment. A neighbor said they’d gone to the plant to see about him.”

“They’ve been taken to Moscow. I don’t know any other details except they are at a hospital there.”

A noisy pair of officers passed, and Juli glanced their way. She continued staring at the doorway as if the news were not true, as if Mihaly would appear there. For some time she sat this way, her youthful profile stained as tears began to flow. Her cheeks were smooth, her nose rounded, her chin jutting ever so slightly. Although he had fought the feeling, she reminded him of Nina.

Lazlo stood, went to her, and put his hand on her shoulder. She looked up, leaned her head, and raised her shoulder, pressing his hand against her cheek, squeezing his hand hard between her cheek and shoulder. Finally, she trembled and wept openly.

“Nikolai Nikolskaia?” shouted Komarov. “Who the hell is that?”

Captain Azef shrugged his shoulders. “He said he spoke with you by phone this morning. He was reluctant to give information to anyone but you. I had to show him my identification before he would reveal he is a PK agent from Pripyat. He said Captain Putna ordered him and his partner to locate Chernobyl workers. They followed a worker to Kiev last night. I would have questioned their motive for following a single worker until he told me the worker they followed is Juli Popovics.”

“Yes,” said Komarov. “I did speak with him this morning.”

“Before we followed Horvath to the cathedral?” said Azef, looking puzzled.

“I had my reasons for not telling you. Where is Nikolskaia’s partner?”

“The other PK agent followed Juli Popovics to militia headquarters where she inquired about Detective Horvath. Shall I bring Nikolskaia in?”

“Yes, Captain. I’ll speak with him alone.”