by R. N. Morris
‘That is a lie! A slanderous lie!’
Salytov angled his head provokingly. Something like a smile of triumph contorted the permanently contracted muscles of his face. ‘No,’ he said calmly. ‘It is the truth. The salaries of policemen are pitifully inadequate, particularly for men like myself and Nikodim Fomich. Fathers, that is to say. It is accepted that we may exploit certain opportunities that arise in the exercise of our duties to supplement our income. It is the way things are done. It has been since time immemorial. Your good friend, the very civilised gentleman, Nikodim Fomich, is no more immune to the way things are done than I am.’
‘Nikodim Fomich is a decent man. I cannot believe …’
‘Now then, as for the boy,’ continued Salytov, with the tone of one pressing home an advantage. ‘I do not know where he was found because I did not find him. It was one of my men.’
‘I don’t understand. If that is the case, then why were your initials entered in the ledger at the Medical-Surgical Academy?’
‘All the transactions go through me.’
‘I see. A picture is indeed beginning to emerge.’ Porfiry gave the neutral remark a bitter emphasis.
‘I will not be judged by you.’
‘You were so eager to get your hands on your cut,’ continued Porfiry hurriedly, ‘that you did not ask even the most rudimentary questions of the man who brought you the body. You are worse than a Jew!’
‘Be careful what you say.’
‘No Jew was ever so rapacious that he would sell the body of a child.’
‘I warn you.’
‘Who was it? The politseisky?’
‘You will not hear his name from me.’
‘Wha-at?’
‘I take full responsibility for the disposal of that body.’
‘Don’t you understand? It is not a question of that. We are investigating a murder here. It is vital that we know where the body was found and in what state. We have only a head to work with now. The rest of the body was dismembered by students. I must talk to the policeman who found him.’
‘I will not betray one of my men.’
‘This misguided honour beggars belief! Your first loyalty is to the truth, Ilya Petrovich.’
‘And I tell you, Porfiry Petrovich, no good will come of investigating this. I advise you to drop it.’
‘I cannot drop it, even if I wanted to. It is in the newspapers now.’ Porfiry pointed to Verkhotsev, who had been following the interview with a wry expression. ‘The Third Section is involved. I would not be surprised if the Tsar himself has taken an interest in the case.’
‘I will speak to the man and report back to you. If there are to be any disciplinary repercussions from this affair, I will bear the full brunt.’
‘Oh, you are very noble now! Tell me, how much do they pay?’
‘What has that to do with anything?’
‘It may provide a motive! Do you not see? We have before us a case of multiple murders. Three children so far. That is to say, three that we know of. Who profits from the deaths of these children? Why, you do, Ilya Petrovich! That gives you a motive. You may consider yourself a suspect!’
‘You are not serious.’
‘Am I not?’ Suddenly Porfiry could not suppress the full force of his rage any longer. ‘How much did they pay you for Mitka’s body?’ The shouted question snagged abrasively on the muscles of his throat.
‘Five roubles.’
‘What is your cut from that?’ Porfiry made an effort to calm his voice. The question came in a tremulous whisper.
‘If the Tsar does not wish us to engage in such enterprise he should pay us a living wage in the first place.’
‘How much?’
‘Four roubles. And fifteen kopeks.’
‘What a strangely precise figure! No doubt that beguiles the poor policeman into thinking that his takings are impeccably calculated.’
‘Will that be all?’
‘No, I am not finished with you yet. Have you had any recent communication with the Medical-Surgical Academy?’
‘Recent?’
‘They did not inform you of our inquiries there?’
‘I do not … believe so.’
‘And you know nothing about the removal from the academy of a ledger detailing all the bodies received from the police — the ledger in which your initials were entered?’
‘The book has gone missing? Then you have no evidence against us?’
‘Do not celebrate too soon. A witness has named you as the policeman responsible for selling Mitka’s body.’
‘Witnesses may be mistaken.’
Before Porfiry could give full vent to his exasperation, Virginsky returned. He held up and shook the small box containing the ring.
‘You have taken your time,’ snapped Porfiry.
‘They could not find it at first. It was not where it should have been. However, we turned the evidence room upside down and it came to light.’
‘Thank God for that. This case is slipping through our fingers as it is. I could not have borne it if we had lost another piece of evidence.’ Porfiry waved abruptly to dismiss Salytov, though he could not bring himself to look at him.
29 The enemy within?
‘An ugly business,’ winced Verkhotsev when the policeman was gone.
Porfiry frowned at him. It was easy to forget that he was a senior officer in the Third Section, such was the impression of affability and sympathy that he was able to create. And, of course, he was Maria’s father, Porfiry reminded himself. ‘You asked to see the ring,’ he said, nodding to Virginsky, who handed over the box.
Verkhotsev turned the ring in his fingers. ‘I am pleased that you kept the details of the design out of the newspaper. This is highly incendiary, of course. You realise that.’
‘I too am relieved that the design was not published, but I can claim no credit for it.’ Porfiry could not prevent himself from glancing at Virginsky.
‘You are sure that this corresponds to the marks on the children’s necks? You have taken your measurements carefully? A lot may come to hinge on those measurements.’
Porfiry’s mood was not improved by Verkhotsev’s labouring of the point. ‘You may rest assured that in this department we are scrupulous in the gathering and recording of evidence.’
‘As I am sure you realise, this evidence is highly circumstantial. If it comes to constructing a case around it, there must be no discrepancy. Otherwise your case will fall apart.’
‘I am grateful to you for the benefit of your counsel. I had not realised that the officers of the Third Section placed such store in the integrity of forensic evidence. Is it not more usual for you to proceed on the basis of hearsay and informants’ testimony?’
‘Our methods are not the issue. You and I are both agreed that what is needed here — for the good of the state, I might add — is for the judicial process to be open and above board. All eyes will be on the conduct of this case, from the very highest to the lowest in the empire. There will be those who will seek to use the outcome for their own purposes. There must be no clumsy mistakes, and in saying that I am pointing the finger not at your department but at my own section. I will be frank with you, Porfiry Petrovich. There are some amongst my colleagues who would seek to control the outcome of your investigation from the very outset. It is simply too dangerous, they would argue, to allow you to discover whatever is there to be discovered. But I am of a contrary opinion. Such tactics are in the long run counterproductive. Besides, I have my daughter to think of. The truth, Porfiry Petrovich — we must set our sights on attaining the truth. Nothing less will do.’
Verkhotsev closed the lid on the evidence box. ‘Please ensure that this is returned to its proper place.’ He gave the box a deliberate shake, causing the ring to rattle inside, before relinquishing it to Virginsky. ‘I thank you for sharing it with me.’
‘Not at all,’ replied Porfiry. He watched Virginsky go. ‘Perhaps I may beg a favour in return, a recipr
ocal display of trust. Now that we are to be openly working together, I wonder if you would be so good as to call off your spy.’
‘My spy?’
‘Slava. The man the Third Section sent to be my personal servant. He is, in fact, a poor servant and a poorer spy. He serves neither of us very well.’
‘I know nothing of any spy.’
‘Come now, there is no need to maintain the pretence.’
‘It is not a pretence, I assure you. We have not sought to spy on you.’
‘Then who is he? He is some kind of infiltrator, I feel sure, if only for the way he has sought to involve himself in our investigation. I admit that I was amused at first. I thought that his presence here might even prove useful to me. It was, after all, a way of communicating with the Third Section.’
‘Which no doubt you would exploit to pass on disinformation,’ chided Verkhotsev wryly.
Porfiry pursed his lips and blinked ambiguously. ‘But he no longer amuses me. Especially if, as you assert, he is nothing to do with you. I shall dismiss him immediately.’
‘No. Do not do that. He may yet prove useful. We must ask ourselves who would benefit most from knowing the progress of your investigation.’
‘Cui bono? Curiously, that is the principle he himself advised me to apply.’
‘Well? Where does it lead us in this instance?’
‘You are suggesting that he is something to do with one or other of the crimes I am investigating? That he may be a murderer?’
Verkhotsev shrugged. ‘It is a brilliant and bold masterstroke, is it not? Where better to go to ground than in the apartment of the man set to hunt you down? He can keep a watchful eye on how you are faring in your enquiries, thereby ensuring that he stays one step ahead of you at all times. If he gains your trust he may even be able to direct your investigation away from himself. And if he discovers that you are closing in on him … why, he is perfectly placed to take evasive action. Or — we must admit the possibility — to terminate your investigations in a manner appropriate to his criminal nature.’
Porfiry looked with alarm towards the door to his private apartment. ‘That is not a very comforting supposition.’
‘It is better to be prepared. In any case, you must not arouse his suspicions. If he imagines that you are on to him, he may feel himself backed into a corner. At the same time, if you simply dismiss him from your employ, we will lose him for good. No, you must keep him close to you.’
‘That is all very well for you to say.’
‘There is no need to be unduly afraid.’
‘Really? And what, I wonder, do you consider to be a due proportion of fear?’
Verkhotsev made no attempt to answer. ‘There is another possibility we must consider. He may not himself be guilty of any of the crimes under investigation. He may simply be acting on behalf of the person or persons who committed them. The communique you received suggests a revolutionary grouping. There have been cases of such groups seeking to infiltrate government departments in order to further their anti-state goals. This would simply be a variation of that tactic. We have had intelligence that one such grouping is seeking an exemplary assassination. A notable investigating magistrate would make an admirable target. Your man Slava may have been sent for that purpose. You say he is a poor servant. Our revolutionaries are invariably upper-class gentlemen. Servility does not come naturally to them.’
‘This hypothesis is no more comforting than the last. I am at a loss to know what to do with all this shocking information.’
‘Nothing, for the moment. As I have said, on no account must you arouse his suspicions.’
‘I am afraid it may already be too late for that. His meddling in the case became intolerable. I had to do something.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I went to the baths.’
Verkhotsev rolled his moustache thoughtfully. ‘I see.’
‘That is to say, I removed myself from my chambers to discuss the case with Pavel Pavlovich free from Slava’s intrusive presence.’
‘That in itself may not be fatal. Your work requires you to absent yourself from your chambers from time to time, I dare say. He may have thought nothing of it. Or it may have made him wary without forcing his hand. Certainly he has made no move as yet.’
‘As yet. No.’
‘And we can do nothing until he does.’
‘You almost sound as if you want him to strike.’
‘I would not have him strike until we are ready for him. However, we will reach a point at which it will become necessary to provoke an attack if one has not already occurred.’
‘I see. So I am to play the part of a sitting duck?’
‘In all probability, there is nothing to fear.’ Verkhotsev gave a less than reassuring smile. ‘We may be wrong in our suppositions. This fellow Slava may simply be what he appears to be … a bad servant. However, to proceed on the basis that he represents a threat to your person enables us to take certain precautions. It is unlikely that he will attack you in your chambers. To do so would be to expose himself to unnecessary risk. After all, he shares your apartment, does he not? Therefore, he has access to you when you are at your most vulnerable, and when it would be easiest for him to effect his escape. That is to say, at night, when you are asleep. If he is going to strike, that is when he will do it.’
‘And how am I to protect myself against nocturnal attack from this enemy within?’
‘Don’t worry, I shall think of something. However, it will be difficult without positioning a guard in your bedroom, which I fear would only discourage Slava from making an attempt.’
‘Heaven forbid that he should be discouraged.’
‘Of course, if he is associated with the group that sent you the communique, it is possible that you are intended to be their next victim. In which case, it is reasonable to suppose that an attempt would definitely be made on your life should another child be found murdered. There is a certain logic to this. You are a gentleman. A magistrate. You could be said to be — what was it? — “a member of the enslaver class”. Furthermore, you are known to be investigating Yelena Filippovna’s murder. Indeed, my daughter tells me that you were most zealous in pursuing that investigation whilst neglecting the investigation into the deaths of the missing children. That could count against you in their eyes.’
‘At the time we had no bodies. We had nothing to go on. No evidence of any crime!’
‘My dear friend, you do not need to explain yourself to me. And I fear that it will be useless to attempt to do so with them. To go back to Yelena Filippovna’s murder, it may be that a similar strategy was used there. One of their number — if not the very same individual, this Slava — may have infiltrated the Naryskin Palace as a servant in order to be in place on the night of the gala to commit the murder.’
‘A witness who saw Captain Mizinchikov flee the scene also mentioned seeing a number of servants about.’
‘Of course. It is the perfect cover, allowing access to every part of the palace without arousing suspicion. Furthermore, his incompetence as a servant would be less noticeable in a larger household.’
Porfiry Petrovich placed a hand to his neck and rubbed distractedly, as if to soothe a wound that had not yet been inflicted. ‘I pray to God that we do not find any more dead children.’
‘Of course,’ said Verkhotsev. ‘Although that would rather clear Yelena Filippovna’s name, would it not?’
30 The dead come back to murder
A sky of beaten metal pressed down on the sprawl of the Baird plant. Inside Shed 3, tiny figures scaled the tiers of gantry stairs lining the walls: insects, or so they seemed to Fedya Mikhailovich Shatov as he approached the shed along the embankment. In a matter of minutes he would be one of them. But for now he paused to watch them teem over the giant shell at the centre of the workshop. He was late already; ten kopeks docked from his pay for sure, a few minutes more would make no difference. He was certainly in no hurry to enter that deafeni
ng hell, despite the shelter that it offered from the cold.
From this distance, the scale of the ship was monstrous. He could feel it weighing down on him, like the formless mass that oppressed him in his brief, exhausted dreams and kept him pinned to his bed every morning. At 57, Fedya was finding it increasingly difficult to rouse himself from the narrow board he slept on. The mornings were getting darker, perhaps that had something to do with it. It was as if night were spreading into day, and more and more he wanted to cast in his lot with night and let the day go to the devil. At those moments, he didn’t care what happened to him, just so long as he could be allowed to keep his head down for another five minutes. His mates had given up trying to rouse him with pinches and slaps. They knew he would get up in his own good time, and if he did not, it was his look-out.
Deep down, Fedya knew that it was something other than the morning gloom that kept him in his bunk longer than his fellows. The darkness around him was mirrored by a deeper darkness inside him. He knew his body. He knew his bones. Something had taken root there. Something that pulled at his lungs with hooks and turned the screws on a bench clamp fixed to his spine. His days in the workshop were numbered, he knew. And, much as he hated it, if he had no place there, he had no place anywhere.
He was worn out. He was dying.
Loose bundles of mist rolled and disintegrated over the black river, the Bolshaya Neva as it was called at this point. Fedya hawked and spat into the water before continuing his reluctant slouch towards the shed.
At first sight, it looked like a bundle of rags had been discarded in the lee of the shed. But no, he knew that it was not that, even as he willed his perception towards such an interpretation. Straightaway, the sickening lurch of his heart informed him: it was a body. The body of a child, judging by its size. A child discarded as carelessly as a bundle of rags. The head was towards him, the face hidden by a piece of sacking, but Fedya could see the child’s hands, the fingers curled into tight blue fists. He lurched towards it, his own hand trailing along the wall for support. He slumped down and lifted the sacking. His heart pounded wildly at the first shock of what was revealed. The eyes stared horrifically, the pale blue irises surrounded not by white, but by an intense blood-filled red. It seemed like a devil was staring out at him from inside that dead boy. Unable to look into those eyes any longer, Fedya closed the lids with his fingertips. And in the cold touch of death, he felt his own future. With his eyes closed, the boy’s humanity was restored to him. He was no longer a devil, just a child, a fellow worker, judging by his clothes, a brother. Fedya saw that the boy was about the same age that he had been when he had first been put to work in the Carr and Macpherson plant on Vasilevsky Island.