by R. N. Morris
When Salytov answered, his voice was soft and awed. “Go back to Shestaya Street. Take a drozhki. Tell them what we have found.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I will stay here to secure the scene. You will return with more men. We will need a wagon.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Go then!” Salytov clapped his hands once to send the young policeman running. He watched Ptitsyn’s swaying back recede as he took out his wallet once more and placed the lilac envelope inside.
The Prokuror
THREE TRESTLE TABLES had been set up in the large shed that the Haymarket District Police Bureau used to store firefighting engines. The building was next to the department’s stables in Malaya Meshchanskaya Street, around the corner from the bureau in Stolyarny Lane. The wide double doors were fastened open, allowing the day’s brutal light to flood the tables and their contents. On the first table were spread the various items that Salytov had recovered from Petrovsky Park. The other two held the bodies.
The bulking shapes of the fire equipment—the pumping engines, coiled hoses, and water-carrying wagons—lurked in the shadows at the edge of the hangar. With less reticence, six men stood around the tables. In addition to Porfiry Petrovich and Nikodim Fomich, present was Yaroslav Nikolaevich Liputin, the prokuror. In any criminal prosecution, it was his responsibility to decide if a crime had been committed and to draw up the indictment once a suspect had been arrested, as well as to prosecute the case through the courts. According to procedure, he was Porfiry’s superior, a relationship that was emphasized by Liputin’s towering height. It was impossible to argue with his appearance, dressed and groomed as he was with such consideration. Every hair, every hem, every button knew its place in the ordainment of his presence. Also in attendance were the two official witnesses required by the new laws, in this case Major General Volkonsky and Actual State Councilor Yepanchin; retired gentlemen, dressed now, naturally, each in the uniform of his rank. A certain querulous confusion was evident on the face of the major general. Actual State Councilor Yepanchin hid his emotions behind a mask of dignity. Both were quick to defer to Liputin. Finally, Porfiry had invited Salytov, out of courtesy, given his role in discovering the bodies.
The heat from a brazier at the rear of the shed barely reached them.
“So we are waiting for?” demanded Liputin imperiously.
“The physician, your excellency,” explained Porfiry.
“Physician? I don’t think we need a physician to tell us what has happened here, Porfiry Petrovich.”
“With respect, your excellency.”
“One corpse with his head hacked in, the other hanging by the neck with a bloody axe about his person. Really. You are not required to call a physician, you know. Under the new laws, an autopsy is not demanded in every case. You may use your discretion. You are able to look at the bodies yourself and draw certain conclusions. There is no need to waste our time like this. What need do you have to involve the office of the prokuror?” Liputin spoke as if this were something separate from himself. “Yes, there has been a crime, two crimes, in fact. One murder, the other suicide. The man wanted for both lies dead on a trestle table. The case is closed.”
“Indeed, prokuror. But it is because I have examined the bodies—and the area in Petrovsky Park where they were found—that I feel it is necessary to call in a physician.”
Liputin’s eyes narrowed minutely, almost imperceptibly.
“This flask,” said Porfiry, lifting a pewter flask from the table of objects, “which Lieutenant Salytov recovered from one of the pockets of the hanging man.” Porfiry unstopped the flask and held it out to Liputin.
“Vodka,” confirmed the prokuror, inhaling.
“Yes. And it’s full. I can imagine a man intent on such deeds steeling himself with alcohol. Especially as he has gone to the trouble of preparing this flask. But to take the vodka along and not drink it?”
“You think the vodka is significant?” asked Nikodim Fomich.
“In cases like this, everything is significant.”
“Perhaps it was not a question of steeling himself,” objected Salytov, with some heat. “Perhaps he killed the dwarf in a fit of rage. And hanged himself in a fit of remorse. Perhaps too he was in the habit of carrying a flask of vodka about with him wherever he went. In the turmoil of the moment it was forgotten.”
“It is an interesting theory,” commented Porfiry. “And I am grateful to you for sharing it with us.”
“But you do not hold with it?” asked Liputin.
“Look at his coat.” Porfiry nodded toward the larger body. “What do you notice?”
No one risked an answer.
“Well, let me ask this of Lieutenant Salytov. Did you notice anything on the back of the coat when you cut him down?”
“Yes, there were some black marks,” said Salytov. “Oil, I think.”
“Yes. Oily marks on the back of his greatcoat. But on the front?”
“No oily marks,” ventured Nikodim Fomich.
“It is not the absence of oily marks that puzzles me. Rather—”
“No blood!” cried Salytov.
“Quite. The condition of the front of the coat leads me to believe that even if he is the murderer, he did not kill the dwarf immediately before killing himself. At least not with the axe. The absence of blood on the old soldier’s greatcoat is indeed puzzling, if we are to accept the interpretation of the evidence that the scene appears intent on forcing upon us.”
“Of course he did not kill the dwarf immediately before killing himself. He took the body there in that suitcase,” insisted Liputin. “The body of the dwarf was found in the suitcase, was it not?” He pointed to the moisture-stained suitcase. It lay closed on the table. Its lid bore a single large scratch across the middle.
“Yes, that’s correct. And what you are suggesting is quite possibly true. It is equally possible, you must admit, that someone else carried the suitcase there. And if that is possible, it is also possible that someone else killed the dwarf.”
“But why should he have killed himself?” asked Liputin, with an irritated nod toward the big corpse.
“That is indeed the crucial question,” agreed Porfiry. He turned back to the table of objects, picking up the small grayish slip of paper that Salytov had retrieved from the branches of the birch tree. “Perhaps this pawnbroker’s ticket can lead us to the answer.”
“You are overlooking one important aspect of the case, however,” said Liputin abruptly.
Porfiry looked up with a questioning glance.
“The self-evident inferior rank of the individuals concerned. This one is a student of some kind, I would say. Leaving aside his deformity—”
“Which of course has no bearing on the thoroughness with which the case will be investigated,” completed Porfiry.
“You know, Porfiry Petrovich, that it is possible to be too zealous as an investigator. Police resources are not infinitely expendable. There are such things as hopeless cases. I mean to say, who are these people?”
“Yes. We must establish their identities. That is the first step to establishing the truth of what happened.”
“Ah yes, the truth,” said Liputin wearily, consulting his pocket watch. “Where is this physician of yours?”
“He will be here shortly, I am sure.”
“Who is it to be?”
“Dr. Pervoyedov, of the Obukhovsky Hospital. He has served us in this capacity before. His work has always been satisfactory.”
“But this is not good enough,” commented Liputin sharply, with a glance to the official witnesses. “These gentlemen have consented to give up their time for the express purpose of witnessing this…procedure.”
There were assenting echoes from the official witnesses.
“I am sure they are pleased to be fulfilling their civic duty.”
“What about the physician’s duty? You know that as investigating magistrate you have the authority to fine…”
&
nbsp; At that moment, to Porfiry’s relief, a red-faced young man hurried into the shed pushing a two-wheeled trolley on which a large tin trunk was upended. The newcomer was hatless, his long hair sticking out in unruly clumps. He was dressed in an old overcoat with a grubby plaid pattern. In many ways his disheveled and almost shabby appearance was the exact opposite of Liputin’s. “Apologies, apologies, gentlemen,” cried Dr. Pervoyedov. “I was delayed by syphilis. Five new cases. Five!”
Liputin pocketed his watch. His expression betrayed nothing. “That is nothing to us. You understand, I trust, your duties under the law.”
“Of course, your excellency. Indubitably. In-du-bi-ta-bly!” The doctor settled the trolley and then cautiously rolled the trunk off so that it landed square on the ground. Despite his care, there was an alarming jangle of metal and glass. Dr. Pervoyedov hurried to unlock the trunk and open the lid. He scanned the contents urgently. “No harm done. No harm done. The jars of formaldehyde are intact. It was the formaldehyde I was worried about.”
“You would achieve greater punctuality, I believe, were you able to curtail your habit of repetition,” commented Liputin. “It is that, I warrant, that delays you, more than the inconvenience of treating the victims of disease.”
“Ah! How very witty, your excellency. How very—”
Liputin cut in: “So our investigator, the esteemed Porfiry Petrovich, has deemed it necessary to summon you here to conduct an autopsy on these poor unfortunate wretches.”
“Yes, of course, of course.” Dr. Pervoyedov nodded anxiously, his face drawn and tense.
“He says of course! There is no of course about it!” Liputin turned to the official witnesses. “What say you, gentlemen? Shall we proceed with this farce?”
“Is it really necessary?” asked Major General Volokonsky.
“I myself do not see what purpose it would serve,” added Actual State Councilor Yepanchin.
“But seeing as we are all here,” pleaded Nikodim Fomich. “And the good doctor has brought his own equipment—”
“Well, yes, of course,” said Dr. Pervoyedov. “If I did not bring my equipment, I would have nothing with which to conduct the autopsy. You might think of that, Porfiry Petrovich, next time you summon me to your service.”
“The law does not require the investigating magistrate’s office to equip the forensic physician,” said Liputin automatically.
“But it might be more convenient if the investigating magistrate were to allow for the examination to be conducted at a hospital or clinic, where such equipment as I bring might naturally be found.” The doctor smiled as he pressed his point.
“More convenient for you, no doubt,” answered Liputin coldly. “Your convenience is not the main issue here.”
“I shall bear your suggestion in mind in the future,” said Porfiry, with a respectful bow for Dr. Pervoyedov.
“There is no need,” insisted Liputin brusquely. “And I for one see no logic in the argument that just because the doctor has gone to the trouble of bringing his tools, we must allow him to use them. It remains a fruitless exercise, even with the doctor’s presence.”
“There is one detail I would ask you to consider,” put in Porfiry, his eyelids fluttering to a close. “The tree from which this old soldier was cut down bore in its trunk a singular vertical nick…”
“Yes, I noticed that,” said Salytov thoughtfully.
“…consistent in size with the blow of an axe blade.”
“So?” challenged Liputin.
“Who put it there?”
“What does it matter? What relevance does it have?”
“This nick was a little higher than the point at which his noose was tethered.”
“Why are you bothering us with this nick, Porfiry Petrovich? I don’t want to hear about this nick of yours.”
“It was too high for the hanged man himself to have reached, and the dwarf certainly could not have stretched so high.”
“The axe was thrown,” suggested Liputin confidently. With rather less confidence, he added: “And then fell out.”
“Which axe? The axe that was used to kill the dwarf? But there were no marks of blood in the nick. And the blade shows no signs of having recently made a cut. You would expect the blood to be wiped away at the tip. Unless, of course, the nick in the tree was made before the dwarf was murdered. But we have already established that the dwarf can’t have been murdered at the place where the bodies were found. So it seems that another axe must have made the nick in the tree. Or the same axe made the nick, but before the wound in the dwarf ’s head was inflicted.”
“But I repeat, what has the nick in the tree got to do with anything? It may be a coincidence. Have you considered that?”
“Certainly. It is a strange coincidence, however. I could find no other such marks in any of the other trees I examined in the area. One must at least accept the possibility that the nick is significant.”
“I don’t have to accept any such possibility. Porfiry Petrovich, you really are trying my patience. It is enough that I have to contest such irrelevances in the new courts. Now you are playing the part of defense counsel to a dead man.”
“It is significant because it raises the question of a third party,” persisted Porfiry.
“The nick could have been made at any time.”
“It is a fresh incision. And even if it is not connected to the case, there is still the question, who would make it, and for what purpose?”
“If it is not connected to the case, I don’t care.”
“It only makes sense if it is connected to the case.”
“But how? How does it make sense?”
“I don’t know yet,” admitted Porfiry. “But I shall.”
“What questions do you wish the forensic examination to answer?” asked Dr. Pervoyedov suddenly.
Liputin let out a sigh of defeat.
“What I am interested in knowing most of all,” said Porfiry, “is the cause of death in each case.”
“Preposterous!” exclaimed the prokuror.
The doctor nodded tersely and removed his overcoat, which he handed to the actual state councilor. The gentleman received it with dumb outrage and threw it onto the floor. But Dr. Pervoyedov had already turned to the tin trunk, from which he took out a rubber apron.
“One body with the noose still around its neck! The other with a hole the size of an axe blade in its skull!” cried Liputin.
Dr. Pervoyedov nodded tersely, a scalpel in one hand now. He seemed to hold the blade toward the prokuror with some intent. “Shall we begin with this fellow?” he said. And although he was standing over the larger corpse, the feeling that he meant Liputin was unanimous.
LOOK AT THE EYES,” said Dr. Pervoyedov.
“What about them?” asked Porfiry.
“No blood,” said the doctor. “In cases of strangulation, it is normal for the eyes to fill with blood.”
The rope was embedded in the soft flesh of the throat. Dr. Pervoyedov severed it with a scalpel, stroking the blade across its cords delicately, careful not to nick the skin. Then he teased it out with a pair of elongated tongs.
“Here, this is interesting,” he said. “This is interesting!” He lifted up the beard for them to see.
His audience closed in, their heads almost touching above the corpse. They frowned over the deep furrow that the rope had left in the neck, then came up for air. The doctor found himself surrounded by blank faces.
“One moment. This will show you more clearly.” He took a razor from his trunk and shaved away the beard in one place.
“Still I see nothing,” said Liputin with some impatience.
“That is the point, your excellency,” said Porfiry. “I think,” he added, looking to Dr. Pervoyedov for confirmation.
“Precisely. Precisely,” agreed the doctor.
“Will you kindly stop talking in riddles,” demanded Liputin.
“No bruising,” murmured Salytov, with sudden realization.
> Dr. Pervoyedov nodded energetically.
“Well done, Ilya Petrovich,” said Porfiry. Despite himself, Lieutenant Salytov experienced a small surge of pleasure at the praise. But immediately afterward he was annoyed with himself and hated Porfiry even more.
“Which means?” asked the prokuror uneasily.
“Which suggests,” corrected Porfiry, “that he was already dead when he was suspended from the tree.”
“In a live subject, bruising is caused by blood being pumped to the damaged area of the epidermis. One does see marks, analogous to bruising, occurring in corpses post-mortem. But this is simply where the blood settles as the corpse lies on the ground.” As he spoke, Dr. Pervoyedov was cutting away the man’s clothes with a pair of tailor’s shears, splitting the cylinders of his sleeves and trouser legs, sectioning the panels covering the torso. “Otherwise, it is fair to say that dead men do not bruise.” At last the corpse was lying naked on a bed of tatters.
They all saw it, the purple line around the middle of the massive belly.
“And yet here there is bruising,” remarked Dr. Pervoyedov thoughtfully, pausing to record his observations in a small notebook.
“What do you make of that?” demanded Liputin.
“Nothing. As yet,” answered the doctor. “For the moment, I merely observe.” He touched the skin of the corpse in several places with his fingertips. This provoked an expression of distaste from the major general. The actual state councilor seemed rather surprised by it. “If one of you gentlemen could…” Dr. Pervoyedov mimed a pulling action as he cast a look of appeal in their direction. Neither picked up his hint. “I need to turn the body over,” he explained. “I must look at the back too.”
The expressions of the official witnesses turned to horror.
“Lieutenant Salytov,” directed Nikodim Fomich. “Kindly assist the doctor.”
“Allow me to lend a hand too,” offered Porfiry. He recognized a need to touch the skin, a need to understand something through that touch. The coldness of it he expected. But its soft, yielding compliance startled him.