appear. Sometimes I get the impression that I’m working in his waiting room.”
“That would make me the travel agent who books your patients.”
“One-way tickets only – no round trips.”
Elena liked to chat with the medical examiner and assumed that it was only thanks to his self-effacing irony that Lopakhin had managed to hold out at his job for so long. However, it was time to get down to business.
“Dr. Lopakhin, I have arranged for the body of Ekaterina Grebenkin to be delivered to you. Please pay special attention to her epithelial tissue as well as any fibers under her nails.”
“Actually, I called you precisely because I am so attentive. The poor girl’s body was first delivered to the nearest morgue. We were forced to arrange for her to be delivered here, to the police morgue. And here is what the orderlies told me…”
“I’m all ears.”
“Imagine this, Detective Petelina, there were already two men who came to visit the girl at the hospital morgue today. One said he was her friend, the other her uncle. They came separately. The common thread was that each one wanted to look at her belongings, especially her purse.”
Elena frowned and looked over at the couch. There, in a plastic bag, lay the dead girl’s purse. Elena had automatically dropped it there upon entering her office and turning on the light. Here was the price you paid on the first day of work after a vacation!
“Thank you, Dr. Lopakhin. As soon as you find anything…”
“By all means.”
The detective said farewell to the medical examiner and retrieved the purse. The latch clicked. Elena’s gloved fingers carefully unzipped the zipper. Petelina dumped the contents of the purse onto her empty desk. Her eyes instantly fixed on the most important item.
She couldn’t believe it!
11
Elena’s dissatisfied mother was waiting for her when she got home that night. Olga Ivanovna Gracheva lived in the building next door. She would meet Nastya as the girl came back from school and take her to curling practice. The sixty-year-old woman was not much for diplomacy and spoke whatever was on her mind.
“Normal people miss their homes when they go away on vacation. Un-normal people miss their work.”
“I had to stay late, mom. There was business to take care of.”
“Criminals, eh? How about sparing a thought for your family? The apartment is dusty. The fridge is empty. I had to haul the groceries from the store all on my own to make dinner.”
“What dust? We were gone for two weeks.”
“Dust doesn’t vacation in Thailand. Dust stays here and looks for ways to get into the house. If there’s no one around to clean, then just like those lazy Romans in Pompeii, dust will bury our entire city.”
“Pompeii was buried by Vesuvius erupting, mom.”
“Vesuvius-Shmesuvius. If you can’t find the time for it, find a maid. Cleaning your apartment gives me a backache.”
Nastya emerged from her bedroom. Elena noticed a pent-up sadness in the thirteen-year-old’s eyes.
“What happened, Nastya?”
“While I was off riding that cute elephant in Thailand, I missed the Moscow curling tournament.”
“Big deal. There’ll be other tournaments.”
“The coach got angry and made Vera the skip. Now she’s the team captain. The girls are saying that I’m going to be vice skip now. It’s not fair.”
Elena hugged her daughter.
“At least we had a good time on the beach.”
“You and Valeyev had a good time. Locking yourself away from me every day.”
Elena became embarrassed. Wearing light clothes on the warm beach, she and Valeyev could barely keep their hands off each other like insatiable a pair of newlyweds on their honeymoon.
“You left the girl on her own?” Mrs. Gracheva perked up. “In a strange and savage country with elephants and jungles?”
The front door opened. Marat Valeyev had returned from work. A month before their vacation, Police Captain Valeyev had moved in with Major of Justice Petelina. The two did not feel it necessary to keep their relationship from their coworkers.
“Still a captain?” Mrs. Gracheva greeted her “sonny-in-law.”
“Mom, it’s time for you to go home,” Elena instantly jumped in. “I’ll do the cleaning Saturday and thanks for the dinner.”
“Saturday is still a whiles away,” burbled Mrs. Gracheva, getting her things together in the entryway.
Initially, she had objected to her “smart, successful and beautiful” daughter’s relationship with “an ordinary captain, and a Tatar to boot – God help him.” But once she saw that Lena was not going to change her mind, the mother began to push her agenda in other ways. Accordingly, Mrs. Gracheva used every possible opportunity to barb her “sonny’ with a look or a word.
“Are you planning on formalizing your relationship? Or is the plan simply to have a fling and then move on?”
“Let’s talk about that later, mother. Here is your scarf.”
“The scarf, of course! We wouldn’t want me to catch a cold! After all, who would make the soup and look after little Nastya if I did?”
Elena bore this reproach calmly, figuring that it was best to keep quiet. Her mother, however, did not share the same virtue.
“Since you’re already living together, you should at least help the bonehead get promoted or something. You hear me, Valeyev?” Mrs. Gracheva raised her voice. “I won’t give you my blessing to get married until you’re at least a major!”
“Oh Lord!” sighed Elena as she shut the door behind her mother. “Don’t pay her any attention, Marat. She wants what’s best for us.”
“I can only imagine what would happen if she starts wanting what’s worst for us…”
Two hours later, by the light of the bedside lamp, Elena was sitting on the edge of her bed, applying nourishing lotion to her dry skin, bronzed from the two-week tan. Marat rolled up to her from behind and reached his hand under her nightgown.
“Argh! Watch your ice claws!” Elena tensed and slapped at the pushy man’s hand. “What happened with the pimp? Why couldn’t you locate him?”
Marat was used to the fact that Lena always talked about her work and was happy to talk business even in bed.
“Boris Manuylov wasn’t at the modeling agency, but we found out a lot about him.”
“Anything interesting?”
“He’s thirty-four. He used to play guitar in a popular rock band when he was twenty. Supposedly, he was really good. The band toured around the country and acted like real rockers – you know, drinking, groupies, orgies. Then one day, in one of the towns they were playing in, a crook burst into Manuylov’s room – Manuylov was in there with his girl. The crook did the wise thing. He didn’t kill anyone and didn’t even beat the boy up. Instead, he stuck Manuylov’s left hand between the door and the jamb and rocked the door back several times across his fingers.”
“That’s horrible!”
“As a result, they had to amputate his middle finger – the other ones are just mangled. That’s how Manuylov got the name Birdless. He’ll never play guitar again. It’s worth noting that all of this happened because of the girl.”
“Got it. Since that time he didn’t hold women in much esteem,