Polar Star by Martin Cruz Smith Read Free Book Online

a dark-haired boy holding a bunch of grapes as big as figs.
    “Her actress.” Natasha pointed to a picture of Melina Mercouri looking pouty and wreathed in cigarette smoke. Had Zina seen herself as a sultry Greek?
    “Any boyfriend?” Arkady asked.
    The three women looked at one another as if they were consulting; then Natasha answered, “Not any one man especially that we were aware of.”
    “No one man,” said Malzeva.
    Dynka giggled. “No.”
    “Fraternization with all your mates is the best course,” Slava said.
    “Did you see her at the dance? Were you at the dance?” Arkady asked them.
    “No, Arkasha, not at my age,” Malzeva said, dusting off some coyness. “And you forget that the factory line still processed fish during the dance. Natasha, weren’t you sick?”
    “Yes.” When Slava, erstwhile musician, gave a start, Natasha added, “I may have looked in at the dance.” In a dress, Arkady guessed.
    “Were you at the dance?” Arkady asked Dynka.
    “Yes. The Americans dance like monkeys,” she said. “Zina was the only one who could dance like them.”
    “With them?” Arkady asked her.
    “It seems to me there is a certain unhealthy sexuality when Americans dance,” Madame Malzeva said.
    “The dance was meant to encourage friendship between workers of both nations,” Slava answered. “What does it matter who she danced with if she had an accident later that night?”
    Arkady poured the box of effects onto Zina’s bunk. The clothes were foreign and worn to the last thread. Nothing in the pockets. The tapes were of the Rolling Stones and Dire Straits variety; the player was a Sanyo. There was no ID, nor had he expected any; her paybook and visa would be in the ship’s safe. Lipsticks and perfumes lay in the hollow of the bunk; how long would the scent of Zina Patiashvili linger in the cabin? Her jewelry box had a string of fake pearls and half a deck of playing cards, all the queen of hearts. Also a roll of “pinkies,” ten-ruble notes, held together by a rubber band. It would take more time to go through the effects than he had at this moment. He put everything back into the box.
    “Everything’s here?” he asked. “All her tapes?”
    Natasha sniffed. “Her precious tapes. She always used her headphones. She never shared them.”
    “What are you trying to find?” Slava demanded. “I’m tired of being ignored.”
    “I’m not ignoring you,” Arkady said, “but you already know what happened. I’m more slow-witted; I have to go step by step. Thank you,” he told the three women.
    “That’s all, comrades,” Slava said decisively. He picked up the box. “I’ll take care of this.”
    At the door Arkady paused to ask, “Did she have fun at the dance?”
    “It’s possible,” Natasha said. “Comrade Renko, maybe you should go to a dance sometime. The intelligentsia should mix with workers.”
    How Natasha had settled on this label for him Arkady didn’t know; the slime line was not an avenue of philosophers. There was something ominous in Natasha’s expression he wanted to avoid, so he asked Dynka, “Did she seem dizzy? Sick?”
    Dynka shook her head, so that her pony tails rode back and forth. “She was happy when she left the dance.”
    “At what time? Where was she going?”
    “To the stern. I can’t say what time it was; people were still dancing.”
    “Who was she with?”
    “She was alone, but she was happy, like a princess in a fairy tale.”
    It was a fantasy far better than what men usually put together. These women believed they were sailing the seas with all the ordinary intrigues of a woman’s apartment, as if you couldn’t step outside into the wide sea and simply disappear. During the ten months that Arkady had spent on board, he felt more and more that the ocean was a void, a vacuum into which people could be drawn at any moment. They should hang on to their bunks, and hold on for their lives if they stepped on deck.
    When Slava and Arkady reached