by R. N. Morris
‘And so, you are a literary gentleman. Do you mix in literary circles then? Do you, for example, know a journalist by the name of Kozodavlev?’
‘They look down on us.’
‘Us?’
‘Lubok hacks like me.’
‘Ah, I see. There is a table of ranks within the literary world.’
Rakitin shrugged.
‘So you have never encountered Kozodavlev? Perhaps at one of the name days or birthday parties you mentioned? Such events bring together individuals from every level of society. They are very democratic in that way.’
‘I don’t know any Kozodavlev.’ The stress on the first-person pronoun was barely perceptible. But it was all that Porfiry needed.
‘Did Pseldonimov ever mention a man called Kozodavlev to you?’
Rakitin avoided Porfiry’s eyes, as if by so doing he could make the question go away.
‘Think very carefully. Your friend, your dead friend, urges you to answer honestly, for his sake.’
‘You speak for the dead now, do you?’
‘Of course. That is my job. You have described my job very succinctly. I can see you have a gift for the well-polished phrase. I speak for the dead. I ask my questions on their behalf – on his behalf, Pseldonimov’s. And I do not stop until I have the answers that will satisfy them. They have no one else to speak for them.’
‘Kozodavlev, yes. I heard him mention a fellow called Kozodavlev once or twice.’
‘Kozodavlev is dead too, you know.’
‘No!’
‘We believe so. His apartment was burnt out. A body was found. There is another name I wish to ask you about. Prince Dolgoruky. Do you know him? He operates on the fringes of the literary world, as some kind of go-between. He certainly worked in that capacity for Kozodavlev. Perhaps you have had dealings with him? Perhaps he even attended one of the gatherings you went to?’
‘You are determined to turn me into an informer!’
‘Not at all. We know that Prince Dolgoruky arranged to have something of a personal nature printed up. There is a chance he gave the commission to Pseldonimov.’
‘He wasn’t the only printer in Petersburg.’
Porfiry smiled. ‘Ah, so the workshop is in St Petersburg. And did Prince Dolgoruky ever visit it, I wonder?’
‘Why don’t you ask this Prince Dolgoruky of yours?’
‘I am sure we will, when we next have an opportunity to speak to him. However, in the meantime, I am asking you. Did Pseldonimov ever mention Prince Dolgoruky?’
Rakitin opened his mouth as if to answer. But instead of words, the action seemed to produce a volley of urgent hammering. Porfiry bowed in apology to Rakitin, although it was clear he was relieved at the intrusion.
The cell door opened. The clerk Zamyotov peered in. His demeanour was unusually diffident. ‘Porfiry Petrovich. There is someone who insists on seeing you, right now. I am to say that he is your old friend, Major Verkhotsev.’
‘Verkhotsev? Here? Now?’
‘Yes.’
Porfiry looked down pityingly at Rakitin. ‘Please forgive me. I must talk to this person. I will be back to continue our conversation. Pavel Pavlovich, a word please.’ He drew Virginsky over to one corner of the cell. ‘Stay with him,’ he hissed into Virginsky’s ear. ‘Get him to tell you about the workshop.’ Porfiry gave a confirmatory nod and then looked once more, almost regretfully, at Rakitin, before stepping out.
Major Verkhotsev was waiting for him outside the cell, dressed in his sky-blue gendarme’s uniform and accompanied by two of his junior officers, similarly attired.
So, this was an official visit.
‘My dear, dear friend!’ Verkhotsev held open both arms. Porfiry allowed himself to be embraced, and kissed several times on each cheek.
When he was at last released, he wagged a finger at Verkhotsev. ‘This is not a friendly visit. One does not visit old friends with one’s henchmen in tow.’
‘Henchmen? What an awful word! But you’re right. This is not entirely a social call.’ Verkhotsev produced a sealed warrant and handed it to Porfiry. ‘I have come for the witness.’
‘The witness?’
‘My witness, whom you have kidnapped.’
‘I have kidnapped no one.’
‘Now now, Porfiry Petrovich, don’t play games with me. I think we know one another too well for games. And that reminds me, I hear you have been broadcasting my name, putting it about that I am some kind of contact of yours at the Third Section. That was very naughty of you.’
‘We needed to look at the apartment.’
‘No need at all. I’m sure you have enough cases of your own without poking your nose into other people’s.’
‘But I was working on my own case. That was what led me there.’
‘You were investigating the death of Pseldonimov.’ It was a statement, not a question.
‘You know the identity of the body we found? But that has only just come to light.’
‘We have known its identity for some time.’
‘And you did not think to share your information with us?’
‘We do not operate like that, my friend. It is not the way of the Third Section to share information. Although we do insist that others share their information with us.’ Verkhotsev broke off to twirl one of his long waxed moustaches as he smiled at Porfiry. ‘I sometimes think it must be very tiresome for the departments who are forced to co-operate with us.’
‘You cannot force someone to co-operate, my friend. Co-operation is by definition given willingly. When force is involved, it is coercion.’
‘Let us not split hairs. We will take Rakitin off your hands now. We had been watching him for some time and were about to bring him in when your Lieutenant Salytov pre-empted us. Ah, good old Lieutenant Salytov! I remember him well. Of course, how could one forget Lieutenant Salytov? Is he still trading in dead bodies?’
Porfiry ignored the question. ‘I have not yet finished interviewing Rakitin.’
‘No matter.’
‘No matter?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ expanded Verkhotsev with a wink. ‘To me.’
‘Please don’t start winking at me.’
‘You cannot criticise me for winking!’
‘What are you suggesting?’
‘Come now, Porfiry Petrovich, let us not argue about such nonsense. The time has come to hand over Rakitin. You will see that the necessary documentation is all in order, signed and countersigned by the appropriate authorities.’
‘Of course the paperwork will be in order. The Third Section is always scrupulous about its paperwork.’
Verkhotsev beamed delightedly. ‘Ah! A savage attack disguised as a compliment! We are scrupulous in paperwork, but not in other matters. The barb was not lost on me, Porfiry Petrovich.’
‘Tell me, how is your daughter, Maria Petrovna?’
‘She is very well. Busy with her school, as always. And shows no sign of marrying. I shall tell her that you asked after her.’
‘Do more than that. Convey to her my deepest affection. Please let her know that I wish her every happiness. And I hope to hear news of a betrothal before too long.’
‘With pleasure. Now, is there anything else you wish to say to me before we take away the witness?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I know what you’re doing. You’re seeking to delay me while your man – what’s his name? Virginsky, isn’t it? – continues to question the witness in there. You know, I could have just burst in and snatched him away.’
‘That is effectively what you are doing.’
‘Enough, Porfiry Petrovich. Deliver up Rakitin.’
‘And what is to become of my case? Pseldonimov.’
‘Consider yourself relieved of it. I have already supplied your clerk with instructions concerning the files, which will be delivered to Fontanka, 16 forthwith.’
‘Very well. I wasn’t getting anywhere with it anyhow. I will be glad to be rid of it.’
&nb
sp; ‘That’s a blatant lie, Porfiry Petrovich. If I know you, you were very close to solving it. It is not as difficult a case as some you have successfully concluded.’
‘Ah, but as I have had occasion to say to you before, Pyotr Afanasevich, the moment the Third Section becomes interested in a case is the moment it ceases to interest me.’
‘Then you will not object to me taking your witness?’
‘Finally, you admit that he is my witness! But only when you sense that there is no danger of my contesting your appropriation of him. No matter, you may have him.’ Porfiry gestured to the open cell door.
Verkhotsev gave one last contemplative twirl of his waxed moustache as he bowed to Porfiry. ‘Might I suggest that you go in first and explain to him what is happening? We don’t want to alarm him, do we?’
Porfiry blinked in ironic astonishment at Verkhotsev’s apparent solicitude.
The rings around Rakitin’s eyes were darker than ever: it looked as though he had rubbed them with inky knuckles.
Porfiry sighed despondently. ‘I’m afraid matters have been taken out of my hands. You are to be handed over to another department.’
‘What other department?’
‘You have heard of the Third Section of His Imperial Majesty’s Chancellery?’
Rakitin shifted back on the bench. He reminded Porfiry of a nervous animal scuttling for safety. ‘No! Please! Don’t let them take me!’
‘There is nothing I can do to prevent it.’
‘You said I could go, once I’d told you what I know. I’ll tell you everything.’
‘You mean there is something you have held back?’
‘Call off the Third Section and I will tell you everything.’
‘I’m afraid that’s impossible. Besides which, I don’t have any use for your information. I myself am no longer investigating Pseldonimov’s murder.’
‘But what about the dead? You speak for the dead, that’s what you said. You ask questions on their behalf. And don’t stop until you have the answers that will satisfy them. That’s what you said,’ insisted Rakitin.
‘Yes, but I have been removed from the case. There are some men outside. They have come to take you with them.’
‘Don’t let them take me. I’ll stay here with you. I’ll tell you everything!’
‘I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.’
‘Do you know what they will do to me?’
Porfiry held a clenched fist over his mouth, as if to prevent an answer inadvertently escaping.
The cell door creaked. The two officers Verkhotsev had brought with him came in.
‘You must go with them,’ said Porfiry quietly.
‘No! No-o! I would rather die! Kill me! Kill me now!’ Rakitin leapt to his feet but did not try to escape. Instead, he began fumbling with the belt of his trousers.
It took Porfiry a moment to realise what he was doing. In that moment, Rakitin had drawn his belt through the air, looped its tongue through the buckle and thrown this improvised halter around his own neck. He now pulled the belt tight. The two gendarmes rushed forwards and wrestled his hands away from the belt. Rakitin sagged forwards. The gendarmes caught him under the armpits and dragged him towards the door. For the most part, Rakitin was passive in their hands, defeated.
Just as they got him to the door, his torso shook violently and he managed to turn himself enough to face Porfiry. His eyes seemed, briefly, brilliantly white.
23
The secret agent
Zamyotov intercepted Porfiry just outside his chambers. The clerk’s expression was unusually contrite. ‘I really didn’t know what to do for the best, Porfiry Petrovich.’
‘That’s quite alright, Alexander Grigorevich. You did what you had to do. You have sent off the file, I trust?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good.’
‘You’re not angry?’
Porfiry shrugged and shook his head. He laid a hand reassuringly on Zamyotov’s arm.
‘Porfiry Petrovich, they threatened me, those men.’
‘What’s this?’
‘They took me into your chambers and threatened me. They said they knew all about me. About my . . . inclinations.’
‘Alexander Grigorevich, I –!’
‘I have tried to fight them, Porfiry Petrovich, but sometimes it is too much. I have to give in. I know I am vile and worthless. But the Third Section – they must have been spying on me. Or they have spoken to . . . my friends. They said they would expose me and prosecute me unless I co-operated.’
‘This is an outrage!’
‘So I had to tell them, Porfiry Petrovich.’
‘My dear Alexander Grigorevich, what did you have to tell them?’
‘The name of the victim. Pseldonimov. That’s right, isn’t it? I overheard Lieutenant Salytov tell you. I was not eavesdropping but you were standing right in front of me at the time.’
‘You mean, they didn’t know?’
‘They didn’t seem to know. Indeed they were most eager to find out.’
‘I see.’ Porfiry stood for a moment, giving himself over entirely to the act of blinking. ‘The sly old fox.’ He suddenly roused himself and bowed to Zamyotov. ‘Thank you, Alexander Grigorevich. There is no need to worry. I shall see to it that nothing comes of this.’
‘Thank you, Porfiry Petrovich.’ Zamyotov gave a broad smile of relief. Then suddenly remembering something, he rushed back to his desk. ‘Oh, and there is one more thing. This just came in. I didn’t know what to do with it now that the file is closed. Should I send it on to Major Verkhotsev?’
Porfiry glanced down at the official slip. ‘No need,’ he said cheerfully.
*
‘A long and eventful day,’ sighed Porfiry, staring down at his empty desk. ‘I suggest we hasten its end. There is nothing more for us to do, after all.’
‘You are content to surrender the case to those . . . vipers?’
‘I have no choice, Pavel Pavlovich.’
‘I am surprised to find you so . . . passive. You are no Oblomov, after all.’
‘You once, not so long ago, took great delight in comparing me to that exemplar of lethargy.’
‘You remember that?’
‘It wounded me.’ Porfiry gave a pout.
‘Well, I was wrong.’ Virginsky’s brows drew together in thought. ‘He told me the address, you know. Rakitin. Of the workshop.’
‘Oh, Pavel Pavlovich. What are we to do?’
‘Should we not at least go there?’
‘But what would be the point? No. What we should do is forward this information to Major Verkhotsev immediately, so that he can decide what action to take.’
‘You cannot be serious?’
Porfiry considered briefly. ‘You’re right. If it turned out to be a false lead, then we would have merely wasted Major Verkhotsev’s valuable time. It would be better, I think, to look into the matter ourselves, on our own time, and if we find anything we consider pertinent, only then need we trouble the Major. I’m sure he will appreciate our discretion. It can do no harm if you tell me where the print shop is, I suppose. If it is not out of our way, we will pay a visit. If it is too inconvenient, we will not trouble ourselves.’
‘What if Major Verkhotsev finds out you are continuing in the case?’
‘I’m not,’ said Porfiry, ironically insistent. ‘Do you not remember the hash the Imperial State Print Works made of the latest commission with which we entrusted them? It is possibly time for us to investigate other suppliers. Many government departments employ private print shops, I believe.’
Virginsky smiled and shook his head admiringly. ‘Do you really think he will be taken in by that?’
‘It is the truth! That is to say, it is one truth. We do need to look into sourcing new printers. Tomorrow is Saturday. We shall visit Pseldonimov’s print shop, as prospective clients, in the morning.’
‘Provided it is not too inconvenient to do so,’ reminded Virginsky, mischievously.<
br />
‘I trust it is not.’
‘It is on Voznesensky Prospect. Close to where it crosses the Fontanka.’
‘It is practically on our doorstep.’
Virginsky’s smile broadened. But a shadow of doubt – or perhaps even fear – chased it away. ‘And in the meantime, tonight, there is no time to waste . . .’ He was aware of a heavy, fateful timbre in his own voice. The kick of his heart was suddenly stern, an inner alarm rousing him to a state of nervous expectancy.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I must meet with my contact, the pétroleur. It must be tonight. I will tell him that Rakitin is in the hands of the Third Section.’
Porfiry said nothing.
‘It is a piece of information of immense significance, and must be urgently communicated to him. He will know that Rakitin will talk. A man like Rakitin will not be able to hold out for long against the Third Section. You saw that in the terror of his reaction. His pathetic attempt to strangle himself. Of what do you think he was so afraid? Simply that he would betray his associates. That he would not be able to help himself. He will name names. And then, it will not be long before the Third Section closes in on those he betrays. Therefore, my contact will appreciate this information, because it enables the central committee to steal a march, to disperse . . .’
‘And then what good would be served? We will lose them.’
‘No. By then, I will have gained his trust. I will be on the inside.’
‘But what if Rakitin is what he says he is? That is to say, a man without any real connections to any revolutionary grouping – the information will be of no interest or significance at all. You will be exposing yourself to unnecessary risk.’
‘Yes, there is a risk. But there is always a risk. Even if I do nothing. Better to take the bull by the horns. Besides, I do not see another way for us to move forward in this case.’
‘But there is no case anymore. Or have you forgotten?’
‘We cannot simply allow these hoodlums to sidestep the judicial process,’ cried Virginsky. ‘Who knows what they will do to Rakitin, or if he will ever be seen again alive? One day they will be held to account.’
‘I wonder, Pavel Pavlovich, whom you are intent on investigating: Pseldonimov’s murderers or the Third Section of His Imperial Majesty’s Chancellery?’