"You don't want to fill it out? That's disappointing."

"Why?"

"Because there are two possible reasons for you being here. A good reason would be that you've finally decided to join the private sector. A bad reason would be that you won't leave Pasha Ivanov's death alone. Why are you trying to turn a suicide into a homicide?"

"I'm not. Prosecutor Zurin asked me to look into this for Hoffman, the American."

"Who got the idea from you that there was something to find." Ozhogin paused, obviously working up to a delicate subject. "How do you think it makes NoviRus Security look if people get the idea we can't protect the head of our own company?"

"If he took his own life, you can hardly be blamed."

"Unless there are questions."

"I would like to talk to Timofeyev."

"That's out of the question."

Besides an open laptop, the sole item on the desk was a metal disk levitating over another disk in a box. Magnets. The floating disk trembled with every forceful word.

Arkady began, "Zurin-"

"Prosecutor Zurin? Do you know how all this began, what your investigation of NoviRus was all about? It was a shakedown. Zurin just wanted to be enough of a nuisance to be paid off, and not even in money. He wanted to get on the board of directors. And I'm sure he'll be an excellent director. But it was extortion, and you were part of it. What would people think of the honest Investigator Renko if they heard how you had helped your chief? What would happen to your precious reputation then?"

"I didn't know I had one."

"Of a sort. You should fill out the application. Do you know that over fifty thousand KGB and militia officers have joined private security firms? Who's left in the militia? The dregs. I had your friend Victor researched. It's in his file that on one stakeout he was so drunk, he went to sleep and pissed in his pants. Maybe you'll end up like that."

Arkady glanced out the window. They were on the fifteenth floor of the NoviRus building, with a view of office towers under construction; the skyline of the future.

"Look behind you," Ozhogin said. Arkady turned to take in the samurai armor and helmet with mask and horns. "What does that look like to you?"

"A giant beetle?"

"A samurai warrior. When Japan was opened up by the West, and the samurai were disbanded, they didn't disappear. They went into business. Not all; some became poets, some became drunks, but the smart ones knew enough to change with the times." Ozhogin came around the desk and perched on its corner. For all his grooming, the colonel imparted the sense that he could still wring a bone or two. "Renko, did you happen to see The Washington Post this morning?"

"Not this morning, no. Missed it."

"There was a considerable obituary for Pasha Ivanov. The Post called Pasha a 'linchpin figure' in Russian business. Have you considered the effect a rumor of homicide would have? It would not only harm NoviRus, it would damage every Russian company and bank that has struggled to escape Moscow 's reputation for violence. Considering the consequences, I think a person should be careful about even whispering 'homicide.' Especially when there isn't the slightest evidence that there was one. Unless you have some evidence you'd like to share with me?"

"No."

"I didn't think so. And as for your financial investigation of NoviRus, didn't the fact that Zurin chose you as investigator suggest to you that he wasn't serious?"

"It crossed my mind."

"It's laughable. A pair of worn-out criminal detectives against an army of financial wizards."

"It doesn't sound fair."

"Now that Pasha is dead, it's time to let go. Call it a draw if you want. Pasha Ivanov came to a sorry end. Why? I don't know. It's a great loss. However, he never asked for any increase in security. I interviewed the building staff. There was no breach." Ozhogin leaned closer, a hammer taking aim on a nail, Arkady thought. "If there was no breach in security, then there's nothing to investigate. Is that clear enough for you?"

"There was salt-"

"I heard about the salt. What sort of attack is that? The salt is an indication of a mental breakdown, pure and simple."

"Unless there was a breach."

"I just told you there wasn't."

"That's what investigations are for."

"Are you saying there was a breach?"

"It's possible. Ivanov died under strange circumstances."

Ozhogin edged closer. "Are you suggesting that NoviRus Security was, to any degree, responsible for Ivanov's death?"

Arkady picked his words carefully. "Building security wasn't all that sophisticated. No card swipes or voice or palm ID, just codes, nothing like the security at the offices here. And a skeleton crew on weekends."

"Because Ivanov moved into an apartment meant for his friend Rina. She designed it. He didn't want any changes. Nevertheless, we staffed the building with our men, put in unobtrusive keypads, fed the surveillance cameras to our own monitors here at NoviRus Security and, any hour he was home, parked a security team in front. There was nothing more we could do. Besides, Pasha never mentioned a threat."

"That's what we'll investigate."

Ozhogin brought his brows together, perplexed. He had pushed his opponent's head through the wrestling mat, but the match went on. "You're stopping now."

"It's up to Hoffman to call it off."

"He'll do what you say. Tell him that you're satisfied."

"There's something missing."

"What?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know, you don't know." Ozhogin reached out and tapped the disk so it fluttered in the air. "Who's the boy?"

"What boy?"

"You took a boy to the park."

"You're watching me."

Ozhogin seemed saddened by such naiveté in a Russian. He said, "Pack it in, Renko. Tell your fat American friend that Pasha Ivanov committed suicide. Then why don't you come back and fill out the form?"

Arkady found Rina curled up in a bathrobe in Ivanov's screening room, a vodka bottle hanging from one hand and a cigarette from the other. Her hair was wet and clung to her head, making her appear even more childlike than usual. On the screen Pasha rose in the elevator, floor by floor, briefcase clasped to his chest, handkerchief to his face. He seemed exhausted, as if he had climbed a hundred stories. When the doors parted, he looked back at the camera. The system had a zoom capacity. Rina froze and magnified Pasha's face so that it filled the screen, his hair lank, his cheeks almost powdery white, his black eyes sending their obscure message.

"That was for me. That was his good-bye." Rina shot Arkady a glance. "You don't believe me. You think it's romantic bullshit."

"At least half of what I believe is romantic bullshit, so I'm not one to criticize. Anything else?"

"He was sick. I don't know with what. He wouldn't see a doctor." Rina put down her cigarette and pulled the robe tight. "The elevator operator let me in. Your detective was going out as I came in, looking pleased with himself."

"A gruesome image."

"I heard Bobby hired you."

"He offered to. I didn't know the market price for an investigator."

"You're no Pasha, He would have known."

"I tried to reach Timofeyev. He's not available. I suppose he's picking up the reins of the company, taking charge."

"He's no Pasha, either. You know, business in Russia is very social. Pasha made his biggest deals in clubs and bars. He had the perfect personality for that. People liked to be around him. He was fun and generous. Timofeyev is a lump. I miss Pasha."

Arkady took the seat beside her and relieved her of the vodka. "You designed this apartment for him?"

"I designed it for both of us, but all of a sudden, Pasha said I shouldn't stay."

"You never moved in?"