EIGHT UNANSWERED CALLS
My phone showed eight calls, all from Chukharev — Victoria Xxxx had returned from the dacha, flown in, arrived, was seen by the maintenance crew supervisor, was spotted by neighbors, so tomorrow could be the day she would give us more clues to another day, many years ago.
“Come in.”
Victoria Xxxx studied my face on the intercom screen. She was a tall, sturdy woman in shapeless pants and a long tunic. What she saw was a sleep-deprived, carefully shaven man in a clumsily ironed T-shirt and well-worn jeans, with sandals on his bare feet and a backpack. I had brought a camera, people trust a person with a big camera. I shook off the sandals at the door and walked across what felt like a whole field of hardwood, after her, barefoot. She couldn’t imagine how many years
