Free The Innocent: A Coroner Jenny Cooper Crime Short by M. R. Hall

classically attractive woman, but for a member of the secret police she was remarkably appealing. During their three days’acquaintance he had observed something in her expression, a knowingness that told him that she possessed intelligence and a degree of perceptiveness far beyond that required for her regular work. He supposed these were the qualities that had singled her out for accompanying a senior military scientist: she was watching him, recording his moods, reading his unspoken thoughts as intently as he was discerning hers.
    They continued their journey across the unfamiliar city in silence, Slavsky smoking another cigarette and trying to think of subjects for conversation that would see him through his evening with Dr Keppler. Tell them as little as possible, his director had instructed him, techniques, yes, but the substance of his research, the implications of the genetic code he was deciphering, absolutely not. Occasionally Slavsky felt Dagmar’s eyes flit to her right and register his expression, searching out the features of his inner landscape. He pretended not to notice: a woman was inevitably intrigued by a self-contained man. He had secured her interest on the first day; yesterday he had deepened it, and now, he sensed, they were reaching the delicate tipping point. It must be she who makes the first move, Slavsky told himself, only then would he be able to reconcile his infidelity with his conscience.
    As they drew closer to the centre of the city, Slavsky became aware that people had start to emerge onto the street, not just in trickles, but in streams that became a river as they turned into a wide boulevard a short distance from the apartment block in which he was staying. They spilled off the sidewalks into the road, prompting Dagmar to lean on the horn.
    ‘There is a soccer stadium nearby,’ she said impatiently. ‘A big match, I think.’ She turned left across the oncoming lanes and drove down the ramp into the basement car park. ‘Do you follow soccer, Professor?’
    ‘No. Only boxing. As a student it was the one sport I excelled at.’
    ‘Isn’t it rather a brutal sport for an intellectual?’
    ‘I like its honesty – the strongest wins. Chance rarely plays a part.’
    ‘You dislike ambiguity?’
    ‘I avoid it where I can. But a certain amount is unavoidable, don’t you think?’
    ‘Perhaps.’ She pulled into a space near the elevator. ‘Shall I wait for you here?’
    ‘Absolutely not. You don’t think I’d treat you like a common driver.’
    She smiled. ‘Thank you.’
    In the intimate space of the elevator Slavsky caught her scent. A trace of perfume and the heat of her body. They avoided one another’s eyes, the tension between them increasing with each illuminating number above the door. As they arrived on the seventh floor Slavsky stood aside to let Dagmar step out ahead of him. She brushed his shoulder as she passed.
    Slavsky crossed the hall and unlocked the door. ‘I have Brazilian coffee – shall I make you some?’
    ‘I can help myself,’ she said. ‘I’m familiar with the apartment.’
    ‘Of course.’ She had probably bought the coffee herself, personally planted every bug and hidden camera. They stepped into the narrow hallway. ‘Make yourself at home. I shan’t be long.’
    He showered quickly and thoroughly and cleaned his teeth with the unpleasantly sweet Western toothpaste his hosts had provided along with the scented soaps and effeminate deodorants. He was perfectly aware that this could not possibly be a secret encounter, but in the headiness of the moment he longer cared. He studied his torso in the mirror. He was pale but carried no fat, his body the envy of his middle-aged friends at the Moscow banya . Yes, he could be rightly proud of his body. Reassured that he had no need for self-consciousness, and his conscience eased by the thought of his wife’s infidelity, Slavsky pulled on a towelling robe, and slid back the bolt on the bathroom door,