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Dmitry Buryakov had many places he could’ve gone. There was the house he rented a few streets away from his workplace, and there were numerous safehouses operated by his bosses, where certain employees and acquaintances were able to lie low for a while. He knew he couldn’t afford to be too careful, though, and had chosen to shun all of those options.
Instead, he’d called on a friend — someone unconnected with the business, who was away on business for nine months of the year and who’d said he could stay in her house any time he liked. It would be extra security, she said. He’d never thought seriously about taking her up on the offer, but he’d needed somewhere to stay for a while, and it was as good as anywhere.
He’d gone straight there from the police station, and was pretty sure he
