The Silent Sisters (Charles Jenkins #3)(15)

“Spartak played like crap,” Helge said. “I won’t be gone long. Just to get a pack of Marlboro Gold.”

“Your wife just left.”

“Yes, I know. She needs to walk the dog.”

He turned in the same direction as Maria. Despite the fading daylight, Helge spotted his wife across the sidewalk, waiting while Stanislav took care of his business. He pulled the cap low on his brow and stuffed his hands in the jacket pockets as he surveyed two men at a chessboard.

When Maria continued walking, Helge crossed the street.

Maria turned on Akademika Petrovskogo Street, rather than take Stanislav through the park. Odd. She walked toward the Shabolovskaya Metro station and descended the stairs. Very odd, but also promising. Perhaps a visit to see her lover? He quickened his pace so as not to lose her in the Metro. He had suspected for some time that Maria had a lover. Since his retirement he was certain of it. The wrong numbers had been far too frequent to be coincidence, as had been the many late nights Maria worked. Acquaintances had also confided to him that they had seen Maria out at night, going into restaurants and hotels, which caused him to search the apartment and find the expensive jewelry stuffed at the back of her dresser drawer. Helge certainly had not purchased it for her. A good friend whose father had worked for the KGB told Helge the FSB would not be happy to learn Maria was having an affair, given her position as Secretariat director. They would want to know her lover’s identity so they could vet the man and be certain Maria had not told him things she should keep to herself. His friend said if Helge played his cards correctly, turning in his wife before she made a critical mistake, there might even be a little something in it for him.

He descended the escalator, weaving between those people standing still. He located Maria on a platform just as the train arrived. She looked over her shoulder before she entered the car. Helge ducked his head and stepped onto a different car. He picked up a newspaper from an unused seat and moved to the sliding doors between the cars. He did not see Maria in the adjacent car. He slid open the doors and stepped past the seated and standing commuters, moving to the far end. Again, he peered through the doors between the cars. Though there was plenty of seating, Maria stood holding a hand strap, Stanislav sitting at her feet. Helge lifted the newspaper but watched her reflection in the Metro car window.

Maria exited at the Tyoply Stan station near the Yasenevo District. Helge lowered his head and hunched his shoulders, trying to melt in with the exiting commuters. Maria entered a store inside the station. Helge moved behind a shoe stand in the vaulted terminal as Maria spun a postcard rack. She appeared to be looking beyond it. Could she suspect that he had followed her? It seemed unlikely. She expected to find him passed out in front of the television.

She stepped to the counter, purchasing several items, then exited the store, the little white dog trotting along beside her. She walked along Novoyasenevskiy Prospekt. Light faded, night becoming more prominent. As there were fewer people on the sidewalk and fewer cars, he decided to pull back. He stopped at a bus stop and watched Maria cross the street, again looking over her shoulder.

She walked into a Teremok. Had she come all this way just to buy food? Helge did not know for certain, but it seemed there had to be a Teremok closer to their apartment.

Fifteen minutes later Maria exited the restaurant carrying a bag of food, but she did not walk toward the Metro. She turned into a parking lot with a single-story, white-brick building with two spires, a cross atop each spire. Helge was unfamiliar with this church, or its significance, if any, to Maria. He expected his wife to remain outside the building, perhaps for a designated rendezvous, but Maria surprised him again when she pulled open the green door and stepped inside.

Helge crossed the street to the church and settled outside a stained-glass window. Beyond a pane of red glass, his wife knelt before an icon—a woman holding a cross in one hand and a small bottle in the other. Helge stepped back to read the sign bolted to the building. Temple Martyr Anastasia. He did not know this martyr or her significance to Maria.

Maria remained kneeling, and Helge began to doubt she intended to meet a lover. Did she suspect Helge knew or had she seen him, making this visit to a temple an attempt to throw him off? After several minutes, the only other couple inside crossed themselves repeatedly, then departed, paying him no notice. When Helge looked back through the window Maria was no longer at the kneeler. He didn’t immediately see her, but he saw Stanislav at the end of his leash staring up at someone behind the statue. Maria.

After a few seconds, Maria came out from behind the statue and moved without hesitation to the front door. Helge stepped from the wall to the opposite end of the temple. Maria quickly exited and crossed to the street. She stopped and looked back. Helge shrunk into the shadows and waited until his wife walked toward the Metro station.

Such odd behavior.

About to leave, Helge noticed the headlights of an approaching car. It parked beside the church and a man stepped out and walked to the church door. Was this Maria’s lover? Had he missed their rendezvous? Did Maria have second thoughts? Or was this an innocent penitent? Helge stepped back to the window. The man gazed up at the same icon, crossed himself, then walked behind it. Moments later, the man reappeared, exited the temple, and departed in his car.

Uncertain what he had witnessed, Helge went inside the temple. He didn’t have much time. He needed to catch a taxi and get home before Maria, or at least buy cigarettes to have an excuse for having left the apartment. Dozens of candles burned and flickered, emitting small spires of black smoke and the odor of melting wax. A click behind him caused him to turn, but it was only the door shutting. He caught his breath and walked to the icon, looking at the pedestal, then moving behind it.