Korolev thought for a moment, digesting the information and coming to a conclusion. “But that means…” He stopped himself in mid-sentence. Gregorin exhaled smoke calmly.

“We’re investigating it, of course. No family, not even State Security’s, is without an ugly member. Arrests have been made. But this is murder and that’s an interesting development. It smacks of desperation.”

“Do you know who she was?”

“She could be one of two possible candidates. With a bit of luck, I’ll be able to tell you for definite tomorrow. If you have photographs of the dead woman, that will help.”

“And you’re sure it’s one of these two because?”

Gregorin looked at his watch and shook his head. “Nearly ten o’clock. I’d better get you home. You have a busy day ahead of you.”

He turned on the ignition and the car engine started immediately. Korolev was impressed-he’d heard the Emka’s starter motor was unreliable.

“It’s a good car, this. You see? Another great achievement of the Soviet State. We needed to produce our own automobiles, so we put our minds to it. We devoted the necessary finance, manpower and expertise and then we achieved the objective. That’s the Bolshevik way.”

Gregorin paused while he concentrated on overtaking a slow-moving line of military trucks that was trundling along Dzherzhinsky Street, heavy canvas sides flapping.

“That’s what we want you to do: put your mind to catching the murderer and devote all your resources and efforts to that aim. Investigate every lead, question every suspect, leave no stone unturned-treat it as you would an ordinary crime. We don’t think the traitors know about our own investigation, so to do anything else might alert them. Understood? It’s possible that the killing really was the work of a madman-but it’s more probable it’s the work of these saboteurs and the mutilation and torture are just a smokescreen. Pursue your investigation vigorously and perhaps you’ll distract attention from our own inquiries.”

“I always investigate to the best of my ability,” Korolev said, feeling a little offended.

Five minutes later, Gregorin pulled up outside Number 4 Bolshoi Nikolo-Vorobinsky and switched off the car’s engine. He turned to Korolev. “Bring the autopsy photographs tomorrow, please. They’ll help me identify her for you.”

“I have some questions,” Korolev began, but Gregorin shook his head.

“Perhaps tomorrow. Sleep well, Comrade.”

Gregorin’s eyes were shadowed in the weak light, but Korolev didn’t imagine they were anything other than cold. He stepped out of the car and watched the colonel drive away, knowing people were looking down from behind closed curtains. No one liked a car that had State Security written all over it to show up in front of their house this late at night, even if this time it had deposited a resident instead of taking one away. He made a silent apology to his new neighbors as he entered the building, feeling his tiredness with each step. He would think about what the staff colonel had said in the morning-there was nothing to be gained by worrying about it now. Reaching the door of the apartment, he rooted in his pocket for the key and then had a clear image of it sitting on the bed in his room, where he’d left it that afternoon. He cursed his stupidity and checked his pockets once again. He looked at his watch, past ten o’clock-he hoped Citizeness Koltsova would still be awake. He patted his coat one last time and then knocked gently, waiting for a response that didn’t come. He knocked again, but this time with more force. There was a pause and then the sound of a door opening inside the apartment, footsteps and finally a woman’s voice, suspicious but calm.

“Who is it?”

“I apologize, Citizeness. I’m your new neighbor. Korolev. I left my key inside this morning. On the bed. I know it’s very late.” He sensed people listening from the other apartments and lowered his voice. “Could you let me in?”

The door inched open and he found himself staring down the black barrel of a revolver. He took a step back.

“Captain Korolev?” Her voice asked and he lifted his eyes from the gun’s muzzle to find a pair of equally daunting blue eyes staring at him with unreadable intent.

“Yes,” he agreed.

The gun dropped a few inches, not that he felt any more comfortable with it pointing at his lower stomach. “I’m sorry about the time,” he managed to say.

She was really quite beautiful, a narrow but firm jaw line below razor-sharp cheekbones and then short, bobbed hair that shone in the light from the hallway. If it hadn’t been for the gun he would have enjoyed looking at her. “I’m not normally forgetful, you can be assured.”

“I should hope not,” she responded, looking him up and down with a quizzical expression, as though not entirely sure how he fitted into her world. Her scowl relaxed, very slowly, into a smile as firm and uncompromising as a Pravda editorial and he found himself breathing again. She opened the door wider, slipped the revolver into her dressing-gown pocket and extended her hand.

“Comrade Korolev, we’re pleased to have a member of the Moscow Criminal Investigation Division in the building; Luborov told me about you. Welcome. The gun wasn’t loaded. You have to be careful in Moscow, even in a building such as this. So many bandits around. Although, of course, I’m sure that’s not your fault.”

In fact, judging by the way she raised her eyebrows, it seemed she wasn’t sure of this at all. Korolev shrugged his shoulders in apology, took the offered hand and wasn’t surprised to discover her grip was as strong as a man’s.

“Thank you,” he said. “I hope you’ve a permit for the gun-there are severe penalties.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he didn’t like the sound of them. Still, pulling a piece on your neighbor wasn’t the way to start sharing a flat together either.

“Of course I do,” she said, with a protective pat of her pocket. She perhaps spoke a little too quickly, however.

“Natasha,” she called along the corridor, “it’s Comrade Korolev, our new neighbor, come and meet him.”

A small face appeared and disappeared in a doorway behind her. Koltsova laughed, her face lighting up for a moment, as though a switch had been turned on. Her skin seemed to glow when she laughed. She turned back to Korolev and smiled. “She’s a little shy, Comrade, and she doesn’t like uniforms. Do you wear it all the time?”

He shook his head. “No. Not at all, hardly. Normally I wear ordinary clothes. Just today, you see, and only because I absolutely had to wear a uniform. It was an exception. In fact the moths have been at it, it’s so long since I’ve worn it. Look.”

He showed her the sleeve of his uniform jacket and was rewarded with a smile that seemed to express pity rather than empathy. He tried to collect himself, but his mouth had already opened.

“You see I’m a detective. Criminal. I mean I’m a detective who catches criminals, of course. A detective criminal would be absurd.” He put his hand to his forehead and closed his eyes for a moment hoping he would be somewhere else when he opened them. “I apologize, Comrade. I’ve had a long day.”

“Come in, Comrade Captain Korolev,” she said, with a resigned tone to her voice. She followed him into the communal kitchen. “Welcome to your new home.”

An easier job this time, he thought to himself, as Tesak [1] the Thief began to tell him what he wanted to hear. Straightforward even. You just knew where you were with fellows like Tesak. He might puff out his chest, threaten and swear, but at the end of the day Tesak only believed in one thing and that was Tesak. So when he was really in trouble, when he faced the choice between oblivion and survival, he was always going to choose survival. After all, if there was an afterlife, someone like Tesak wasn’t going to heaven-that was for sure.