Punishment of a Hunter: a Leningrad Confidential by Yulia Yakovleva

Author:Yulia Yakovleva
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Steerforth Press
Published: 2021-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

III

“Have a seat, comrade,” the duty officer suggested kindly. “Need to look after your legs. Not going to get new ones on the state, are you?”

“It’s fine,” shrugged Zaitsev.

The walls were painted ochre to waist height. Nothing fancy—any administrative opulence remained behind closed doors in the offices. The metal mesh over the ceiling lamps made the light seem even yellower, the ceiling even lower. Zaitsev felt the din of the blood pulsing in his temples.

“Where’s the detainee?” he asked the duty officer impatiently.

“They’re fetching him. Shall I get you some tea?”

Zaitsev didn’t answer.

The blue top of the duty officer’s cap bent over the papers again.

This was strange. It was just a few months ago that he himself had entered this very building with his hands behind his back.

“Comrade Zaitsev?” With new boots creaking at every step, an OGPU officer entered the reception. “Come with me.”

Zaitsev had already seen this hunchback with dandruff on the shoulders of his new tunic. He wasn’t the kind you’d forget. The hunchback affably waved a slender, ape-like hand. Zaitsev followed. He smelt of cologne. Zaitsev couldn’t remember his last name: Investigator… Investigator… No, it was gone. At any rate, he was the lead investigator on the Firsov case.

They went up and down stairs, along corridors, yet more stairs.

“We’re a bit crowded here. But we’re moving to a new building soon. On Volodarsky Prospekt.” The hunchback chatted away sociably.

More corridors. Unnervingly familiar. It seemed to Zaitsev that with every step the walls were getting closer. Fortunately, they stopped; the hunchback was already unlocking the iron door.

“Some tea, maybe?” he asked.

“No thanks,” said Zaitsev. Eating or drinking in these walls seemed unthinkable. The man’s last name came back to him. “Thank you, Comrade Aprelsky.”

A man sat hunched up on a stool in the middle of the room, his back to the door.

“A quarter of an hour and not a minute more,” the hunchback reminded Zaitsev as he followed him into the room. Apparently, Uglov’s magic only stretched as far as tea.

Zaitsev didn’t like it. Not one bit.

“I am interrogating Comrade Firsov in the context of a criminal case,” he reminded the hunchback. “OGPU…”

At the sound of a voice, Firsov’s head jerked, but he didn’t turn.

“If you want to talk—talk. Don’t like it—the door’s there,” said the hunchback, and he licked his flaky lips. He walked to the desk and sat down, pulling the chair in close. Zaitsev stood behind Firsov. There were no more chairs.

Zaitsev walked around Firsov, who slowly raised his chin. Zaitsev was dumbfounded. Firsov had a fresh abrasion on his face. His nose was smashed. His lip too. Firsov sat, carefully holding up his own body. Like a man whose insides were bruised. With the one eye that wasn’t swollen, he looked at Zaitsev. There was a flicker of recognition. His burst lips quivered.

“Comrade Firsov,” Zaitsev began.

“Citizen. Citizen Firsov,” the hunchback corrected him.

“I want to talk to you about Oliver Newton. Remember him? Bear in mind that this is an official conversation. It’s called a witness testimony.

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