Wolves Eat Dogs by Martin Cruz Smith Read Free Book Online

waste the precious resources of the state. We agreed on fifty dollars. I figure Hoffman is good for that.”
    “Toptunova is a butcher.” Arkady really didn’t want to look at the pictures.
    “You don’t find Louis Pasteur doing autopsies for the militia. Thank God she operates on the dead. Anyway, she says Ivanov broke his neck. Fuck your mother, I could have told them that. And if it hadn’t been his neck, it would have been his skull. Drugwise, he was clean, although she thought he had ulcers from the condition of his stomach. There was one odd thing. In his stomach? Bread and salt.”
    “Salt?”
    “A lot of salt and just enough bread to get it down.”
    “She didn’t mention anything about his complexion?”
    “What was to mention? It was mainly one big bruise. I questioned the doorman and lobby receptionist again. They have the same story: no problems, no breach. Then some guy with dachshunds tried to pick me up. I showed him my ID to shake him up, you know, and he says, ‘Oh, are they having another security check?’ Saturday the building staff shut down the elevator and went to every apartment to check who was in. The guy was still upset. His dachshunds couldn’t wait and had a little accident.”
    “Which means there was a breach. When did they do this check?”
    Victor consulted his notebook. “Eleven-ten in the morning at his place. He’s on the ninth floor, and I think they worked their way down.”
    “Good work.” Arkady couldn’t imagine who would want to pick up Victor, but applause was indicated.
    “A different subject.” Victor laid down a picture of two buckets and mops. “These I found in the lobby of the building across from Ivanov’s. Abandoned, but the name of the cleaning service was on them, and I found who left them. Vietnamese. They didn’t see Ivanov dive; they ran when they saw militia cars, because they’re illegals.”
    Menial tasks that Russians wouldn’t do, Vietnamese would. They came as “guest workers” and went into hiding when their visas expired. Their wardrobe was the clothes on their back, their accommodations a workers’ hostel, their family connection the money they sent home once a month. Arkady could understand laborers who slipped into the golden tent of America, but to sneak into the mouse-eaten sack that was Russia, that was desperate.
    “There’s more.” Victor picked macaroni off his chest. The detective had changed his gray sweater for one of caterpillar orange. He licked his fingers clean, gathered the photos and replaced them with a file that said in red: NOT TO BE REMOVED FROM THIS OFFICE .
    “Dossiers on the four attempts on Ivanov’s life. This is rich. First attempt was a doorway shooting here in Moscow by a disgruntled investor, a schoolteacher whose savings were wiped out. The poor bastard misses six times. Tries to shoot himself in the head and misses again. Makhmud Nasir. Got four years—not bad. Here’s his address, back in town. Maybe he’s got glasses now.
    “Second attempt is hearsay, but everyone swears it’s true. Ivanov rigged an auction for some ships in Archangel, got them for nothing and also bent some local noses out of shape. A competitor sends a contract killer, who blows up Ivanov’s car. Ivanov is impressed, finds the killer and pays him double to murder the man who sent him, and shortly after, supposedly, a guy falls in the water in Archangel and doesn’t come up for air.
    “Third: Ivanov took the train to Leningrad. Why the train, don’t ask. On the way, you know how it is, someone pumps sleeping gas into the compartment to rob the passengers, usually the tourists. Ivanov is a light sleeper. He wakes, sees this guy coming in and shoots him. Everyone said it was an overreaction until they found a razor and a picture of Ivanov in the dead man’s coat. He also had some worthless Ivanov stock.
    “Fourth, and this is the best: Ivanov is in the South of France with friends. They’re all zipping back and forth