"Your father was operating with faulty information. Was there an investigation?"

"A whitewash. After all, he was Felix Gerasimov. I woke up in the morning to go to class and there he was in my room, sober, as drawn as a ghost, with an iodine pill for me. He knew. Every May Day from then on was a drinking bout. Sixteen anniversaries. Finally he wrote the letter, sealed it, took it to the post office himself, returned home to his pistol and BANG!"

Oksana's head whipped around. Arkady wondered what he and Alex looked like as they approached in the moonlight-perhaps a single extraordinarily ugly creature with two heads, a trunk and a tail. Arkady motioned for her to get away.

"Surprised?" Alex asked.

"Not really. As a motive for murder, money is overrated. Shame is stronger."

"That's the best part. Pasha and Timofeyev couldn't go anywhere for protection, because then they would have had to reveal the whole story. They were too ashamed to save their own lives, can you imagine that?"

"It happens all the time."

Oksana slipped around the couch, and only because Arkady had seen her he heard her lightly running off. Maybe fifty more paces to Karel, who waited on the couch, the crazy chairs tilted behind him. Arkady resisted the temptation to run because he doubted he could escape an inchworm in his condition.

Alex said, "I wrote them. All I ever asked of Ivanov and Timofeyev was for them to come to the Zone and declare their share of responsibility personally, face-to-face."

"Timofeyev came. Look what happened to him."

"I didn't say there wouldn't be consequences. Fair's fair."

"As you often told Karel."

"As I often did."

At a shuffling gait, they arrived at the fun fair. Karel stretched languidly from one end of the sofa to the other. His eyes were closed, and the blood had been wiped from his chin and cheek; his beaded hair was arrayed more neatly, and each foot now bore a Chinese slipper. An older sister would do that sort of thing. Arkady thought Alex might notice, but he was too pleased with himself. A gondola creaked on the Ferris wheel overhead. Misery to be a Ferris wheel that never moved. Arkady had never seen a moon so large. A shadow of the wheel fell over the plaza.

Arkady laid Taras on the ground.

Alex simply let Dymtrus roll off his shoulder. The big militiaman hit the ground, his head striking like a coconut cracked open.

Arkady asked, "Who shot Hulak?"

"Who knows. He had an arrangement with the Woropays on where and what to steal. I assume they killed him." Alex rolled Dymtrus, who had a back wound, onto his face; he placed Taras, with an entry wound through the chest, on his back; waved the pistol to show Arkady where to stand until he achieved the geometry he wanted: a triangle of dead men-Karel, Dymtrus and Taras- with Arkady in the middle. "I think this will be a pretty convincing picture of the dangers of drinking samogon while bearing arms. Don't worry; I'll supply the guns and the samogon."

"So you didn't save me from the Woropays."

"No, I'm afraid not. You never got past here, but you put up a terrific struggle, if that makes you feel any better."

"All that's lacking is the pillow you smothered Karel with."

"Je ne regrette rien? You know, I'd barely covered his face. He gave a few kicks and was gone. I'd say, considering the shape he was in, what I did was a mercy."

Alex took two steps back from Arkady, into the shadow of the wheel, and raised the gun. Not too far, not too close.

Arkady's mobile phone rang.

"Let it ring," Alex said. "One thing at a time."

The phone rang and rang. When the message came on the caller hung up and immediately hit Redial. It could only be Zhenya, Arkady thought. No normal person would have such maddening persistence. The phone rang until Alex removed it from Arkady's pocket and crushed it underfoot.

That settled, the entire city silent, every window an anxious eye, Alex stepped back and raised the gun again. Oksana crept into Arkady's view at the end of the crazy chairs.

Arkady said, "Would you mind stepping out of the shadow?"

"You want to see me when I kill you?" Alex asked.

"If you don't mind."

Alex moved forward into the silvery light.

Arkady waited and gave Alex no reason to turn. There was a moment's perplexity on Alex's face as he seemed to wonder why Arkady was such an easy victim.

Then Alex twitched. He was dead standing, he was dead dropping, he was dead sprawled on the ground, and Oksana's shot had not been much louder than the snap of a twig. As she stepped out from the crazy chairs, she freed her arm from a sling she'd used to steady her rifle, similar to the single-shot bolt-action rifles that Arkady had seen at the Katamay apartment in Slavutych.

"I'm so sorry. I left my rifle with my bike. I barely got back in time," she said.

"But you did."

"This beast killed my little brother." She kicked Alex.

"He's dead." Arkady tried to steer her away.

"He was the devil. I heard every word." She got one good spit in before Arkady calmed her down and mopped up Alex's face. There wasn't a visible mark on him. His eyes were clear, his mouth set in a knowing smirk, his irises and muscle tone just starting to go slack. Arkady had to press his finger into Alex's ear to find the bullet's borehole and a dot of blood.

"Will they arrest me?" Oksana asked.

"Does anyone else know that you supply skins for your grandfather to mount?"

"No, he'd be embarrassed. You knew?"

"I assumed the skins were from Karel until I saw his condition. Then I knew they were from you."

"Can they trace the bullet?"

"A sophisticated lab could, but there are a lot of swamps around here. Tell me about Hulak." Arkady could barely stand, but he had a feeling that Oksana was a rarely seen moth, that he could talk to her now or never.

"He told my grandfather he was going to get your money and give you a taste of the cooling pond."

"You waited in a boat?"

"I fish there sometimes."

"And shot Hulak."

"He had a gun."

"You shot Hulak."

"He was dragging my grandfather into things."

"And you protect your family?"

Oksana frowned; her baldness exaggerated every expression. No, she didn't like that question. She made room for herself on the couch and rested Karel's head in her lap.

Arkady asked, "Do you know how your brother got so sick?"

"A saltshaker. He told me he was adding cesium to a saltshaker when he dropped a grain. Maybe two. He wore gloves, and nothing should have happened, but later, he ate a sandwich and…" Her face twisted. "Do you mind if I sit here for a while?"

"Please."

"Karel and I used to sit like this a lot."

She reached over her brother's shoulder to smooth the folds of his hockey shirt, place his hands together, primp his braids. Oksana became more and more absorbed, and gradually Arkady understood there were not going to be any more answers.

"I have to go," Arkady said.

"Can I stay?"

"The city is yours."

Arkady drove Alex's truck down the river road, down to the docks and the scuttled fleet, over the bridge and the hiss of the weir. His motorcycle was in the back of the truck. There was no other way to get there in time. For what, he didn't know, but he felt enormous urgency. Along the housing blocks, virtually empty, always virtually empty, and the twin track of a car path through a field of swaying ferns, to a garage half hidden by trees and a bank of lilacs.

He turned off the engine. The white truck seemed to fill the yard. The cabin was silent and had about it an air of darkness and grief. Wind softly heaved the trees, and the screen door slammed.

Eva was in her bathrobe, her eyes blurred, but she held her gun steadily with both hands. She stumbled across the ground in bare feet, but the sights stayed fixed on him. She said, "I told you if you came back, I'd shoot you."