"Tell me from the beginning," Anna took out her notebook.

Klavdia Mikhailovna took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts.

"Tver, 2004. Glinka Music School. I had been working there for several years when new teachers appeared. Viktor Rogov—piano class, Igor Vasilyev—physical education and choreography. Both young, talented. The children adored them."

"And what happened?"

"At first, nothing special. Regular work, concerts, lessons. But then a new school psychologist appeared—Doctor Alexander Berkut," Klavdia Mikhailovna swallowed nervously. "He very quickly became close with Viktor and Igor. They often stayed after classes, talking about something. Sometimes until late at night."

"You were eavesdropping?"

"Not intentionally. I just sometimes stayed late, preparing students for competitions. And I began to notice… oddities."

"What kind specifically?"

"Berkut conducted some kind of experimental sessions with troubled teenagers. He called it 'breakthrough therapy.' Many parents noted positive changes—children became calmer, more obedient. But I saw something else too."

"What exactly?"

"Emptiness. In their eyes, in their gestures. As if something important disappeared from them," Klavdia Mikhailovna took a tattered notebook from her bag. "I began recording my observations. Here."

Anna took the notebook, flipping through the yellowed pages with neat, small handwriting. Dates, names, observations.

"This entry here," Klavdia Mikhailovna pointed to one of the pages.

"Today I saw the elephants in B's office again. White, blue, green, red, yellow, purple, orange. He said each color has its meaning. White ones for those who have found peace. Blue ones for those who are still waiting. Green ones for those who are preparing. Red ones…"

"The next page is torn out," Anna noticed.

"Yes. Berkut found out about my notes. He came to my home supposedly for a visit. Said I had an anxiety disorder. That I was seeing conspiracies. He spoke so convincingly… and prescribed me pills."

"What kind of pills?"

"I don't know exactly. Small, white ones. After taking them, I felt detached. I'd get confused about the days of the week, forget details. And one day… I discovered that pages from my notebook had disappeared."

"And then Katya Voronova went missing," Anna was stating rather than asking.

"Yes. She was Viktor's student. A talented girl. Fifteen years old. Disappeared on her way from music school. Viktor was arrested a week later," Klavdia Mikhailovna pressed her hand to her lips. "And Berkut just… vanished. In a single day. Didn't show up for work, emptied his apartment overnight. And Igor Vasilyev disappeared too."

"Did you tell the police about this?"

"I tried. But I was already taking Berkut's pills. They considered me… unstable. They decided I was upset about what happened and was inventing conspiracies."

Anna made several notes in her notebook, then looked at the woman.

"And now Berkut is here. And he's hunting again."

"Yes. I saw his photograph in the news about the 'New Life' center. He's hardly changed. And when I read about the missing girl, about suspicions against a physical education teacher… I realized it was him again. His signature."

Anna opened the folder Dorokhov had brought. On the first page—an official photograph: a distinguished man with gray temples and a penetrating gaze. Alexander Viktorovich Berkut, director of the psychological center "New Life."

"Is this him?"

Klavdia Mikhailovna paled.

"Yes. He's aged, but… it's definitely him."

"Thank you, Klavdia Mikhailovna. Your information is very important for the investigation. I need you to officially give a statement. And possibly an identification may be required."