A person who loves the rain

“Why did you call me?” Vera stood in the doorway, drenched, staring intently at Alexey. Her long curly chestnut hair had straightened from the rain, and her light summer dress was completely soaked, clinging to her body. She had taken off her shoes and was holding them in her hands. Behind her, it seemed like there was a flood. There was so much water that the ground beneath her feet seemed to disappear, and the road had become impassable. The abandoned forester's house seemed like the center of the universe in such bad weather. The heavy downpour darkened the sky with clouds, but inside, the light was on, it was warm and cozy, with what seemed like a million jars and bottles on the windowsill. She stood in the doorway, the rain pouring down her back, seeping into the house, while she stood there, unsure whether to take a step forward or remain where she was. After all, so much could depend on just one step – she might never return!

“If I'm not going to go inside,” she thought, “then why did I come here? All the way, a hundred kilometers from home. To these eyes! To these hands! The hands that held her so tightly, and, perhaps, to those lips whose gentle touch was so tender, so graceful, and sweet, sweet as… well, no comparison could ever describe it.”

“I wanted to see you,” Alexey sat calmly on a chair, afraid to move, fearing that any movement might make her turn and leave, afraid to embarrass her, afraid that something might go wrong, even though she was here now! She had come! And he didn’t want to lose all this. To lose her presence… They stood staring at each other for another minute without breaking eye contact, then she asked,

“What do you want?” “You.” “I…” she became flustered, shaking her head, “I… I’m married, we agreed on everything, Lesha.” “Well, you still came,” he replied just as quietly.

They fell silent again. Then Alexey stood up and removed all her wet clothes. Sex in the rain, with lightning and thunder, stirred them both. After it was over, she said, “I would stay here to live. Here, in this house. It feels like we’re alone here, on the edge of the universe. And I need nothing else. I’m the richest person because I have these jars on the windowsill, which need to have the cobwebs cleaned off, this old furniture, the ancient TV, but most importantly, I have you here.” “What have you done, my dear sunshine?” he interrupted her, touching her hair with his lips. “They could kill us. I think he suspects everything,” Vera said. “I’m not afraid, I can't live without you anyway.” “Lesha, that’s so beautiful and touching, but… they could kill us,” she added, “You know, I can’t live without you either… it’s just existence.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door. They both flinched – who could it be in such weather? Alexey dressed and walked to the door. He carefully pulled back the curtains… standing on the doorstep was a woman in white…

Thirty years passed.

“Take this,” the district prosecutor entered his son’s office and threw a case file on his desk.

“Dad! I’ve got enough work as it is… Give it to Filatov, he’s got nothing to do anyway.”

The prosecutor sighed heavily, puffed out his cheeks, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Just take a look; it’s an interesting case! Once you start, you won’t be able to stop.”

“Dad,” the son protested, “I’ve got seventeen cases already.”

“And are they all interesting?” smiled prosecutor Sergey Leonidovich.

“That’s an understatement,” joked his son, Alexey Sergeevich. “Alright, fine, I’ll take a look.”

“I’ll tell you right away, you’ll need to get excited about this one, I’ve seen the case. It’s necessary!”

“What’s it about?”

“Last year, there were forest fires in the Moscow region, in the swamps, and two bodies surfaced.”

“Alright, Dad, I’ll take a look.”

– What are you writing? – asked Sergey Leonidovich, already about to leave the office.

– I have a cold case, so I need to write a detailed report – answered his son, staring back at the case files.

– That's right, that's right, a cold case needs to be thick, otherwise they called me into the city because of your Filatov… – anyway, that's all chit-chat, I'm off.

– Dad… drop by for some coffee later.

The old man nodded and left, gently closing the door behind him. Alexey opened the file.

"… Near the forest ranger’s house… two bodies found… Moscow region."

– What a godforsaken place! And I’ll have to get up early tomorrow to go there… – he rubbed his face with his hands, staring intently at the case folder, deep in thought. There was a knock at the door.

– Lesh, – entered his father’s secretary, Lyubochka, a voluptuous redhead, as his father liked to call her for her character and knack for handling things – there's a letter… it arrived… with me… come and pick it up.

– What is it?

– How should I know? – the secretary replied, puzzled. She fixed her hair, puckered her lips like a bow, and left. Alexey then thought, when his father hired her:

"Why does he need her? Maybe he's trying to move on after Mom’s death? Lyuba is around forty, she’s not old, though she works a desk job. Still, Dad always liked women with curves…"

His mother had passed away recently, six months ago. His father had quickly deteriorated; his already gray hair seemed even grayer, and he had lost weight too. He was 65 now and always worried about being forced into retirement.

– What would I do there? Sit on a bench with pensioners? – he often said.

At work, his age wasn’t really noticeable. He always wore his uniform, used the expensive cologne his wife had once given him, was always clean-shaven, and rarely wore glasses—mostly for effect, since his vision was still fine.

His eyes seemed very intelligent, his gaze light, but always intense or rather piercing. After his mother’s death, he didn’t drink much, but sometimes he would complain about the city prosecutor’s office, nitpicking over small things. Everyone understood the reason – the loss of his wife, and at his age, it was hard to bear. She had been a beautiful woman and, even at 65, managed to remain attractive. They had lived in perfect harmony. For the unmarried Alexey, they had always been a model to follow. It was a joy to watch those tender old folks together, but then his mother passed away, and Alexey cried a lot. He would often break down during meetings and… he frequently stayed late after work to cry alone. During the day, he was busy, and the pain wasn’t as sharp, but in the evenings… how he had come to hate the evenings! Over time, it became a little easier, or rather, the pain dulled. His mother had worked in the general prosecutor’s office, and she had once helped his father get his position there. When their son grew up, they sent him to law school as well. It’s hard to say what made him a great investigator – the law degree or his mother’s guidance – but the fact was, he became the best investigative prosecutor.

For some reason, he recalled something his mother had said when she was dying. She kept repeating, "If you love, shoot! If you love – shoot!"

“Why am I thinking of this? Oh well…”

He closed the file, tossed it into his desk, and left the office, heading to the reception area.

– Lyubochka…

– Oh, right, Lesha, here you go – she stopped watering the flowers on the windowsill and pulled an envelope from the desk.

Back at his desk, he opened it. Inside the envelope were four shell casings, a piece of cloth, and a note, typed on a computer: “Missing evidence from one of your cases.”

– Hmm. – Alexey picked up the phone and dialed Lyuba’s number.

– Lyuba, where did this come from?

– Hell if I know, I came in, and it was just lying there on the desk… – the secretary replied.

– Ah… yeah… right… bye. – He turned the unusual bundle over in his hands and then placed it in the safe.

Hurriedly leaving the office, he tried to figure out who had brought the envelope. There were security cameras in the prosecutor's office, but he still couldn't find out anything. Alexei grabbed a folder from the desk and headed to the morgue to get the autopsy results.

"Well, what can I tell you," forensic expert Semyonych greeted him grandly, adjusting his gloves. He began to speak in a complex manner, with the dark humor typical of his job. "An old chap, almost decomposed… Must have been a bad one, probably."

"What's the deal?" Alexei asked.

"Got a little tattoo, ex-con… And a bullet right in the forehead," Semyonych pulled back the sheet from the body, and Alexei saw what was left of the man who had been in the ground for so long.

"See?" Semyonych pointed to the bullet.

Alexei nodded.

"And the second one?"

"Yeah, same story, Lenchik, and also a bullet in the forehead. Come back after lunch, and you can pick up the report."

"I’ve already had lunch."

"Well, I, the hardworking one, haven’t had time," Semyonych muttered as he fiddled with his tools. "Go on, your buddy Filatov’s hanging around here."

"What’s he doing here? His father sent him elsewhere."

"Ask him yourself," Semyonych replied, taking off his gloves, running his hand over his "Stas Mikhailov-style" beard, and then washing his hands.

"Alright, Semyonych, I’ll be back."

"Yeah," Semyonych nodded. "Oh, right, Leon… you asked for this." He pulled a small box from the desk and handed it to Alexei. "These are the items found with him. The ring’s the main thing; the rest didn’t survive."

"Semyonych, thanks," Alexei smiled gratefully. "I almost forgot." He opened the bag and took out the silver ring with a garnet stone.

"Beautiful," Alexei muttered, slipping the ring back into the bag as he headed for the hallway.

Leon Filatov was easy to spot from afar. Though he was 45, short, and starting to go gray, he had a certain charm. He often attracted people with his amusing expressions, his ability to listen, and the way his small, dark eyes lit up in a lively conversation.

There was always a lot of noise around him. At the end of the hallway, he was standing surrounded by young female employees from the prosecutor's office, apparently entertaining them with some tall tale, as the laughter echoing through the building didn’t quite suit the setting.

"Leon!" Alexei called out to him.

"Alexei, hey!" Leon responded, excited, clearly catching his breath between jokes.

"Where are you supposed to be working?" Alexei asked jokingly.

"Alright, girls, the jokes are over," Filatov turned to the ladies he had been entertaining.

The young women shifted their attention from Filatov to Alexei, who was younger and more handsome than their storyteller. Noticing this, Filatov fell silent, darting his eyes between the women.

"Ah…" he stretched out. His expression grew serious, as if he were about to say something very important. "The guy had a tough childhood, his dad’s the district prosecutor."

The girls burst into laughter again.

"You're such a rascal," Alexei said with a smile, looking at his friend. He took Filatov by the arm, and they moved aside.

"Hey, Alexei, have you eaten yet?" Filatov asked before Alexei could speak.

"I have. I had lunch before I came here."

"Lucky you. I haven’t eaten yet… Let’s go grab something, you can keep me company."

"Alright," Alexei hesitated, "let’s go, I’ll have some coffee."

They both walked toward the exit. After settling nearby in a café, Alexey asked:

"Lenya, how long are you going to keep arguing with your father?"

"Well… you're asking some tough questions…" Filatov retorted.

"I'm sick of both of you!" Alexey said, opening the menu.

"Alright, what are you doing here anyway?" Filatov asked.

"My dad gave me a case."

"That one about the bodies in the swamps?!" Filatov asked eagerly.

"Yeah, why?"

"Damn, I asked for that case myself! There's just a cold case report to write up and that's it."

"Well, that's why I got it… he said they needed to open a case."

"Why?" Filatov looked at Alexey in confusion.

"I don't know," Alexey shrugged it off.

"There are wildfires in the region, the swamps are burning, and now all the old 'who did what where' is floating up," Filatov sighed sadly.

"It's an unusual case. I'm curious what happened there 30 years ago."

"When are you planning to go?" Filatov asked, waving to the waitress.

"I'll sit with you for a bit. Semyonich said he'll have the results after lunch, so I'll probably head straight there to check the crime scene. By the way, why are you here?"

"You heard about Goryainov getting whacked?" Filatov asked.

"No… seriously?! That's crazy! Goryainov himself? What's going to happen to the Goryainov criminal group now?" Alexey closed the menu.

"I took the case myself," Filatov bragged, "just waiting for the forensics, then I'll wrap everything up and send it to court… it's clear whose hand was behind it… Have you seen the new girl?"

"No, what's up?"

"Oh, I see that look in your eyes," Filatov teased Alexey, "she's a beauty… They say she was the star in her last district."

The waitress approached. The friends placed their orders.

"Is she really that smart?" Alexey asked.

"Seems like she's got some talent. By the way, she's buying drinks today."

"I won’t go… What's her name?"

"Raisa Zakharna," Filatov joked.

"Get out of here with your jokes!"

"Shvedova Larisa," Filatov replied.

"Alright. Let's go. I'll give you a ride back."

"You're driving? That's great!"

The area greeted Alexey with little friendliness. The emergency workers had done their job well, the fire was out, but the stench of burning peat was overwhelming. Finding a stick, Alexey grabbed it and headed toward the swamp where two bodies had been found. The swamp seemed mostly dried up, but occasionally his feet would sink in. He used the stick to find a path and made his way deeper between the trees. A clearing appeared, and he stepped into it. His pants were, of course, dirty, with burrs stuck to them. About a hundred steps ahead stood a small house. Either a forester’s cabin or something similar, but clearly, a local forestry employee had once lived here. As he got closer, Alexey looked around. The house was completely dilapidated, the plaster crumbling, the walls overgrown with grass, and the windows shattered for some reason. The paint on the window frames was peeling, and there was an empty doghouse where a dog probably used to live. He decided to go inside. Glass jars were on the windowsill, some broken, but all covered in a thick layer of dust. Everything was clean and tidy, giving the impression that a new owner was expected to move in. The fridge in the corner was empty. A bed covered with a blanket, wooden stools. The heat was unbearable. Alexey found a relatively clean spot and laid his jacket down. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. From here, the place where the two bodies had been found was clearly visible. He walked over to the window, wiped the dust off the table, and placed the expert report there.

"…shots from a hunting rifle from a distance of one hundred meters… both were killed…"

– "One was killed at a distance of one meter… Bullets of a certain caliber," he read aloud.

– "Hmm," he thought. "That means there were at least three people there, maybe four. One of them killed another, and the others were finished off by shots from a hundred meters."

– "Nonsense!"

Closing the file, he decided to inspect the house from the outside. Grabbing a long stick, he started parting the bushes that had grown thick around the house. Apart from a few tin cans and an empty vodka bottle, he found nothing. He picked up the bottle from the ground, glanced at the year printed on the label, and recalled how, back in those days, the word "vodka" was decoded as "Here He Is, Kind Andropov." Such a nickname had been earned by the general secretary for lowering the price of the popular drink. He stuffed the bottle into the bag he had brought with him. As he was about to head back inside the house to grab his jacket and the file, his gaze fell on a chunk of plaster, nearly falling off the wall. Picking it out with his finger, he found a bullet lodged in the wall. Tapping the wall with the stick he had found earlier, he discovered several more bullets embedded within. It was clear that the shattered windows were the result of gunfire, not because someone had broken in. After all, there was nothing worth stealing inside, and if it had been vagrants or hooligans, the house would be a mess.

– "So what exactly happened here thirty years ago?"

Collecting all the bullets into his bag, he took his things and headed to the place where the bodies had been found.

Wandering around for a while, he initially found nothing. Not surprising—so many years had passed. He circled one tree, then another, but there was nothing. Then he stumbled upon an object. Alexei bent down—it was a knife, possibly a hunting knife, with a rusted blade and a handle caked in dirt. He pulled a bag from his pocket and dropped the knife inside. Soon, he found a couple of shell casings as well. That was the end of his discoveries. He walked around the area a bit more but found nothing else.

Then his phone rang.

– "Lyonya, are you coming?" Filatov asked, amid some background noise. It was clear that the initiation party for the new member of the team was in full swing.

– "Lyonya… No, I'm on my way," Alexei realized it was better to agree rather than endure a long conversation with his friend about why he should come to the party.

– "Drop everything and get over here! There's a girl here… I’d totally hit that…" Filatov said, his voice now much quieter over the phone.

– "Fine… I'll be there soon. You dog," Alexei muttered as he shoved his phone back into his pocket.

Looking around once more, and after a moment of thought, Alexei headed towards the local administration building, asking the villagers for directions along the way.

The administration building was U-shaped and two stories tall, with a recently updated facade. The prosperity of the administration was evident—Mercedes and BMWs were parked all around. Alexei quickly bounded up the stairs and opened the doors. Walking down the long hallway, he approached a door labeled "Reception."

– "Vladimir Vladimirovich is currently busy," reported the secretary, a woman in her fifties. Everything about the place screamed "village administration," from the open window to the wildflowers in a vase on the windowsill and the very modest decor of the room.

– "Following a trend or just a namesake?" he asked, seeing that the secretary was flustered.

He continued, – "Just kidding. I'm from the prosecutor's office. Let him know I'm here."

Alexei had often noticed that the word "prosecutor" had a certain magic to it. Important meetings would end abruptly, encounters with prostitutes at the workplace would be cut short, and all sorts of shady dealings would come to a halt. Soon, a young woman emerged from the office, and Alexei stepped inside.

He was greeted by a man in his fifties, of medium height, full-figured, dressed in a white shirt and tie. He extended his hand and smiled, flashing teeth as white as those in a toothpaste commercial. Though no longer young, Alexei quickly understood the recent departure of the young woman—the man was still attractive, with graying hair that only added to his charm. His firm handshake suggested he kept up with some form of exercise, and although he had a slight belly, it was clear that he remained appealing to women.

Alexei shook his hand, and the man gestured for him to sit down.

– "So, what can I do for… our prosecutor’s office?"

– My name is Alexey Sergeyevich Martynov, about those swamps of yours…

– Ah… – the man didn’t let him finish. – Oh, sorry, – he quickly corrected himself.

– No worries, go on, – Alexey nodded to him in agreement.

– I am Vladimir Vladimirovich, head of the local administration… There was an unpleasant story there… But you'd better talk to the locals. I only know bits and pieces from rumors.

– What was the forestry business about? – Alexey asked with interest.

– There was something like that, the Moscow region was expanding, and back then there was more forest here. There were foresters, they guarded the area. When capitalism kicked in and construction began, that position was gradually eliminated.

– Who worked there? I’d like to take a look at the records.

– Just a moment, – Vladimir Vladimirovich pressed a few buttons and mumbled an order to fetch the documents from the archive. While waiting for the secretary, they exchanged a few polite sentences on unrelated topics, had another cup of coffee, and then there was a knock on the door.

– Yes… Lidochka, come in.

The secretary entered and handed over the documents. Vladimir Vladimirovich took the heavy folder and flipped through a few pages. The secretary left.

– Aha, – he said, – here’s 1981, – he turned a few more pages, his expression becoming more serious, and he pressed the buttons again and shouted,

– Lida! Come in, quickly!

The secretary appeared again.

– What is this?!

She hurried over, looking at the folder in surprise.

– I don’t know… I – she began gesticulating nervously – Vladimir Vladimirovich… you know I… – she was getting more and more upset.

– What’s going on? Tell me, – said Alexey, standing up. The folder was handed to him. Everything indicated that the forester's photograph and his personal details had been removed.

– Who was the last person to access the archive? – Alexey asked.

– No one, it’s been untouched for ages, – the secretary tried to defend herself, waving her hands and wiping tears from her face with the same hands.

– Lida! – the boss slammed his palm on the table.

– I’m telling you, – the secretary yelled in frustration – no one!

– You… sit down. Calm down. No one’s blaming you. Just think, who has access to it? – Alexey reassured her and sat her down next to him, nodding to the boss as if to say, "Enough, stop."

– Well, no one, I have access, our administration is small, and there’s no point in hiring extra staff. Plus, I manage everything myself… I don’t even know, – she explained.

– Lida… has anything suspicious happened? – Alexey asked.

– Nothing, I’m telling you, no… I can’t recall anything.

– You know, I can’t think of anyone – maybe the postman, the plumber, the district police officer, those people whose presence we always trust…

For some reason, she smiled and brightened up.

– Oh, you know, yes! Yes! You’re right, the plumber was there… we had some work going on…

The boss interrupted her and didn’t let her finish.

– The building is old, we’re replacing all the pipes with plastic ones, and… probably left it unattended.

– Maybe, but that’s all… the archive is always locked, and I have the key, – Lida said, looking from one to the other – and the plumber is a bit of a drunk.

– Lidochka, I’ll give you an order – bring Vladimir Vladimirovich and me a glass of cold water. It’s not even hot, but… we’re thirsty.

She left. While she was gone, Alexey asked,

– Who is this plumber?

– Well, maybe it wasn’t him. They’re just guys doing side jobs, acquaintances of an acquaintance.

– Give me the coordinates, – Alexei stepped closer to the person he was talking to.

– Ah… – the boss hesitated, – why did you send her for water? – he smiled as he asked.

– Gotta take care of the staff. Why did you make the woman nervous? – Alexei asked instructively. – She’ll walk around and calm down.

– You’re a psychologist… – the boss smiled again – here you go, – he pulled out a business card from the drawer and handed it to Alexei.

– Got it.

Lida entered, brought some cold water, he drank it and said goodbye.

– By the way, why are foreign cars so expensive? You guys are misusing the national projects… – Alexei asked, suddenly turning around – Just kidding!