The Midwife of St. Petersburg (35 page)

Alex bowed again, walked to the door, and departed.

Alex was standing in the archway that opened into the ballroom when Konni came up to him.

“Colonel Kronstadt, sir, Majors Sokolov are both looking for you. They are in the drawing room.”

Gennady and Ivan were talking with Natalia Peshkova when Alex came in. Natalia saw him and quickly excused herself. Ivan turned his head with apparent interest to watch her leave the parlor.

“I like that young lady,” Ivan commented.

“Very profound words,” Gennady said gravely.

“Well, I do like her.”

“You like them all.”

“This one is different.”

Alex cocked a brow at Ivan. “I happen to know that Natalia
is
different. So watch your behavior, my son,” he stated with mock gravity.

“Just so, Papa.”

“She’s also happily engaged to a conscript named Boris, a veterinarian who is presently facing the Huns in Poland,” Alex continued. “So if you like her, play the officer and gentleman, or she’ll avoid you—permanently.”

“She is also half-Jewish,” Gennady said with a sober gaze. “You know what that will cost you if you should fall for her.”

Alex stepped behind a masquerade of indifference.

After a moment of silence, Ivan looked at his glass and scowled. “It’s empty.”

“Good,” Alex said.

Gennady rubbed the scowl between his brows, his dejection over the Count Kalinsky assassination showing. “Look, we’ve important things to discuss. What did Durnov say about me?”

Alex told him. Ivan devoutly assured his twin that he would take his place before the firing squad. “How will they tell us apart, I ask you?”

“Firing squad!” Gennady sank into a brocade chair and held his head between his hands. “All these things are against me.”

There were no reassuring words that had not already been spoken, and the room lapsed into silence.

Alex walked to the window. Glowing lamps strung along the front pine trees emphasized the bleak silhouettes clawing in the breeze against the gray sky. His thoughts turned toward the pendant. He only assumed he could influence Karena’s mother into selling the jewels back to Dr.
Zinnovy. He decided there was no time to lose on the matter—he’d leave for Petrograd first thing in the morning.

Then he heard a commotion in the entranceway.

“Sounds like trouble,” Ivan said. “I’d know that gravelly voice in my nightmares.”

Gennady turned quickly and stood.

Alex too looked toward the doorway where Konni appeared perturbed over Major-General Durnov’s entering the house without waiting to be escorted and presented.

Durnov stood, his bulk behind the greatcoat blocking the way, reminding Alex of a sullen bear.

Alex suspected there was something more than Gennady’s chance involvement in the Kalinsky assassination that morning to have brought Durnov here now.

Durnov then spotted Alex.

Alex heard a groan of despair from Gennady. “Here comes Major-General Death.”

A
lex followed Major-General Durnov into a meeting behind closed doors with the hastily summoned General Roskov. As Alex drew the door closed, he caught sight of Gennady and Ivan near the refreshment table, appearing greatly relieved that Durnov hadn’t detained Gennady for more questioning on the matter of Count Kalinsky.

Alex stood near a window with blue drapes, looking across the snow-clad park in the direction of the Romanov palace, where the lights were all aglow.

“What’s this about?” General Roskov asked, scowling. Alex knew he didn’t approve of interruptions during social events.

Durnov produced a scarred leather satchel from which he withdrew a police file he’d brought from St. Petersburg. The general snatched it and went behind the desk. Alex turned up the lamplight, keeping an immobile face, though his unease was growing.

“Well, sir, the Kiev gendarmes sent us this file on Policeman Grinevich’s death,” Durnov said.

“Grinevich?” Roskov raised his reddish gray head with a mutinous scowl. “That debacle took place in August!”

A twitch of Durnov’s wide mouth unmasked his personal offense. “Debacle?”

Wait a minute
, Alex thought, uneasy.
Durnov’s no fool. A man of his military experience wouldn’t dare show such boldness toward General Roskov
. Alex couldn’t remember a time when Durnov had stood against his superior. Something was different about the major-general—about the way he spoke. He used all the right military manners, but there was a flavor of stubbornness about him. He had a cigarette between his fingers, but it went unlit. Usually Alex lit his cigarettes, as was expected, but in the presence of the general, he did not.

Alex glanced at General Roskov to see if he was noticing Durnov’s insolence. The general’s shoulders had stiffened.

“Yes, Major-General Durnov, a debacle! The wrong man pines away in the stinking Peter-Paul fortress—my wife’s brother. We’re in an endless process of trying to free him. While
you
and members of the Okhrana wile away the time trying to dig up proof to include my wife’s nephew, Sergei Peshkov.”

“General! Sir! That has never been my intention, nor is it now. It’s not the Peshkovs, but the wife’s side of the family—the Menkins.”

Alex turned his head sharply.

“Menkins?” General Viktor looked incredulous. He leaned across the desktop toward Durnov. “It’s Lenski I want arrested, Durnov,” he gritted. “Lenski is behind it, working hand in glove with the Bolsheviks.”

“Yes, General, just so! Petrov Lenski. And he’s fully involved with Karena
Menkin
, as I shall call her. They are lovers.”

Alex could have wrung Durnov’s thick neck. But one fiery word of protest, and Durnov, who may already suspect him of an interest in Karena, would be onto him like a vulture.
Silence
.

“Karena?” General Viktor repeated, dumbfounded. “That is absurd. I know the girl. She’s no more a murdering Bolshie than is my own daughter.”

Durnov straightened his shoulders. “I risk myself, General, to respectfully disagree.”

General Viktor growled, “Go on.”

“The Menkins are Polish Jews, only connected to your esteemed Roskov family by the marriage of one Madame Yeva Menkin. The report on her family history in Poland and Finland points to much interaction with revolutionary groups.” He gestured to Alex. “Colonel Kronstadt has delved into their Warsaw history. Is it not true, Colonel, that Professor Menkin spent two years in a work camp for revolutionary endeavors at Warsaw University?”

“Just so.”

“His niece, Karena, is not Josef Peshkov’s child.”

So Durnov knew
. But did he know about Dr. Zinnovy?

“I know that,” General Viktor snapped, flipping closed the file Durnov had brought and dropping it with a smack on the desktop. “I’ve known for years, through Countess Shashenka, but that in no way links the girl with Grinevich’s death, nor with the idea that she’s involved with Lenski.”

Durnov stood like a bull, shoulders back, his square neck looking wider. “General, I have been sent here by the supreme head of the Okhrana to inform you that Miss Menkin is working with Lenski. We believe Lenski’s Bolsheviks were behind the bombing of Count Kalinsky’s coach at the train station this morning in Petrograd.”

Alex waited for the words of doom:
“And Karena Peshkova was there at that station.”
But did Durnov know this, or was he fishing?

The general said, “Lenski’s involvement in Kalinsky’s death? Yes, that is likely. And it is Lenski we want arrested. But the Kalinsky bombing in no way connects Karena with Lenski. She and her mother are both in Kiev at the manor house, awaiting news on Josef’s trial.” Roskov held out his cigarette toward Durnov.

The match Durnov held between thumb and forefinger snapped in two. The general stared at it without moving.

Alex struck a second match and held the flame to the general’s extended cigarette.

“You were there at Kiev when all this took place, Alex,” General Roskov said with an irritated voice. “You investigated thoroughly. What are your conclusions on Karena and Lenski? Working together, do you think? Lovers?”

Aware of Durnov’s watchful eyes, Alex looked for a moment at the burned-out match.

“As I wrote in my report to the Okhrana, General, I interrogated Miss Peshkova and Professor Menkin at the manor house back in August. I do not believe either of them is a Bolshevik revolutionary. Professor Menkin is a cadet in his political beliefs and a friend of the democratic historian Miliukov, but other than that, there was nothing to link him or his niece with the death of Grinevich. The professor’s political days in Warsaw are over. He writes history now and critical works on religion. As for Miss Peshkova and Lenski, you would be the best witness, sir. Your family has, I believe, long stipulated that there was to be a marriage between Karena and the farmer Ilya Jilinsky, who is now, sir, fighting for Russia on the front lines.”

Durnov’s mouth spread back over his yellowing teeth. “And this morning, Colonel Kronstadt?”

Alex coolly met his cynical gaze. “This morning, sir?”

“You did not see Karena Peshkova?”

General Roskov looked sharply from Durnov to Alex. “This morning? That’s impossible. She’s in Kiev.”

Durnov fixed Alex with the same cynical smile.

Had Durnov discovered she was in Petrograd? Alex affected calm. “As I reported to you this morning, sir, I heard the blast that killed Count Kalinsky and arrived on the scene a few minutes later to find the count dead. I did not see anyone who might have been involved in the assassination.”

Durnov turned to Roskov. “There’s more in this report, sir. Grinevich’s
assistant policeman at Kiev, a man named Leonovich, was discovered dead. Kiev is now linking the two deaths as to motive, done by the revolutionaries to avenge the death of Professor Chertkov and the arrest of Josef Peshkov.”

Leonovich
. Alex concealed his alarm.
Leonovich was the thug asking Karena questions about Grinevich in the kitchen at Matvey Menkin’s bungalow
.

“Leonovich?” The general frowned, unable to recall the name to his memory, as he leafed through the papers.

“He was one of those involved in the investigation of Grinevich’s death.”

“And an enemy of Grinevich, sir,” Alex added.

Durnov shot him a frown. “Why do you say so? I’ve heard nothing of it.”

“A number of people mentioned a dislike between the two men. It’s in my report, sir.”

Durnov rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “That’s news to me.” He turned to the general, who was still leafing through the information. “Leonovich was murdered—shot—and apparently struck on the back of the head as well. They found his body in a ravine beside the road to the village.”

General Roskov dropped back into the leather chair and turned sideways to stare out the window, puffing the cigarette and holding a sheet of paper. “The report says Leonovich was first reported missing about a week ago.”

“There’s no telling whether he died from the bullet or the head injury, but it’s more likely the bullet. A hunter and his dog came upon him at the bottom of a gully.”

“The gun used?”

“Kiev found a 7.62-millimeter bullet, sir. They think it was likely from a model 1895 Nagant revolver.”

Dead about a week ago. About the time Karena and her mother had to have departed the manor to bring them to Petrograd. Did either Josef Peshkov or his son have a Nagant at the manor?

General Roskov slapped the report back down on the desk.

“Well, he’s dead, like many better men on the front facing the Huns.” He looked up with impatience at Durnov. “And what has Leonovich’s death to do with anyone in my family, especially my niece Karena?”

“Leonovich was closely associated with Policeman Grinevich, sir,” Durnov said with equal frustration, as though the general should understand without his explaining the reasons.

“I am fully aware, Durnov.”

“The office at Kiev is convinced it was the Bolshies both times. The same Bolshies. And now, this morning, it was Count Kalinsky.”

General Roskov shook his head. “No no. The count’s bombing has no factual connection with Grinevich or Leonovich. The Kiev gendarmes were small fry, but Kalinsky was a powerful supporter of the Romanovs, therefore a target.”

“You’re right, General, but it’s the work of the same group under Lenski. That’s what I’m getting at, sir.”

The same group
. Durnov’s effort put Alex on edge.

“Yes,” Roskov said, “I can see Lenski being involved in the count’s death and in Kiev, but for far different reasons.”

“It’s Lenski and his Bolshevik friends all over again, General. We think Lenski’s in Petrograd. That he was at the train station this morning.”

Alex was deep in thought over the gully where Leonovich’s body was discovered. He remembered the roads around the village, as well as the direction Karena and her mother would have traveled to reach the train station.

Durnov took out a folded drawing from his coat pocket.