Chapter Text
The dawn sun lit up the low clouds hanging over Shyrokyne. Fingers of blinding white reached through the copses of tall pines, over the low hills, and between the plastered buildings. Anna absentmindedly acknowledged the sun’s rise and condemned its callousness. She was struck by the paradoxical pairing of today’s rich and beautiful, sun-filled morning with the ugly, violent death of the young man the night before. How could birds sing and flowers unfurl their petals while Tolly’s mother wailed and wept? During the agonizing days of Yakov’s disappearance, Anna had railed against the sun for daring to herald a new day. Nature had been as undisturbed in the face of misery then as it was now.
Anna Viktorovna sat at the window another half-hour as if contemplating the view. Her mind was far from the picturesque alley and the rolling sea, despite how it appeared. Details of the murder scene filled her head along with snippets of conversation between Shtolman and the local police. Mingled in were carefree recollections of the wedding festivities, the raucous late-night dancing, the serene and joy-filled expressions of the bride and groom, the easy embrace of Yakov as they stole a quiet moment together.
Anna finished preparing for the day, slipping out of her dressing gown and pulling on the blue-and-white striped summer-weight ensemble that she had packed. Opting for the simplest of acceptable hairstyles, Anna swept up a few strands that fell about her face and secured them with a strand of ribbon. She collected a straw hat, a pair of white gloves, and her handbag and padded softly down the stairs.
The pungent, earthy smell of coffee and the rhythmic splat-plunk, splat-plunk of dough being kneaded greeted her as she passed through the dining room. Anna encountered no one on her journey to the kitchen. She had not expected to see Lishva or Madam Suslova. It was far too early to begin the day, particularly a day that followed late-night festivities.
The cook, a sober woman with a flat nose and graying hair, eyed Anna warily as she came into the kitchen. She seemed surprised and offended at the intrusion. Anna greeted her and helped herself to a cup of coffee and an apple and proceeded outside to the veranda. The rosy-gray light of early morning bathed the small garden in a misty glow. Anna could distinguish the long rich chirps of the ringed plovers between the soothing cascading sound of the tumbling waves. Seated in the quiet space, surrounded by the perky yellow poppies, star-shaped lavender sea holly, and conical spruce, Anna found respite from her troubled thoughts.
Following her solitary breakfast, Anna exited the veranda and the property of Madam Suslova. Yakov Platonovich, along with three other bachelors, had been installed at a distant cousin’s home less than a verst away. While Anna’s lodgings were serene and peaceful and included polite conversation over late morning tea and ample opportunities for quiet reflection, Yakov confessed to late-night card-playing and cigar-smoking fortified by the well-stocked cellar of his widowed host. Yakov was hardly contrite, and Anna understood that he was enjoying this camaraderie despite the slightly embarrassed look that he wore when informing her of his evening’s dalliance.
She had been waiting for the morning to grow late enough for her to seek out Yakov Platonovich. Now that it was here, she was uncertain of where to find him. The precinct was where she would go if she were in St. Petersburg or Zatonsk. At the first intersection, Anna swiveled right towards the center of town.
The streets grew busier as Anna approached the main thoroughfare. Peddlers of fresh fruits and vegetables, flowers and herbs bustled along with their loads, pausing to greet their neighbors and share news. Anna caught pieces of conversation and attracted a few long looks. The news of Anatoly Habiltz’s death was widely known as, apparently, was Anna Viktorovona’s association with the investigator from St. Petersburg. Her attempts to eavesdrop were thwarted by her newfound notoriety in Shyrokyne, but she picked up enough tidbits to discern grumblings about the Roma settlement on the outskirts of the village.
Anna regarded the pale blue, squat building that stood in front of her. Two uniformed constables had entered five minutes ago. She didn’t know why she hesitated. Part of her hoped that this was all a dream and she would soon wake to a continuation of the jubilant, care-free celebration that had been the hallmark of the first two days of her time in this beachside community. She lifted a foot to move towards the police station when she felt a gentle touch at her elbow.
“Anna Viktorovna,” Yakov said as she turned to see who had approached.
“I was just coming to see you,” Anna replied, studying Yakov’s face. “You have not slept.” She observed.
“Neither have you,” he countered. A smile spread across Anna’s face. She supposed he could pick out the same subtle signs of weariness that she saw - the tiniest hint of pink rimming the eyes, a heaviness to the eyelids, a downwards pull at the edges of the mouth.
“No,” she admitted. “But I did rest and freshen up a bit. Whereas, I think you only returned to your room to change clothes.” Anna straightened Yakov’s tie and derby. Yakov grinned at Anna and rubbed his chin.
“I shaved,” he challenged. Anna chuckled.
“Any leads?” she asked.
“No, Anatoly Lenurovich kept to himself. Didn’t have any friends, was a diligent worker, a good son.” Yakov shook his head slowly. “Were you able to talk to him?”
“No,” Anna replied. “He came, eventually. But he didn’t speak or show me what happened. Maybe he doesn’t know. The blow came from behind?”
“Yes. The autopsy report confirmed what we observed. He was killed by a blunt object to the back of the skull.”
“What happens now?” Anna asked.
“There are still school chums to interview, and we need to closely inspect the area where the body was found in daylight. The whole town has heard of the death now. A witness may come forward,” Yakov said.
“The vendors in the market are whispering about the gypsies,” Anna stated. “Do you think it could be them?”
“There is nothing to indicate the Roma were responsible, but there is also no evidence indicating it was one of the locals or one of the many visitors that fall upon this town in the summer. It could be a gypsy as easily as the fishmonger. Robbery is the motive we are considering for the moment.”
“But it doesn’t feel right, does it?” Anna proffered. The remoteness of the location and the attack from behind failed to suggest simple robbery. It appeared more like a set-up like Tolly was lured to that spot. HIs empty pockets, however, implied that the murderer wanted something that Anatoly had. Anna couldn’t disagree with that.
“No, it doesn’t feel right. Still, it’s the best explanation we have for the current collection of evidence.”
“You should get some rest,” Anna admonished. Yakov gave her a lopsided grin. She pulled out the uneaten apple that she had taken from Suslova’s kitchen and offered it to Yakov. “At least eat something.”
Yakov took the offered apple and bit into it. Anna chuckled again. It seemed he could always lighten her mood, even in the midst of tragedy.
“I should make an appearance at breakfast,” Anna remarked.
“I will call on you at Madam Suslova’s later, Anya.” Yakov took Anna’s hand, lifted it to his lips, and squeezed it gently before turning to the steps that led inside Shyrokyne’s precinct.