by Andrew Garve
I nodded. ‘It’s just that – well, you know how things are here. Girls do kind of disappear sometimes. He’s rather fond of Tanya and she left so very suddenly.’
‘He will hear from her, I am sure.’
‘He’s already heard, if a telegram can be called “hearing.” He’s not satisfied, though. For two pins he’d rush off to the Crimea himself.’
She smiled again. ‘Americans are so impetuous. He is a nice man – I like him. Of course, he could apply for a permit to visit her before he leaves.’
I regarded her narrowly. ‘He could apply,’ I agreed, ‘but he wouldn’t get it – do you think? Kira, did you see your sister before she went away?’
‘I didn’t see her myself, no, but Madame Mirnova looked after her and saw her on to the plane and she is quite all right just rather upset. It is very natural that she should be. I assure you, Mr Verney, that all this anxiety is quite unnecessary. I, too, am fond of my sister. Should I not be the first to worry, if there were anything wrong?’
She was completely composed now. Indeed, her blue-eyed candour was disarming, and I had to remind myself that we’d got precisely nowhere. If she was putting on an act, it was a good one. The only hope was that shock tactics would make her forget her lines.
I walked across to the french doors and ran a thumbnail down one of the seals. It still wasn’t quite dry.
‘Does it mean anything to you,’ I said, ‘that these balcony doors have recently been opened?’
She struggled hard to control herself, but the very effort betrayed her. Her face lost all its colour. A written confession couldn’t have told me more.
She still remembered her lines though. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘Perhaps they have been opened – I don’t know. It has nothing to do with me.’
‘It has a great deal to do with you. Mullett’s murderer went through those doors and Tanya’s all mixed up with the murder and the police are holding her and you’re covering up. That story about the Crimea is a lie, and you know it.’ She gazed at me in horror. ‘You must be out of your mind. You’d better go.’
‘Not yet. I want to know the name of the murderer. You can tell me.’
‘It was Nikolai, the waiter. You saw the papers. That’s all I know.’ Her voice was high and scared.
‘Kira, you’re just repeating a lesson – you’re saying what they told you to say. You’ve been put here to keep us quiet. Why are you doing it? Is it because they’ve threatened to take it out of Tanya if you don’t?’
She looked at me with eyes full of anguish, and it seemed to me that she gave an almost imperceptible nod. ‘Please go,’ she whispered.
‘You poor frightened kid!’ I said. ‘All right – I’ll go.’
I turned at the door. ‘Don’t worry, Kira – I asked questions but you didn’t answer them. You tell them that. Good luck!’
Chapter Eleven
I went in straightaway to tell Jeff what had happened. It was something to have confirmed – as I felt I had – that our thinking had been on the right lines and that the Russians were indeed engaged in a complicated manoeuvre to conceal the truth about Mullett. All the same, I had singularly little sense of achievement. Rather rashly, perhaps, I had shown our hand – and we still didn’t know who the murderer was. I was depressed, too, by my glimpse of the police state at close quarters. I loathed the idea of anyone being made to act under duress, particularly out of fear for someone else’s safety, and it would be a long time before I forgot that look on Kira’s face.
Jeff took the news rather hard. I think he’d been hoping against hope that Kira would somehow succeed in reassuring me about Tanya. His exit permit had just arrived from the Press Department and with only a few more days in the country it looked as though all his anxieties would go unrelieved. I felt very sorry for him, but there wasn’t much I could say.
Waterhouse popped in soon after breakfast and brightened us up a little. He’d written a story a week or two before about some outdoor demonstration which Vishinsky had attended, and it had been held up by the censor although it had been both objective and harmless. Now he’d just heard the explanation. Apparently he’d mentioned some incident which had occurred ‘within a stone’s throw of Mr Vishinsky,’ and the censor had taken umbrage. ‘Who,’ he asked indignantly, ‘would wish to throw a stone at Mr Vishinsky?’ The phrase had now been amended.
Waterhouse had no fresh news on the Mullett case except that, after telegraphic consultations with the next-of-kin in London, the funeral had been fixed for the following morning at eleven and that – as he said – it had been decided not to bury Mullett under the Kremlin wall with the heroes of the Revolution! This decision evidently implied no posthumous disrespect, for the newspapers that day were full of fantastic eulogies of the dead man. The editorials were still roundly denouncing Nikolai and his ‘ring of conspirators,’ but no fresh persons had been named nor were any details given.
As Jeff had some business of his own to attend to, I went off alone with the delegation to visit a couple of schools and an establishment for juvenile delinquents. It was an interesting trip, but the delegates seemed to have only half their minds on it. The shadow of Mullett hung heavily over them. Bolting had stayed indoors to nurse what had turned out to be a mild attack of quinsies. Perdita was snappy, and Schofield preoccupied. Even Mirnova had lost some of her suavity, and Kira was careful to avoid my eye.
In the afternoon I went off with Jeff to a skating rink in Gerzena Street and tried out some new skating boots which I’d brought with me from London. The ice was in fine condition and we worked off a good deal of our repression. When we got back to the hotel, however, messages were waiting for us that seemed to spell trouble. The Press Department had rung up, and would be glad if Mr Clayton and Mr Verney would go across right away to see Mr Ganilov.
There was a glint in Jeff’s eye, as though he foresaw battle. ‘If I happen to choke that guy today,’ he said, ‘will you let it be known that I did it for humanity!’
The atmosphere in the Department when we walked in a few minutes later was distinctly hostile. The news always seemed to get around when a particular correspondent was in disgrace and even the secretaries looked down their noses. Ganilov himself, however, was no different from usual. He got up and gave us both a fishy handshake and motioned us politely into the two leather chairs. Then he sat down again behind his massive desk, his heavy shoulders up round his neck and his eyes unfathomable behind their bull’ s-eye lenses. He had, I reflected, neither the presence nor the manner of a high executive, but I didn’t underrate his intelligence and cunning, of the wholesome respect in which he held his own safety. Whatever he had to do, he would do skilfully and in complete accordance with his instructions.
He began with a sardonic comment on our work. ‘I trust,’ he said, ‘that you have both enjoyed your trips with the delegation.’
‘It’s been a way of getting around,’ said Jeff. ‘The only way.’
Ganilov gave a little nod, as though he were noting a point without accepting liability. ‘At the same time, you do not appear to have sent many dispatches to your papers.’ He made a pretence of bumbling around in a tray. ‘Not a single one, I think.’
We didn’t comment. He knew the form, and we knew the form, and there was nothing worth sparring about yet.
‘Perhaps,’ he said, thoughtfully nibbling a fingernail, ‘you have been too interested in the regrettable calamity which overtook Mr Mullett. Now on that, I see that you have both filed.’
‘You should know,’ said Jeff. ‘You’re the guy that’s been sitting on the stories.’
Ganilov smiled. His smile was like one of those electric radiators with imitation coal that look warm and aren’t. However, he never made a personal issue of these things unless he had to. I think he neither liked nor disliked us. If he’d been told to fix a banquet on our honour he’d have done it in the same unemotional way.
‘In the Soviet Union,’ he said, ‘we do not beli
eve that the speculations of reporters on individual crimes are of any public interest.’
‘We weren’t writing for the Soviet Union,’ I reminded him. ‘In our countries, there’s a lot of public interest in these things.’
‘Nevertheless, Mr Verney, I have always understood that even in your country a case may not be commented on while it is sub judice.’
I smiled. ‘A case can’t be sub judice, Mr Ganilov, unless it’s going to be tried. This one isn’t. It’s all been fixed beforehand by the M.V.D, as you very well know.’
Ganilov shook his head in sad rebuke. ‘When we allowed you to come back to the Soviet Union, Mr Verney, we were under the impression that you were an objective observer. It seems we were mistaken.’
That didn’t seem to require comment either.
‘In fact,’ Ganilov went on, ‘you seem to have allowed yourself a quite abnormal licence in invention, even by the standards of anti-Soviet correspondents. I am told you have been saying that the waiter, Nikolai Skaliga, was not the murderer of Mr Mullett, and that the whole affair is what Mr Clayton’s compatriots would call a “frame-up”. I gather you have been expressing this opinion rather freely.’
I shrugged. ‘Why not? It’s what I think.’
‘And what you also think, Mr Clayton?’
‘Sure,’ said Jeff.
Ganilov sat back as though he’d reached a marked passage that he’d got to get included in the record. ‘It is an intolerable insult to the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics to suggest that our judicial system is corrupt.’ He spoke with simulated anger.
Jeff stirred restlessly. ‘Look, Mr Ganilov, I don’t know why you asked us down here, but can’t we quit this fencing? You know what we think of your judicial system – we don’t have to pretend with each other. What exactly is on your mind?’
Ganilov got up, went over to a corner of the room, spat carefully into a spittoon, and resumed his seat. ‘I understand that Mr Verney has been acting as a kind of amateur detective,’ he said. ‘Is that not so, Mr Verney? You have been making discoveries?’
‘I have, yes. I know that Mullett’s murderer came along the balcony, and I know that the police know.’
‘Ah! Leaving aside, for the moment, the impropriety of your breaking into a room which the police had closed, has it not occurred to you that it may be rather dangerous to interfere in these matters?’
‘Is that a threat, Mr Ganilov?’
‘A threat?’ He managed to sound genuinely shocked. ‘Why, certainly not. It is possible, of course, in view of your attitude of open hostility, that we shall have to consider whether after all you are persona grata here. We could withdraw your press card. At the same time, we should much prefer that you yourself saw the unwisdom – the danger – of your attitude.’
‘I don’t think I quite understand you,’ I said. ‘Danger to whom?’
‘I will explain.’ He took another nibble at his nails. ‘You see, it is possible that our police have made a bona fide mistake.’
I sat up with a jerk. This was something quite unexpected.
‘Yes,’ said Ganilov, ‘even we make mistakes! In the first instance, it appeared certain that the waiter Skaliga was the criminal. A little later, new evidence came to light – the evidence which you, Mr Verney, have discovered for yourself. It is difficult to be certain, but it does now appear possible that Skaliga, after all, was not the perpetrator of this crime.’
‘I thought he confessed,’ said Jeff nastily. Ganilov was quite unperturbed. ‘That is so, Mr Clayton, and he has undoubtedly been concerned in an anti-Soviet conspiracy. He has admitted that. His confession to the murder of Mr Mullett, however, may have been due to an over-anxiety to placate his accusers. Such things have happened before. As I say, we cannot be sure, but there is no denying the fact that this new evidence does seem to point to someone else.’
‘To whom?’ asked Jeff.
The thick glasses gleamed. ‘To you, Mr Clayton.’
Jeff nearly sprang out of his chair. ‘Why, you son of a… !’
‘Easy Jeff,’ I said. ‘Let’s hear what the gentleman has to say.’
Ganilov sat back with his fingertips together, recalling his brief. ‘It seems, Mr Clayton, that you and Mr Mullett were old acquaintances. As it happens, he and I were discussing you a few days before he died – at the reception for Miss Manning, to be exact. He told me about an article you had written – a rather scurrilous article, he said – and of some unpleasant exchanges which followed.’
‘Go on,’ said Jeff contemptuously.
‘You had, in fact, a grudge against him. Last Sunday evening, you saw an opportunity to square the account. You were, if I am rightly informed, giving a little party in your room. At about a quarter to nine, however, you left the party ostensibly to take some refreshment to the young lady who was acting as interpreter for the delegation – Tatiana Mikhailovna. You were away for about half an hour. Is that correct?’
‘Sure – I was with Tanya.’
‘That is what you say. It seems quite possible, however, that what in fact you did was to climb from one balcony to the other, enter Mr Mullett’s room, wait for him to come in, and take your revenge before rejoining the party. The police found a tin in Mr Mullett’s room which has been identified as similar to some still in your possession. There was also a newspaper which had been used to obliterate footmarks, and in one corner of it your name was faintly pencilled – a guide, no doubt, for the morning delivery. That, Mr Clayton, was an unfortunate oversight.’
Jeff started to say something, and checked himself.
‘Of course,’ Ganilov went on smoothly, ‘if by any chance this reconstruction is correct, you would have needed an assistant. Your relations with Tatiana Mikhailovna were, I believe, of the closest. You might well have persuaded her to co-operate to the extent of sealing up her doors behind you. Unfortunately she is not well enough at the moment to be questioned, but in due course she may see the advisability of confirming that that is, in fact, what happened.’
My heart sank. I glanced at Jeff and there was sweat on his forehead. It was the thought that they’d got Tanya at their mercy that was so ghastly. Of course they could make her confirm it if they wanted to. They could reduce her to such a state that she’d come into court and swear Jeff’s life away. Such things had happened before, and to tougher personalities than Tanya. Everyone had a breaking point.
Ganilov toyed with his papers. I think he was rather bored by the whole business.
After a while Jeff said quietly, ‘That’s quite a case, Mr Ganilov, but there was not a shred of truth in it. The motive’s ridiculous, of course – Mullett never seriously bothered me and I had hardly any dealings with him. It’s true that Tanya and I were friendly, but she wouldn’t have helped me do a murder – that’s fantastic. The fact that I’ve got cans like the one that was used means nothing – so have other people, and anyhow I’ve given quite a few of them away. As for the newspaper, it was an old one – anybody might have got hold of it.’
‘Oh, quite so, quite so,’ Ganilov agreed quickly. ‘I was only outlining the case. I agree that so far it is by no means conclusive.’
There was an awkward pause – it still seemed to be Ganilov’s move, but he sat back almost as though the interview were ver. At last Jeff said, ‘Well, what do you propose to do about it?’
‘Do about it?’ echoed Ganilov innocently. ‘Why, nothing – at the moment. As I say, the case is not complete. Then again, relations between your country and mine are already difficult – we should be most reluctant to have to indict an American citizen for murder.’ He got up. ‘We must try to avoid unpleasantness all round. Now that I have explained our point of view, I am sure that you will both see the advantages of forgetting all about the Muller case.’
‘Why, you goddam blackmailer… !’ Jeff burst out.
Ganilov withdrew the limp hand which he had extended in farewell. He seemed unable to believe that the oblique and tortuous methods of Sovi
et negotiation could have been described by so harsh a word.
Chapter Twelve
Jeff’s language when we got outside the building was quite unprintable, and the flow went on for an astonishingly long time. If he’d been in a position to do so I’m sure that at that moment he’d have dropped an atom bomb on the Kremlin with pleasure. He blinded away about police states, and people who used women as levers, and people you couldn’t argue with because they didn’t recognise any sort of morality, and I agreed with every word he said. We were still left, however, with the problem of what we were going to do about it, if anything. I was frankly worried.
‘The point is,’ I said, ‘that if they did force Tanya to give evidence against you, you’d be for it. You could get a life sentence.’
Jeff gave me a derisive look. ‘Like hell I could! They’re bluffing – they’d never get away with it.’
‘I wouldn’t be certain of that. They’re obviously determined to prevent the truth about Mullett’s death getting out, and it looks as though they’ll go to any lengths. Jeff, I’m not exaggerating – I believe you’re in real danger. They’ve jailed foreigners before now on a damn’ sight thinner evidence than there is against you.’
His face was about as grim as I’d seen it, and he didn’t look as though he were open to argument. ‘They’re simply trying to scare the pants off me,’ he said, ‘and it’s not going to work.’
‘What about Tanya?’
He fell silent. With a hostage in the hands of the police, we were really quite powerless. They’d got us where they wanted us, because they were callous and we weren’t. It was a filthy sort of pressure.
‘I think we’d better admit defeat,’ I said. ‘You’re leaving in a day or two – and the sooner the better. Once you’ve gone, they’ll have no reason to turn the heat on Tanya. You’ll be helping yourself and her too.’
‘It means playing their game,’ he said savagely. ‘It means they get away with blackmail and everything else. I feel more like handing my exit permit back and sticking around.’