The Twelfth Department by William Ryan Page B

at her.
    “Korolev, you make me laugh sometimes.”
    “I make myself laugh sometimes as well,” he said, his voice gruff with embarrassment. How was it that here he was, well past forty and a hardened cop of long standing, and this woman could make him feel like a schoolboy once again?
    He turned to find his son examining him carefully, and he wasn’t the only one—Natasha wasn’t hiding her interest either. He summoned all his courage and returned their gaze with what he hoped was a calm demeanor.
    He had the impression neither of them was fooled.

 
    CHAPTER TEN
    Korolev sat in companionable silence with Valentina, a bottle of Georgian wine on the table between them. The good news was it lacked its cork and some of its contents. The bad news was they only had the one bottle—and it had a spicy, pleasing taste to it that made Korolev wish for more than just a couple of glasses.
    The last of the sun colored the room orange as it dipped below the house on the other side of the street, and what sounded like a church bell was ringing somewhere close. But that must be his imagination. They’d banned the ringing of church bells years ago. He sighed—thinking another bottle would be a good thing. It had been a long day with the children, but he felt he’d done well—they were both still alive and, when Valentina had left them to go to her workplace, he’d marched them around Moscow for most of the day with no more moaning than was to be expected. In fact, they’d seemed to enjoy themselves. In the morning he’d take Yuri out to Babel’s dacha for a few days and, with luck, the weather would stay as pleasant as it had been today.
    “Korolev,” Valentina said, and it sounded as if she was checking that he was still there. She had a point, his mind had wandered.
    “Valentina Nikolayevna.”
    She smiled at him.
    “Isn’t it time for Valentina?”
    “Valentina.” He tried it out and it sounded comfortable to him. “Yes, I think you’re right.”
    There was another pause in the conversation but Korolev knew he didn’t have to say anything—Valentina’s calm smile told him as much. And the truth was, he was tired—it had been a long time since he’d had sole charge of his son for an entire day. Even when he’d visited him earlier in the year, Zhenia had been around—which reminded him he must call her. She’d enjoy how Yuri’s elbow had dug into Korolev’s side during a talk at the planetarium—outraged that his father had snorted at the speaker’s suggestion that men would be walking on the moon within twenty years.
    But, then again, maybe Yuri was right—maybe they would be growing wheat beside the Sea of Tranquility by the time Korolev was drawing his pension. Maybe it was possible after all.
    Korolev found his glass had made its way to his mouth. He looked over and was concerned to find that Valentina was frowning.
    “Is there something the matter?”
    “Yuri,” she began, and she seemed to be thinking how to approach what she wanted to say. Korolev, his feeling of contentment slipping away as her frown deepened, wondered what the boy had done.
    Valentina toyed with her glass, swirling the wine, before she continued.
    “He was upset yesterday—it seems his mother has some troubles at the moment.”
    “Troubles?” Korolev asked.
    “He wasn’t clear about them, I’m not sure he knows all of it. But it seems their apartment was searched last week.”
    “Searched?” Korolev said, and everything slotted into place—Yuri’s last-minute visit to Moscow, his strange behavior since he’d arrived—even the fact he hadn’t been able to get hold of Zhenia when he’d called her the night before. He found he’d stood up, his hand to his head as he tried to work out what to do. But, of course, there was nothing he could do. Not for the first time in the last few days he found that he was powerless.
    “I’d no idea, Valentina. None at all.”
    “I know that,” she reassured him. “I know