I threw him out. At first, they were normal calls—he apologized, asked for forgiveness. Then he started calling at night. Silent calls. And then… then I found the first camera."
There was a knock at the door. A young officer handed Anna a folder.
"The forensic results."
Anna opened the folder, quickly scanning the lines. She froze.
"Elena Andreevna, have you ever heard the name Andrei Savelyev?"
"No, who is…"
"What about the surname Rogov? Did Viktor ever mention this name?"
"No, never. What's happening?"
Anna placed a photograph in front of her: three men standing in front of a gray Toyota Camry. In the center—a young Viktor Rogov.
"This picture is twenty years old. On the right is Andrei Savelyev. The same person whose car was used in Sophia's abduction."
"And the third man?" Elena Andreevna's voice trembled.
"We haven't identified the third one yet. But there's something else."
Rapid footsteps sounded in the corridor. Dorokhov burst into the room.
"Just got a call from the detention center. Viktor is demanding a lawyer. Says he's ready to testify."
"About what?"
"About another murder. One that wasn't solved twenty years ago."
Elena Andreevna went pale. "What murder are you talking about?"
Anna gathered the papers into the folder. "Dorokhov, take Elena Andreevna home. And make sure there's a patrol unit by her building. I'm going to the detention center."
At the doorway, she turned back: "And find me everything you can about Andrei Savelyev. Especially for the last two years."
The story was growing more complex. The web spun by Viktor turned out to be larger and more terrifying than they had suspected. And somewhere in this web, the third person from the photograph still lurked.
Chapter 5: Confession
The gray walls of the detention center felt oppressive. Anna sat in the interrogation room, staring at her own reflection in the one-way mirror. Over her years of service, she had encountered many criminals, but now she felt an inexplicable anxiety. Something about this case wasn't right, as if they were seeing only the tip of the iceberg.
The door clanged open. Two guards brought in Viktor Mikhailovich. In his gray prison uniform, he seemed smaller, paler, but his gaze remained the same—piercing, studying. He sat down across from her, carefully placing his hands on the table. The handcuffs clinked quietly.
"I've been waiting for you," his voice sounded calm, almost friendly. "I knew that sooner or later you'd find the connection. You've been to see Granin, haven't you? Seen his collection?"
Anna silently turned on the recorder. Viktor smiled—the same smile she had seen in old photographs.
"Do you know the mistake all investigators make? They look for motive. They try to understand 'why.' But sometimes there is no 'why.' Sometimes there's only 'what for.'"
"And what did you do it for?"
"Oh, are you talking about Katya? Or Sophia?" he leaned forward. "Or those whose bodies were never found? Like Masha Svetlova? Twenty years ago, three months before Katya Voronova. Mikhail Stepanovich didn't know about that case. It happened in another city."
Anna felt a chill run down her spine. Another victim. Another family not knowing the truth.
"Tell me about Masha."
"First about the elephants," Viktor leaned back in his chair. "You understand that it's about them, don't you? Not about the girls—about the elephants. Every collection must be completed. Every story must have an ending."
"Where is Sophia?"
"In a safe place. With a reliable person. You've seen his photograph—the third man in the picture. His name is Igor. Igor Vasilyev. Though now, he has a different surname. Just like me."
"Why are you telling us this?"
Viktor tilted his head, examining Anna like a curious exhibit. "Because the game is over. Because the seventh elephant has taken its place. And because you're too late anyway."
At that moment, Dorokhov practically burst into the room. "We found remains," he gasped. "In the forest, near the old chapel. A woman."
"Not a woman," Viktor gently corrected. "A girl. Masha Svetlova. I did promise to tell you about another murder."
Anna stood up abruptly. "Where is Sophia?"
"Well, that," Viktor smiled again, "depends on how quickly you solve the riddle. You know, each elephant has its own story. And each story has its own elephant. White ones for those who have found peace. Blue ones for those who are still waiting."
"Take him away," Anna ordered the guards. At the doorway, Viktor turned back: "Give my regards to Mikhail Stepanovich. Tell him his collection will soon be complete too."
When the door closed behind him, Anna turned to Dorokhov: "Check on Granin immediately. And find everything you can about Igor Vasilyev."
"Already done," Dorokhov handed her a folder. "Igor Vasilyev is now known as Igor Sokolov. He works as a teacher. At the very same school Sophia attended."
Anna felt the ground disappear from under her feet. All these months he had been nearby. Watching. Waiting.
"And another thing," added Dorokhov. "They found a collection of elephants in his office. Green ones. Seven of them."
Outside, the rain was starting again. Somewhere in the city, a physical education teacher named Igor Sokolov was completing his collection. And time was relentlessly slipping away, taking with it the hope of saving Sophia.
Viktor was right. Every story must have an ending. But what ending would this one have?
Chapter 6: The Green Elephant
The physical education office greeted Anna with stale air and the smell of dust. On Igor Sokolov's desk was perfect order: journals in a neat stack, a class schedule in a tidy frame, photographs of sporting events on the wall. And a shelf with elephants.
"Are these definitely the same ones?" Dorokhov carefully picked up one of the figurines.
"Yes," Anna checked against a photograph on her phone. "Imperial Porcelain Factory, the same series. Only green."
Seven elephants stood in a row, as if preparing for a parade. Impeccably clean, without a speck of dust. Behind them on the wall—certificates, letters of appreciation, photographs from competitions. The ordinary life of a school teacher.
"Have you found anything?" the school principal, Valentina Petrovna, appeared in the doorway. A small woman with a tired face and a keen gaze.
"How long has he been working here?" Anna continued examining the photographs.
"This is his third year. He came with excellent recommendations. The children adored him, especially the girls. He conducted additional self-defense classes…"
"For free?" Anna clarified.
"Yes, he said it was his calling—helping children feel safe."
Anna approached the cabinet and opened the door. Sports uniforms, whistles, a stopwatch. And a small notebook, lost among the papers.
"May I?" she showed the notebook to the principal. She nodded.
Anna put on gloves and opened the first page. Neat handwriting, dates, names. Training records? No. Something else.
"Sophia V. Favorite color—blue. Afraid of the dark. Always takes the same route. Loves mint ice cream."
Next page: "Katya V. Plays the piano. Pink unicorn backpack. Music school on Tuesdays and Thursdays."
"Masha S. collects badges. Lives with grandmother. Dreams of becoming an artist."
"Dorokhov,"