Полная версия
Secret Target
«The Maltsevs have been my neighbors for ten years. Inna used to be a teacher, just like me. I taught history – social science. Did it long enough to become a principal. As soon as Inna married Maltsev, she transferred to my school – it’s the local one over there. I retired two years after she arrived. She quit not much later, but we went on being friends. So there are some things about her that I do know. She didn’t have a very easy life, you know.»
«You don’t say?»
«Let me just tell you…»
Half an hour later, Detective Petelina knew all about the tragic miscarriages of Inna Maltseva. She listened attentively to the heartrending tale of how poor Inna went from doctor to doctor and stayed in various hospitals, while her husband ran around wooing some painted trollop, the jackass. Ms. Broshina had caught them leaving an expensive restaurant and had even told Inna about it.
«Inna just waved me off, saying that her husband had a business meeting. Business! What business? I saw him myself. He was drunk and ogling her and pawing at her waist like a bear at a beehive. If there hadn’t been people around, I bet he’d have summoned the temerity to slip his hand under her skirt… But, of course, if a wife doesn’t want to know the truth about her husband, there’s no point on insisting on it. So I stopped mentioning it to Inna – even though I saw him bring the bimbo home. Twice, in fact.»
«When was this?»
«During the summer. Her perfume stank up the lobby so bad that it needed to be aired out. Meanwhile, Inna was suffering in a hospital bed. There’s a «business meeting’ for you.»
«Do you know her name?»
«He never introduced us.»
«What does she look like?»
«She’s blonde. Dresses for effect. Likes bright lipstick and eyeliner.»
«Can you look at this photograph and tell me whether this is her?» Petelina pulled up the image on her phone.
The pensioner adjusted her reading glasses.
«Why, that’s the very one,» she exclaimed, «Maltsev’s lover. She’s always wearing skintight fripperies. One might think she is still in school when, really, she is well past thirty. Though, she is younger than Inna. Younger… Men are some dogs, eh?»
Elena remembered her ex-husband and offered no objection. The photo of the efficacious blonde – Oksana Drozdova, clerk at the Housing and Utilities Ministry for the Moscow Region – glowed on her screen. According to Maltseva, she had killed this woman the day before. According to the police, no such incident had occurred. And yet, Oksana Drozdova had not come in to work today.
I wonder what’s keeping Marat. It’s about time he reported back, Petelina began to worry, remembering the operatives she had sent to 24 Dorozhnaya Street.
16
Ivan Mayorov crept along the wall of the house and, reaching the corner, peeked around at the porch. There, at the foot of the wide-open door, lay Valeyev.
He’s alive! The operative was relieved to see a grimace of pain on the captain’s face. Marat raised himself onto one elbow and pressed his free hand against his chest. He’s wounded! There was no gunshot. He’s been stabbed! flashed through the operative’s head, and, covering the entryway with his service weapon, Vanya hopped up onto the front porch.
He was instantly deafened by a savage shriek. Its source was a woman in cotton pajamas. She stood in the entryway, guarding herself with shaking, splayed palms. She did not have a knife. It wasn’t her.
Mayorov shoved the woman aside and burst into the house. Gotta find the bastard! Who attacked Marat? throbbed between the operative’s temples. He began going through the house, checking room by room as Captain Valeyev had taught him.
«These rules are written with the blood of our friends,» Valeyev had pounded into the novice operative’s head. «The most likely cause of a police officer’s death in a building is a shooter hiding behind and open door. You walk into a room and he’s behind you. You may as well be in the palm of his hand. Only slightly less dangerous is when the shooter presses up along the latch-side wall. You’ll see him, of course, but he’s already got you in his sights. A door is a dangerous object in general – it can be used to deliver a blow or knock a person off his feet. For these reasons, your tactical approach should be as follows: Dash through a doorway quickly and, as you pass the threshold, check the latch-side wall and then whether anyone’s hiding behind the door itself. Keep your service weapon in your right hand and steady it with your left. Keep your hands at eyelevel and crooked slightly at the elbows. Keep your barrel pointed where your eyes are looking so that you don’t waste valuable time aiming. You may never get that extra second.»
Valeyev hadn’t mentioned the blood of friends just for dramatic effect. Vanya knew that at his previous post, the captain’s partner, Nikita Dobrokhotov, had perished during an attempt to arrest a terrorist. Word had it that it was Valeyev’s bullet that killed Dobrokhotov. There were even certain colleagues who would whisper in Mayorov’s ear: «Better be careful when you’re out there with him.» Vanya ignored such vile advice. He had learned a lot from the experienced captain.
Previously, whenever they would examine a building together, they would take turns moving. One would cover, while the second moved forward, hunching under the line of fire. When the second reached his firing position, the first would move, past him and onward, hunched in the same manner. If an antagonist appeared, the covering operative would fire, since the one moving might not even have seen him.
At the moment however, Vanya was acting on his own. Following Valeyev’s instructions to the word, he combed all the rooms of the house’s two floors. There was no one there. With his free hand, Vanya wiped the sweat from his forehead. Then who had stabbed the captain?
The sharp crack of a slap resounded from below, cutting off the woman’s shriek. Mayorov dashed down the creaky stairs. Valeyev stood facing the woman who had covered her cheek with one hand.
«Is there anyone else in the house?» the captain asked his partner.
«It’s empty.» Vanya was trying to get a look at the wound on Marat’s chest.
«Zapped me with a stun gun,» Valeyev explained and kicked a little box with sharp protrusions lying on the ground. He looked sternly at the terrified woman. «Documents!»
«Who are you?» the woman glanced nervously at the gun in Mayorov’s hand.
«Police. I’m Captain Valeyev. Vanya, put the piece away. Is this your house?»
«Yes it is.» The woman’s spirits lifted somewhat. «What are you doing stomping around my yard? Why’d you break into my house?»
«Documents, please.»
«Why? What’s the matter, captain? What right do you have to burst into my house?»
«She’s blonde,» Vanya nodded to Marat. «Bleached blonde.»
«What business is it of yours?» the woman asked offended.
«We’re just doing a check,» the captain assuaged her. «Will you show me your passport or would you like to accompany us to the precinct for identification?»
The woman snorted, disappeared into the house, returned and slapped the passport into the operative’s hand.
«Oksana Drozdova,» read Valeyev, confirming that the living, breathing blonde, whose corpse he had been ordered to find, was in fact standing right there before him. «Did you hear any gunshots last night?»
«What gunshots? Are there gangsters in the township?»
«Calm down, there aren’t any gangsters. Does the car in the yard belong to you?»
«Yes, it’s mine. Would you like to see the Volvo’s passport too?»
«Did you drive home last night in that car?»
«And how else am I supposed to get home?»
«Did you see anything out of the ordinary?»
«I didn’t see any gangsters, but that didn’t make my life any easier: My gates haven’t worked right in a week. The repairmen took the control unit and are taking forever to fix it. I’m sick and tired of opening and closing them by hand. Broke a heel last night. Just look at this – I just got these boots too. And of course, I fell as a result and scraped my knee. Anyway, does all that count as out of the ordinary?»
«Why didn’t you go in to work today?»
«Am I allowed to be sick? I even called the doctor to get documentation for my sick day. Left the gates open for him, but he never showed up. No one wants to do their job! I’ll have to go in to the clinic tomorrow.»
«And what’s wrong with your cell phone?»
«Why, it fell out and broke when I fell. These cobblestones are unforgiving. I barely managed to call the clinic this morning with it – all the buttons keep falling out. Say, you couldn’t take a look at it, could you?»
«I’m not a technician. What about your landline?»
«What do I need that for? Cell phone service is cheaper and more convenient around here.»
Valeyev decided to say farewell to the riled young lady. He had fulfilled his assignment and found the blonde. That Maltseva sure had come up with some tall tales. Though the better question was how in the hell Lena had fallen for her gibberish.
Just in case, Marat asked:
«Tell me, Oksana, are you familiar with an Inna Maltseva?»
A shadow flashed across the young woman’s face.
«No, I’ve never even seen her.»
«But you know her?»
Drozdova turned to face her closet mirror and began making a show of examining her cheek: Was there some visible vestige of the slap the police captain had given her – the one that had so ungraciously brought her out of her fit?
«What’s your name? Captain Valeyev? You may expect an official complaint for battery. Hitting a defenseless woman with a fist! You’ll regret that! Just wait and see what I’ll write about you!»
Instead of replying to this, Valeyev squatted and delicately slipped the stun gun into a plastic bag.
«This evidence will be submitted along with a report about an assault against a police officer. I’ll also make sure to attach a medical report detailing the dermal burns suffered as a result of electric shock. In the meantime, you, Ms. Drozdova, may expect a summons from the detective in Moscow tomorrow.»
«What detective? Why?»
«Do you know who Inna Maltseva is or not?»
«Well, I am aware of someone by that name. But I’ve never even seen her. I know her husband, Dmitry Maltsev – from work. He frequently bids on repair projects in the housing sector. My department processes his tenders. That’s all I know though!»
«And has he ever mention his wife to you? During your work together, of course.»
Drozdova adjusted her hair and smiled cruelly.
«We women are a curious bunch – especially those of us who are single. For example, you, captain, are not married. And neither is your partner. You know how I can tell? It’s not just because you aren’t wearing a ring. Your collar is greasy and you have no one to let you know about it or even wash it in time. And yet, my dear officers, I find you completely uninteresting. You can go to the department stores to pick up your sales girls. I’m sure they’ll find your salaries and intellectual abilities impressive.»
«I think I understand. You prefer married men?»
«Well, just think for a second: Where am I supposed to find successful men who aren’t married at my age? You must be a genius to have figured it out so quickly!»
«Best of luck in your search then.» Valeyev screwed up his face. «I’ll be taking the stun gun, just in case you decide to file that complaint. Until we meet again.»
He pivoted on his heels and drummed out each porch stair in his descent. Vanya Mayorov paused on his way past Drozdova and studied the top of the woman’s head from his great height. He shook his head.
«I never liked blondes anyway, especially bleached ones.»
«Jerk! Wipe your feet next time before barging into someone’s house!» Drozdova yelled after him.
17
Ms. Broshina shuffled down the hall in her soft slippers. Chana jogged ahead, claws clicking along the hardwood floor.
«You’re welcome to come back any time you like, Lena dear,» the elderly lady intoned, seeing the detective out. She opened the door. «I can tell you so many interesting things – and not just about Maltsev – »
The pensioner cut herself short upon seeing a spunky young woman with violet bangs and heavy looking shoes out on the landing. The sharp-nosed girl had a large purse slung over her shoulder and was speaking with Dmitry Maltsev at his apartment door.
«Could you please tell me, Mr. Maltsev, what went through your mind when you learned that your wife wanted to kill you?»
Maltsev noticed the detective. The puzzled look on his face turned to displeasure.
«And how does it feel,» the woman warbled on, «to discover that you’ve lost two family members – your brother and your wife – at the same time? Surely, you won’t be able to forgive her after what she has done? Isn’t that so?»
«Please go away. I have nothing to say to you.»
«Domestic murders are a serious issue in this country. Getting your account published in our paper could land you guest appearances on TV!»
«Leave me alone!»
Maltsev tried to slam the door, but the intrepid reporter had taken the precaution to jam it with her shoe. The young woman deftly produced a camera from her tote and bright flashes began to slip and slide along Maltsev’s receding hairline. He flew into a rage, snatched the camera from her hand and hurled it down the stairs. The door slammed shut. The reporter threw up her hands helplessly.
«Did you see that? Did you?» she picked up the camera. «What a spaz. That’s the second camera in a month. What is wrong with people! He should be happy he isn’t dead. Why, he could be lying in the morgue right now with his head smashed in.»
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