Beneath the Thief’s left nipple, just under Christ’s dangling fingers, Stalin’s profile stared sideways at a bloody red patch where the skin had been sliced away, behind him a similar patch bubbled raw. Korolev knew the tattoo and the reason it was worn, and that the missing profiles were of Lenin and Marx. He was curious that Stalin hadn’t been cut away, and wondered if it meant something.

The whole body was inked. On his left shoulder a skull was pierced by a crucifix, the crossbar of which supported weighing scales. It was a rare tattoo and meant that the dead man acted as a judge in the Thieves’ internal disputes. There was also a tattoo of the Virgin Mary on the man’s other shoulder, based on the icon of Our Lady of Kazan. The icon had a special significance for Thieves, although there was nothing strange in that, Korolov thought; known as Kazanskaya, it was venerated above all others by the Orthodox Church. There were other tattoos as well: the cat in the cavalier’s hat signifying the Thief’s happy-go-lucky approach to life; the sailing ship for a prisoner who’d tried to escape from jail; a knife entering the Thief’s skin, telling Korolev this man had killed for his clan-he’d been a charmer, this fellow.

“It muh-may be nothing. Buh-but the girl’s buh-body-it was luh-laid out in the same way as the cruh-crucifixion tuh-tattoo.” Gueginov pointed at the Thief’s chest and Korolev nodded, making a quick note, then began to check the dead man’s fingers. Two were missing, but had been for some time, probably due to gambling. A finger might settle a debt in the Zone if the loser couldn’t meet his obligations some other way. The remaining fingers were decorated with blue tattoos, drawn like signet rings.

“See, Vanya,” Korolev said to Semionov, “here’s his life story.” Korolev picked up the dead man’s left hand. “The eagle on the thumb tells us he’s an important thief, an ‘authority.’ See these two crosses in circles on the back of his hand? He’s been in prison twice, so we’ll have a file on him sure as I’m standing here. This one, on the forefinger, with the black and white diamond, means he refused to work in the Zone. The clubs and spades in the square beneath the domed monastery? Again that means he’s a senior Thief, to be respected, at least among his own kind. This one”-he pointed to a beetle with an orthodox cross on its back-“means he was convicted of robbery. The plain cross on the little finger means he did solitary confinement during his stretch. Well, if he refused to work, what did he expect?”

Semionov’s eyes were wide as he scribbled furiously in his notebook. Korolev picked up the other hand, the one with the missing fingers. He pointed to the ring tattoo on the forefinger-a square with lines criss-crossing it to represent prison bars. “This one is called ‘My fate is in big squares’-it means he’s destined to die in prison, looking at the sky through the bars of his cell. The church on the thumb tells you he was born a Thief, and the scarab beetle on the middle finger is his talisman, a lucky tattoo. It brought him good fortune, until now anyway.”

“I never saw such a thing before, the way he’s been cut up. To do this to one of their own? They’re savages. Devils.” Larinin seemed more puzzled than angry.

Korolev looked at Dr. Chestnova. She ignored him initially, concentrating instead on hosing down the body, but then she looked up at him and nodded.

“The burn marks are so unusual-there must be a good chance it was the same man as the one who murdered the girl.” Her eyes were red with tiredness, but her hand was steady and the hose slowly revealed yet more hidden tattoos and scars, old and new, from underneath the caked blood. One of the tattoos linked the names Lena and Tesak in a heart surmounted with a cat’s head, a Thief couple. Now they had a name for the man, likely as not.

“Vanya,” Korolev said to Semionov, “look at this. See the two names in the heart and the cat’s head? The cat is the sign of the Thieves and the heart signifies a romantic relationship, as you might expect. As Lena is a woman’s name, logic would suggest that the dead fellow goes by ‘Tesak.’ That should make tracking his file down a little easier.”

A long hour later Korolev and Semionov sat against the bonnet of the Ford enjoying well-deserved cigarettes.

“Two autopsies in two days. I hope we catch this fellow soon,” Korolev muttered as Larinin came out to join them. “Well, Comrade Larinin, what do you think?”

“A dead Thief? We should be celebrating. That’s what I think.”

“Not a great loss to the Revolution, it’s true. Still, it looks like he was killed by the same person as yesterday’s girl, so the investigations will have to be combined. I’m going to take young Semionov out to the stadium in case anything was missed.”

“You’re wasting your time. He was dumped, as I said. There’s nothing to be seen out there.”

Korolev swallowed his irritation. If it had been up to him, he’d have had Chestnova visit the corpse where it had been found rather than just calling for it to be picked up. Larinin seemed to think their equal rank gave them equal investigative experience, but the fellow knew nothing.

“Comrade,” he said, “if you wish to stay involved, that’s your choice, and we can use the manpower. On the other hand, if you would prefer another assignment, I’m happy to recommend to the general that you pursue some other matter. Either way, I’ll be making my own decisions as to how I investigate.”

Korolev could see Larinin calculating the political benefits to him of being involved in a successful investigation, even if Korolev did most of the work, and the likely fallout if he walked away. It was an easy decision to make. After all, if things went wrong, he could blame Korolev for the failure.

“Of course, Captain Korolev, it’s a sensible idea to work together on the investigation, and if you want to check the crime scene then you should do so. Let us work in a spirit of comradely cooperation.”

Larinin held out his hand for Korolev to shake and Korolev, after a momentary hesitation, accepted it. It was a handshake neither of them committed to, the contact tentative and soft. Larinin’s gaze slid off toward Semionov, on whom he bestowed a nod of his head.

“A partnership,” Larinin said to the younger man and then turned back to Korolev. His voice was a little too cheerful-the fellow couldn’t even pretend to be sincere, thought Korolev, letting go of his hand. Still, it seemed fate, or perhaps the general, had thrown them together, and if they were going to work the case jointly, he’d better make sure he got as much use out of him as he could.

“Now tell me exactly where you found the body…” Korolev began once again.

Semionov was silent on the way out to Tomsky stadium and his driving seemed to have lost some of its natural enthusiasm. Korolev hardly noticed, as he tried to work out what on earth connected the murders of a Thief and a foreign nun. Were the Thieves involved in the export of the stolen valuables? What was the murderer’s motive? Or were the killings a psychopath’s handiwork after all, and his victims random? Well, he must be truly insane if he’d murdered a Thief-that was like putting your head into a lion’s mouth while kicking him in the balls. No. No one was that crazed.

If only he could put everything down on paper, perhaps he could begin to make some sense of the jumble of information that was making his head ache, but Gregorin would have him shot for that kind of breach of secrecy. What a complete mess this case was turning out to be. He groaned.

“Are you all right, Alexei Dmitriyevich?”

“I’m fine, just a little headache,” Korolev replied, wondering whether a bullet in the nape of his neck would actually hurt. Perhaps it would all be over before you realized what was happening. He swallowed.