Secret Target

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.»