“What about her?” Sokalov reached inside the drawer and placed his hand on the weapon.
Kulikov sighed and finished his vodka. “I remember when Maria started her work here at Lubyanka. I was curious, of course; who in Moscow is not? There is so much history here. But Maria told me she could not discuss her day. She said it was not allowed, that a spouse could slip and say something . . . divulge classified information, endangering an operation, possibly lives.”
“That is true, Helge. That is something we emphasize to all employees. To divulge confidential information, even to a spouse, is grounds for termination.”
Helge sat back and took a deep breath. His shoulders shook and he lowered his head. Then he cried. “I believe Maria is having an affair.”
Vot der’mo.
Sokalov feigned surprise but his right hand rested on the gun, finger on the trigger. “And why do you believe Maria is having an affair?”
Helge took a deep breath and seemed to gather himself. “I retired this year, from the parks department.”
“I recall hearing that news. Congratulations.”
Helge took another drink, but the glass was empty. The ice rattled. “Thank you. I am home nights. I noticed phone calls.”
“Phone calls? From her lover?”
“No . . .” Helge shook his head. “I mean, I don’t know. Not for certain. A man, but always he asks for someone different.”
“A wrong number then?” Sokalov lowered his hand from the drawer. He had never called Maria’s home. They communicated only at work, agreeing where to meet and when. Burner phones were used to text a change in plans, or regrets.
“That is how it is made to appear.”
An odd assessment, Sokalov thought. “Whom do they ask for?”
“He. It is always the same man. I am very good with voices.”
“Who does he ask for?”
“A different name each time, Dmitry. Never the same name. The other night he asked for Anna.”
“Always they . . . he . . . asks for a woman?”
“No. Sometimes he asks for a man.”
“I see.” Sokalov felt jealousy roiling in his stomach. Could Maria be having another affair? “What do you tell this man?”
“I tell him he has the wrong number and he hangs up.”
Sokalov found this odd, but he was now interested in the calls for a completely different reason. “Did you ask Maria about these telephone calls?”
“She claims she has no idea who this man is. She says it is possible our lines have been crossed, but if that were true then . . . I mean, the caller would ask for the same person each time, not a different name; would he not?”
“One would think.” It was a plausible deduction. A good one. Maybe Sokalov had misjudged the man’s acumen, then again even a broken clock was right twice a day. “Is there anything else causing you concern?”
From his jacket pocket Kulikov pulled out a watch and a bracelet and held them across the desk. Sokalov recognized both pieces, gifts he had given to Maria over the years, usually as an apology after one of his tirades and mass firings of her staff. Ordinarily Maria kept the jewelry locked in the safe in her office for this very reason.
“They are real, Deputy Director. I took them to a jeweler who confirmed it. Seven hundred and fifty thousand rubles, possibly more. I could never afford such luxury.”
Sokalov took the pieces. “Hmm . . . ,” he said. “Where did you find them?”
“In the back of her dresser. Hidden in a stocking.”
“Did you confront your wife?”
“No.”
“You didn’t ask her where the jewelry came from?”
“I thought it best if she did not know I had found them . . . until I had something more. I have been trying to catch her with her lover. I did not want her to know I suspected.”
Sokalov flinched. “How have you tried to catch her?”
“The other night . . .” He dropped his head, thinking. “Maybe two weeks ago, there was another phone call, another wrong number. This time the caller asked for Anna. When I hung up my wife seemed interested in the call.”
“What did she say?”
“She said she was taking Stanislav out for a walk.”
“Your dog, I believe, a gift for your retirement.”
“Yes. I thought maybe the caller was her lover and Maria was slipping out to meet him. I followed her, in disguise, of course.” He looked to Sokalov for approval.
“Of course,” Sokalov said.
“She took the subway.”
“To walk the dog?” Sokalov asked. Again, this did seem like odd behavior.
Kulikov sat forward in his seat and put his glass on Sokalov’s desk, his eyes wide, his voice again seeking approval. “That’s what I thought. Odd, isn’t it? I mean, we live in the Yakimanka District. There are many parks to walk a dog. We are not far from Gorky Park. So I’m thinking, Why would she take the subway?”
Sokalov leaned forward, lifted Helge’s glass, and placed it on a coaster so as not to damage the wood. “And did you follow her? Where did she go?”
“First? First she went to Teremok.”
Another surprise.
“She said she was picking up something to eat. After, she went to the Temple of the Martyr Anastasia. The temple is small and there was only one other couple so I remained outside.”
“A temple? That does seem odd.” Sokalov felt himself getting angry. “But how do you know she met a lover if you did not go inside?”
“I watched from a window. Maria knelt before an icon. She waited until the couple left.”
“To do what?”
Kulikov raised a finger. “That is the odd part. She walked around the back of the icon.” He arched his eyebrows, as if he’d just disclosed some nuclear code.
“To do what?” Sokalov asked.
“I don’t know. I couldn’t see. After a moment, she left.”
Sokalov sat back, trying to hide his anger for having wasted precious time with this fool. “She picked up dinner, then went to a church where she knelt before an icon. Then she went behind the icon. Then she left?”
“Yes. I was about to go inside the church when a man arrived.”
“Her lover?” Sokalov again became interested.
“I believed so, yes.”
“You confronted him, then,” Sokalov asked.
“No.”
“No?” Bosh! This man is a coward as well as a fool.
“I could not be sure, not without Maria present, but I watched him and . . . he, too, went inside and he, too, walked to the back of the icon.”
Sokalov had to admit, there didn’t seem a ready explanation for this behavior. “Then what?”
“He left.”
“And then you confronted him.”
“No.”
“You didn’t confront the man you believe your wife is having an affair with? For God’s sake, why not?” Sokalov caught himself. “I’m sorry. I just expected that you would.”
“How could I confront them if they were not together? The man would have denied any knowledge of what I was talking about, and then he would have warned Maria that I was on to them. If he was her lover.”
“What then did you do?”
“I went inside to see what was behind the icon.”
“And . . .”
“A guard showed up and kicked me out to lock the temple for the night.”
“So . . . you found nothing?”