The Suspects
The Volkov matriarch. Composed, watchful, impeccably dressed. She has presided over this family for forty years. Whatever she feels tonight, she will not show it.
KGB Colonel. Eldest son. A man of few words and precise movements. He watches the room the way soldiers watch a perimeter — calmly, completely, always.
The enforcer of the family. Broad-shouldered, direct, not a man for subtlety. He has always solved problems with presence. Tonight he seems distracted.
The youngest son. A composer — quiet, sensitive, somewhat apart from the rest. He arrived tonight looking pale. He has barely spoken since.
Prima ballerina. Gennady's daughter. She moves through the room with the discipline of someone who has spent a lifetime performing for difficult audiences.
Viktor's wife. Elegant, attentive, speaks when spoken to. She came into the Volkov circle three years ago. She has learned everything there is to learn about this family.
Dmitri's Polish wife. Gracious, well-mannered, always smiling. She has adapted perfectly to Moscow society. Perhaps too perfectly.
The family's trusted counsellor for three decades. A man who knows where every body is buried — metaphorically speaking. Until tonight, presumably.
The family physician. Calm, methodical, professionally reassuring. He was the first to examine the body. He has said very little since.
Senior KGB official. Old guard. The kind of man who is invited to dinner and never questioned. He has been checking his watch since he arrived.
Gennady's exiled brother. He appeared at the door this evening unannounced. Nobody expected him. Nobody asked him to leave.
Arms dealer. An outsider in this room — and he knows it. Well-dressed, pleasant company, a man of business. He keeps his cards very close.
The housekeeper. She has been with the Volkovs longer than anyone alive. She knows every room, every habit, every silence in this house. She says she knows nothing.
