No Time for Heroes by Brian Freemantle Read Free Book Online

everything else in Moscow – gathered in a ham-like grip. ‘They can’t have been easy to get?’
    â€˜Someone in stores owed me a favour.’
    Pavin had never admitted how he supplemented his Militia salary, and Danilov had never enquired. Pavin moved towards the jumbled files. ‘Any particular order? Things to be kept in sequence?’
    â€˜It’s got to be done by noon: I’ve been called before Metkin then. Just dump them in as they come: I’ll sort it out later.’
    â€˜I’ve still got the key to the store-cupboard we used as the evidence room for the killings last year,’ said Pavin. ‘They’ll be safe there for a while. Not long, though.’
    Danilov stopped packing, looking at Pavin in disbelief. ‘You think anyone will bother to upset these things?’
    â€˜Yes,’ said Pavin. ‘You weren’t expected to take the job. They don’t want you here: you’re an intrusive nuisance, so everybody is going to do what they can to make it as uncomfortable as possible. Besides, these boxes are worth having.’
    â€˜I’d be grateful for any warnings in advance,’ said Danilov, tentatively, and quickly added: ‘I don’t want to cause you any difficulty.’
    â€˜I wouldn’t want that either,’ said Pavin honestly. ‘If I can safely help, I will.’
    They had packed, although badly, and already carried six boxes to the store-room before Kabalin arrived. It took the man too long to clear his face of the surprise at the empty room and Danilov was glad he’d blocked the doorway, keeping Kabalin outside for the disappointment to be witnessed by the other watching detectives.
    â€˜There’s only one bulb!’ protested Kabalin. The office was an inner one, with no window, so lights had to burn constantly: a wall socket and a desk lamp were empty, putting the room in semi-darkness.
    â€˜You’ll have to get replacements from maintenance,’ advised Danilov. The average waiting time for light bulbs in Militia headquarters was six months, and then they could only be obtained for reciprocal favours. The bulbs hadn’t blown: they were in one of the first packing cases now in the locked closet to which Danilov had the only key. The light sockets wherever he was put would be empty, which made taking those from his old room a practical precaution, though Danilov regretted matching the childishness with which he was being treated.
    Anatoli Metkin had not had time to innovate any changes or even to become accustomed to the Director’s suite, and Danilov decided the man looked the furtive interloper he was. Metkin was physically indecisive, neither tall nor short, fat nor thin. A crowd person, but for his face, which was criss-crossed and latticed with lines, and his mouth was bracketed by two deep grooves that began close to his eyes and curved the entire length of each cheek. His eyes were unusually light blue and unsettling because of it, and he didn’t blink a lot, as if he were afraid of missing something.
    â€˜You’re surprised at my appointment,’ declared Metkin.
    â€˜I didn’t have the opportunity earlier to congratulate you,’ evaded Danilov. The hypocrisy stuck in his throat. How much more would he find difficulty in saying and doing, in the future?
    â€˜Lapinsk had promised the directorship to you, hadn’t he!’
    The former Director would not have admitted that. ‘The appointment is the responsibility of the Interior Ministry, not a gift of an outgoing incumbent.’
    â€˜Exactly!’ said Metkin, triumphantly, as if the reply had proved something.
    Which Danilov supposed it had, hopefully for his own future protection, rather than Metkin’s satisfaction. Who was Metkin’s protector in the Ministry? There would be safety for himself, if he could find out. There were papers on the desk, and Danilov was curious to know if Metkin had