Ippolit cocked his head, puzzled. He'd meant to put to rest the likely fear that the less-than-kosher pratices of the unit would bring them under fire. Apparently it hadn't come out entirely reassuring.

The look on Liadov's face was interesting, but nothing, Polya thought with wry regret, he hadn't seen before.

It was what he said that was of importance.

No marks.

It had been stirring in Polya's head as well, unwelcome and difficult to ignore as a slug on the doorstep.

"That's right," he said to Irinarhov, quiet confidence in both senses of the word.


There was no such thing as an effect without a cause.

"If someone killed him, I'll see how."

He left the possibility unspoken.

A lack of evidence could be evidence in itself.