Red Square - Martin Cruz Smith [21]
“But they’re all criminals,” Penyagin said. “The best witnesses were probably the killers.”
“That’s generally the case,” Arkady said.
Rodionov shuddered. “The whole thing is a typical Chechen attack.”
“Actually,” Arkady said, “Chechens are more partial to knives. Anyway, I don’t think the point was to only kill Rudy. The bombs burned the car, which was a computerized mobile bank stuffed with disks and files. I think that’s why they used two bombs, in order to make sure. They did a good job. It’s all gone now, along with Rudy.”
“His enemies must be happy,” Rodionov said.
“There was probably more incriminating evidence about his friends on those disks than about his enemies,” Arkady said.
Albov said, “It sounds as if you liked Rosen.”
“He burned to death. You could say I sympathized.”
“Would you describe yourself as an unusually sympathetic investigator?”
“Everyone works in a different way.”
“How is your father?”
Arkady thought for a moment, more to adjust to this shift of ground than to search for an answer.
“Not well. Why do you ask?”
Albov said, “He’s a great man, a hero. More famous than you, if you don’t mind my saying so. I was curious.”
“He’s old.”
“Seen him lately?”
“If I do, I’ll tell him you asked.”
Albov’s conversation had the slow but purposeful motion of a python. Arkady tried to catch the rhythm.
“If he’s old and sick, you should see him, don’t you think?” Albov asked. “You select your own detectives?”
“Yes.” Arkady was trying to answer the second question.
“Kuusnets is an odd name—for a detective, I mean.”
“Jaak Kuusnets is the best man I have.”
“But there aren’t that many Estonians who are Moscow detectives. He must be especially grateful and loyal to you. Estonians, Koreans, Jews—it’s hard to find any Russians in your case. Of course some people think that’s the problem with the whole country.” Albov had the calm gaze of a Buddha. Now he let it incline toward the prosecutor and the general. “Gentlemen, your investigator seems to have both a team and a goal. The times demand that you let initiative have its head, not bring it to a halt. I hope we don’t make the same mistake with Renko that we made before.”
Rodionov could tell the difference between a red light and a green. “My office is totally committed to our investigator, of course.”
“I can only repeat that the militia wholeheartedly supports the investigator,” Penyagin said.
“You’re from the prosecutor’s office?” Arkady asked Albov.
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.” Arkady added up the suit and ease. “State Security or Ministry of the Interior?”
“I’m a journalist.”
“You brought a journalist to this meeting?” Arkady asked Rodionov. “My direct channel to you includes a journalist?”
“An international journalist,” Rodionov said. “I wanted a more sophisticated point of view.”
Albov said, “Remember, the prosecutor is also a people’s deputy. There’s an election to consider now.”
“Well, that is sophisticated,” Arkady said.
Albov said, “The main thing is, I’ve always been an admirer. This is a turning point in history. This is Paris in the Revolution, Petrograd in the Revolution. If intelligent men can’t work together, what hope is there for the future?”
Arkady was still stunned after they left. Maybe Rodionov would show up next time with the editorial board of Izvestia or cartoonists from Krokodil.
And what would become of the crates and dioramas of the militia museum? Were they really going to be replaced by a computer center? And what would become of all the bloody axes, knives and threadbare overcoats of Soviet crime? Would they be stored? Of course, he answered himself, because the bureaucratic mind saved everything. Why? Because we might need it, you know. In case there was no future, there was always the past.
Jaak drove, skipping lanes in the manner of a virtuoso pianist going up and down a keyboard.
“Don’t trust Rodionov or his friends,” he told Arkady as he shouldered another car to the side.
“You don’t like anyone from the prosecutor’s office.”
“Prosecutors are political shits, always have been. No offense.” Jaak glanced