Sergey Baksheev - Secret Target

«Where there’s work, there’s friendship. You know very well what men think about.»

«Come on, I haven’t seen Marat in ten years.»

«Uh-huh. You hear nothing from him for years, but as soon as he finds out that you’re divorced, he starts to put the moves on you.»

«His apartment is in our district. That’s why they transferred him there.»

«You’ve been to his apartment already?»

«Mom, we work together. Our paths cross. And even then, not often,» Lena added for some unknown reason.

«Forget about him, Lena. Forget him! You can’t even take him to a church.»

«I don’t go to church, mom!»

«I never went either. But as soon as I started getting sick, I started going. It’s never too late to come to God. It never hurts to ask Him – nothing bad can come of it. I prayed for you and Nastya – whose full name is Anastasia Sergeyevna, by the way. Now doesn’t that have a nice ring to it? But had you, in your foolishness, gotten mixed up with that Tatar, who would we have now? Nastya Maratovna? Yuck!»

«Enough!» Lena slapped the table. «I’m off to bed. Stay if you like. You know where the couch and the bed sheets are.»

She stood up and left the room without clearing the table.

«Think about the swimsuits, Lena,» her mother’s quiet grousing followed in her wake. «Check the magazines to see if you like any of the newer ones. And don’t be stingy. Swimsuits are like shoes – you should only get good ones. It wouldn’t hurt if you got some new underwear too. Maybe we can go do some shopping some time?»

The next morning, after a quick breakfast, Elena took her daughter to school. The twelve-year-old girl was just beginning to resist such custody, asserting that she would rather go with her friends, but for Elena these ten minutes were basically her only chance to find out anything about her daughter’s school life.

Rushing to her work, Detective Petelina began the workday by studying the contents of Inna Maltseva’s purse. Just like the friction ridges that create the unique swirls called fingerprints, women’s purses are staunchly individual and often have much to say about their owners. The examination methodology was simple but effective. First you dump everything on the table, then you examine each thing and, if there is nothing interesting about it, put it back into the purse. In the end, two items remained on Petelina’s desk. Both had perplexed her.

Elena heard Marat Valeyev’s voice before he opened the door to her office. The captain was matter-of-factly dragging a person down the hallway.

My swimsuits really are pretty dated , crossed Elena’s mind for some reason as she glanced at herself in the mirror. She commended herself once more on choosing a short haircut. Two swipes of the comb and she was good to go.

First to appear in the doorway was a drunken face with a dripping wet and receding hairline. Captain Valeyev propped the man up from behind, holding him by his jacket. Dmitry Maltsev , guessed Petelina. It took a leap to connect this rumpled person with a businessman. The field operative pushed the fugitive into the office and plumped him into a chair.

«Have a look, Detective Petelina. This is Dmitry Maltsev. We plucked him straight from an overnight bender in the restaurant car. He was incomprehensible so I took the liberty and threw some water on him… «Doused’ may be better word.»

Elena got up from her desk and cracked open the window.

«Well, offer him some water to drink because he reeks.»

«Drinking water won’t help him. I gave him permission to imbibe forty milliliters. Otherwise, we’ll spend half the day waiting for him to sleep it off. The car attendant says that he got caught up in the restaurant car and slept maybe about two hours. Here is his passport and here are the tickets. To St. Petersburg and back.» The operative looked at Maltsev dubiously, «Do you want me to stay? Just in case?»

«I’ve seen worse,» Elena assured him, looking through the tickets. «Did you speak to the car attendant for the train from Moscow?»

«That train comes back later. I sent Mayorov to take care of that.»

«Tell him to report to me as soon as he gets any information. What about the coat?»

«We checked the Maltsevs’ cars. They’re empty.»

«What does the janitor say?»

«Sorry Lena, I didn’t find him yesterday. He was hanging out with some fellow immigrants somewhere.»

«I want that question resolved, Marat.»

Valeyev let his gaze slip down the dogged detective’s shapely blue skirt and slender legs but refrained from mentioning what he wanted.

«Consider it done,» he assured her and left.

Petelina switched her attention to Maltsev and introduced herself formally. As there was no response, she asked loudly:

«Mr. Maltsev, do you understand where you are?»

Maltsev winced.

«Coffee. Do you have coffee?» he asked with a sour face.

«We have instant coffee.» Elena walked over to the kettle. «Do you prefer it stronger?»

«Uh-huh. No milk, no sugar,» he waved his hand.

«How about some brandy…»

«Why? You’ve got some?»

«You’re not in a bar Mr. Maltsev!»

While the arrested man drank greedily, Petelina paced in a semicircle around her office. As per usual, she formed a mental portrait of her interlocutor.

Forty years old and reaching that age when his beard goes gray and the devil starts poking him in the rib. Got tired of his forty-year-old wife so he found himself a younger woman. Not too tall and fairly gaunt for his age, but doesn’t work out. Well dressed, but not quite in the business style. His shoes have thick soles and are well worn, so his job involves making field visits. Acts like one of the boys with his employees and loses his cool at times. Doesn’t regret letting a strong word fly here and there. So if his wife annoys him too much, he can allow himself to be crass with her too. Which, it seems, is what happened yesterday. And yet, being this drunk doesn’t suit him, so last night’s bender was most likely caused by some sort of nervous breakdown. My uniform and office stumped him more than being arrested on the train. It’s one thing to think that your drinking has gotten you in trouble – it’s entirely different when you see a sign that says Investigative Committee with a desk officer posted beneath it as you’re brought in.

«So what is going on?» Maltsev spoke up, pushing away the emptied mug. «Who are you?»

«I am Senior Detective Elena Pavlovna Petelina.»

«A female major,» mumbled Maltsev, either from doubt or from respect.

Petelina had reached the rank of Major faster than many of her male colleagues. And yet, this was the rank beyond which women were seldom promoted. Wicked tongues liked to say that to become a lieutenant colonel, you needed to first let a colonel be on top of you – or, even better, a general.

«What am I here for?» asked Maltsev.

Petelina did not say anything. She began to tidy her desk and, seemingly by accident, dropped a photo of a lovely three-year-old girl into Maltsev’s lap.

He reacted weakly.

«Yours?» and replaced the snapshot on the table.

The trick had not worked. And yet this was one of the two items that had stumped Elena during her examination of Maltseva’s purse. All mothers carry a photo of their child with them – there’s nothing exceptional about that. However, Inna Maltseva didn’t have any kids! So who was this girl?

«Did my company commit some violation?» Maltsev inquired carefully.

The customer is ripe and ready , the detective decided and began her interrogation forcefully.

«Mr. Maltsev, I am in charge of investigating felonies – particularly serious ones. Currently I am working on a brutal murder.» Elena placed photographs of the body with the staved-in head on the table and asked, «Is this your doing?»