They spent most of the day at the cemetery. It was a vile, prickly rain, falling behind the collar, burning her face like needles, and the cops were digging up the grave of sixteen-year-old Anita Serova. Cameras clicked, Fernie filled out the protocol, hiding from the rain under a tree. Crows croaked, filling the oppressive silence and causing unpleasant tremors. The relatives of the girl, who were allowed to be exhumed, stood aside as lonely figures and, frozen, watched how they took out a small coffin, how rotten wreaths slipped off it and clods of earth crumbled in different directions. Alex understood what it was like to open up wounds...