A Wild Justice

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‘Nice overcoat — I wonder why his killer left it behind?’ Alcxei Vorontsyev muttered, his cheek turned into the hood of his parka against the chilling slap of the wind.

Behind Vorontsyev, Bakunin, the GRU colonel who had also received an anonymous telephone call summoning him to the scene of a murder, stamped clumsily back and forth on the rutted snow. Smoke from his cigarette whipped past Vorontsyev.

‘I like the suit he’s still wearing,’ he continued, calling out to Bakunin over his shoulder. The GRU officer appeared profoundly indifferent, as ff all he desired was to return to whichever warm room he had come from. ‘By rights, this corpse ought to be stripped naked.’

He tugged the body away from its bed of stiff grass, his hand behind it as if he were about to commence some ventriloquial act with the corpse. The body had been reported as having been accidentally discovered. There was nothing in the pockets, he’d already checked. Cleaned out by whoever had found it, or the killer.

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