‘Who?’
‘Aye. I mean, yes.’
‘Not me.’
‘No. Very well. What about the initials?’
‘Initials?’
‘Each entry in the ledger has a set of letters in one column. Professor Bubnov was not able to tell us the meaning of those letters. He rather thought you would be able to.’
There was a stirring in the smoke. Smerdyakov determinedly refused to turn towards it. ‘Did he now?’
‘Yes. Are these letters taken from your chit?’
‘Maybe they are.’
‘I see. And if they were, what possibly could they mean?’
‘That’s who we got it from. For settling up, you see.’
‘Who you got it from? You mean to say they are the initials of the individual policeman supplying a particular corpse?’
‘A-aye?’
‘And the payment is made to the individual policeman, not to the force as a whole, or the station from which he comes.’
‘A-aye?’
‘Who pays them? Not you?’
‘No. Not me.’
‘Who, then?’
‘The bursar’s office. The chit goes to the bursar’s office. They present themselves for payment.’
‘It’s all very organised.’
‘It has to be.’
‘You receive a lot of bodies in this way?’
‘The students must have their corpses.’
‘The policemen who supply the corpses are all known to you?’
‘Maybe?’
‘If we were to get the ledger now, you would be able to tell us the identity and station of every officer entered in there?’
‘Ah! If I may intervene here.’ Professor Bubnov stepped forward from the cloud of smoke that half-enshrouded him. ‘I am afraid to say that the ledger has gone missing.’
‘Missing? How can this be?’
‘We have searched everywhere for it. I fear … it may have been … stolen.’
Porfiry’s rage expressed itself in the mute and frantic snapping of his eyelids. ‘But why?’
The professor gave a forlorn shrug.
‘I will tell you why. To prevent the information it contains coming into my hands. By God, I was a fool not to take the book when I had a chance. I misjudged you, professor. I thought I was dealing with a decent man, a man of humanity and compassion. I believed if I gave you a little latitude you would do the right thing. How wrong I was! My God! Do you not realise? This is murder we are investigating – the murder of three innocents – and all you are concerned about is protecting your sources of supply!’
‘But I know nothing about the disappearance of the ledger,’ protested Professor Bubnov lamely.
‘I know nothing, I know nothing! It’s always the same with you moral cowards. Be under no illusions, I hold you responsible for this, sir.’
‘We have turned the Academy upside down.’
‘You were the last person to have the ledger in his possession. You knew the importance of the book to the investigation. Don’t think you’ll get away with this. If the book does not turn up, you may face a charge.’
‘I cannot produce the book, sir. It is out of my hands.’
‘I want a name. Tell him to give us a name, or you will be arrested.’
‘But you don’t understand. It was the police. The police themselves came for it.’
Porfiry’s eyes widened as he took this in. After a moment his expression contracted into a threatening glower. ‘That will not help you. Let me explain something. I am independent of the police. The police cannot protect you from me. From the law. My God, how it shames me as a Russian to be having this discussion. Tell him to give me a name or you’ll suffer the consequences.’
Professor Bubnov bowed assent.
‘You, Smerdyakov,’ snapped Porfiry. ‘I. P. S.? Who is I. P. S.?’
‘That’ll be Salytov. Lieutenant Ilya Petrovich Salytov. Of the Haymarket District Police Bureau. The one with the face.’
Porfiry placed a hand over his eyes, as if to still their frenzied blinking, and groaned.
A representative of the Third Section
The St Petersburg Gazette, Thursday, 17 October 1870
I
NVESTIGATORS
EXAMINE
LINK
BETWEEN
MURDERS
D
EAD
BEAUTY
SUSPECTED
OF
HORRIFIC
CRIMES
Magistrates investigating the disappearance of three child
factory workers, Dmitri Krasotkin, Artur Smurov and
Svetlana Chisova, are considering the possibility that they
were murdered by the society beauty Yelena Filippovna
Polenova, herself the victim of murder, as reported in these
pages on the 2nd instant
.
The outlandish theory hinges on the discovery of mysterious
bruises on the necks of three juvenile remains, which
have been positively identified as belonging to the missing
children. Magistrates are of the opinion that these bruises
correspond closely in shape and size to the design of a ring
worn by the dead woman. It is supposed that, for reasons
known only to herself, Mademoiselle Polenova strangled the
children to death, and in the process of so doing, left the
imprint of her ring on their innocent necks
.
As of yet, no one has been charged with the murder of
Yelena Filippovna, although magistrates have appealed for
Captain Konstantin Denisevich Mizinchikov, a deserter
from the Preobrazhensky Regiment, in whose apartment an
incriminating razor was found, to come forward and give
an account of his conduct, at the Naryskin Palace, on the 1st
instant, being respectively the location and date of Mmelle
Polenova’s demise
.
A source at the Department for the Investigation of
Criminal Causes has revealed that whoever killed Mmelle
Polenova may have done so to prevent the slaughter of
future innocents. If this is indeed the case, it is to be expected
that such an individual would be treated with great sympathy
by investigating magistrates. We urge the killer to hand
himself over to the authorities, not only for the good of his
own soul, but for the peace of mind of the entire city
.
*
Ivan Iakovich Bakhmutov slammed the paper down on the boardroom table.
‘Bad, very bad,’ snarled von Lembke, through teeth clenched around a cigar he was in the process of lighting.
Prince Naryskin took the paper. ‘What?’
‘There!’ Bakhmutov jabbed the offending article with a finger.
‘My God! It cannot be true?’
‘Of course it’s not true,’ declared Bakhmutov, pacing the room restlessly.
‘Then why print it?’
The naivety of Prince Naryskin’s question drew an ugly guffaw from von Lembke.
‘Our enemies are behind this,’ said Bakhmutov darkly. ‘They seek to ruin us.’
‘I thought you had friends on the
Gazette
.’ Von Lembke’s tone was mocking. Bakhmutov did not deign to answer the remark.
‘But I do not see what this has to do with us.’ Prince Naryskin looked up pleadingly at Bakhmutov.
‘It brings her name back into the public mind.’
‘She was his mistress,’ said von Lembke flatly. He was surprised to see Prince Naryskin blush.
‘Not only that, it associates her name with the most despicable crimes. At a time when we are seeking to capitalise on your involvement with the bank. They mention the Naryskin Palace, I see. And so they sully your name as well as hers.’
‘This is insufferable!’ protested Prince Naryskin.
‘Question is, what to do about it?’ Von Lembke’s thin smile closed tightly shut. He studied his cigar intently, casting occasional sly glances at Prince Naryskin.
The prince felt himself the object of Bakhmutov’s attention too.
‘My dear friend, I think the time has come to discuss the terms upon which the board would be willing to consider the cancellation of your debt. That is something you desire, is it not?’
But there was something about Bakhmutov’s smile that made the prince question whether this was as desirable an outcome as he had once imagined.
*
‘What is the meaning of this?’ Porfiry threw the newspaper at Virginsky as he came in for his morning briefing. The pages fell apart in a flurried panic, littering the surface of Porfiry’s desk.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Do I not have enough to contend with? A servant who is a Third Section spy. Salytov carrying on an illicit trade in the
bodies of murder victims. And now this. You. Talking to the press when I had explicitly forbidden it.’
‘But I know nothing about this,’ said Virginsky, retrieving the scattered newspaper sheet by sheet.
‘Again,
I know nothing!
Are you a moral coward too, Pavel Pavlovich? Do you refuse to take responsibility for your actions?’
‘I did not speak to any journalists.’
‘This is not helpful.’ Porfiry shook his head darkly. ‘Who knows what it will unleash. There are consequences here that you cannot conceive of.’
Virginsky put the paper back together carefully and folded it as neatly as he could. ‘I swear to you, Porfiry Petrovich, I had nothing to do with this.’
‘We will just have to deal with whatever comes our way. In the meantime, where is Salytov?’
‘You do not believe me.’ There was a deadened fatality to Virginsky’s tone.
‘I have no time to consider the question now. We will inquire into this in due course.’
There was a brisk rap at the door.
‘At last, Salytov. Come in!’
The fact that Porfiry had been expecting Lieutenant Salytov made the appearance of the man who did come through the door especially mystifying. His face was somehow familiar, and yet, as Porfiry strained his memory to place it, all recollection of the man’s identity eluded him. He knew him from somewhere. But where? There was something not right about the man, or perhaps he was sensing some fundamental change that had taken place since the last time he saw him that made recognition impossible. He was dressed in a dark frock coat.
The more Porfiry looked at this item of clothing the more certain he was that here was the source of the mystery. The man held a charcoal grey bowler in one hand; between the thumb and forefinger of the other, he twirled the apex of a waxed blond moustache.
‘Good day, Porfiry Petrovich
Razumikhin
!’ His voice sank to a conspiratorial whisper on the last word.
As soon as he heard the voice, he knew where he had seen the man before. ‘You’re out of uniform.’
‘I am not obliged to signal my presence with the uniform everywhere I go, although it is sometimes useful to don the sky blue – when one wants to make an impression.’
‘Was it for show then, your exercise in the Nikolaevsky Station?’
‘Not at all. We were in earnest.’
‘Did you catch your man?’
‘Murin? No. He still evades us. But I believe we are closing in on him. It is to be hoped that we will catch up with him soon. He is a very dangerous individual.’
Porfiry nodded his head, almost in admiration. ‘Evidently you have discovered my family name.’
‘I did not know it was a secret.’
‘Perhaps you would be so good as to reveal yours?’
‘I am not bound to.’ The visitor renewed the energy with which he rolled his moustache and smiled. ‘However, I am here on official business, so there is perhaps little point in concealing it. I am Major Pyotr Afanasevich Verkhotsev.’
‘You are Maria Petrovna’s father!’ exclaimed Virginsky.
‘And you are Pavel Pavlovich Virginsky,’ said Verkhotsev, facing Virginsky with a polite bow. ‘Now that we are all friends, perhaps I should reveal the purpose of my visit. I have here …’
Verkhotsev withdrew a sealed paper from inside his frock coat ‘… a warrant issued by Count Shuvalov, whom you will know as the Head of the Third Section of His Imperial Majesty’s Chancellery.’
‘Yes, yes. Quite.’ Porfiry broke the seal and studied the document Verkhotsev had handed to him.
‘You will see that it is quite in order. It requires you to share with me all the evidence you have gathered so far in the investigation into the murder of Yelena Filippovna Polenova, as well as all evidence relating to the murders of Dmitri Krasotkin, Artur Smurov and Svetlana Chisova. As you will observe, the warrant has been countersigned by Count Konstantin Palen, the Minister of Justice, and General Trepov, the Chief of Police. The Chief Superintendent of the Haymarket Station, your very own Nikodim Fomich, has also initialled it to signify his approval.’
‘You are taking over the investigation?’
‘No, no, no! Only a very vain or foolish man would remove the greatest investigator in St Petersburg from a case in order to take it over himself.’
‘You flatter me. For my part, I will say that you are welcome to it.’
‘Really? Why do you say that?’
‘I hope you will not take this the wrong way, but, in my experience, as soon as the Third Section becomes interested in a case, I myself lose the will to continue with it.’
‘I am sorry to hear that, Porfiry Petrovich. Mortified, even. May I ask why?’
‘Things become unnecessarily complicated.’
‘Ah, now – if I may be permitted to correct a misapprehension on your part?’
Porfiry nodded for Verkhotsev to continue.
‘It is not that things
become
complicated with our involvement. It is rather that we reveal how very complicated they were right from the beginning. Things are always complicated, Porfiry Petrovich. Invariably so.’
‘But they acquire a degree of complication that makes it impossible to get to the truth.’
‘There is nothing I desire more than to get to the truth. Especially in this case. I think you will understand that this is a case that concerns me personally. Pavel Pavlovich has already alluded to my daughter Masha’s involvement. In addition, an account in today’s
Gazette
has alerted us to the wider implications of these cases. By the by, I might ask, Porfiry Petrovich, why did you decide to release the details of the case in this way?’