On a humid August night in 2024, the rhythmic clatter of a Ukrainian overnight train masked a nightmare unfolding in its second-class sleeper car. Iryna Zarutska, a 28-year-old painter from Kyiv with a penchant for capturing life’s fleeting beauty in vibrant oils, boarded the 9:15 PM service to Lviv, unaware she’d never reach her destination. Her murder, a brutal act of betrayal in the confines of a shared compartment, sent shockwaves through the nation. Now, with the police releasing the exhaustive case file—a 600-page trove of forensic evidence, chilling confessions, and digital breadcrumbs—the full horror of that night comes into stark relief, along with a resolution so dramatic it’s left the public breathless.
Iryna was no stranger to Ukraine’s sprawling rail network, a lifeline for artists like her who crisscrossed the country for inspiration and gigs. That evening, she carried a worn leather satchel stuffed with sketchpads and a novel she’d been devouring. Her destination: a family reunion and a chance to finalize her debut gallery show. Surveillance footage, grainy but haunting, shows her stepping aboard at Kyiv-Pasazhyrskyi station, her auburn hair catching the platform lights as she flashed a ticket to the conductor. She was assigned berth 9, a cramped four-person cabin shared with a retired schoolteacher knitting quietly, a teenage student glued to his phone, and a man who introduced himself as Oleksiy Moroz—a wiry, soft-spoken figure whose unassuming demeanor hid a sinister past.
The train rolled westward, its passengers lulled by the sway of the carriage and the hum of steel on tracks. Iryna, ever the extrovert, struck up a conversation with Oleksiy, who claimed to be a freelance journalist returning from a story in Donetsk. The dossier reveals how he wove a tapestry of lies, spinning tales of war reporting to mirror Iryna’s own passion for storytelling through art. By 11:30 PM, as the cabin lights dimmed, the teacher and student drifted to sleep, leaving Iryna and Oleksiy in hushed conversation. It was then, forensic reports show, that he offered her a sip from a battered metal flask—a seemingly friendly gesture laced with a lethal dose of midazolam, a sedative that dulled her senses within minutes.
The attack, reconstructed through autopsy findings and crime scene photos, was as methodical as it was monstrous. Around 1:45 AM, in the dead of night near Zhytomyr, Oleksiy struck. Iryna, groggy and defenseless, was overpowered in her bunk. The dossier describes a vicious assault: her wrists bound with a belt, her mouth gagged with a torn scarf, and a fatal strangulation that left deep bruising around her throat. Evidence of sexual violence compounded the tragedy, with DNA traces later matched unequivocally to Oleksiy. Her body was dragged to the compartment’s shared washroom, propped against the wall in a crude attempt to stage an overdose, her satchel rifled through for cash and a locket she wore daily—a gift from her late father.
The crime might have gone unnoticed until Lviv if not for the schoolteacher’s insomnia. At 5:20 AM, needing the bathroom, she noticed the door ajar and a metallic scent wafting out. Her scream woke the car, and the conductor’s flashlight soon illuminated the grim scene: Iryna, lifeless, her eyes half-open, her sketches scattered like fallen leaves. The train screeched to an emergency stop at a rural junction, and police descended, cordoning off the carriage as passengers huddled in shock. Early suspicion fell on the student, whose nervous fidgeting raised red flags, but the real key lay in the washroom’s sink—a single strand of hair, later DNA-matched to Oleksiy, who had slipped off the train during the chaos.
Oleksiy Moroz, it turned out, was no journalist. The dossier unmasks him as 33-year-old Mykola Hrytsenko, a parolee with a history of violent theft and a revoked passport. His digital trail, painstakingly reconstructed by cyberforensic teams, was damning: geolocation data from his burner phone pinned him to the train at the time of death, while deleted search histories revealed queries for “sedatives for sale” and “how to stage a suicide.” Even more chilling were encrypted messages found on a dark-web app, where he bragged about “hunting” on trains, targeting lone women in the anonymity of transit. This wasn’t a crime of passion but a predator’s ritual, honed over years of escalating offenses.
The manhunt that followed gripped Ukraine. Iryna’s family, devastated but resolute, launched a social media campaign that turned her name into a rallying cry. Billboards flashed her portrait—smiling, paint-smeared, alive—while X posts amplified grainy CCTV stills of Oleksiy fleeing the station. A tip from a rural bartender, who recognized his gaunt face from a news alert, led police to a derelict farmstead outside Ternopil. The standoff was cinematic: Oleksiy, holed up in a barn, brandished a stolen pistol and ranted about “being misunderstood.” Tear gas and negotiators ended the six-hour siege, with Oleksiy collapsing in a coughing heap, his bravado gone.
The interrogation, excerpted verbatim in the dossier, is a study in cold detachment. Oleksiy described the murder with clinical precision, admitting he targeted Iryna for her “openness” and lack of suspicion. “She made it easy,” he said, a line that sparked outrage when leaked. He claimed a childhood of abuse drove his hatred, but psychologists flagged his narcissism and lack of empathy as textbook psychopathy. The trial, held in Kyiv’s Svyatoshyn Court, was a media circus. Prosecutors leaned heavily on the dossier’s forensic arsenal—blood spatter analysis, toxicology, and phone data—while Iryna’s sister delivered a gut-wrenching statement, clutching a canvas Iryna had painted of their childhood home. The defense’s plea for leniency fell flat; the judge, voice trembling, sentenced Oleksiy to life in a maximum-security prison, calling his actions “a betrayal of human trust.”
The dossier’s release in October 2025 has reignited debate. Activists demand stricter rail security—panic buttons, real-time CCTV, background checks for passengers—while others argue such measures erode the freedom of travel. Iryna’s legacy endures through a foundation in her name, funding art scholarships for young women, her unfinished works now exhibited in Lviv as a testament to her light. Oleksiy’s fate, locked away in a concrete cell, offers cold comfort. The train tracks still hum, carrying stories of hope and horror alike, but Iryna’s loss lingers like a ghost in the carriages, urging vigilance in a world where monsters ride among us.
