Leo was clasping the bundle of incomplete letters in his pocket. He imagined his daughters listening to this conversation, he imagined Raisa standing beside him, and knew exactly how they would react. Outraged, they would plead for clemency; they would petition Vashchenko for Fyodor and Ara to be shown mercy. They would not understand that there was nothing Leo could do. They would not accept that as an excuse to stand idly by. But even imagining their anger, Leo was too beaten down, too tired, to stand up to this judgement, sensing its inevitability regardless of anything he might say or do. He was just an adviser, a man on the margins, paid for opinions whether they were heeded or not. He’d tried to save the couple. The satisfaction he might gain from outrage and indignation were of no use to them now. He mumbled:

—I tried.

Vashchenko and Nara looked at him. The captain asked:

—What did you say?

Returning the conversation to the investigation, Leo pointed out:

—How can we solve the murders when we don’t even have a suspect? You said yourself the body of the attacker was removed.

—We have a lead.

—Who?

Seeming to ignore the fact she didn’t speak fluent Russian, the captain addressed Nara directly:

—Your parents.

Shocked, she evidently understood what had been said, repeating in broken Russian:

—My… parents?

The captain registered Nara’s distressed response. He turned to Leo.

—Her parents have been picked up and taken into custody. I want her to question them. I’d like you to help.

Leo was being asked to act as an interrogator. Nara said again, her Russian improving with the practice:

—My parents?

Greater Province of Kabul

8 Kilometres East of the City of Kabul

Same Day