A Razor Wrapped in Silk (38 page)
This is the child murderer what you are looking for. His name
is MURIN. He confessed to a fellow. There is honour amongst
thieves. This man is scum
.
‘Well?’ said Nikodim Fomich.
‘He appears to have been executed.’
‘Yes.’
Porfiry, who was squatting on his haunches, worked the edge of the sack down. The man was big-framed, but undernourished so Porfiry was able to manoeuvre him without too much difficulty. Soon the man’s hands were exposed. They seemed disproportionately big, at odds with his scrawny physique, as if they had somehow been attached to the wrong arms. The fingers were chubby. The thought struck Porfiry that they had somehow been fattened on all the nourishment the rest of his body had been denied.
An inverted gold ring cinched the little finger of his left hand. Porfiry tried to rotate it on the finger but it refused to move. He turned the hand over, the touch of the cold dead skin sending a stab of revulsion to his heart.
On the face of the ring he saw the double-headed eagle of the House of Romanov.
‘And so, Porfiry Petrovich, you have your murderer.’
Porfiry regarded his blue-clad visitor with astonishment. ‘I see that today you have chosen to appear before me in your gendarme’s uniform.’
Verkhotsev bowed.
‘And with reinforcements,’ added Porfiry, staring pointedly at the other two gendarmes accompanying the major. ‘Is there some significance to your choice of apparel?’
‘Murin. We have come for Murin.’
‘But he is
my
murderer, or so you have declared.’
‘Ah, but he was my agitator first.’ Verkhotsev smiled winningly, and twirled his moustache. ‘Besides, you do not need him any more. You have enough to write your report. Do you not have an appointment with the Tsar this afternoon? Imagine how pleased he will be to discover that you have solved the case.’
‘I have not solved the case!’ protested Porfiry. ‘The body of an escaped political prisoner was dumped outside the headquarters of the Haymarket District Police Bureau. If Murin is indeed our child-murderer, and we have only the supposed allegation of anonymous criminals to suggest that he is – if he is, then his identification as such owes nothing to me. I had not begun to suspect him. Indeed my suspicions were directed in an entirely other direction.’
‘It is perhaps just as well that his body turned up when it did.’ Verkhotsev charged his words with dark significance. ‘Otherwise you might have made an embarrassing blunder, Porfiry Petrovich. At any rate, whether you claim the credit for solving it or not, the case is closed. You must be thankful for that, as well as relieved. Now you are free to concentrate your efforts on bringing Yelena Filippovna’s murderer to justice.’
‘Perhaps I will be presented with her murderer in a similarly miraculous way,’ remarked Porfiry with bitter irony. ‘But I am frankly astonished to hear you say that the case is closed. How can the delivery of a corpse outside a police station signal the end of our work? Surely it is merely the prelude to further investigation?’
‘You are not seriously intending to go after Murin’s killers? The criminal fraternity has, in this instance, done us and the whole city of St Petersburg a great service. They have delivered justice. Rough justice, admittedly, but justice all the same. And we should be thankful that that depraved individual can no longer harm our children.’
‘I confess that I am mystified by this outcome, and by your acceptance of it,’ Porfiry countered with force. ‘I had understood that Murin was a political agitator. Why does a political agitator engage in child murder? Especially when his victims are drawn from the class whose interests he purports to further?’
‘Is it not obvious? The ring is the key. His aim was to incriminate the regime. He would have us believe that a Romanov was behind the crimes. And admit it, he very nearly succeeded in convincing you, Porfiry Petrovich.’
‘You must be aware that yours is not the only interpretation
that the facts permit. But even if what you say is true, I was not aware that the Tsar put his legal reforms in place only for us to surrender the judicial process to criminals. For whoever has murdered this man is a criminal, Pyotr Afanasevich. Be in no doubt about that.’
‘But you have no hope of finding his murderer,’ said Verkhotsev flatly. ‘You must see that. The criminal fraternity will close ranks. There will be no witnesses. There will be no leads.’
‘You speak with remarkable confidence.’
‘This man Murin is no ordinary criminal. He is a revolutionary. As such, he has placed himself outside all society, even the society of criminals. He has no friends amongst them. He is looked upon with contempt – disgust even, considering the foul nature of his crimes. In addition, when all else is taken into account, our criminals – our ordinary criminals – always remain Christians. It is natural that they would look upon the slaughterer of children with the greatest revulsion. In them there is a fundamental decency beneath the layers of acquired dishonesty. How could they tolerate one such as Murin? I vouch you will not find one among their number prepared to assist you in the execution of your justice when they have already meted out their own.’
‘It is not a question of
my
justice. There is only
justice
. And it is certainly not dispensed by criminals.’
‘Our spies in the underworld inform us that criminal society is highly organised. You may be assured that he was tried and found guilty in one of their courts. And that his sentence was duly executed.’
‘So, is that the justice you defer to? Because I do not.’
‘But the Tsar will be content. St Petersburg will be content.
The murderer you have been hunting is disposed of. I urge you to be content too, Porfiry Petrovich.’
‘
He confessed to a fellow!
You expect me to be content with,
He confessed to a fellow
?’
‘I grant you it is somewhat lacking in style.’
‘It is not the lack of style that concerns me but the lack of substance. Allow me to present my alternative interpretation of the facts, Pyotr Afanasevich. The four children were not murdered by this Murin. But by someone else. A person whose identity is as yet unknown to me, but whom I presume to be in some way associated with the house of Romanov. Perhaps this individual has been prevailed upon to desist from his murderous activities. And in the meantime this Murin has been delivered up to us. My murderer. Your agitator. It smacks rather too much of killing two hares with one shot, does it not?’
‘What are you suggesting, Porfiry Petrovich?’
‘Oh, come now, sir! Surely you do not need me to spell it out for you. You gentlemen of the Third Section are more subtle than that. A man who can put on and take off a uniform at will does not need things spelled out for him.’
‘I almost feel you are insulting me.’ Verkhotsev made the remark lightly, almost delightedly.
‘You came here pretending to be Maria Petrovna’s father!’
‘I
am
Maria Petrovna’s father!’
‘In name only. You claimed to be interested in the truth. And yet you have colluded in a charade. This man Murin was not executed by common criminals.’
‘And what makes you so certain of that, Porfiry Petrovich?’
‘I am not certain of anything. I admit it. That is the way of the Third Section. In the end, no one can be certain of anything.’
Verkhotsev gave a half-apologetic shrug.
‘Your daughter is distraught. She thinks that whoever has been killing those children will come after her.’
‘She has nothing to fear.’
‘You will tell her that? You will take her hands in yours, look into her eyes, your own daughter’s eyes, and tell her that her fears are at an end?’
‘Without hesitation.’
‘But how can you be so sure? Do you not at least want to talk to this
fellow
to whom Murin supposedly confessed? I warn you, Pyotr Afanasevich, if Murin is not the killer, if there is some other person being protected, then there will be more bloodshed. No matter what assurances have been given, such an individual cannot be contained, however watchful his custodians, however noble his family.’
‘You are once again venturing into dangerous waters, Porfiry Petrovich. Why, you talk as if you almost wish it were a Romanov who had committed these crimes!’
‘That is not true. But I do know that you cannot sweep these things under the carpet.’
Verkhotsev took a moment to consider Porfiry’s words. ‘Let us talk openly, man to man.’
‘There is nothing I would like more.’
‘You suspect the Tsarevich, why not say it?’
‘I certainly would like to put some questions to the Tsarevich, but so far that has not been possible. I was granted an audience with the Tsar, however. That was a gracious condescension on His Majesty’s part, for which I am grateful, but perhaps it served a purpose of his own.’
‘Which was?’
‘To impress me. And thereby to control me.’
‘You are too modest. I am sure the Tsar knows you are not a man to be controlled.’
‘He said he found me something of an imbecile.’
‘Ah! A certain bluntness of discourse is one of the more regrettable aspects of autocracy, even amongst its most liberal examples. I am sure you were soon able to convince him of your mental acuity.’
‘I cannot say. But when I brought up the question of the Tsarevich—’
‘You brought up the Tsarevich?’
‘Naturally. That was primarily my purpose in seeing the Tsar.’
‘Your purpose? My good fellow, the Tsar summoned you.’
‘Ah, but I wanted to see him too.’
‘Well, go on. What did he say?’
‘He expressed the opinion that the Tsarevich was more likely to kill
him
than anyone else. At any rate, he quite firmly blocked my request for a meeting with the Tsarevich. He said he would speak to his son himself.’
‘Murder has certainly been a Romanov family tradition, I grant you that. But only ever as a political tool, limited exclusively to family members to ensure a desired transition of power. His Majesty is surely right. There has never been any precedent for the random murder of innocent children.’
‘But what if it is not random? What if it is political?’
‘Then we come back to Murin!’
‘What if it is an attempt to undermine the Tsar? To show him as incapable of protecting his children, no longer the Father Tsar?’
‘We are agreed! That is indeed how I see it. Murin!’
‘No. It is not Murin who is behind it. It is …’
‘The Tsarevich? But that is absurd! Why does he need to bring down his father? He knows he will inherit the empire one day. All he has to do is await his father’s death.’
‘But by then it will be too late. His father will have taken the country even further along the path of reform, towards full democracy. He will have surrendered the autocrat’s power before his son had any chance to wield it.’
‘But upon what are your suspicions of the Tsarevich based? The fact that he was at the Naryskin Palace the night Yelena Filippovna was murdered? At a gala event in honour of the school the victims attended? It is tenuous in the extreme, Porfiry Petrovich. Were there not many other people there too? Will you suspect them all?’
‘The ring.’
‘The ring! Murin had a ring! Yet it is not enough to persuade you that he was the murderer. I take it you have measured the motif on the ring?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘One fifth of a
vershok
by one tenth.’
‘Is that or is it not an appropriate size to cause the marks on the children’s necks?’
‘It would be. However, the ring was on his little finger! A ring worn on the little finger would leave no mark on the children’s necks!’
Verkhotsev was visibly thrown. He turned to glare angrily at his subordinates, each of whom, in turn, shifted disconsolately under the force of his disfavour. ‘He … must have moved it,’ Verkhotsev offered weakly to Porfiry, without meeting his gaze.
‘It would not fit on his thumb. It barely fitted on his little finger. Must have been quite a struggle to push it on – eh, gentlemen? It was not his ring, after all.’
‘Now, now. You have no grounds to make such an assertion.’
‘You handled Yelena Filippovna’s ring! You must have somehow taken it and substituted it with another.’
‘That is a very serious allegation. I examined the ring right here in front of you. Will you honestly say that you saw me substitute it?’
‘No, I did not see that. You’re right. But there is something you are withholding from me. I know it. That is what I don’t like.’
‘Very well, I will tell you something about Yelena Filippovna’s ring, and perhaps then you will trust me more. The Tsarevich is involved. You are right to suspect him of something, although not of murder. He gave Yelena Filippovna that ring. She had a habit of demanding a ring from each of her lovers. Yes, the Tsarevich loved her, quite hopelessly. And she did not love him back – can you believe that? So, there you have it. The one thing, perhaps, that you did not suspect him of, love. That is why he fled the Naryskin Palace after her murder. He was heartbroken. Simply heartbroken.’ Verkhotsev’s voice grew choked with emotion. Then a sudden pragmatic clarity descended. ‘And of course he wished to avoid a scandal.’
‘It is a strange kind of passion that is so careful of its reputation,’ observed Porfiry waspishly.
‘You forget, he is next in line to the imperial throne. He is not free to love as other men may.’ Verkhotsev ran a finger along one of his moustaches. ‘So, what will you say to His Majesty?’
‘I shall simply and factually report what has occurred. That a body has been dumped—’
‘You will use that word?’
‘Discarded, then. I have made a note of the wording on the sign. I shall be interested to hear what the Tsar has to say about it. His Majesty has personally taken over the supervision of the case, you know.’
Verkhotsev allowed a wry smile to flicker on his lips. ‘There is nothing exceptionable in that. We are all his servants, exercising his will, agents and instruments of his authority. If he should deign to involve himself directly in our activities from time to time, it is merely to make manifest the truth behind our own illusions of power. It is not ours, but his.’