Vladimir Kazantsev.

***23:30. Late evening. Outside, the wind howled like a whirlwind, carrying snow with it. Not a single person was to be seen on the street. The house was warm; the stove was burning. Lyubov, the wife of investigator Kazantsev, sat on the bed, wrapped in a blanket, feeling lonely. Longing for her husband had been a constant ache in her soul all day. A ring sounded—the ring she had been waiting to hear. -Hello, the Kazantsev family. Listening... -My dear, how are you doing there?.. A hoarse voice belonging to a dark-haired man rang out. -Vova... are you going to stay at work any longer? Shouldn't you come home to your wife? There was clearly resentment in the girl's voice. Kazantsev chuckled into the phone, imagining her offended face. -Don't pout, little darling, I'll be there soon. Are you cold? -No, everything's fine. I just missed you. -Wait, darling. The man hung up the phone. Rubbing his hawk-like nose, Kazantsev pulled on his coat and scarf, and disappeared into the cold night. Soon there was a knock on the door. A freezing man with flowers stood in the doorway. -Your sweetheart has arrived. Vladimir smiled. Lyubov stretched up on her toes and hugged him. Kazantsev pressed himself to her, burying his face in the girl's long hair.

Kazanets doesn't know how to speak eloquently, but he proves everything with his actions. He is 180 cm tall, his wife is 165 cm. He has a medium build, a straight, aquiline nose, deep eyes, thin lips, and strong hands. He likes to spend weekend evenings in a bar, or quietly at home with a book or newspaper.