Without saying a word, he hastened out of the office. The corridors were busy: everyone arriving for work. Quickening his pace, pushing past his colleagues, Leo reached the room where active cases were held for review. Ignoring the woman asking if he needed any help, he searched through the stack of files, looking for the documents on the artist Polina Peshkova. The file had been on the top. He’d put it there only sixty minutes ago. Once again the secretary asked if he needed any help.

—There was a file here.

—They’ve been taken.

Peshkova’s case was being processed.

Same Day

Leo searched Grigori’s expression for hatred or disgust. Evidently his trainee didn’t know that the file on Polina Peshkova had been moved. He would find out soon enough. Leo should pre-empt the discovery with an explanation, an excuse – he’d been exhausted, he’d simply glanced at the documents then put it back in the wrong pile. On second thought there was no need to mention it. The evidence against the artist was thin. Her file would be reviewed and the case dismissed. It was going to be reviewed anyway: Leo had merely accelerated the process. At the very worst, she’d be called in for a short interview. She would be free to continue her work. Grigori could meet her again. Leo should put the matter out of his mind and concentrate on the task at hand – their next assignment. Grigori asked:

—Are you OK?

Leo put a hand on Grigori’s arm.

—It’s nothing.

***

The lights were turned off. The projector at the back of the room whirred. On screen there appeared footage of an idyllic rural village. The houses were made of timber and roofs were thatched. Small gardens were lush with summer herbs. Plump chickens picked at grain, overflowing from ceramic pots. Everything was in abundance, including sunshine and good humour. Farmers were dressed in traditional outfits, patterned shawls and white shirts. They strode through fields of corn, returning to their village. The sun was bright and the sky clear. The men were strong. The women were strong. Sleeves were rolled up. Soaring music gave way to a formal news commentary.

—Today these farm workers have a surprise visitor.

In the centre of the village were several men in suits, out of place and awkward. With smiles on their plump faces, the suited men guided their guest of honour through the picturesque surroundings. The visitor was a man in his late twenties, tall, well built and handsome. Either through some trick of editing, or through some trait of the individual, it seemed as if there was a permanent smile on his face. His hands were on his hips. He was not wearing a jacket and his sleeves were rolled up, just like the farmers. In contrast to the artifice of the rural pantomime playing around him, his excitement seemed genuine. The commentary continued: