“There were… incidents,” Shulgin said.

“She loved the boy more than anyone,” the sailor snapped back. Ruzsky saw for the first time that the man’s anger was directed against his superior.

“She harmed him?” Ruzsky asked.

“She raised her voice, that was all,” the sailor said. “The boy was unwell, it was not his fault, but we are all under pressure.”

There was an awkward silence.

“How did she behave in the last day or two, immediately before the incident that caused her dismissal?” Ruzsky asked.

They both shook their heads.

“She gave no sign of being under any additional strain?”

They didn’t respond.

“So what exactly happened?”

“Chief Investigator-”

“I’m not asking what she stole, but how she was caught,” Ruzsky told Shulgin. “Surely we can be informed of that.”

“One of the footmen found her in the Empress’s study,” Shulgin said. “Naturally, he had no choice but to inform me, and I the Empress. It was not a place she was entitled to be.”

“What was she doing there?”

“The footman in question said that she started in a guilty manner when discovered.”

“She was at the Empress’s desk?”

Shulgin had taken out his monocle again and was staring at it. “I don’t see how this can have any direct bearing on the case.”

“So she didn’t steal anything?” Ruzsky asked.

Shulgin looked at him. “The Empress believes that she did.”

“What?”

“I’m afraid-”

“What on earth could this girl have been looking for in the study of the Empress of the Russias?”

“I don’t know.” Shulgin could no longer conceal his own exasperation. “I simply do not know.”

“The Empress told you she had stolen something, but not what? I thought you said Ella readily confessed to her crime.”

“She didn’t steal anything,” the sailor said.

“Then what was she doing in there?” Ruzsky said.

“We have taken this as far as it can sensibly go.” Shulgin stood. Neither of the others now met Ruzsky’s eye.

As soon as they had been let out of the wrought iron gates, Pavel breathed an enormous sigh of relief. “Christ,” he said. “Has Tobolsk done something to your mind?”

Ruzsky did not respond. He took out and lit a cigarette.

“Going on with the investigation is not exactly sane, but that was pure madness.”

Ruzsky stopped. “It gives us a degree of protection. Don’t you see that?”

“No.”

“That was the most bizarre interview we have ever conducted. Correct?”

“Indisputably.”

“They are completely in the dark. They’re suspicious of the Okhrana and Vasilyev.”

“That may be, but it’s not going to help us. We’re just caught in the middle.” Pavel pointed at him aggressively. “You have taken us into the middle of a minefield, and you know it.”

“If the Okhrana has been following us this morning, then now they’ll know that they have to tread carefully.”

“Rubbish. We’ve just increased the stakes in a game whose rules we don’t even begin to know. And we’re still no nearer to working out what in the hell is going on.” Pavel’s face was flushed. “Tell me what that was all about.”

Ruzsky shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“You’re damned right you don’t know. We’re invited into the family apartments. The woman who rules us is lurking in the doorway like some kind of ghost. It is all completely unreal. She asks us whether the Okhrana are involved. She doesn’t know what’s happening beyond her own doorstep?”

Ruzsky raised his hand. “But Ella did steal something.”

“The sailor man denies it.”

“But as you say, they’re worried. Very, very worried. Worried enough to entertain the notion of interrogating a couple of lowly city policemen, and then allowing us to interview members of the household. Is that normal? Hardly. And a few months ago it would have been unthinkable.”

“So we go crashing in like a couple of ignorant peasants-”

“That girl stole something important.”

Pavel stared miserably into the distance.

“It is the only rational explanation for that episode. They can’t admit she stole something, let alone what it was, but they don’t trust the Okhrana. Or at least, they were talking to us as a way of finding out how the investigation is proceeding.”

Pavel shook his head. Farther down a cab driver stood by his horse, waiting for a fare.

Ruzsky had never seen a droshky waiting there before.

There was a young, dark-haired boy standing in the far corner of their office, looking out of the window.

For a moment, Ruzsky felt a surge of excitement. “My boy,” Pavel bellowed as he bounded over and took his son into his arms.

A woman appeared next to him. “Sandro,” she said, embracing him warmly.

He held her. “Tonya.”

Ruzsky stepped back. She was thinner, her blond hair framing a face that seemed more careworn than before he had gone away. Her lips were pinched and her cheeks hollow and in another woman it would have had the effect of making her look mean, but Tonya had always possessed an air of fragility. She gave him a shy smile.

“What do you say to your uncle Sandro?” Pavel said. He still had his son in his arms.

“Hello, Uncle Sandro.” The boy was younger than Michael. He had long eyelashes and big blue eyes and, apart from his hair, was the spitting image of his mother.

The sight of him, the innocence in his voice, made Ruzsky’s heart lurch.

It was insane. He had been back more than forty-eight hours. Why had he not seen his boy?

Tonya picked up a suitcase and put it on Pavel’s desk. “A holiday in Yalta!” It was a poor joke and, when she turned to face Ruzsky, he saw clearly the fear in her face. “You will look after him, won’t you, Sandro?”

“I was rather hoping it would be the other way around.”

“I don’t trust him to look after himself.” Whatever confidence Tonya had projected a few minutes before had vanished.

“He’ll be fine,” Ruzsky said. “I’ll see to it he’s kept out of trouble.”

“I can tell, even on the telephone, when he’s uncertain about something.”

“Tonya-”

“Please, Sandro.” Her eyes burned. “You will look after him, won’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Tonya…” Pavel’s face softened further as he took his wife into his arms and drew their son into the narrow gap between their bodies. Ruzsky stood, transfixed, then turned and quietly withdrew.

24

T here was a low archway to one side of the front door to the house in Millionnaya Street, and beyond it a gate into the garden. Ruzsky slipped through and climbed the stone steps that led up to the lawn. He saw Michael immediately, but there was a woman with him, so he ducked instinctively back into the shadows. It took him a few moments to realize that the woman was Ingrid.

They were building a snowman, and Michael was perched on a wooden chair, leaning forward to work on the eyes and mouth.

They were both dressed in dark overcoats, but neither was wearing a hat. Ingrid’s long blond hair had shaken loose down her back, and shone in the dim light. Ruzsky suddenly wanted to reach out and touch it.

Michael concentrated on scooping holes carefully in the center of the snowman’s head, until he got bored and threw a handful of snow at his aunt. Ingrid roared and chased him around the garden as he shrieked with laughter. After allowing him to escape repeatedly, she caught him and rolled him in the snow until he was in hysterics.

She straightened and caught sight of Ruzsky. “Stop, Liebchen, stop,” she said, blushing. “It’s Papa.”

For a moment, Michael stood rooted to the spot. Then he ran headlong into his father’s outstretched arms. Ruzsky hugged his son so tightly that Michael groaned with the pressure.

“Papa,” Michael said, his eyes shining as Ruzsky released him, but then he looked down, suddenly unsure of himself.