by R. N. Morris
Porfiry blinked, then looked down and re-opened Virginsky’s notebook. ‘You said in your statement that you saw Konstantin Denisevich Mizinchikov, an officer in the Preobrazhensky Guards …’ He made a show of reading from the statement in front of him: ‘ … running away. Those were your words. Running away.’
‘Yes.’
‘How is it possible to tell that a man is running away, as opposed to simply running? Could he not just as plausibly have been running towards something as running away from something else? Perhaps he was running to get help.’
‘If he was running for help, why did he push past me and ignore my urgent enquiries?’
‘Ah, forgive me. That information is not in your statement. Pavel Pavlovich, did you fail to take down everything this gentleman said?’
Virginsky rippled his brows over the sudden sharpness in Porfiry’s tone but did not answer.
Turning to Bakhmutov once more, his tone softer again, Porfiry continued: ‘Would you care to add it now? I understand how these things can be forgotten, or overlooked. Here …’ Porfiry pushed the notebook across the desk towards Bakhmutov. He uncapped a reservoir pen, which he offered to the other man. ‘You can write it underneath the main statement and initial it. There is space.’ Bakhmutov made no move to take the pen. ‘Have you not used a reservoir pen before?’
‘I … Lena is dead. Do you not understand?’
‘Did you know the deceased?’
‘Lena … Yes.’
‘In what capacity?’
Bakhmutov pursed his lips before replying: ‘We were friends.’
‘I see. Well then, it is a terrible shock. I understand. I am not a monster.’ There was a strange stifled noise from Virginsky which drew questioning glances from both Porfiry and Bakhmutov. Porfiry blinked out his surprise and continued. ‘I will write it for you if you prefer – but you must tell me what to write, and initial it yourself, of course.’
‘Lena is dead, damn you. Why are you wasting time with all this talk of pens and writing?’
‘These things are important, I assure you. Such details may be crucial. In any trial, the existence of an accurate written testimony, taken near the time of the crime, may decide the case. May I write that Mizinchikov pushed past you?’
Bakhmutov grunted his consent.
‘And ignored your urgent enquiries?’
Bakhmutov formed a fist and held it to his lips. He hooded his eyes and nodded.
‘Thank you. Now, if you would be so good as to …’
Bakhmutov signed the addendum with a deep sigh.
Porfiry snapped the notebook to, as if closing a trap, and pocketed the pen. ‘Did you know Mizinchikov?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I’m sorry, did I not speak clearly? I asked whether you knew Mizinchikov. I mean, was he known to you before tonight? Perhaps that is what you didn’t understand.’
‘I do not … understand … your tone.’
‘My tone?’
‘Your tone is impertinent.’
‘Forgive me. I too am tired. You see, you are not the only one who can be tired. I am merely trying to get through this as quickly as possible so that you may go home. So that we may all go home.’
‘But this is not necessary. As I have said, I have already given my statement to your colleague.’
‘Which, regrettably – as we have discovered – contains some omissions.’ Porfiry stabbed the black leather cover of Virginsky’s notebook with his index finger repeatedly.
‘The main point is clear enough,’ insisted Bakhmutov, calmly, almost complacently. ‘He had blood all over his tunic.’
‘Ah yes, the blood. Tell me, did you notice whether Captain Mizinchikov was carrying anything?’
‘Such as?’
‘I don’t want to suggest what he might or might not have been carrying. Suffice it to say that I have in mind a reasonably noticeable article.’
‘No, I saw nothing. Just the blood on his tunic.’
‘You are quite insistent on that detail, I see.’
‘Does it not signify his guilt?’
‘It’s true, things do not look good for Captain Mizinchikov.’ Porfiry once again split open Virginsky’s notebook and turned the pages, as if looking for confirmation of something. ‘That is his rank, is it not?’
‘I believe so.’
Porfiry closed the notebook and looked up. ‘So you did know him before? You put in your statement that he is an officer of the Preobrazhensky Regiment. You must have known that much about him.’
Bakhmutov considered a moment before answering: ‘Yes.’
‘Another friend?’
‘An associate.’
‘An interesting distinction. Do you mean to say you had business dealings with Captain Mizinchikov?’
Bakhmutov gave a heavy, reluctant nod, as if it cost him a great deal to do so.
‘May I ask, what is the nature of your business?’
‘I am a financier.’
‘A money-lender.’
‘Do you mean to be offensive?’
‘Certainly not. Do you not lend money?’
‘I raise money for companies and individuals, on a somewhat larger scale than is suggested by money-lender.’
‘You had lent Captain Mizinchikov money?’
Bakhmutov gave a noise which could have been of assent.
‘How much money?’
‘I cannot remember.’
‘The debt was an old one?’
Bakhmutov regarded Porfiry with a look of weary contempt. ‘No.’
‘I see. But, presumably, given that you do not lend money on a small scale, it was for a considerable amount of money.’
‘Presumably.’
‘You must indeed be a very wealthy man, Ivan Iakovich.’
‘I, or rather my bank, lends money to a great number of clients. The details are kept at the bank’s headquarters. I do not have the figures to hand now. Naturally. I do not go about armed with my bank’s book-keeping ledgers.’
‘Do you remember why Captain Mizinchikov needed the money?’
‘I do not inquire into those aspects of my clients’ affairs.’
Porfiry widened his eyes sceptically, then blinked flutteringly as if to say, ‘Now, come come …
‘Presumably,’ Bakhmutov conceded, ‘as is quite common with Guards officers, he found his salary was unequal to his expenses.’
‘Presumably. A pity there was not an older and wiser friend to advise him, in a fatherly way, about the need to moderate his habits and modify his expenditure.’
‘In my experience, such cosy chats serve little purpose. When a man is set upon his own destruction, there is little one can do to prevent it.’
‘So one may as well finance it?’
Bakhmutov eyed Porfiry narrowly. He seemed to be about to say something but thought better of it.
Porfiry’s face was serious as he studied the glowing tip of his cigarette. ‘What was Captain Mizinchikov’s particular weakness? Gambling?’
‘Women. Or rather, a woman. She will not torment him any more. He has made sure of that.’
‘Yelena Filippovna?’
‘Yes.’
‘Had you lent her money?’
‘I … no.’
‘You seem unsure.’
‘I have never lent Yelena Filippovna a single kopek.’
‘Do you expect that Captain Mizinchikov will be able to repay his debt?’
‘Lena is dead!’ Bakhmutov shouted out his refrain. ‘What do I care about his debt now?’
‘You do not expect him to.’
Shockingly, Bakhmutov laughed. It was a harsh, cynical sound, mirth without compassion.
‘Presumably he has collateral?’ pressed Porfiry.
‘He stands to inherit a tidy fortune. However, I know his father. In his dotage, he has become a very moral gentleman. Do you not often find it is so? He was once as dashing a rake as his son. But now, as death approaches, the old man has ra
ther gone in for religion. And morality.’ Bakhmutov said the words almost distastefully. ‘He will not wish the estate to go to a murderer, especially if it will only be used to pay off the costs of his dissolution.’
‘To whom will the Mizinchikov fortune go if Captain Mizinchikov is cut out of the will?’
‘There is a cousin, a nephew of Mizinchikov’s father. But I have never met him. He resides in Moscow, I believe. He would be the next in line.’
‘From what you are saying, Mizinchikov would not seek refuge with his father?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘What about this cousin?’
‘I could not say.’
‘Is there anyone to whom Mizinchikov might reasonably present himself for protection?’
Bakhmutov turned to Virginsky. ‘Why is he looking at me in that way?’
Virginsky considered his answer for some time. At last he said: ‘It is important that we find Mizinchikov.’
‘Of course! But I find his insinuations insulting. What have I to do with this sordid crime? It was merely an accident that I saw Mizinchikov when I did. It could just have easily been someone else. I wish now that …’ Bakhmutov broke off and licked around his teeth as if to clean away an unpleasant taste.
‘What do you wish? Now?’ Porfiry’s tone was distracted. He once again had Virginsky’s notebook open and was skimming through its pages.
‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter.’
‘There is no explanation in your statement … if we may call it a statement … no explanation as to why you were not in the theatre. Were you not enjoying the show?’
‘The behaviour of the audience was appalling. I was going to warn Yelena Filippovna, to advise her against going on.’
‘I see. You are very protective of her.’
‘Naturally. She is my friend. I have her best interests at heart.’
‘What time was this by the way?’
‘Some time after eight o’clock, I believe. I remember looking at my watch at about eight o’clock.’
Porfiry closed the notebook and looked up. ‘You walked out of the performance?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did anyone see you leave the theatre?’
‘I really cannot say what others did or did not see.’
‘Very good. I like that in a witness. It is very meticulous. You were here with friends?’
‘Yes.’
‘Presumably your friends noticed your absence?’
‘One would like to think so.’
‘May I have their names?’
‘Why? They have nothing to do with any of this.’
‘Even so, I would like to speak to them. Perhaps one of them will be able to shed some light on Captain Mizinchikov’s whereabouts.’
‘I shared a box with my private secretary, Ardalion Gavrilovich Velchaninov.’
‘We have met that gentleman already.’
‘And with my friend and business associate, Baron von Lembke.’
‘The industrialist?’
‘Yes. He is also on the board of my bank. I am of course on the friendliest of terms with Prince Nikolai Naryskin, our host for the evening, as well as with his son, Prince Sergei. They were not, however, in my party tonight.’
‘Of course.’
‘Other friends of mine who attended include Count Dmitri Tolstoy …’
‘Count Tolstoy is here?’
‘And Tsarevich Alexander.’
‘The Tsarevich too! My goodness. You did not tell me you had taken a statement from the Tsarevich, Pavel Pavlovich!’
Consternation tightened Virginsky’s brow. ‘I did not. Nor from Count Tolstoy. They were not among the witnesses I interviewed.’
‘How strange,’ said Porfiry. ‘They must have made their exit before Prince Naryskin sealed his doors. Or perhaps the good prince felt it his loyal duty to spare them the tedium of an investigation.’
‘I am also on the very best of terms with the Tsar himself,’ put in Bakhmutov.
‘Heavens! The Tsar was here?’
‘No, no. That is not what I said. I merely wished you to understand that I count the Tsar amongst my friends.’
‘I understand! How could I fail to understand? Clearly I understand.’
‘Then there is no need to labour it.’
‘I merely wished you to understand that I understood. That your meaning was not lost on me!’
‘I take it then that we are finished here.’ Bakhmutov placed his hands on the table, in preparation to rising.
‘Very nearly, Ivan Iakovich. There is just one other aspect of the evening’s tragedy that is not yet clear to me.’ Porfiry once more opened Virginsky’s notebook.
‘Why do you keep fiddling with that blasted notebook? Open, closed, open, closed … ! Can you not decide once and for all whether you wish to consult it or not?’
Porfiry met Bakhmutov’s exasperation with astonishment. ‘I do beg your pardon. It is the nature of this work. One thinks one has grasped the essentials of a case only to discover there is some aspect of it that … eludes one’s understanding, after all. You were on your way to see Yelena Filippovna?’
‘Yes.’
‘You did not know at the time that she was dead?’
‘Of course not! What an absurd question!’
‘Yes, but you may be surprised how often the absurd intrudes into my investigations.’
‘That is no doubt because you are an absurd man.’
Porfiry gave the impression of thinking seriously about what Bakhmutov had just said. ‘After Captain Mizinchikov had pushed past you, ignoring your urgent entreaties, what did you do?’
‘You know very well what I did. It’s all there in that little book.’
Porfiry gave a sharp nod of appreciation before consulting the notebook. ‘You then saw Aglaia Filippovna, the deceased’s sister.’
‘That is correct.’
‘This was where?’
‘She was coming out of the dressing room.’
‘It was at this point that she screamed?’
‘Yes.’
‘She screamed upon seeing you?’
‘I suppose you could put it like that.’
‘That is what I don’t understand. Why she screamed then. Would it not have been more natural for her to scream when she discovered her sister dead?’
‘I really cannot say. She was in shock, clearly.’
‘You then went into the room and saw Yelena Filippovna’s body for yourself?’
Bakhmutov closed his eyes and nodded.
‘Was there anyone else in the room?’
‘No.’
‘You searched the room?’
‘I did not.’
‘You did not look behind the screen?’
‘No.’
‘A pity.’
‘It did not strike me as necessary.’
‘At any rate, you saw no one else between your encounter with Captain Mizinchikov and meeting Aglaia Filippovna?’
‘There were servants about, I believe.’
‘How many?’
Bakhmutov now opened his eyes and looked at Porfiry with a kind of stunned bewilderment. ‘I really cannot say. I did not count them.’
8
In the red drawing room
Prince Naryskin the elder felt the heat on his face as the fire in the red drawing room flared, tongues of orange licking greedily over the small bundle of letters he had just fed into them. The paper edges crackled and disintegrated. Multiple layers of words, written in her unexpectedly regular hand, were briefly revealed and quickly consumed. It seemed that the last remnants of her personality were contained in the strokes and whorls of ink, and that this was a further destruction of her, a second more final murder. He watched the fine black smoke curl and rise from the letters, her soul set free; he felt it in his eyes, drawing tears, and tasted it in his throat, its harshness somehow welcome.
The fine red silk ribbon around it was the last part of the bundle to catch. W
ielding the fine tongs with dangerous clumsiness, Prince Naryskin piled burning coals over the flimsy ashes, burying this last vestige of what had passed between them.
‘F-father?’
The prince stood sharply. ‘What?’
‘It looked like you were … b-burning something,’ observed his son, suppressing his stammer by slowing down his words. He closed the door behind him as noiselessly as he had opened it.
‘It was nothing. I was just stirring the coals.’
‘With the … t-tongs?’
‘Does one not?’ The elder prince bent and replaced the guilty object on the stand.
His son crossed the red drawing room to join him at the European-style hearth. He peered suspiciously into the heavy marble frame, then picked up the poker and stirred the coals himself, as if to demonstrate how it was done.
‘I find it strangely comforting,’ said the elder prince, to his son’s curved back.
‘Why do you need c-c-comforting?’
‘Perhaps I was thinking of you.’
The younger prince straightened. ‘Those magistrates are looking for you. I have them outside.’
‘Did we not give them a study in which to conduct their investigations?’
‘It seems they cannot be c-c-contained there.’
It was a moment before the elder prince replied: ‘Where is your mother?’
‘She has taken to her bed, I believe. The evening has placed a very g-great strain upon her nerves.’
‘Of course.’ The elder prince fell into a contemplative silence.
‘The … magistrates?’
‘Very well. Show them in.’
‘Prince Nikolai Sergeevich,’ said Porfiry as he and Virginsky were admitted by Prince Sergei. ‘Why did you not inform us that the Tsarevich and Count Tolstoy had been here this evening?’
‘I did not wish to confuse you.’
Porfiry’s face flushed almost as red as his surroundings. ‘That is very considerate of you. I might say a little too considerate. I regret that you allowed them to depart before the police arrived.’
‘It is inconceivable that I should detain a minister of state. It is beyond inconceivable that I should detain the Tsar’s son. Their presence here need not concern you. They have nothing to do with your investigation.’
