“You did.” Arkady smiled. “At least, that’s what the police will say when they find my wife’s jewelry in your room. They’re already there, by the way. Planted it this morning, just in case.”
He sipped his wine and turned to Viktor.
“And you, Viktor Sergeyevich, disappointed me the most. I offered you a dignified exit. Money, peace, the opportunity to live the rest of your life in comfort. Instead, you decided to play hero.”
“Step away from the door,” Viktor said in a steady voice.
“Or what?” Arkady laughed. “You’ll punch me? Again? My guards will be here in thirty seconds. And this time I won’t be so lenient.”
He put the glass on the table and took a phone from his robe pocket.
“One call—and you both go to the police. Illegal entry, attempted kidnapping of an incompetent person, assault on a homeowner. And not to a psychiatric clinic, but to a detention center. Given your age, you might not come out of there.”
“She is not incompetent,” Viktor took a step forward. “She is poisoned. By you. With the same drugs you used to poison Marina and Olga.”
Something flashed in Arkady’s eyes, but he quickly pulled himself together.
“Delusions of a sick imagination. I have medical documents signed by the best specialists. And what do you have? The words of a senile old woman and the paranoia of a retired military doctor?”
“I have a blood test from your wife,” Viktor said, and it was a lie, but Arkady couldn’t know that. “Which I took ten minutes ago. Tomorrow morning it will be in an independent laboratory.”
Arkady froze with the phone in his hand. For the first time in the entire conversation, his confidence cracked.
“You’re bluffing.”
“Check it.”
They looked at each other, and seconds dragged like hours. Then the kitchen entrance door swung open, and people entered. But it wasn’t security.
First came Grekov in a coat thrown over pajamas. Behind him—a man in a prosecutor’s uniform with a folder in his hands and two plainclothes police officers who immediately spread out around the kitchen, blocking the exits.
Arkady stared at his godfather with an expression of absolute incomprehension.
“Igor Petrovich…” His voice trembled for the first time. “What does this mean?”
Grekov didn’t answer. He looked at Arkady the way one looks at a person seen for the first time and is nauseated by what is seen. The prosecutor stepped forward.
“Arkady Pavlovich… You need to come with us to give testimony regarding the death of your second spouse, Olga Dmitrievna. We have reason to believe her death was not suicide.”
“This is absurd!” Arkady raised his voice. “You have no proof. The case was closed four years ago.”
“The case has been reopened,” the prosecutor put the folder on the table. “Based on new witness testimony and the results of a re-examination. Furthermore, we received a request from the Swiss clinic where your first wife is being held. The doctors there express concern about the nature of her illness and would like to conduct an independent examination.”
Arkady shifted his gaze to Grekov.
“It’s you,” he hissed. “You, whom my father pulled out of the dirt. To whom he gave everything.”
“Your father died three months ago,” Grekov replied quietly. “And before his death, he told me the truth. About Marina. About Olga. About everything he helped you hide. He was proud of you, Arkady. Proud of the monster he raised.”
He shook his head.
“And I carried a debt for twenty years to the man who saved my life. And I repaid that debt by giving his daughter to a murderer. Today I am correcting that mistake.”
Arkady darted toward the back door, but one of the policemen was faster. A second later, he was lying face down on the kitchen table, hands pulled behind his back, handcuffs clicking on his wrists.
“I have a lawyer!” he shouted. “I have connections!”
“You have no idea who you messed with.” The prosecutor nodded to the policemen, and they pulled Arkady to his feet. “Your connections are very busy right now. Answering questions about their own involvement in your affairs. Igor Petrovich turned out to be a very informative conversationalist.”
Arkady was led to the exit. At the door, he turned and looked at Anya, who was standing clinging to her father and looking at her husband without fear for the first time in a long while.
“You’re still mine,” he said. “Legally, you aren’t going anywhere.”
Anya straightened up. Her voice was weak but firm.
“I’m filing for divorce today. And I will testify about everything you did to me. About every pill, every injection, every day you stole from me.”
She took a step toward him, and Viktor was amazed at how much strength was in this exhausted woman…
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