Anna pulled another document from the folder—a forensic psychiatric evaluation from twenty years ago.
"Fully sane. No signs of mental disorders," she quoted.
"Yes," Granin nodded. "But you know what's interesting? His lawyer insisted on a second evaluation. Claimed his client had a split personality. And the psychiatrist… the second psychiatrist almost believed it. Rogov knew how to be convincing. He played to the audience masterfully."
"Just like now," Anna said quietly.
"What?"
"His lawyer is again demanding a psychiatric evaluation. Claims his client suffers from a personality disorder. That he wasn't aware of his actions…"
Granin turned sharply toward her: "Don't let him slip off the hook. Last time he only got eight years. Eight years for a murdered girl, for a destroyed family! And then—early release for good behavior. And now—a new victim."
Anna approached the window, standing next to Granin. A pigeon sat on the windowsill, huddled against the rain.
"Tell me," she hesitated, choosing her words. "Back then… did you notice anything unusual in his apartment? Any strange items or objects?"
"Ah, you mean that…" Granin smiled sadly. "The collection of porcelain elephants. Six of them. During the interrogation, he said he was waiting for the seventh—for complete happiness. We decided it was just a coincidence. Strange, but a coincidence."
Anna was pierced by a sharp sense of foreboding.
"What happened to those elephants?"
"They were included in the case as material evidence. Later, when the case was closed, they should have been destroyed. But…" Granin faltered. "I kept them. All these years, I've kept them. As a reminder that evil can hide behind the most innocent mask."
"I need to see them," Anna said firmly.
Granin nodded: "I knew you would say that. They're at my home. Let's go."
Leaving the archive, Anna cast a final glance at the photograph of young Rogov. The man who had transformed an innocent legend about seven elephants into a terrible tale of shattered lives.
And the rain kept pouring down, washing away traces of the past, but not the memory of it.