“I am listening, Popov. Tell me everything. Down to the last detail.”
Interestingly, I wasn’t even surprised. I thought the question was quite natural. So I told him everything: the rustles, the smells, the child’s cries, the woman’s screams, the strange dialog last night, and the black ghost in the wee hours of this morning. Maika listened with her mouth open, Vanderhuse frowned and shook his head, and Komov peered into my face; his squinting gaze was piecing and cold yet again, he kept biting his lower lip, and every once in a while, he would interlace his fingers, cracking his knuckles. When I finished, silence set in. Then Komov asked,
“Are you sure it was a child crying?”
“Um, yes… Sounded like it anyway…”
Vanderhuse loudly took a deep breath and gave the armrest of his ch
