The artist, whom Leo noted Grigori was informally referring to by her first name, had been commissioned to design and paint a series of public murals. Since there was a risk that she, or indeed any artist, might produce something subtly subversive, a piece of art with a hidden meaning, the MGB were running a routine check. The logic was simple. If her diary contained no secret subversive meaning, it was unlikely that her art would. The task was a minor one and suitable for a novice. The first day had gone well. Grigori had found the diary while Peshkova was at work in her studio. Completing his search, he’d returned the evidence to the hiding place in the chimney in order not to alert Peshkova that she was under investigation. He’d reported back and briefly Leo had wondered if there was hope for the young man: the use of the sooty fingerprint as a clue had been admirable. During the next four days Grigori maintained a high level of surveillance, putting in many more hours than necessary. Yet despite the extra work he made no more reports and offered no observations of any kind. Now he was claiming the diary was worthless.

Leo took the notebook from him, sensing Grigori’s reluctance to let the pages out of his hands. For the first time, he began to read. At a glance he agreed that it was hardly the provocative content they might expect from a diary so elaborately hidden near a fire. Unwilling to cede to the conclusion that the suspect was innocent, he skipped to the end, scouring the most recent entries, written during the past five days of Grigori’s surveillance. The suspect described meeting a neighbour for the first time, a man who lived in an apartment block on the opposite side of the road. She’d never seen him before but he’d approached her and they’d spoken in the street. She remarked that the man was funny and she hoped to see him again sometime, coyly adding that he was handsome.

Did he tell me his name? I don’t remember. He must have done. How can I be so forgetful? I was distracted. I wish I could remember his name. Now he’ll be insulted when we meet again. If we meet again, which I hope we will.

Leo turned the page. The next day she got her wish, bumping into the man again. She apologized for being forgetful and asked him to remind her of his name. He told her it was Isaac, and they walked together, talking freely as if they’d been friends for many years. By happy coincidence Isaac was heading in the same direction. Arriving at her studio, she was sad to see him go. According to her entry, as soon as he was out of sight she began long opposheir next encounter.