Child 44

by Tom Rob Smith

  There was little chance of finding anything new regarding Larisa’s death, even allowing for incompetence and oversight. Therefore Leo was in the conflicted position of needing to find a second body. During the winter these forests would be deserted, a body could lie here for months, preserved as Larisa’s body was preserved. Leo had reason to believe she wasn’t the first victim. The doctor had suggested the killer knew what he was doing, a competence and assuredness that came from practice. The method suggested a routine, a routine suggested a sequence. And then, of course, there was the death of Arkady—a fact that Leo held in abeyance at this time.

  Searching by a combination of moonlight and discreet use of his flashlight, Leo’s life depended on being undetected. He believed the general’s death threat absolutely. However, his need for secrecy had received a setback when the man working in the train station, Aleksandr, had seen him walking into the woods. He had called out and Leo, unable to think of a plausible lie, was forced to tell the truth, saying that he was collecting evidence regarding the young girl’s murder. He’d then asked Aleksandr not to mention this to anyone, claiming that it would compromise the investigation. Aleksandr had agreed and wished him luck, remarking that he’d always presumed the killer had been on a train journey. Why else was the body so near the station? Someone who lived in the town would know far more secluded areas of forest. Leo had agreed that the location was suggestive, making a mental note to himself to check up on this man. Though he seemed nice enough, the appearance of innocence counted for little—although, Leo mused, innocence didn’t count for much either.

  Using a map stolen from the militia’s office, Leo had divided the forests surrounding the railway station into four areas. He found nothing in the first area, which was where the victim’s body had been found. Much of the ground had been trampled under hundreds of boots. Not even the bloody snow remained, removed no doubt as part of the effort to erase all trace of this crime. As far as Leo could tell, the remaining three areas hadn’t been searched: the snow was untouched. It had taken him an hour or so to cover the second grid, by which time his fingers were numb with cold. However, the advantage of the snow was that he could move relatively quickly, scanning large sweeps of ground for footprints, using his own tracks to mark sections that he’d covered.

  Having almost finished the third area he paused. He could hear footsteps—the crunch of snow. Turning the flashlight off, he moved behind a tree, crouching down. But he couldn’t hide—they seemed to be following his tracks. Should he run? That was his only chance.

  —Leo?

  He stood up, turning on his flashlight. It was Raisa.

  Leo lowered the beam out of her face.

  —Were you followed?

  —No.

  —Why are you here?

  —I’m here to ask you that same question.

  —I told you. A little girl was murdered, they have a suspect but I don’t think—

  Raisa interrupted, impatient, abrupt:

  —You don’t think he’s guilty?

  —No.

  —And since when has that mattered to you?

  —Raisa, I’m just trying—

  —Leo, stop, because I don’t think I can stomach you telling me you’re motivated by a sense of justice. This is going to end badly, and when it ends badly for you, it ends badly for me.

  —You want me to do nothing?

  Raisa became angry:

  —I’m supposed to bow down to this personal investigation of yours? There are innocent people falsely accused, imprisoned and dying all across this country and there’s nothing I can do about it except try and not be one of them.

  —You believe that keeping our heads down, doing nothing wrong, that protects us? You did nothing wrong before, but they wanted to execute you as a traitor. Doing nothing is no guarantee we won’t be arrested anyway—I’ve learned that lesson.

  —But you’re like a child with a new fact. Everyone knows there are no guarantees. It’s about risk. And this is an unacceptable one. You think if you can catch one genuinely guilty person all those innocent men and women you’ve arrested will just fade away? This isn’t about any little girl, it’s about you.

  —You hate me when I toe the line. You hate me when I do the right thing.

  Leo turned the flashlight off. He didn’t want her to see him upset. Of course, she was correct, everything she said was true. Their fates were stitched together; he had no right to embark on this investigation without her approval. And he was in no position to argue morality.

  —Raisa, I don’t believe they’ll ever leave us alone. At a guess they’ll wait a couple of months, maybe a year, between my arrival here and my arrest.

  —You don’t know that.

  —They don’t leave people alone. Perhaps they need to construct a case against me. Perhaps they just want me to rot in obscurity before finishing me off. But I don’t have long. And this is how I want to spend that time, trying to find the man who did this. He needs to be caught. I appreciate that doesn’t help you. However, there’s a way for you to survive. Just before I’m arrested they’ll double the surveillance. At this point, you should go to them, feed them some story about me, make a show of betraying me.

  —What am I supposed to do until then? Sit in that room and wait? Lie for you? Cover for you?

  —I’m sorry.

  Raisa shook her head, turned around, and walked back toward town. Alone, Leo switched the flashlight on. His energy was sapped, his movements sluggish—his thoughts were no longer on the case. Was this nothing but a selfish, futile enterprise? He hadn’t gone far when he once more heard the sound of footsteps in the snow. Raisa had returned:

  —You’re sure this man’s killed before?

  —Yes. And if we find another victim the case reopens. The evidence against Varlam Babinich is specific to this girl. If there’s a second murder the case against him falls apart.

  —You said this boy Varlam had learning difficulties. Sounds like a perfect person to blame for any crime. They might just blame him for both murders.

  —You’re right. That is a risk. But a second body is the only chance I have of reopening this case.

  —So, if we find another body, you have an investigation. If we don’t, if we find nothing, you promise to let this drop.

  —Yes.

  —All right then. You lead.

  Awkward, uncertain, they set off, deeper into the forest.

  After almost thirty minutes, the pair of them walking alongside each other, Raisa pointed ahead. Crossing their path were two sets of tracks, an adult’s and a child’s, side by side. There was no sign of any disturbance. The child hadn’t been pulled along. The adult’s boot prints were enormous and deep. He was a tall, heavy man. The child’s footsteps were faint. The child was small, young.

  Raisa turned to Leo:

  —These might continue for miles, all the way to some rural village.

  —They might.

  She understood. Leo was going to follow them to their end.

  They’d been walking for some time, following the tracks, with no sign of anything being amiss. Leo had begun to wonder if Raisa was right. Maybe there was an innocent explanation. Suddenly he stopped walking. Up ahead an area of snow had been flattened, as though someone had lain down. Leo moved forward. The footprints became confused, as if there’d been a struggle. The adult had walked away from the disturbance while the child’s tracks went off in the opposite direction, their footsteps unevenly spaced, ragged—the child had been running. From the impressions in the snow it was clear that the child had fallen over: there was a single handprint. But the child had gotten up and continued to run before falling again. Again the child struggled on the ground, although it was impossible to work out with whom or what they’d been struggling. There were no other footsteps. Whatever had happened here, the child had managed to get up, running once more. Desperation could be read on the snow. However, the adult’s footsteps were still nowhere to be seen. Then, several
meters up ahead, they reappeared. Deep boot prints emerged out of the trees. Yet something was odd—the adult was running in zigzags, this way and that, inaccurately converging on the child’s position. None of it made any sense. Having walked away from the child, the man had then changed his mind and erratically ran back toward them. Judging from the angles of the footprints the adult had caught up at some point past the next tree.

  Raisa stopped, staring ahead at the point where the tracks would meet. Leo touched her on the shoulder:

  —Stay here.

  Leo moved forward, stepping around the tree. He saw the bloody snow first, then the bare legs, the mutilated torso. It was a young boy, maybe no more than thirteen or fourteen years old. He was small, slight. Just as the girl had been on her back, so was he, staring up at the sky. There was something in his mouth. Out of the corner of his eye Leo caught sight of movement. He turned to see Raisa standing behind him, staring down at the boy’s body:

  —Are you okay?

  Slowly, Raisa raised her hand to her mouth. She gave Leo the smallest of nods.

  Leo knelt down beside the boy. Tied around his ankle was string. The string had been cut: only a short length trailed in the snow. The boy’s skin was red where the string had rubbed, cutting into his flesh. Steeling himself, Leo turned to look at the boy’s face. His mouth had been stuffed with soil. It gave him the appearance of screaming. Unlike Larisa, there was no layer of snow over his body. He’d been killed after her, maybe within the last couple of weeks. Leo leaned over, reaching toward the boy’s mouth and taking a pinch of the dark soil. He rubbed it between his finger and thumb. It was coarse and dry. The texture wasn’t like earth. There were large, uneven chunks. Under the pressure of his fingers the fragments broke apart. It wasn’t soil at all. It was bark from the trunk of a tree.

  22 MARCH

  SOME THIRTY-SIX HOURS after he and Raisa had found the boy’s body Leo still hadn’t reported the discovery. Raisa was right. Instead of throwing the case open the second murder could be blamed on Varlam Babinich. The boy had no sense of self- preservation, he was open to suggestion—whisper something in his ear and he was likely to go along with it. He offered a convenient and swift solution to two horrific murders. Why look for a second suspect when there was one already in custody? It was unlikely Babinich would have an alibi, given that staff working at the internat wouldn’t remember his movements or be prepared to vouch for him. The charges would almost certainly jump from one count of murder to two.

  Leo couldn’t simply announce the discovery of the young boy’s body. First he had to establish that Varlam Babinich knew nothing about it. That was the only way to save him: to collapse the proceedings against the militia’s prime suspect—their only suspect. However, this was exactly what Nesterov had warned Leo against doing. It would mean that a criminal case would be opened without any suspect: a criminal case against persons unknown. The problem was exacerbated by the fact that Babinich had already confessed. Local MGB operatives would almost certainly become involved if they heard that a confession had been discredited by the militia. Confessions were the bedrock of the judicial system and their sanctity needed to be protected at all costs. If anyone else found out about the second murder before Leo could establish Babinich’s ignorance, they might decide that it was far easier, simpler, and safer for everyone involved to amend the confession and spoon-feed the suspect the necessary details—a thirteen-year-old boy stabbed in the woods, on the opposite side of the tracks, several weeks ago. This solution was neat, efficient and upset no one, not even Babinich himself, since he probably wouldn’t understand what was going on. There was only one way to guarantee that news of the second body didn’t filter through, and that had been for Leo to remain silent. On returning to the train station he hadn’t raised the alarm or called his superior officers. He hadn’t reported the murder or set up a crime scene. He’d done nothing. To Raisa’s bewilderment he’d asked her to not say anything, explaining that he couldn’t get access to Babinich until the following morning, which meant leaving the body out in the woods for the night. If the boy was to have a chance at justice then he couldn’t see that there was any other option.

  Babinich was no longer in the militia’s care—he’d been handed over to the lawyers from the procurator’s office. A team of sledovatyel had already obtained a confession to the murder of Larisa Petrova. Leo had read the document. There were differences between the confession obtained by the militia and the one obtained by the sledovatyel, but this hardly mattered: they were broadly the same—he was guilty. In any case, the militia’s document wasn’t official and wouldn’t be referred to in court: their job had only been to point out the most likely suspect. By the time Leo had made his request to speak to the prisoner the investigation had all but been completed. They were ready to go to trial.

  Leo had been forced to argue that the suspect might have killed more girls and that before he was taken to trial, the militia and sledovatyel should jointly question him in order to establish if there were any more victims. Nesterov had cautiously agreed: it was something they should’ve done already. He had insisted upon joining the interrogation, which had suited Leo fine; the more witnesses the better. With two sledovatyel and two militia officers present Babinich had denied knowing anything about any other victims. Afterwards the team had agreed that it was unlikely the accused had killed anyone else. As far as they were aware, there were no other missing girls with blonde hair, which was the motive in this case. Having achieved mutual agreement that Babinich was unlikely to have killed anyone else, Leo had feigned uncertainty, claiming they should search the forests just in case, widening the search to include any part of the forests within a thirty-minute walk of the town’s perimeter. Sensing that Leo had an agenda, Nesterov’s uneasiness had grown. In ordinary circumstances, had Leo not been connected to the MGB, his request would’ve been dismissed. The idea that the militia’s resources should be spent actively looking for a crime was ridiculous. But as much as Nesterov mistrusted Leo, he’d seemed afraid to oppose the suggestion, afraid that to do so would be dangerous since the order might be coming from Moscow. The search had been arranged to take place today: thirty-six hours after Leo and Raisa had found the boy’s body.

  During these past hours the memory of the boy lying in the snow had dominated Leo’s thoughts. He’d suffered nightmares where a boy in the middle of the forest, naked, disemboweled, had asked why they’d abandoned him:

  Why did you leave me?

  The boy in the dream had been Arkady—Fyodor’s son.

  Raisa had told Leo that she found it hard concentrating at school knowing there was a dead child in the woods while pretending nothing was wrong. She felt an overwhelming urge to warn the children, somehow alert the town—the parents knew nothing of the danger. None of them had reported a child missing. The school records showed no unexplained absences. Who was the boy in the woods? She wanted to name him, find his family. All Leo could do was ask her to wait. Despite her unease she’d deferred to his judgment that this was the only way to free an innocent young man and initiate a hunt for the person responsible. The ludicrousness of the reasoning made it sound entirely plausible.

  HAVING RECRUITED WORKERS from the lumber mills to make up the search teams, Nesterov split the men and women into seven groups of ten. Leo was assigned to a group searching the forests beside State Hospital 379, on the opposite side of town from where the body was located. This was ideal since it would be better if he didn’t make the discovery. There was also a possibility that there were more bodies to be found. He was convinced that these victims weren’t the first.

  The ten members of Leo’s team broke down into two groups of three and one group of four. Leo was working with Nesterov’s deputy, a man instructed, no doubt, to keep an eye on him. They were joined by a woman, a mill worker. It took them the entire day to complete their portion of the search, several square kilometers through difficult snowdrifts which needed to be prodded with sticks to make su
re there was nothing underneath them. They’d found no body. Reassembling back at the hospital, none of the other two teams had found anything either. These forests were empty. Leo was impatient to know what was happening on the other side of town.

  NESTEROV WAS STANDING by the edge of the forests near the railway maintenance cabin that had been commandeered and turned into a temporary headquarters. Leo approached, trying to seem unhurried and indifferent. Nesterov asked:

  —What have you found?

  —Nothing.

  And after a calculated pause Leo added:

  —What about here?

  —No, nothing, nothing at all.

  Leo’s pose of cool indifference fell away from him. Aware that his reaction was being watched, he turned away, trying to work out what could have gone wrong. How had they missed the body? Was it still there? The tracks were clearly visible. It was possible that the search perimeter hadn’t stretched as far as the body, but it must have stretched as far as the tracks. Was it that the team hadn’t followed them to their end? If they were unmotivated, then they might have given up once the tracks continued past the edge of their designated search area. Most of the teams were returning: there wasn’t much time before the entire operation would be concluded with the boy’s body still in the woods.