“And what was Krivoshein actually doing?” “Actually…. He proposed a new approach to forming these systems through… integralization. No, self — organization. It’s just not clear if he managed to do anything with it or not.” Harry Haritonovich smiled broadly and winningly. “You know, Matvei Apollonovich, there are so many projects at the institute, and I have to look into all of them. I just can’t keep everything straight in my mind. You would be better off reading the minutes of the academic council’s meeting.” “You mean, he reported on his work to the academic council?” “Of course! All our projects are considered before they are incorporated into the plan. After all, how could we distribute funds without any factual basis?” “What was his basis?”
“What do you mean?” The scientific secretary raised his eyebrows. “His idea regarding the new approach to the problem of self — organization? You’re best off reading the minutes, Matvei Apollonovich.” He sighed. “It all happened a year ago, and we have meetings and debates and commissions every week, if not more frequently. Can you imagine? And I have to be present at every one, organize the speakers, speak myself, issue invitations. For instance, right now, I have to go from here to the Society on Distribution, where there’s a meeting on the question of attracting scientific personnel to lecture at collective farms during harvest. I won’t even have time for lunch. I can’t wait for my vacation!”
“I see. But the academic council approved his topic?”
“Of course! There were many who argued against it. Ah, you should have heard how crudely Valentin Vasilyevich answered them. It was totally unforgivable. Poor Professor Voltampernov had to be tranquilized afterward. Can you imagine? The board recommended that Krivoshein be reprimanded for his rudeness, I wrote out the decree myself. But the topic was passed, of course. A man proposes new ideas, a new approach — why shouldn’t he try it? That’s the way it is in science. And besides, Arkady Arkadievich himself supported him. Arkady Arkadievich is a wonderfully generous soul; in fact he set him up in his own lab because Krivoshein could never get along with anybody. Of course, the lab was a joke, unstructured with a staff of one… but the academic council had discussed the situation and voted yes. I voted for it myself.”
“What was the it you all voted for?” Onisimov wiped his brow with a handkerchief.
“What do you mean? To include it in the plan, to allot funds for it. You know, planning is the basis of our society.”
“I see. Tell me, Harry Haritonovich, what do you think happened?”
“Hmmm… I must make it clear to you, my dear Matvei Apollonovich, that I would have no way of knowing. I’m the scientific secretary; all my work is paperwork. They’ve been working together just the two of them since last winter. The lab assistant is the one who would know. Besides, he’s an eyewitness.”
“Did you know that the assistant is not who he says he is?” Onisimov demanded. “He’s not Kravets and he’s not a student.”
“Really? That’s why you arrested him, I see.” Hilobok’s eyes grew round. “No, really, how would I know? That was an oversight in personnel. Who is he?”
“We’ll find out. So you say the Americans are doing the same kind of work now?”
“Yes. So you think he’s the one?”
“Why be so hasty?” Onisimov laughed. “I’m just exploring all the possibilities.” He glanced over at the paper with the questions. ‘Tell me, Harry Haritonovich, did you notice psychiatric problems in Krivoshein?”
Hilobok smiled.
“You know, on my way over here, I was debating whether or not I should mention it. Maybe it’s a trifle and there’s no point? But since you ask… he had these lapses. I remember, last July, when I was combining my duties with heading the laboratory of experimental setups — we couldn’t find the right specialist to run it — we needed a candidate of science — so I was doing it — so that we wouldn’t lose the slot for the position, because, you know, they can take away the allocation, and then you can never get it back. That’s the way it is. And so, just a while back, my laboratory received a request from Krivoshein to prepare a new system for encephalographic biopotential sensors, like that SEP — 1, Monomakh’s Crown, that you have on your desk, but of a more complex construction, so that it would fit in with all kinds of his schemes. Why they ever accepted the order from him, instead of doing their own work, I’ll never know.”
This submersion in scientific data brought on a deep drowsiness in Matvei Apollonovich. Usually he cut through any tangential deviation from the topic that interested him in an interrogation, but now — he was a man with a Russian soul — he could not overcome his innate respect for science, for learned titles, terms, and situations. He had always had this respect, and after his last case at the institute when he also learned the salaries of scientific workers his respect had doubled. And so Matvei Apollonovich did not try to stem Harry Haritonovich’s free — flowing mouth; after all, he was dealing with a man whose salary was more than twice his own, as a police captain, and legal at that.
“So, you can imagine, I was sitting in the laboratory one day,” Hilobok rambled on, “and Valentin Vasilyevich came to see me — without his lab coat, I might add! That is unacceptable. There is a specific rule promulgated about this at the institute, a rule stating that all engineering and scientific workers must wear white coats and the technicians and lab assistants gray or blue ones. After all, we are often visited by foreign delegations. It can’t be otherwise. But he always disregarded convention, and he asked me in a really nasty tone: ‘When are you going to fill my order for the new system? Well, I tried to explain everything calmly to him. ‘It’s like this and that, Valentin Vasilyevich. We will when we can. It’s not so easy to do everything you drew up for us. The circuitry becomes very complicated, and we have to reject too many transistors. In a word, I gave him a good explanation, so that the man would not have any misunderstandings. But he just went on harping: ‘If you can’t do it on schedule, you shouldn’t have agreed to do it! I tried to explain about the difficulties once more, and that we had orders backed up at the lab, but Krivoshein interrupted me: ‘If the order is not completed in two weeks, I will file a complaint about you and turn over the work to the science club in a grammar school! And they’ll do it faster than you, and it will be a lot cheaper, too! That was a dig at me, that last part. He had always made cracks, but I was used to it. And then he slammed the door, and stalked out.”
The investigator nodded rhythmically and clenched his jaw to hide the yawns. Hilobok buzzed on:
“And five minutes later — note that no more than five minutes had passed; I hadn’t even had time to talk to the workshop by phone — Valentin Vasilyevich burst in again wearing a coat this time (he had managed to dig up a gray one somewhere), and said: ‘Harry Haritonovich, when will that order for the sensor system be ready? ‘Please, I said, ‘take pity on me, Valentin Vasilyevich. I explained it to you! And I went into my explanation again. He interrupted like last time: ‘If you can’t do it, don’t try. and then went on about the complaint, the schoolboys, and expenses.” Hilobok brought his face closer to the investigator. “In other words, he repeated exactly what he had said five minutes ago, in the same exact wording! Can you imagine?”
“That’s curious,” the investigator nodded.
“And that wasn’t the only time he got confused like that. Once he forgot to turn off the water for the night, and the whole floor under the laboratory was flooded. Once — the janitor complained to me — he started a huge bonfire of perforated tape on the lawn. The professor meaningfully pursed his fat red lips, funereally outlined with a black mustache, “and so anything might have happened. And why? Because he wanted to get ahead and he was constantly overworking himself.
No matter what time you left the institute the lights in his lodge were always blazing. Many of us at the institute joked about it. Maybe Krivoshein wasn’t aiming for his doctorate but for a break — through right off the bat…. He discovered enough, now go try to fi
gure it all out.”
“I see,” the investigator said and looked down at the sheet of paper once more. “You mentioned that Krivoshein had a woman who was close to him. Do you know her?”
“Elena Ivanovna Kolomiets? Of course! There aren’t many women like her in our town — very attractive, elegant, sweet, in a word, you know — “Harry Haritonovich described Elena Ivanovna’s inexpressible beauty with a zigzagging motion of the hands. His brown eyes glistened. “I could never figure out, nor could others, what she saw in him. After all, Krivoshein — I know, de mortius aut bene nut nihil, but why hide it? — you saw for yourself, he was no looker. She would come to see him. Our houses are next door in Academic Town, so I saw it. And he never knew how to dress well either. But I haven’t seen her around lately. I guess they broke up, like ships in the night, heh — heh! Do you think she had anything to do with this?”
“I don’t think anyone has as yet, Harry Haritonovich. I’m only trying to clear things up.” Onisimov got up with relief. “Well, thank you. I hope that I don’t need to warn you about gossiping, because — “
“It doesn’t need to be mentioned! And don’t thank me, I was only doing my duty. I’m always ready….”
After he left, Matvei Apollonovich put his head directly under the fan and sat for a few minutes without moving or thinking. Hilobok’s voice rang in his head like a fly buzzing on a windowpane.
“Wait!” The detective shook his head to clear it. “We wasted a whole hour, and he didn’t clear up a thing. And all the time it seemed ‘as though we were on the topic, but it was all nothing. Scientific secretary, assistant professor, sciences candidate — could he have been trying to throw me off? Something’s wrong here.”
The phone rang. “Onisimov here.”
There was only panting on the phone for a few seconds. It was obvious the speaker couldn’t get his breath.
“Comrade.. captain.. this is Gayevoy.. reporting. The… suspect… escaped!”
“Escaped? What do you mean escaped? Give me a full report!”
“Well, we were in the GAZ. Timofeyev was driving and I was next to that….” The policeman was muttering into the phone. “That’s the way we transport all detained suspects. After all, comrade captain, you hadn’t warned us about strict observation, and I couldn’t imagine where he could go since you have all his papers. Well, we were driving past the city park and he jumped out when we were going at full speed. Over the fence, and he was gone! Well, Timofeyev and I went after him. Boy, is he good at clambering over uneven ground! Well, I didn’t want to open fire since I didn’t have any instructions about it from you. So… that’s it.”
“I see. Go to the department and write out a report for the captain on duty. You don’t do your job very well, Gayevoy!”
“Well, is there anything you’d like me to do, comrade captain?” His voice was glum.
“We’ll manage without you. Hurry back here; you’ll be part of the search party. That’s all.” Onisimov hung up.
“Well, well, the man’s an artist, a real artist! And I had doubted him! Of course, it’s him. It had to be! So. He had no identification papers. Nor any money. And almost no clothes, just the shirt and trousers he had on. He won’t get far. Unless he has confederates… then it’ll be harder.”
Ten minutes later Gayevoy, even more bent over by his guilt, appeared. Onisimov organized a search party, distributing photos, and a description with identifying marks. The operatives went into town.
Then Matvei Apollonovich called the fingerprint expert. He told him that some of the prints he collected in the lab matched those of the lab assistant; others belonged to another man. Neither set matched up with any known criminal.
“The other man is naturally the victim, of course…. Ho, ho, this is becoming serious business. It doesn’t look anything like a regular crime. It doesn’t look like anything with that damn melted skeleton! What can I do about that?”
Onisimov stared gloomily out the window. The shadows of the trees on the sidewalks were lengthening, but it hadn’t gotten any cooler. Young women in print shifts and sunglasses crowded near the bus stop. “Going to the beach….”
The worst part was that Onisimov still didn’t have a working version of the incident.
At the end of the day, when Matvei Apollonovich was writing out a list for the morning, the commander of the department came in to see him. “Here it comes,” Matvei Apollonovich thought.
“Sit down.” The colonel lowered himself into the chair. “You seem to be having complications in this case: no body, suspect escaped. Hm? Tell me about it.” Onisimov told him.
“Hm….” The commander’s heavy eyebrows met. “Well, we’ll catch that fellow; there’s no question about that. Do you have the airport, railroad, and bus stations under surveillance?
“Of course, Aleksei Ignatievich, I sent out the order immediately.”
“That means he’ll never get out of the city. But as for the corpse… that’s really something very curious. Damn it all! Maybe they switched things on you at the scene?” He looked up at the investigator with his small, wise eyes. “Maybe… remember Gorky’s story Klim Samgin where a character says, ‘Maybe there was no boy? “
“But… the doctor in the ambulance certified the death, Aleksei Ignatievich.”
“Doctors can make mistakes, too. Besides, the doctor was not an expert, and she didn’t list a cause of death. And there’s no body. And our Zubato is having problems with the skeleton…. Of course, it’s up to you. I’m not insisting, but if you can’t explain how the corpse turned into a skeleton in fifteen minutes, and whose skeleton it is, and what caused the death — no jury is going to pay any attention to the evidence. Even clear — cut cases are being sent back by the courts for lack of evidence, or dismissed completely. Of course, it’s good that the law is strict and careful, but…” he sighed noisily, “a… a difficult case, no? Do you have an official version yet?” “I have a draft,” Onisimov explained shyly, “but I don’t know how you’re going to take it, Aleksei Ignatievich. I don’t think this is a criminal case. According to the institute’s scientific secretary, the United States is very interested in the case that Krivoshein was studying in his lab. That’s point one. Lab assistant Kravets, by his demeanor and cultural level, I guess is neither a student nor a criminal. He escaped masterfully, that’s for sure. Point two: Kravets’s fingerprints don’t match any criminal ones on record. Three: so, perhaps — “Matvei Apollonovich stopped, and looked inquiringly at his chief.
“ — we should palm off the case on the KGB?” The colonel finished his thought with a soldier’s directness and shook his head. “Don’t be in a hurry! If we, the police, discover a crime with, say, a foreign accent, it will bring society and us nothing but good. But if the state security organs discover a simple civilian crime or a violation of safety procedures, then… well, you understand. And in the last six months we’ve hit the bottom of the local list for percentage of solved crimes.” He gave Onisimov a good — natured look of reproach. “Don’t give up! You know the saying that the most complicated crimes are the easiest: theses and projects, scientific mumbo — jumbo… it boggles the mind. Don’t rush with your version. Check out all the possibilities and maybe it will be like the fable: ‘The box had a simple lock. Well, I wish you luck and success.” The chief rose and extended his hand. “I’m sure that you can handle this case.”
Matvei Apollonovich got up too, shook hands, and followed the commander out with clear and bright eyes. Say what you will, but when the boss has confidence in you, it makes all the difference!
Chapter 3
People who think that human life has changed only externally and not radically since ancient times compare the fire, around which Troglodites spent the evening, with television, which amuses our contemporaries. This comparison is disputable, since a fire both warms and lights, and the television only glows, and then only from one side.
K. Prutkov — engineer, Thought 111
The plump, blonde, middle — aged passenger in the express train between Novosibirsk and Dneprovsk was agitated by the fellow in the upper berth. He had rough — hewn but handsome features, a windblown face, dark curly hair with a lot of gray in it, strong, tanned hands with thick fingers and old calluses on the palms — and yet he had a gentle smile, charm (he had offered her the lower berth when she got on at Kharkov), and an intelligent manner of speaking. The fellow lay with his square chin on his hands, greedily looking at the trees, houses, streams, and road signs flashing by. And he smiled. “Handsome!” she thought.
“Probably familiar territory?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“You’ve been away a long time?”
“A year.”
He was recognizing things: they went under the highway where he used to ride his motorcycle with Lena. There was the oak grove where the locals went picnicking. There was Staroe Ruslo, a place of secluded beaches, clean sand, and calm water. There was the Vytrebenki farm — and hey! new construction! Probably a chemical plant…. He smiled and frowned as the memories came back.
Actually, he had never ridden a motorcycle anywhere with any Lena, nor had he ever been in the grove or on those beaches — it had all been done without him. It was simply that once there had been a conversation, and to be accurate, even that took place without his active participation.
“Here’s an application. (The variants of human life!) Look: ‘A Vladivostok shipbuilding concern is looking for an electrical engineer to do fitting work on location. Apartment supplied. Aren’t I an electrical engineer? Fitting on location — what could be better? A Pacific wave lapping up against the fittings! You pay out the cable, lick the salt from your lips — you against the elements!”
“Yes, but.”
“No, I can understand. Before it was impossible. Before! You and I are men of duty — how can you just quit a job and go off to satisfy your wanderlust? So we all stay where we are — and the longing for places we’ve never seen and never will stays with us too, and for people we’ll never meet, and for events and occasions that we’ll never participate in. We drown this longing in books, movies, and dreams — it’s impossible for a man to lead several parallel lives. But now — “
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