Arkady made a complete circuit of the room, looking behind the cartons, before he returned to the burning box. The sound of the flames was soft and furious at the same time, a miniature firestorm. It wasn’t a shoebox. The side of it said “Sindy” and showed a doll with a blond ponytail sitting at a table, pouring tea. He recognized it because Sindy dolls were the most popular import in Moscow, displayed in every toy-store window, nonexistent on the shelves. The box’s illustration also showed a dog, perhaps a Pekingese, that sat at the doll’s feet and wagged its tail.

Jaak rushed in to stamp out the fire. “Don’t.” Arkady pulled him back.

The fire line edged down into the picture. As Sindy’s hair burst into flame, her face darkened in alarm. She seemed to raise the teapot, then stand, as her upper half was consumed. The dog waited faithfully as paper burned down around him. Then the entire box was black, twisted, spider-webbed with red, turning gray and gauzy, with a layer of ashes that Arkady blew away. Inside was a landmine, lightly charred, its two pressure pins up, triggered, still waiting for Jaak’s foot to push them down.

Arkady drew a cartoon car on a piece of paper. Crayons, he thought, were about all he lacked. Amenities for rehabilitated Special Investigator Renko included desk and conference table, four chairs, files and a closet that held a combination safe. Also, two “Deluxe” portable typewriters, two red outside phones with dials and two yellow intercoms without. He had two windows dressed with curtains, a wall map of Moscow, a rollaway brownboard, an electric samovar and an ashtray.

On the table Polina spread a black-and-white 360-degree panorama of the construction site and approaching shots of the Audi, then detailed color shots of the gutted car and driver. Minin hovered zealously. Jaak, forty hours without sleep, stirred like a boxer trying to rise before the count of ten.

“It was vodka that made the fire so bad,” Jaak said.

“Everyone thinks of vodka,” Polina sneered. “What really burns are seats because they’re polyurethane. That’s why cars burn so quickly, because they’re mostly plastic. The seat adheres to the skin like napalm. A car is just an incendiary device on wheels.”

Arkady suspected that not so long ago Polina had been the girl in pathology class with the best reports, illustrated and footnoted in punctilious detail.