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just got time to go home and pick up some clothes. Todorov will take
you. Someone will meet you at the airport with the information we’ve pulled together on this matter – you can read it on the way.’
    Korolev had never been in a plane before and had never expected to be in one either. The prospect took him aback for a moment. The colonel seemed to interpret this as concern about the nature of
his mission.
    ‘Look, Korolev. In this case, it’s important we act carefully and establish the truth. We could use the local Militia people, but we want to have direct control of this and someone
we know working on it. We could send in the local Chekists, but our people can be too enthusiastic. Certainly, if it’s murder, we might think again – but for the moment it’s your
case.’
    ‘A few things, then,’ Korolev said, pulling himself together. ‘A pathologist should examine her immediately.’
    ‘No one will examine her until you’re there.’
    ‘But, Colonel—’ Korolev began, before Rodinov interrupted him.
    ‘You are Comrade Ezhov’s eyes and ears. You are to be present at every stage of this investigation.’
    ‘But bodies deteriorate, and there are tests that must be done as soon as possible to determine time and means of death.’
    ‘Let me remind you, Captain, that as far as the world is concerned this is a suicide, nothing more, and we don’t want to do anything that might suggest otherwise. Let me ask you
– would the Militia haul a pathologist all the way from Odessa in the middle of the night for a suicide? These days?’
    A fair point, Korolev conceded. Self-homicide had become so common recently that it would be rare for a pathologist to see the body at all. Rodinov nodded, seeing that Korolev understood.
    ‘The body has been moved to an ice house so it won’t deteriorate, and a pathologist will visit tomorrow at the same time as you arrive. Anything else?’
    ‘If possible, the place where she died should be protected – if it turns out to be murder there’s no need to make the forensics men’s job any more difficult than it has
to be.’
    ‘I’ll pass that on.’
    There wasn’t much else to be said, so Korolev placed the photograph back on the desk and stood up, ready to go. Rodinov also stood and walked him to the door, placing a hand on
Korolev’s shoulder.
    ‘This is an opportunity to perform a useful service for Comrade Ezhov – remember that. He doesn’t forget his friends.’
    Korolev nodded, thinking of the dead girl, and wondering whether, these days, it was such a good thing to be Commissar Ezhov’s friend.

Chapter Three
    THE CENTRAL Airport’s administrative buildings, workshops and hangars were surrounded by a thick white mist and Moscow felt a long way away. Korolev had been driven here
at breakneck pace on the icy roads by Todorov, the young Chekist, fog notwithstanding. Now, in contrast, everything was still and silent except for the low murmur of conversation from two
mechanics, one of them female, who were refuelling the tiny aeroplane that was taking off for Odessa in less than half an hour.
    ‘A Kalinin K-5,’ a voice behind him said and Korolev turned to see a burly figure dressed in an ankle-length fur coat. The man’s black eyes were the only visible part of him,
what with his round fur hat and turned-up collar, but Korolev had the impression of intense watchfulness all the same, as if he were being assessed for some reason. ‘It’s a good plane.
Still, best to dress up warm, Comrade – the cabin is heated, but all the same it can get cold up there.’
    Korolev turned to examine the aircraft once again. It didn’t look very solid, but that was surely a good thing if it was meant to fly up to the heavens.
    ‘I don’t know much about them,’ he said, conscious of a certain skittishness in his lower stomach.
    ‘Oh, you don’t need to worry. She’s a beauty, I fly this route seven or eight times a year. She’s always on time, more or