A Razor Wrapped in Silk (34 page)
‘A charming example of the modern capitalist,’ observed Porfiry.
‘I believe we will make a radical of you yet, Porfiry Petrovich.’
Porfiry sighed as he took out his enamelled cigarette case. ‘More and more, Pavel Pavlovich, I find myself longing for the
quiet life. That’s all.’
‘Oblomov.’
‘Perhaps you are right.’ Porfiry lit a cigarette. He watched his exhaled smoke rise slothfully, wisps of pale grey merging with the heavier grey of the sky. All around him, the factory chimneys churned out plumes of black smoke from the furnaces of the plant. He had the sense of the world burning itself up in a frenzy of production and consumption. He turned the cigarette in his fingers and studied it, as if the solution to the crimes he was investigating was contained within its burning paper. ‘Miller brand,’ he observed. ‘Didn’t one of the children work at the Miller tobacco factory?’
‘Yes. Svetlana,’ confirmed Virginsky.
‘Perhaps I should change to a Russian brand. I used to smoke Russian cigarettes but the manufacturer went out of business. We Russians are not natural entrepreneurs, I fear. We lack the necessary energy, perhaps.’
‘We are a nation of Oblomovs, sleeping our way to ruin.’ Virginsky’s tone was condemnatory. ‘Do you now believe there is a political aspect to
these
murders, too?’
‘It would help us to know where the other children were found, in relation to their workplace. Damn Salytov and his venal fellows. I hope to God there is nothing more than illicit profiteering to their involvement in these cases.’
‘How do we proceed?’
‘I fear we must make enquiries at the Rozhdestvenskaya Free School.’
‘You believe Innokenty was a pupil there?’
Porfiry threw down his cigarette, although it was barely halfway smoked, and ground it into the frozen earth with his heel. He turned and walked away without answering Virginsky’s question.
‘I have a fearful presentiment.’ Maria Petrovna’s voice was bleak, her face drained of colour. She closed the classroom door as a wave of volubility crashed over the handful of children arrayed on the benches. ‘Your appearance is always associated in my mind with the most dreadful of sights. I pray for once that you have come with good news, or simply out of friendship.’
Porfiry winced and Virginsky bowed his head, but neither found the words to disabuse her. She was determined anyhow to forestall them in the delivery of their message. Her eyes glistened and a sudden fire rushed to her cheeks, a bitter recollection all at once chasing out any friendly sentiments. ‘I read what they said about Yelena in the newspapers.’ Her voice was grim and recriminatory now. ‘Do you really believe that? Are you honestly accusing her of murdering those children? You did not know her as I did! Is it not enough that she has been cut down by an assassin? Now you must destroy her memory with these vile accusations! How convenient for you, to blame those crimes on a dead woman, who can no longer defend herself and has no champion to protect her memory. Now you can declare your case closed without the necessity of having to prove it. How convenient – and contemptible!’ Maria Petrovna trembled with the force of her anger. And then, suddenly, it seemed to leave her. Her head sagged, as a violent sob
convulsed her frame. ‘I’m sorry,’ she relented. ‘I know you must have your reasons. The news came as a great shock to me. That she could have committed such terrible crimes. She must have hated me very much. I can think of no other reason why she would have attacked my children.’
‘Maria Petrovna, I for one do not believe that Yelena Filippovna killed the children. That account does not represent the official position of my department. I cannot say how it found its way into the newspaper. I can only say that I regret it very much.’
Powerful, conflicting emotions pulled at the muscles of her face, leaving them ravaged. ‘Then it is not over.’
‘No,’ said Porfiry. ‘We have found another child. I am sorry, but we have to know whether he was a pupil here.’
The cry came from deep within her, a throbbing shift of anguish painfully disgorged. ‘You want me to go with you … to see!’ Her face was taut with horror.
‘No,’ said Porfiry gently. ‘That will not be necessary in this instance. We already have a positive identification of the body. All we need to know from you is if the boy was a pupil here. His name was Innokenty Zimoveykin.’
‘Innokenty?’ The wild careening of her eyes was all the confirmation they needed. ‘Why are they killing my children? It is because of me, isn’t it? I am to blame. I am to blame for all this. If I had not started the school, none of this would have happened. If they mean to hurt me, why don’t they just kill me? Perhaps they will. When they have killed all the children, they will come for me.’
Her voice had risen to an almost hysterical wail. The door to the second classroom opened and Perkhotin emerged, his face drawn with solicitude. He took in Porfiry and Virginsky with a
quizzical frown. His fingers pulled anxiously at his great shovel beard, which seemed to have gained in mass since the last time Porfiry had seen it. ‘My dear Maria Petrovna, whatever is the matter?’
‘Innokenty,’ sobbed Maria. ‘Innokenty is dead.’
Perkhotin’s face was instantly drained of any remaining colour. His eyes stood out in shock. ‘No, that is not possible. I mean to say, how can it be? I had read in the paper that the police suspected Yelena Filippovna.’
Maria jerked her head violently in denial. ‘Yelena … is innocent.’
‘Is it the same as the others?’ Perkhotin demanded of Porfiry. ‘I mean to say, was he strangled? Were there the same marks?’
‘Yes. So far as we know, the details are the same in this case as with the other children.’
‘How extraordinary. We had hoped it was all over. It was shocking to read the charges against Yelena Filippovna, but at least it meant an end to it, or so we hoped.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Porfiry. ‘You taught Yelena Filippovna too, did you not? At the Smolny Institute, I believe.’
‘Yes, that’s true,’ confirmed Perkhotin.
‘And her sister Aglaia?’
‘Yes. How is Aglaia?’
‘She suffered a terrible shock which her nervous constitution was not strong enough to withstand. It seems to have induced an onset of epilepsy. Added to that, she reacted adversely to the medication her doctor prescribed and sank into a coma from which she only periodically emerges.’
‘They have suffered so much, the sisters.’
‘You are referring to the deaths of their parents?’
‘Yes.’
‘What happened to them, do you know? It is unusual for both parents to die prematurely.’
‘Their deaths are related, tragically. The father killed himself over some scandal. He shot himself, I believe. He was a military man. And then, I’m afraid to say, the mother also committed suicide … whether her heart was broken or her mind unhinged, I cannot say.’
Porfiry was unable to quell a fit of startled blinking. ‘That is an extraordinary tragedy.’
Perkhotin nodded his agreement gravely.
‘One cannot help wondering what effect it had on the girls. There were no other siblings?’ wondered Porfiry.
‘No.’
‘And what ages were they when their parents died?’
‘I cannot say for certain …’
‘Yelena was sixteen,’ cut in Maria. ‘Aglaia must have been fourteen, or perhaps fifteen.’
‘You were closest to Yelena?’ Porfiry narrowed his eyes into what seemed a calculating expression. His voice was compassionate though.
Maria nodded wordlessly, her lips pressed tightly together, as if she feared what she might say.
*
Soon after returning to his chambers, Porfiry was visited by Lieutenant Salytov, his blasted face shadowed by something that might have been contrition. He was not able to meet either Porfiry’s or Virginsky’s gaze.
‘There has been another child found, I hear.’
‘Yes,’ answered Porfiry. ‘Fortunately, the first
politseisky
on
the scene was an honest man. It did not occur to him to seek to profit from the discovery. Do you have any information for me?’
‘Yes. I have spoken to my man. The boy Mitka was found on the Yekaterininsky Canal embankment, near the Kammeny Bridge.’
‘Very well. You may go.’
Lieutenant Salytov clicked his heels and spun around.
‘This muddies the waters, Pavel Pavlovich,’ said Porfiry as soon as Salytov was out of the room. ‘Kammeny Bridge is over two
versts
from the Nevsky Cotton-Spinning Factory.’
‘What of it?’
‘Innokenty was found at his place of work. I had hoped for a pattern to emerge.’
‘They were both pupils at the school,’ offered Virginsky.
‘Yes, that is something, I suppose. But the discrepancy in the location of the bodies, one killed and left where he works, the other transported halfway across the city, is troubling.’
‘Perhaps it was simply a question of circumstances. The children were killed as and when opportunity allowed, the bodies discarded in a similar manner, according to opportunity. It may be wrong to read too much into it.’
‘That is our job, Pavel Pavlovich. To read too much into everything. We must operate on the assumption that everything is significant. Unfortunately, we do not have sufficient information about the location of the other bodies to determine whether there is a pattern to their disposition, and whether Mitka’s body or Innokenty’s is the exception to it.’
The door to Porfiry’s chambers opened and Slava came in bearing Porfiry Petrovich’s lunch tray. Porfiry and Virginsky exchanged a significant glance.
‘What is this?’ said Porfiry, as the tray was set in front of him.
‘Your lunch.’
‘Yes, I see that. But what is it?’
‘It is a meat pie. I would have thought that was evident.’
‘A meat pie? I cannot eat a meat pie.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘Today is Wednesday, a fast day. I am allowed only bread, vegetables and fruit.’
‘No. Today is Thursday. I brought you your fasting meal yesterday.’
‘No, yesterday you brought me a meat pie, which I ate. So even if today is Thursday, I will forego this meat pie as a penance. Take it away.’
‘Very well,’ said Slava uncertainly. ‘Am I to bring you some bread and fruit instead?’
‘There is no need to bring me anything.’
‘But you must eat.’
‘Do not concern yourself.’
‘You have stopped confiding in me,’ observed Slava darkly as he lifted the tray.
‘It is not a question of that. You are my domestic servant. It is inappropriate for you to involve yourself in my investigative work.’
Slava looked ominously from Porfiry to Virginsky, as if he suspected them of a conspiracy. ‘You will regret excluding me in this way.’ With that he pushed the tray back through the door, disappearing into Porfiry’s private apartment.
‘Good heavens, Pavel Pavlovich! Was that a threat?’
‘Do you really think he is dangerous?’
‘I do not know what he is.’
‘He seems so … ridiculous.’
‘It would be easy to underestimate him.’
Virginsky smiled to himself. ‘That is what is said of you, Porfiry Petrovich.’
‘Really?’
‘But how long can this go on? It is intolerable having him under your roof.’
‘If Major Verkhotsev is correct, then this issue will come to a head sooner rather than later, now that another child has been murdered.’
‘And has Verkhotsev come forward with any plan to protect you?’
‘He rather vaguely intimated that he would think of something.’ Porfiry positioned a sheet of Department-headed paper in front of him and charged a pen with ink. ‘I shall inform him of our most recent discovery. In the meantime, I must rely on myself. I cannot expect my personal safety to be as urgent a concern to others as it is to me. And merely pointing out a danger does not oblige the major to preserve me from it.’
Porfiry began to write.
To my esteemed colleague, Major Pyotr Afanasevich Verkhotsev
…
‘You seem remarkably sanguine,’ observed Virginsky.
‘I suppose I am safe as long as Slava does not know about the latest murder.’ Porfiry recharged his pen, then pointed the nib accusingly towards Virginsky. ‘That is to say, until the newspapers get hold of it.’
Virginsky’s indignation flared momentarily at the provocation. And yet he evidently decided not to rise to the bait: ‘As you yourself observed, a great many people saw the body. Word is bound to get out.’
‘Yes, you’re right,’ said Porfiry, acknowledging Virginsky’s restraint with a smile. ‘Nonetheless, we must be careful of what we say in front of Slava. If we are able to keep him in the dark at least until tomorrow’s editions, I may increase my chances of surviving the night. Besides, it will buy us a little time in which to further our investigations.’ Porfiry put down his pen distractedly. ‘There is someone whom I am most eager to interview.’
*
As Porfiry Petrovich well knew, achieving an audience with the Tsar of all the Russias was not simply a matter of presenting one’s self and one’s visiting card at the Winter Palace. There were official channels to go through. His superiors would have to sanction the interview, which would require Porfiry to enter a formal written submission detailing his reasons for disturbing the autocrat’s serenity. To have the gist of such a submission be ‘because I suspect a member of the Imperial Family of the murder of innocent children’ would not go well with those it was intended to win over.
It was clear that if he were to go ahead with a formal submission, he would need to exercise a degree of circumspection, not to say deception, in its wording. However, entering a specious reason – for example, to say that he wished to divulge to the Tsar information of a politically sensitive nature fit only for his ears – would not necessarily result in the outcome he desired. His ruse was likely to be seen through by those whose place it was to process such applications. Either his request would be denied, without explanation or appeal, or he would be called before a hearing to give an account of himself. In that event, if convinced by his arguments, others would take upon
themselves the role of intermediary, seeking to gain for themselves the Tsar’s approval, and his plan would be frustrated. And if he failed to convince, he would succeed only in drawing over himself a cloud of distrust greater even than the one in place already. In addition, to go through official channels would waste valuable time, which Porfiry could ill afford given the potential danger hanging over him.