The Investigator

The Investigator-5

“He’s not mine!” Evsey even went purple.

I pressed on, cool as a cucumber:

“A propagandist – that’s too good for him. A propagandist campaigns for the future. Tabachnik isn’t campaigning for anything.”

Evsey nodded uncertainly.

“So, hasn’t he got a home of his own? Is he living off other people?”

“He does have a house. In Oster, they say. Not so much a house as a dugout. He told someone he’ll hang around in Chernigov until the winter and the bad weather. And then off to Oster. It takes all sorts…”

I changed the subject.

“Keep an eye on Dovid Sergeyevich. He talks too much.”

I deliberately called him Sergeyevich so that Evsey would realize it was a genuine warning.

I needed to go to Oster. It was where both Vorobeichik and Tabachnik came from.

I had to approach matters in a roundabout way: the first law of investigation. I might not have special training but I knew the basics. The war and military intelligence had taught me.

It was the end of July, the weather hot. Young people were out for late-night strolls, dancing in Kordovka Park, and all around, were thick bushes, the pull of the darkness. There were misunderstandings of a particular kind.

Then people became better off. They drank too much, squabbled, got into fights. Most often in families, between relatives and friends, but that’s not the point. The slightest thing and the police were called. Whereupon there would be tears so that no-one was taken away. But even law-enforcement agents have to go on leave and so forth.

Here’s what happened next.

From time to time, I would go secretly to Clara Zetkin Street only to find the shutters closed day and night.

Walking around the location on a regular basis was not practical given the need for operational discretion. Questioning the neighbours was likewise inadvisable. Making inquiries at the local registration office or on the housing lists? What was there to find out when it was less than six months since Lilia Vorobeichik died and, legally, no-one could come into the inheritance? There was no-one to inquire about. Something, yes, but not someone. Technically, of course. Essentially, I would have made inquiries had it all been official and above board but this was a matter for my private honour and conscience.

Thanks to Evsey’s unwitting reports, I was up to date on Tabachnik’s activities.

The old simpleton dropped in to see the Gutins once as autumn approached. And not only did he drop in, he was arm-in-arm with Dovid.

They steered away from Evsey straight away. They asked Belka to follow them into the shed in the yard where they whispered away.

Evsey wanted to follow and listen in but was held back by the children’s pestering.

At the end of August, Lyubochka, in view of the approaching cold, expressed the desire to have a new dress made.

By way of illustration, she tried on the old one – the one I remembered as being perfectly fine – and said:

“I bumped into Polina Lvovna Laevskaya at the market. She said this and that and basically told me she could make me one up for half price. Of course, I flatly refused but she reassured me that it was all out of respect for you. Lilechka Vorobeichik was her friend, like a sister even, she said, and since you found the killer, she’ll be grateful to you till the day she dies and, to acknowledge it, she’ll give me a discount. She actually had tears in her eyes. She was begging me to do her a favour. Me, do her a favour! Imagine!”

I was wary of reaching a hasty verdict.

“Oh? And then what?

“That’s what I’m asking you. They say Laevskaya’s too grasping, then she does something like this. Do you think she means it, Misha?” Lyuba didn’t wait for me to reply. She reached her own conclusion. “Of course, she does. Death’s no laughing matter.”

“What’s death got to do with it?” I asked.

Lyuba replied:

“It’s just a comparison. When it’s just any old thing, you might not tell the truth but when it comes to death, you wouldn’t dare. Maybe I should accept the discount? I’ve haven’t got anyone to make me a decent dress.”

I shrugged. Though for quite a different reason. You shouldn’t be going to see Laevskaya, Lyubochka. Not for dressmaking or for discounts: you shouldn’t have anything to do with her.

What I said was:

“Do it. Things are working out. We don’t need to act like tight-fisted Yids.” The word just slipped out. Not rude, exactly, but not Soviet. Otherwise it’s a word like any other but I faltered. “There’s no need to count the kopecks. We’ve got to be able to hold our heads up in public. You’re so pretty. Castoffs are good enough if you’re as plain as a pikestaff. But not for you.”

Lyuba was radiant. She rushed over to the chest of drawers and took a length of bottle green material from under the sheets.

She put it under my nose.

“Look. I bought it ages ago.” She unfolded it, turned it this way and that, over and back. “It’s wool. From the market. From before the war. Or else brought back from Germany. It’s cheap. And with a discount on top, well, it’s practically free.”

To please her, I felt the material. I even wanted to stroke it but understood that I shouldn’t. My hands were trembling.

“It’s fine. Hard-wearing. Doesn’t show the dirt,” I said.

Lyuba went to see Laevskaya. This is what she brought back:

Polina Lvovna kept asking how things were at work. Whether I was being moved out of town. This happened quite a lot back then so that regional officers could reinforce district police units. She had also said that if I was sent off into the sticks, we’d never see that flat. We’d get bogged down where we were. But she had connections. She could put in a good word.

Lyuba asked if I was hiding something from her about work. The bosses went to Laevskaya, or rather, their wives did. She knew a lot. She wasn’t given to idle talk.

I assured Lyuba that there were no changes in store for me at work. But I took mental note of the fact that Laevskaya would be working on that bottle-green, hard-wearing, dirt-concealing dress for a long time. She’d be stitching and sewing for a good while. Getting my wife all worked up.

But there was no way out. Let her. She wouldn’t worm anything out of Lyubochka. b***h.

I talked to my colleagues, analysed the situation. The bosses’ attitude towards me hadn’t changed. I had been in their good books. I still was.

I dangled the bait anyway.

“All my life I’ve dreamed of working in a small district somewhere. Getting some peace and quiet. Get the husbands out from under their wives, that’s all it takes.”

We were coming back from a Party meeting with the man from personnel.

He clapped me on the shoulder, teased me good-naturedly.

“There aren’t too many like you around, Misha, Mikhail Ivanovich. Now’s not the time to be wasting our best officers. We’re not about to hand you over to some district or other. Not even the most successful one. And we will find you a flat. Just so that you know. And tell your wife to be ready.”

Lyubochka and I were so overjoyed, it shut out the whole, wide world. Despite the fact that Anechka had picked up a severe cold on the Desna and, for over a month, we nursed her at home with the doctors’ assistance, we were already tasting the delight of our forthcoming space and independence.

At the end of September, we were given a one-room flat with a modest kitchen. On Kotsyubinsky Street. German POWs had built a whole street there. Our house was nearer to the new market.

We moved in. We’d done it, even without another baby. We’d been lucky.

And then, who should make her way to the flat but Laevskaya.

It wasn’t a secret. They knew our address at the old place. Moreover, we’d promised to tell people the new address - anything might happen.

And this was it.

I opened the door in person.

Laevskaya and her bosom bore down on me from the very first second.

“May you be very happy in your new home, Mikhail Ivanovich, my dear! I timed it deliberately for a Sunday so that I’d find you all at home. Is Lyubochka here? And your little poppet, Anechka? Is that little lass of yours here with her Mummy and Daddy?”

She gushed and she cooed as she poked her nose into everything. She opened the door into the toilet.

She nodded, as if pleased.

“Yes. I’ve heard about these houses. They’re warm. That’s the main thing. They’re warm.”

Lyuba heard Laevskaya’s voice and came out to greet her properly.

“My dear Polina Ivanovna, how lovely that you’ve managed to find us! We’ll have a cup of tea right away and preserves, all sorts! These days I don’t know, we haven’t got an allotment any more. There won’t be any preserves now. But we’ve still got some at the moment.”

Laevskaya threw her arms wide, taking in the setting with her eyes and her fingers. Of course, it was all junk. Lyubochka and I had each been putting the odd kopeck aside but we hadn’t enough put by for anything decent. Now, with Laevskaya there, I felt I needed to explain.

I put my foot right in my mouth.

“Yes, we’re not particularly well off. Not like you. You can save kopeck after kopeck and hide them away. We can’t.” I laid particular stress on that “you”.

Laevskaya laughed.

“Oh, I can, can I? I eat what I like. And literally everything goes on food. Everyone loves their food as they get older. I’ve even given up on my figure.”

She made a dismissive gesture by way of illustration. But she lifted up the frock under her sand-coloured mackintosh just enough to reveal a plump, repulsive knee.

“Ah, well, what can I say? My youth is gone and gone forever.”

The knee was one step too far.

“Come now, Polina Lvovna! You’ll still get married. You’ll be as safe as houses for the rest of your days. If you asked me, I could even recommend a husband. Dovid Srulevich Basin. A widower. Jewish nationality. Just the one for you. People say he’s got a bit put by as well. Well, your lot always do…”

Why I said it, why I put Dovid forward, I don’t know. It happens sometimes. I come up with just right word out of the blue.

Of course, Laevskaya understood the hint about her nationality and customs. But she didn’t let it show. It was only experience that enabled me to see she had clenched her teeth.

“Let’s not talk about me. That’s all in the past. I’ve brought that little dress over for you, Lyubochka. I ironed it first. You must be worn out from the move. If I have a pattern, and people don’t say this for nothing, I need just the one fitting to do the job. So, I finished this by sight. I wanted to gladden your heart as soon as possible. And your husband to be able to feast his eyes on you. Try it on, now. Go on, try it!”

She pulled a roll of material out of her almighty rucksack and lifted out the dress, holding it in two fingers, like a precious jewel. She laid it over both arms, like the cloth that holds out bread and salt in welcome. She presented it to Lyuba. With a bow.

Lyuba took it with a bow of her own.

She ran into the kitchen.

She came back.

I felt giddy, she was so gorgeous.

Lyuba twirled around, patting the dress.

Laevskaya walked around her as if she was a statue in a museum and tutted.