Witiezslav said very politely. 'When the citizens of neighbouring states are used as manpower, it's an indication of economic growth.'
I could have explained to him what I thought about that. But I didn't.
'Would you like to see the recording?' I asked.
'Yes, I think so,' the vampire said.
Edgar stood aside.
I brought up the image of the post office on the monitor, then switched on 'movement search', and we watched all the local lovers of the epistolary genre once again.
'I know this one,' I said, pointing at Las. 'I'll find out today what it was he posted.'
'Do you suspect him?' asked Witiezslav.
'No,' I said and shook my head.
The vampire ran the tape through again. But this time the unfortunate security boss was set in front of the monitor, still under the spell.
'Who's this?' Witiezslav asked him.
'A resident,' he replied indifferently. 'Block one, sixteenth floor.'
He had a good memory. He named all the suspects, except the building worker with the pile of letters. As well as Las, the resident from the sixteenth floor and the old woman from the eleventh, letters had been posted by two of Assol's managers.
'We'll deal with the men,' Witiezslav decided. 'For a start. You check the old woman, Gorodetsky. All right?'
I shrugged. Collaboration was all very well, but I wasn't going to let anyone order me about.
Especially not a Dark One. And a vampire.
'It's easier for you,' Witiezslav explained. 'It's . . . hard for me to approach old people.'
The admission was frank and unexpected. I mumbled something in reply and didn't press him for any further explanation.
'I sense in them something that I don't have,' he went on to explain anyway. 'Mortality.'
'You envy them that?' I couldn't resist asking.
'It frightens me.' Witiezslav leaned down over the security chief and said: 'We're going to go now. You will sleep for five minutes and have beautiful dreams. When you wake up, you will forget our visit. You will only remember Anton . . .you will feel very friendly towards him. If Anton needs anything, you will give him any help you can.'
'There's no need . . .' I protested weakly.
'We are all working for the same cause,' the vampire reminded me. 'I know how hard it is to work undercover. Goodbye.'
And instantly he disappeared. Edgar gave a guilty smile and walked out of the door.
I left the office too, without waiting for the head of security to wake up.
CHAPTER 4
FATE, WHICH OUR magicians claim does not exist, was kind to me.
In Assol's vestibule (well, you really couldn't call that spacious hall a lobby,) I saw the old woman that the vampire had been afraid to approach. She was standing by the lift, gazing pensively at the buttons.
I glanced at the old woman through the Twilight, and realised that she was totally confused, almost in a panic. The well-trained security guards were no help here. On the outside the old woman seemed entirely calm and collected: I realised she was definitely a lady – not an ordinary old Russian woman at all. I set off decisively towards her.
'Excuse me, can I be of any help?' I asked.
She cast me a sideways glance. Not a glance of senile suspicion, more of embarrassment.
'I've forgotten where I live,' she confessed. 'Do you happen to know?'
'The eleventh floor,' I said. 'Allow me to show you the way.'
The grey curls with delicate pink skin showing through them swayed ever so slightly.
'Eighty years old,' said the old woman. 'I remember that . . . it's painful to remember it. But I do.'
I took the lady by the arm and led her towards the lift. One of the security men started walking towards us, but my aged companion shook her head:
'The gentleman's showing me the way . . .'
The gentleman did show her the way. The elderly lady recognised her own door and even quickened her step in delight. The apartment was not locked, it had been magnificently refurbished and furnished, and there was a lively girl about twenty years old striding to and fro in the hallway and complaining into a phone:
'Yes, I've looked downstairs! She slipped out again . . .'
The girl was delighted when we showed up. Only I'm afraid the sweet smile and the touching concern were mostly meant for me.
Good-looking young women don't take servants' jobs in homes like that because the money's good.
'Mashenka, bring us some tea,' said the old woman, interrupting the girl's prattling. She probably had no illusions either. 'In the large room.'