"Do any of you have dogs?"

"No dogs," Klara said.

"Wolves eat dogs," said Nina.

"So I hear. Do you know a family called Katamay? The son was in the militia here."

The women shook their heads.

"Is the name Timofeyev familiar to you?" Arkady asked.

"I don't believe you," Eva said. "You act like a real detective, like you're in Moscow. This is a black village, and the people here are ghosts. Someone from Moscow died here? Good riddance. We owe Moscow nothing, they've done nothing for us."

"Is the name Pasha Ivanov familiar to you?" Arkady asked the women.

Eva said, "You're worse than Alex. He values animals above people, but you're worse. You're just a bureaucrat with a list of questions. These women have had their whole world taken away. Their children and grandchildren are allowed to visit one day a year. The Russians promised money, medicine, doctors. What do we get? Alex Gerasimov and you. At least he's doing research. Why did Moscow send you?"

"To get rid of me."

"I can see why. And what have you found?"

"Not much."

"How can that be? The death rate here is twice normal. How many people died from the accident? Some say eighty, some say eight thousand, some say half a million. Did you know that the cancer rate around Chornobyl is sixty-five times normal? Oh, you don't want to hear this. This is so tedious and depressing."

Was he in a staring contest with her? This had to be like a falconer's dilemma, holding a not completely trained bird of prey on the wrist.

"I did want to ask you a few questions, maybe someplace else."

"No, Maria and the other women can use a little amusement. We will all concentrate on one Russian stiff." Eva opened a pack of cigarettes and shared them with her patients. "Go on."

"You do have drugs?" Arkady asked.

"Yes, we do have some medicine, not much, but some."

"Some has to be refrigerated?"

"Yes."

"And some frozen?"

"One or two."

"Where?"

Eva Kazka took a deep draw on her cigarette. "In a freezer, obviously."

"Do you have one, or do you use the freezer at the cafeteria?"

"I have to admit, you have a single-mindedness that must be very useful in your profession."

"Do you store medicine in the cafeteria freezer?"

"Yes."

"You saw the body in the freezer?"

"I see a lot of bodies. We have more deaths than live births. Why not ask about that?"

"You saw the body of Lev Timofeyev."

"What if I did? I certainly didn't know who he was."

"And you left a note that he hadn't died of a heart attack."

Maria and the women on the bench looked to Eva, Arkady and back as if a tennis match had come to the village. Olga removed her glasses and wiped them. "Details."

Eva said, "There was a body dressed in a suit and wrapped in plastic. I'd never seen him before. That's all."

"People told you that he had had a heart attack?"

"I don't remember."

Arkady said nothing. Sometimes it was better to wait, especially with such an eager audience as Maria and her friends.

"I suppose the kitchen staff said he had a heart attack," Eva said.

"Who signed the death certificate?"

"Nobody. No one knew who he was or how he died or how long he had been dead."

"But you're fairly expert in that. I hear you spent time in Chechnya. That's unusual for a Ukrainian doctor, to serve with the Russian army on the battlefront."

Eva's eyes lit. "You have it backward. I was with a group of doctors documenting Russian atrocities against the Chechen population."

"Like slit throats?"

"Exactly. The body in the freezer had its throat cut with one stroke of a long sharp knife from behind. From the angle of the cut, his head was pulled back, and he was kneeling or seated, or the killer was at least two meters tall. Since his windpipe was cut, he couldn't have uttered a sound before dying, and if he was killed at the cemetery here, no one would have heard a thing."

"The description said he had been 'disturbed by wolves.' Meaning his face?"

"It happens. It's the Zone. Anyway, I do not want to be involved in your investigation."

"So he was lying on his back?"

"I don't know."

"Wouldn't someone whose throat was cut from behind be more likely to fall forward?"

"I suppose so. All I saw was the body in the freezer. This is like talking to a monomaniac. All you can focus on in this enormous tragedy, where hundreds of thousands died and continue to suffer, is one dead Russian."

The old man turned the cow in the direction of the card table. Despite the heat, Roman Romanovich was buttoned into not one but two sweaters. His pink, well-fed face and white bristles and the anxious smile he cast at Maria as he approached suggested a man who had long ago learned that a good wife was worth obeying.

Eva asked Arkady, "Do you know how Russia resolved the crisis of radioactive milk after the accident? They mixed radioactive milk with clean milk. Then they raised the permissible level of radioactivity in milk to the norm of nuclear waste and in this way saved the state nearly two billion rubles. Wasn't that clever?"

Roman tugged on Arkady's sleeve. "Milk?"

"He wants to know if you would like to buy some milk," Eva said. She twisted her scarf with her fingers. "Would you like some milk from Roman's cow?"

"This cow?"

"Yes. Absolutely fresh."

"After you."

Eva smiled. To Roman she said, "Investigator Renko thanks you but must decline. He's allergic to milk."

"Thank you," Arkady said.

"Think nothing of it," said Eva.

"He must come to dinner," Maria said. "We'll give him decent food, not like they serve at the cafeteria. He seems a nice man."

"No, I'm afraid the investigator is going back to Moscow soon. Maybe they'll send medicine or money in his place, something useful. Maybe they'll surprise us."

Each commuter on the six p.m. train from the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Station began his trip by standing in the booth of a radiation detector and placing his feet and hands on metal plates until a green light signaled that he could continue to the platform. The train itself was an express that passed through Byelorussian territory without stopping, bypassing border checks. It was a cozy ride through pine forests on a summer evening.

Men rode at one end, women at the other. Men played cards, drank tea from thermoses or napped in rumpled clothes, whereas the women held conversations or knit sweaters and were painstakingly well dressed, with not a gray hair among them, not while henna grew on earth.

Halfway, the car became more subdued. Halfway, eyes wandered to the window, more and more a mirror. Halfway, thoughts turned to home, to coping with dinner, children, private lives.

Arkady, too, nodded from the rhythm of the train. One thought dissolved into another.

He gave Eva Kazka credit for bringing medical service, however minimal, to people in villages no one else dared visit. But she had played him like a thief before a jury in front of the old women. Eva had that knack of making a person draw too little air or speak too loud. In front of such an individual, a man could become so aware his weight was on his left foot that he might fall over on his right, and the village women had practically cackled while watching the show. She had called them survivors. What kind of appearance did he present, an intrepid investigator following clues to the end of the earth, or a man lost by the wayside? At a dead end, at least. A signal flashed by the window, and Arkady thought of Pasha Ivanov flying through the air. Arkady didn't approve or disapprove. The problem was that once people landed, other people had to clean up the mess. And what had he learned on his excursion with Alex? Not much. On the other hand, he'd seen at least three wolves behind the white trunks of the birches, eyes shining like pans of gold, weighing the deer, he and Alex and the deer much the same. He remembered how the hairs had stiffened down the back of his neck. The word "predator" meant more when you were potential prey. He laughed at himself, imagining that he was on his motorcycle being chased by wolves.