by R. N. Morris
But before Porfiry could reveal his intended destination, a shout cut through the hubbub of the main hall: ‘Where is he? Where is the magistrate?’
Porfiry turned towards the source of the commotion. He saw a dark-haired man with a matted beard, dressed in a dirty overcoat that was more an accretion of rags and strips of cloth. Beside him, with one hand on his shoulder as if to impel him forward, was an altogether smarter young man, dressed in a plaid travelling cape hung with tassels, and wearing something like a student’s cap on his head, though he was too old to be a student. The tramp stared straight at Porfiry as he fell to his knees. ‘I am Mizinchikov. I have come to confess.’ He bowed his head low, until he was able to kiss the floor.
Porfiry allowed himself a faint smile of satisfaction, which Virginsky received as if it were a body blow.
*
‘So.’ Porfiry drew deep on his cigarette as he viewed the man sitting on the other side of his desk. It really was true what they said about the men of the Preobrazhensky Regiment. Captain Mizinchikov was a most ill-favoured individual. His eyes bulged, his nostrils flared, his teeth were as irregular as the tombstones in a neglected graveyard. In addition to that, he had no discernible chin and his forehead sloped back at a sharp angle to the bridge of his protuberant nose. Admittedly, the fact that he was filthy and exhausted after weeks of living rough did nothing to improve his looks. The dirt ended in a sharp black arc below his hairline, the tide mark of his sweat. Even allowing for the ravages of his life as a fugitive, it was clear that he would never be regarded as handsome, even scrubbed and groomed. Yet there was something unassailable about him that fascinated and held Porfiry’s gaze: an energy, or integrity perhaps. ‘You have come to confess. We are only wondering, my colleague and I, to what you wish to confess. Shall we start with the murder of Yelena Filippovna Polenova?’
‘I did not kill Lena.’
‘Good. I’m glad to hear you say it. If you had confessed to that, I would not have believed you.’
‘I killed my father.’
‘Did you really? That’s rather serious, you know. How did you do it?’
‘I … we argued.’
‘I supposed he was frail, but I had no idea to what extent.’
‘It was a violent argument.’
‘Ah, you struck him?’
‘No blows were struck. I would not hit an old man, whoever he might be. However, I did lay hands upon him.’
‘In what way?’
‘I took hold of him.’
‘With what purpose in mind?’
‘He would not look at me. I wanted to make him look at me. I am his son.’
‘How did you take hold of him?’
‘I put my hands on his shoulders … I lifted him … I turned him bodily towards me.’
‘I see. And then?’
‘Still he would not look at me. He turned his head away.’
‘And so?’
‘And so I threw him away from me.’
‘Threw him?’ Porfiry’s emphasis was sceptical.
‘Pushed him, then.’
‘Where was this?’
‘In the drawing room.’
‘In the drawing room of his apartment?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did you do next?’
‘I ran. He was on the floor, not moving. I panicked. As I was leaving I ran into my cousin, Alyosha, who had just arrived from Moscow to see my father. He went into the apartment and confirmed that my father was dead. He then prevailed upon me to give myself up to the authorities, for the good of my soul. In truth, it was my own heartfelt desire.’
‘Your cousin was the gentleman who brought you here?’
‘Yes. He had come of his own volition to see my father. It was about the will. I was to be cut out, in Alyosha’s favour. Alyosha sought to dissuade my father on my behalf.’
‘And has the will been changed yet?’
‘Alyosha says not.’
Porfiry and Virginsky met each other’s gaze thoughtfully.
‘I did not kill my father for his money, if that’s what you’re thinking. I did not mean to kill him at all. I wanted to be reconciled with him. I just wanted him to acknowledge me as his son. I needed my father’s love. I had nowhere else to turn.’ Mizinchikov looked desperately from Virginsky to Porfiry, his eyes moist with exhausted emotion. His voice was imploring. ‘I could not go to my friends. I have no friends. Other than my cousin, but he was in Moscow. I tried Bakhmutov. I went to him to ask for money so that I could get to Moscow, but he set his lackeys on me. Would not even admit me. Since that night at the Naryskin Palace, I have been sleeping rough, living on scraps. I couldn’t take it any longer. I wanted to talk to my father, to ask him what I should do. But even he would not look at me. You don’t know what it has been like, all these weeks! I have felt such … despair. Such loneliness. And when my father would not look at me … Everything, every insult and humiliation, every bitter emotion welled up inside me. I saw a red mist, that’s all I can say.’
‘A red mist?’
‘Yes. Quite literally. Have you ever seen a red mist? I had not believed in the truth of the expression until that moment. I felt … a terrible rage. I killed him.’
‘But your father was found dead on the stairs outside his apartment. Not in the drawing room. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but it seems you may not have killed him.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Nor do I, fully. But perhaps your father went after you. Perhaps he wished to be reconciled after all. His heart gave way, however, and he fell.’
‘Then it is still true to say that I killed him. For if I had not laid hands on him in the drawing room, his constitution would not have been fatally weakened.’
‘There is another possibility,’ said Porfiry, musingly, as if to himself. ‘Pavel Pavlovich, would you ask Captain Mizinchikov’s cousin to join us?’
Virginsky bowed and crossed to the door.
Captain Mizinchikov’s cousin came in hesitantly, his cap in his hands. He was a tall man with a wide, high forehead, which bulged at the temples. His eyes were quick and intelligent. He wore his hair long and a soft, drooping moustache partially concealed his mouth.
‘You are Alexei Ivanovich, I believe?’ began Porfiry.
‘Yes, that’s right.’ Alexei Ivanovich held his head angled backwards, as if detaching himself from his surroundings, the better to observe them.
‘The deceased, General Mizinchikov, was your uncle? And this gentleman is your cousin?’
‘Correct.’
‘Are you related on your father’s or your mother’s side?’
‘Mother’s.’
‘Ah, yes, I remember the general made reference to the fecundity of his sisters. Your family name is?’
‘Zahlebinin.’
‘And it was you who found General Mizinchikov on the stairs?’
‘That is correct.’
‘He was dead when you found him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you qualified to make such a pronouncement?’
‘I have studied natural science. I felt for a pulse. And found none. I saw the wound on his head.’
‘And you urged your cousin to hand himself over to the authorities?’
‘I did.’
‘Why? Did you believe him to be his father’s murderer?’
‘I knew that he had attacked his father and that his father now lay dead.’
‘Did you not ascertain from talking to Captain Mizinchikov where exactly his violent quarrel with his father took place?’
‘My cousin was barely coherent. His account of what had taken place was confused. I limited myself to the facts, as I perceived them.’
‘He does not seem confused or incoherent now.’
‘He had not eaten for days. That is a circumstance that I have since rectified.’
‘Captain Mizinchikov and his father quarrelled inside the apartment. General Mizinchikov was found dead on the stairs out
side the apartment.’
Alexei Ivanovich seemed overjoyed by this discrepancy. ‘Then Kostya did not kill him?’
‘We can at least say that General Mizinchikov was alive when Captain Mizinchikov left him. Alive and well enough to walk outside his apartment to the stairs. Where he may well have suffered a heart attack or a fatal accident. Or …’
‘Or what?’ asked Alexei Ivanovich uneasily.
‘Or some other person may have pushed him down the stairs.’
Alexei Ivanovich’s face flushed a deep shade of crimson. ‘You think I did it?’
‘There is the question of the will.’
‘Yes. The will. But as the will stands, Kostya will inherit his father’s fortune. My uncle did not get round to changing it. I had nothing to gain from this death. In fact, it would have been better for me if he had stayed alive a little longer … long enough to change his will in my favour.’
‘Except that you did not want him to change the will. You wanted the money to go to Kostya. You took your cousin’s side and you hated your uncle as any man would hate a miser and an unnatural father. So you killed him before he was able to write Kostya out of his will. You knew very well where the argument had taken place – and therefore you trusted that no charges would be brought against your cousin, once it was realised that his father was strong enough to stand up and walk away from where he had fallen. And yet you also knew that Captain Mizinchikov had to be prevailed upon to hand himself in, because as an outlaw he would not be able to access his fortune. Of course there is the matter of the other crimes of which he stands accused. Perhaps you acted in the heat of the moment, or perhaps you took a calculated gamble. You must have followed the details of the investigation in the newspapers. Taking the hint from a recent article, you believed that the authorities would be lenient in their treatment of your cousin in relation to the murder of Yelena Filippovna. There was still the charge of desertion – but a dishonourable discharge from his regiment would not prevent him from inheriting. You yourself would have been immune from suspicion – or so you believed – because of the lack of motive. I must point out to you that you were very quick to present the argument concerning the will.’
‘And all this you have deduced from what?’ demanded Alexei Ivanovich incredulously.
‘From your plaid travelling cloak.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘And your student cap. And your studies in natural science. You are, are you not, a nihilist?’
‘I do not accept the term.’
‘Neither do you accept traditional notions of morality. You felt the injustice of your uncle’s position towards your cousin, and you determined to do something about it when you had the chance. Is that not so?’
‘Porfiry Petrovich?’ interrupted Virginsky questioningly. ‘Dr Pervoyedov wears a plaid coat. Indeed, many people wear plaid. Will you accuse them all of being nihilists and murderers?’
‘We are not discussing Dr Pervoyedov. We are not discussing other people. Furthermore, no one detail is to be taken in isolation. Everything must be considered together. This may be considered a clever, opportunistic, but essentially altruistic crime – inasmuch as the perpetrator did not directly benefit from its commission, but someone else did. A selfless crime, if you like. Someone who dons the trappings of the radical youth, and is present at the scene of the crime, must come under strong suspicion.’
‘But you cannot prove any of this. Is it not equally possible that the old man simply fell?’
‘Oh yes,’ agreed Porfiry with delight. ‘Equally, eminently possible.’ Noting Alexei Ivanovich’s confusion, Porfiry went on: ‘I’m not interested in proving anything. Only you know what happened. And if I am right, you know what you must do. If I am right, you have this crime, this sin on your soul. It should be you who falls to his knees and kisses the ground, preferably in front of a church.’
‘But I am a nihilist! Or so you claim. What do I care about my soul?’
‘You may not care, Alexei Ivanovich, but I do.’
‘Well, if you are right, and I murdered my own uncle, a man who intended to make me the heir of his fortune, does that not make me a rather dangerous individual? Can you permit me to remain at large, free to commit other crimes?’
‘Are you now urging me to arrest you?’
‘I don’t know.’ After an uncertain pause, Alexei Ivanovich added: ‘I admit nothing.’
‘But you are a little afraid of yourself now, aren’t you? And more than a little afraid of the world you have created by this act.’
‘I admit nothing.’
‘Of course you don’t. But that is not the same as saying you did not do it. Forgive me, Alexei Ivanovich. I do not usually conduct my investigations so directly, so bluntly, you might say. But we are in the middle of several other investigations here and General Mizinchikov’s death comes as something of a distraction. It’s rather inconvenient, if I may be frank. Naturally, I am pleased that it has led to Captain Mizinchikov’s surrender, and I am grateful to you for engineering that. I trust that you will consider what we have discussed and do whatever you consider necessary.’
‘I am free to go?’
‘Do you wish to go?’
‘I don’t understand. This is not what I expected.’
‘If you are innocent, none of this need trouble you. If you are guilty, I am sure we will meet again. Perhaps soon. I would only say, please don’t kill anyone else. I would consider it rather bad form if you did.’
‘This is some kind of magistrate’s technique – a trick of yours!’ Alexei Ivanovich’s face was suddenly shadowed with anxiety and suspicion.
‘No. It is simply that I am in a hurry and there are some questions I must put to your cousin. I have not the time to interrogate you properly now. Therefore I am enlisting your conscience in my service.’ Porfiry stressed the word, as if to emphasise how much he was relying on this faculty. ‘I am sure it will not let me down.’
‘Alyosha …’ Captain Mizinchikov’s intervention was mild and almost wistful, but nonetheless powerful. There was the gentlest note of reproach in his voice. ‘If you did this thing, if you did it for me, you must see, I cannot accept the money. I cannot benefit from this act. And I urge you, as you urged me, I urge you, to bare your soul. To confess.’
‘He fell, that’s all. I did not push him, I simply … let go.’
‘You let go.’ Porfiry carefully kept any note of interrogation out of his voice. He reassured rather than questioned.
‘He was unsteady, unbalanced. I was holding him up at the top of the stairs. He shouted something … something disgusting, hateful, inhuman. It was the act of a moment – I let go. He fell. I did not push him. I don’t think I pushed him. Might I have?’
‘Please sit down, my friend.’ Porfiry gestured to the sofa. ‘Perhaps you would like to put your feet up and rest a while? Such exertions as this are invariably tiring.’
‘Yes, thank you. I will.’
Alexei Ivanovich staggered over to the brown sofa upholstered in artificial leather – American leather, as it was called. He fell onto it and drew his knees up, turning his back on the other men in the room. He was heard to mutter, ‘I admit nothing.’ Seconds after, he had dozed off.
37
Playing parts
‘What will happen to him?’ asked Captain Mizinchikov in an awed whisper. He stared in bewilderment at his slumbering cousin.
‘Don’t worry about him.’
Mizinchikov turned a fearful gaze on Porfiry. ‘Can you make anyone confess to anything?’
‘No.’ Porfiry smiled reassuringly. After a moment, he began afresh, adopting a crisp, almost officious tone that belied his denial: ‘I would like to ask you about the events at the Naryskin Palace on the night of Yelena Filippovna’s death. You must know that we have wanted to speak to you for a long time. It is to be regretted that you did not come forward before now, especially if, as you say, you are innocent of her murder.’
M
izinchikov glanced back nervously at his cousin.
‘Please don’t worry about him. He will sleep until he is ready to face the consequences of his act. I wish to talk about you now.’
‘I had her blood all over my uniform.’
‘Ah yes, the blood. Can you explain how it got there?’
‘No, I cannot. One minute it was not there, the next it was.’
‘Can you describe precisely what happened? Where were you when you noticed the blood on your tunic?’
‘I was in Lena’s dressing room.’
‘Tell me what you saw when you entered the room.’
‘Lena … lying on the carpet. There was blood everywhere. Aglaia Filippovna must have come into the room behind me. I turned round and she was there. Her face was frozen in horror. She was pointing at me. She looked as though she was screaming but nothing … no sound came out. I looked down at where she was pointing … to see fresh blood all over my tunic.’
‘How close to you was she standing?’
‘I don’t remember. The details are vague now.’
‘It is a small room. She must have been very close, if you were both in the room.’
‘Yes, I suppose she was.’
Porfiry rose from his chair and walked around the desk to join Captain Mizinchikov. ‘Would you care to stand up?’
The captain got to his feet falteringly.
‘I shall be Aglaia Filippovna,’ said Porfiry. ‘Pavel Pavlovich, would you take the part of Yelena Filippovna?’
Virginsky came forward from the corner of the room where he had been standing, an amused expression on his face. It seemed that he was enjoying his work this afternoon. ‘If you insist.’
‘I do. Lie down on the floor there, if you please.’
Virginsky lay on his back with his arms crossed over his chest.
‘No, no, no. That’s not right. She didn’t have her arms like that.’
Virginsky turned half on his side and disposed his limbs about him in an approximation of the cork-screwed sprawl of Yelena Filippovna’s body.
‘And you, Captain Mizinchikov, can you remember where you were standing in relation to the body?’