by R. N. Morris
‘What on earth is the matter now?’
Porfiry shook the damaged hand, then held it tightly at the wrist, as if he could seal off the pain. ‘I burnt it on the samovar.’
‘Here, let me see.’ Nikodim Fomich, although several years younger than Porfiry, automatically lapsed into a fatherly role towards him. ‘My wife always puts grated carrot on burns.’
‘Nonsense.’
‘At the very least, some cucumber juice will take out the heat.’
‘It’s nothing, Nikodim Fomich. And kindly remember I am not one of your children.’ Porfiry snatched his hand away.
‘You need someone to look after you, Porfiry Petrovich. You remember Varvara Romanovna?’
‘Varvara Romanovna?’
‘Come now, Porfiry, she was your bridge partner at the dacha this summer. She was very taken with you, as well you know.’
‘The corpulent widow?’
‘My goodness, Porfiry Petrovich, have you looked at yourself recently?’
Porfiry screwed his nose up over his burn. ‘I try to avoid it.’
‘I can understand why. However, as your friend, I am obliged to tell you that you are past your prime.’
‘Thank you, friend.’
‘The days of your bagging a young, beautiful bride are sadly long gone.’
‘Please be assured, Nikodim Fomich, I entertain no such hopes.’
‘Just as well.’
‘But just because I am not capable of bagging – as you so delicately put it – a young, beautiful bride, am I therefore obliged to settle for an old, ugly one?’
‘Varvara Romanovna is not ugly!’
‘No. That was unkind of me. And her charms, for the right man, will prove irresistible. However, I fear I am not that man. The inclinations of the heart cannot be forced, Nikodim Fomich. Now, was there some official purpose to your visit? Or are you here solely in the role of matchmaker?’
‘Have you made any progress in the case of the murdered society belle?’
‘Really, Nikodim Fomich! The murdered society belle? You have been reading too many newspaper accounts.’
‘Indeed so. The newspapers are full of it. And frankly, they are portraying us as fools.’
‘Until we are able to talk to the missing captain, there is little hope of making progress in the case.’
‘Ah yes, the missing captain.’
‘We have contacted colleagues in Moscow and elsewhere, requesting that they interview and monitor a number of Captain Mizinchikov’s relatives. We are especially interested in one Alexei Ivanovich Zahlebinin, a cousin of Mizinchikov’s with whom he is on particularly friendly terms. This Zahlebinin denies having seen him so far and has given assurances that he will report his cousin’s appearance, should it occur. I trust the police surveillance of Mizinchikov’s St Petersburg associates continues?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘It would greatly assist us also if we were able to take a meaningful statement from Aglaia Filippovna.’
‘Do you think she witnessed her sister’s murder?’
‘That would certainly account for the extremity of her reaction to it.’
‘Am I to take it that you regard her reaction as excessive, Porfiry Petrovich?’
‘Who can say? Grief takes many forms. And it was certainly an excessive crime.’
‘We should not be surprised that it has wrought such destruction on a delicate feminine constitution.’
Porfiry looked at his friend sharply. ‘Are you implying that her constitution must necessarily be delicate because it is feminine? Feminine ergo delicate?’
Nikodim Fomich became momentarily flustered. ‘I, well … is that not the case, Porfiry Petrovich? I mean, are women no longer delicate? Is that then the resolution of the woman question?’
‘Surely you and I have encountered, in the pursuit of our duties, women whose constitutions, and indeed sensibilities, are very far from delicate.’
‘But look at the severity of Aglaia Filippovna’s collapse … Surely that is in itself a cogent argument for the delicacy of her constitution.’
‘I believe that is known in logic as a circular argument.’
‘I don’t know anything about that. At any rate, news has reached me of a communiqué from the very highest quarters. As a result of which, the Prefect of Police is keenly desirous that progress should be made. To put it bluntly, Porfiry Petrovich, he is looking for an arrest.’
‘Gr-ahh! I am afraid my hand is beginning to throb most vehemently. I believe I have some dandelion lotion in my apartment. You will forgive me, Nikodim Fomich, while I administer to my injury.’
‘Are you by any chance running away from this conversation, Porfiry Petrovich? I shall await your return.’
*
When Porfiry returned to his chambers, holding aloft an untidily bandaged hand, he found that Nikodim Fomich had been joined by the police clerk Zamyotov.
‘There is someone to see you. A young lady. She does not have an appointment. However, she insists that she is a friend of yours.’ Zamyotov tilted his head back in a display of scepticism.
‘A claim which we may easily verify, Alexander Grigorevich. Please show her in.’
Nikodim Fomich raised both eyebrows enquiringly and watched the door with interest. A moment later, Maria Petrovna came through it.
Porfiry was aware of Nikodim Fomich watching him closely as he greeted the young lady, which made his welcome more stilted than it otherwise might have been. He sensed an unexpected coldness in Maria Petrovna, as if she too felt similarly constrained. He craved her gaze, just a flash of her brilliant eyes in his direction, for him alone, but she withheld it. He wondered if it was not so much the presence of Nikodim Fomich as the recollection of how they had parted, and with what emotion, that inhibited her.
He saw that she held a copy of the St Petersburg Gazette, which seemed to act as a further constraint on her. She appeared uncertain what to do with it, yet it was clear that she had brought it with some purpose. She cast sharp, almost wary glances at Nikodim Fomich as she fumbled with it.
Porfiry was attuned to her unease. ‘May I introduce Nikodim Fomich, Chief Superintendent of the Haymarket District Police Bureau.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Nikodim Fomich. Perhaps you know my father, Pyotr Afanasevich Verkhotsev?’
‘Our two departments from time to time engage in joint endeavours.’ An edge of wariness crept into Nikodim Fomich’s usually affable tone.
Maria Petrovna relaxed enough to smile. ‘And the rest of the time, regard one another with mutual suspicion. I know how it is.’
‘Not at all!’ But Nikodim Fomich’s uneasy smile belied his words.
‘Please sit down, Maria Petrovna.’ Porfiry gestured with his damaged hand towards the brown sofa. ‘Perhaps you would care for some tea?’
Maria Petrovna did not sit down. ‘No, thank you. I did not come here for tea.’
Porfiry absorbed her abruptness with a pained smile. ‘Nikodim Fomich?’
‘As you have gone to so much trouble, I will take a glass with you.’
Porfiry looked uncertainly at the samovar. ‘Ah. I seem to have forgotten something.’
‘What?’
‘The tea liquor. Zakhar always took care of such things.’
‘Please, Porfiry Petrovich, do not trouble yourself any further.’
‘It will only take a moment.’
‘No, no. You must attend to your guest …’
Porfiry hesitated. Then bowing stiffly to Maria, he said: ‘You have remembered something concerning Yelena Filippovna?’
‘It is not that.’ Maria’s voice hardened with remembered grievance. But her eyes tracked his bandaged hand and she frowned. ‘You have hurt yourself?’
‘It is nothing.’ Porfiry could not keep a small flicker of pleasure from his lips. Neither could he resist a proud, vindicated glance at Nikodim Fomich. He was somewhat put out, however, by the carelessness with which Maria accepted his demurra
l.
‘Have you seen the Gazette?’ She thrust the paper forward. The hardened, unmistakably aggressive tone had returned to her voice. ‘Yelena Filippovna’s murder is turning you into something of a celebrity, Porfiry Petrovich.’
‘That’s hardly fair, Maria Petrovna. Nikodim Fomich and I were just talking about the newspaper reports. They are far from flattering. Was I not charged with bumbling incompetence?’
‘No, that was me,’ said Nikodim Fomich. ‘You were ineffectual. Really, these journalists …’
‘Thank you, Nikodim Fomich. I confess I only glanced at the piece. However, such articles are helpful when we are trying to locate a suspect. They serve to alert the public. After all, the Gazette is extremely widely read. There is a description of Captain Mizinchikov, I believe? And do we not also call for him to give himself up? All that is standard procedure in such cases.’
‘You are also quoted as saying that you are …’ Maria Petrovna scanned the front page to read in an accusatory tone, ‘devoting all my energies to the single imperative of finding Miss Polenova’s murderer.’
Porfiry blinked uncertainly. His mouth contracted into a questioning shape. ‘Is that not what you would have me do? I understood she was your friend.’
‘And what of Mitka?’ Her voice rose sharply in pitch. ‘Can you tell me how your enquiries into Mitka’s disappearance are progressing? Will you, I wonder, have energy remaining to devote to that?’
‘Who is Mitka?’ asked Nikodim Fomich.
‘I see you have not even deemed it necessary to discuss the case with the Chief Superintendent.’
‘Forgive me, Maria Petrovna. The murder of Yelena Filippovna has proven unusually distracting, I admit. And a murder is necessarily given precedence over a missing persons case. The presence of a dead body does have a galvanising effect on policemen.’
‘Particularly when it is the body of a beautiful woman with society connections,’ said Maria bitterly.
‘Hers was a conspicuous death, certainly,’ said Porfiry. ‘There is considerable pressure on us to bring the case to a swift and satisfactory conclusion. A killer is at large.’
‘And how many more children will have to go missing before you take Mitka’s disappearance seriously?’
‘I repeat, who is Mitka?’
‘Mitka is a boy,’ said Porfiry, ‘a factory worker and a pupil at Maria Petrovna’s school. He has gone missing. He is one of several children from the school to have gone missing. Maria Petrovna fears that the children may have come to some harm.’
‘I see,’ said Nikodim Fomich. ‘Then we must look into it. Have you discussed the case with Prokuror Liputin?’
‘I intend to raise it at our next meeting.’
‘I am glad to hear it, Porfiry Petrovich. As a father, crimes against children trouble me greatly.’
‘With respect, Nikodim Fomich, we have yet to determine for certain that a crime has been committed. You know how it is with missing persons.’
‘Nevertheless, as agents of the state, we stand in loco parentis to all the children of the empire.’
‘You do not need to remind me, Nikodim Fomich.’
‘So,’ insisted Maria Petrovna. ‘What do you intend to do about it?’
‘Well, Nikodim Fomich?’ said Porfiry. ‘Whom can we spare, bearing in mind the Prefect of Police’s exhortation?’
‘What about Pavel Pavlovich?’ put in Maria. ‘I feel sure that if you were to assign him to this investigation, he would pursue it with the greatest of diligence.’
Nikodim Fomich considered the suggestion. ‘Of course, it’s not for me to say. He does not work under my authority. What say you, Porfiry Petrovich?’
‘Yes, by all means.’ Porfiry’s answer came distractedly. There was a hesitant catch in his voice.
‘You will direct him, of course,’ said Nikodim Fomich, as if to appease him.
Porfiry Petrovich appeared not to have heard. He was lost in an extended fit of blinking, at the end of which he flashed the mildest of recriminatory glances towards Maria Petrovna. He could not deny that he was disappointed she had not asked for him.
*
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‘What is this?’
‘The wording,’ said Alexander Grigorevich Zamyotov, with his accustomed terseness.
‘What wording?’
Zamyotov sighed heavily as he snatched the slip of paper back from Porfiry. ‘The wording for the advertisement that is to run in the St Petersburg Gazette. Situations Vacant. Domestics, Male. Nikodim Fomich authorised me to place it. He says that it is widely read, even if it is written by kikes. And he asked me to solicit your approval of the wording.’
‘Nikodim Fomich said nothing of any advertisement to me.’
Zamyotov’s eyes bobbed upwards, just stopping short of rolling.
‘May I see it again?’
Zamyotov clicked his tongue and handed the paper back.
‘I fail to understand why you have so particularly described me as a solitary gentleman.’
‘It is to assure the applicant that his duties will not be onerous. You are not married. You do not have a family. You are one, single, solitary individual. The needs of a solitary gentleman are necessarily rather more limited than those of a family man.’
‘Why is it necessary to give this assurance? Are we not thereby likely to attract lazier applicants?’
‘You do not want to put people off.’
‘But solitary?’
‘It describes your situation accurately, I think.’
‘I see.’ Porfiry handed the paper back forlornly. ‘When will the advertisement appear?’
‘If you approve the wording, I will take it to the newspaper office myself today and it will run in tomorrow’s edition. Nikodim Fomich is keen to find a suitable person as soon as possible. He is concerned that your unsettled domestic arrangements are distracting you from the efficient execution of your official duties.’
‘He has said nothing of the sort to me.’
‘I take it you are satisfied with the wording?’
‘Delete solitary.’
Zamyotov sucked air through his teeth. ‘If you insist.’
‘I do.’
‘Will you wish to interview the applicants?’
‘I am far too busy for that. I shall leave it to you. I will meet with your selected candidate and, provided he meets my approval, the position shall be his.’ Turning his attention to a case file, Porfiry added in an undertone: ‘How difficult can it be to hire a servant?’
Zamyotov tilted his head into a look of affront, then turned sharply out of the room.
16
The factory children
The gatekeeper at the Nevsky Cotton-Spinning Factory deflected Virginsky’s enquiries with an impervious shrug. His eyes carefully avoided the young magistrate’s, though there was no doubt he took in everything about his interlocutor with a sly, sidelong watchfulness. He was inordinately preoccupied in tending the precarious glimmer of his clay pipe, with which he produced industrial quantities of pungent smoke. It was as if he saw this as the foremost of his duties, from which he could not be distracted, and for which he was confident of a handsome reward. He stood in the wooden lodge at the entrance to the yard, possessing it with a wide stance and a portly, padded body; behind him, a number of massive keys were hung on numbered hooks, their weight and scale attesting to the importance of his office. His head was sunk low into the collar of his great coat, as if it was making ready to withdraw completely into the worsted carapace should the questioning get too sticky.
All of a sudden, for no reason, he gave a high, wheezing laugh, devoid of humour. ‘Yes, I know that one. But you won’t find him around here, your honour.’ He gave the respectful address an unnecessary emphasis. His eyes glinted coldly. ‘H
e’s done a bunk, has that one.’
‘Thank you. I am aware that Mitka has gone missing. I’m trying to ascertain what has become of him. When was the last time you saw him?’
‘The last time I saw him? There’s no good asking me a question like that! How can I be expected to know when the last time I saw him was? Though I can remember the first day I didn’t see him.’ The gatekeeper’s high-pitched laughter broke down into a fit of coughing. Tears of delight at his own wit trickled from his eyes.
‘Very well, tell me about the first day you did not see him,’ said Virginsky flatly.
‘It was a foggy day, you see. Or rather, you didn’t see. I didn’t see no one, hardly, that day.’ After a long pause, the gatekeeper added, his sarcasm not in doubt this time: ‘Your honour.’
‘A foggy day. Very droll. But the date? Can you remember the date?’
‘I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face so there was no chance seeing the almanac.’
‘Approximately how long ago would this have been? A week, two weeks, one month?’
‘Yes, that’s right, your honour. A week, two weeks, one month.’
‘I have to tell you that your answers are not at all helpful.’
‘I’m not too keen on your questions, if it comes to that.’
‘A child has gone missing. Are you not concerned to help us find him?’
‘That one’s no concern of mine. I knew he would come to no good.’
‘Why do you say that? Was he a trouble-maker?’
‘He had the makings of being a trouble-maker, let’s put it like that. He was filling his head with nonsense, that’s what he was doing.’
‘You’re talking about the school he was attending?’
‘What need had he to attend school? What good would it do him?’
As he considered the question, Virginsky looked away from the gatekeeper, towards the towering presence of the factory. The day’s light was crystal-sharp, and in its stark autumnal glare, the factory’s most oppressive aspect was revealed to be its drabness. It seemed to absorb whatever light was cast upon it with a sullen greed, giving nothing back, only the dense dark smoke puffing relentlessly from its chimneys. Virginsky found his answer in the prospect. ‘What good, do you say? It might get him away from this place.’
