Читать книгу Secret Target - Сергей Бакшеев - Страница 5

Captain Marat Valeyev heard out the dispatch on his phone, slammed the receiver into its cradle and aimed a crumpled piece of paper at his partner.

«Wake up Vanya – you don’t get to Major by sleeping.»

The paper ball struck Senior Lieutenant Ivan Mayorov square in the forehead. It was not for nothing that Valeyev was famous for his shooting at the firing range – there were even some women out there who knew that the captain could kill with but a look.

«I – I was just thinking about something,» explained the drowsy lieutenant, flapping his eyelids. No sooner had Ivan set foot in Homicide and introduced himself as «Lieutenant Mayorov,» than jokes referencing the rank of major had begun to fly thick and fast at the fair-haired giant. And though it was all in good fun of course, there was a hint of mockery in them too.

«We’ve got a murder. Let’s go.»

The operatives grabbed their jackets, shut the door to the office and set off down the stairs. Marat Valeyev, trim and limber, descended first, adjusting his sidearm in its holster. Behind him trudged the brawny and laconic Vanya Mayorov. At the landing, without slowing his stride, the captain pinched busty Galya Nesterova, who ran the passport desk, and whispered something in her ear. The girl in the tight-fitting lieutenant’s tunic blushed and remained standing for a long while, waiting for the raven-haired captain to turn and flash his impertinent, bright smile. In the end, only Vanya turned to look at her – which fact, the girl utterly ignored.

In the car, the senior lieutenant could no longer contain his curiosity. He had already spent hours agonizing over the best possible reason to stop by the passport desk and say something to the lovely little donut with red lips. The captain had crippled these reveries without missing a stride.

«Marat, what’d you say to her?» asked Vanya.

«Who?»

«Galya Nesterova. Back there, on the stairs.»

«Ah, Galya… I don’t recall. I just kind of blurted something.» Valeyev sat at the wheel, watching the road.

«What do you mean you don’t recall? She…» Vanya’s creaky brain had trouble grasping how someone could be so careless with such miracle-working words.

«Must be nice to have titties on your mind right now. It’s not like we’re going to a murder or anything.»

«Who got killed?» Vanya banished from his mind a vision of Galya’s legs beheld from an inappropriate angle.

«The Police Patrol Service found a male corpse in an apartment. They’ve detained a woman at the scene.» The Captain flew through the intersection on a fading yellow. «It’d be good to get there before Elena.»

«The Noose?»

The Noose was Homicide’s nickname for Senior Detective Elena Petelina. Homicide didn’t come up with the name – the felons had. And it wasn’t just because her last name sounded like petlya – the Russian word for «noose.» As a detective, Petelina was meticulous, cerebral and severe. If she sensed a murderer, she’d latch on and never let go. Inch by inch, she’d tighten the evidence round the suspect’s neck. She hassled field ops and forensics to no end, but her cases never fell apart at trial and were never rejected for further investigation.

Vanya had noticed that Valeyev always tried to work with Petelina. Rumor had it that they had been classmates, but the captain didn’t like to talk about his younger days. He was always informal with the detective, even though she was his senior. But that didn’t mean anything. Ladies liked the captain. His shameless approach could shatter the ice encasing the hearts of beauties you wouldn’t believe. And yet when it came to Petelina, Valeyev never seemed as sure of himself. Around her, he might as well have been some high-school milksop in the presence of a supermodel.

Vanya could not comprehend the captain’s fascination with the detective. Of course, she was an interesting woman, but she had such a cold gaze and strict voice, and her figure lacked all those nice curvy bits. Basically, she was just like – a noose! Yuck! And therefore not in the least like lovely little Galya from the passport desk. Little lips, little cheeks, little eyes and everything in the right place – front and back! Vanya had been lucky enough to witness firsthand the running exam portion of Galya’s fitness evaluation. Since then, the lovely vision of her in a taut T-shirt had, on more than one occasion, appeared to him in his dreams.

Vanya took a breath and glanced sideways at his senior officer. He really hoped the captain wouldn’t get it in his head to take things further with Galya. He was the kind that could after all.

«We’re here,» said Valeyev turning into the driveway to a Stalin-era apartment building.

He parked snuggly between the ambulance and a police cruiser. Slithering out like an eel through the cracked door, the captain offered a cigarette to a loitering beat cop, exchanged a few words and called to Ivan through the windshield.

«What are you, stuck? Petelina ain’t here yet. Let’s get to work Senior Lieutenant Mayorov! Service stars don’t just fall out of the sky.»

Vanya tried to open his door, assessed the width of the crack – no more than a pack of cigarettes – and, grunting, began to clamber over to the driver’s side.