– "We’re here for an identification," Alexey pointed at Lena.
– "Got it, alright."
Filatov had one irreplaceable quality – he could snap anyone out of their state quickly, whether it was his charm, his ability to tell a joke on any topic, or his healthy cynicism. This time, too, he quickly got Lena back on her feet.
The address Lena gave, where her father’s friend Sergey lived, wasn’t very precise, but that wasn’t surprising. After sending the girl back in the car, Alexey said goodbye to Filatov and headed to another address.
– "Misha, keep an eye on the kids, I’m exhausted in the kitchen, and the guests will be here soon," Nastya adjusted her apron and rushed back to the stove.
– "Alright, I’m coming," Mikhail, a man around 35 in blue jeans and a white sweater, got up from the couch and went to watch their rambunctious kids. The doorbell rang.
– "Misha, someone’s at the door, it's probably Ksyusha with her husband. Go answer it."
– "I’m coming," Mikhail grumbled and walked to the door. He looked through the peephole.
A man in a prosecutor's uniform stood there, holding a folder.
– Yes?
– My name is Alexey Martynov, I'm a senior investigator from the prosecutor's office… – with these words, he pulled out his ID.
– Come in – invited Mikhail.
– Is it Ksyusha? – shouted his wife from the kitchen.
– No, honey… It's the prosecutor's office!
– Oh my God! – a slender woman, around 40, with thick hair tucked under a scarf, appeared before Alexey. She wiped her hands on a towel and approached, eyeing the unexpected guest.
– Alexey Martynov.
– Anastasia… Sergeyevna – she held her gaze on him. She had large, expressive brown eyes, a well-proportioned face, and a slim figure. Beneath her apron was a fashionable dress, and she wore high-heeled shoes.
Alexey said he had an important message and suggested they sit down. They went to the next room, but Mikhail soon left as the children were making more and more noise.
– This is unexpected… – she was shocked by the news of the discovery and threw the towel onto a chair.
– Anastasia Sergeyevna…
– Just call me Nastya – she interrupted him.
– Alright. Nastya, you'll need to come for an identification, but I'd like to ask a few questions to clarify the cause of his death.
– Oh, Alexey… Sorry, what’s your patronymic?