‘Are you all right? It seemed as though you were about to pass out.’
‘I was looking into the wound. You have to look into the
wounds, you know.’ Porfiry Petrovich held an arm out towards Virginsky. The younger man pulled him to his feet. ‘You will kindly enquire of Prince Naryskin if there is a room that may be put at our disposal.’
They were shown into a cork-lined study with a highly polished parquet floor. A massive ornate mantelpiece carved from beech towered over them; on either side of it shutters, also made of beech, inlaid in the same herringbone pattern as the floor, were spread like giant wings across two great windows. The furniture was all of a darker wood. A heavy circular table in the centre of the room had four empire chairs placed around it. There was a wooden easel bearing a Japanese sketch of a woman washing her feet.
The door closed on them with a discreet clash of wood. They were left alone with the smell of beeswax.
‘It’s like being shut up inside a marquetry box,’ said Virginsky.
‘Or a beautiful coffin,’ said Porfiry. ‘I think it will serve our purposes adequately.’
*
Porfiry Petrovich looked up suddenly from Virginsky’s notebook. ‘Prince Bykov! The play they were performing was by Prince Bykov!’
‘What of it?’
‘I have met Prince Bykov. He was involved in the case which first brought you and I together, Pavel Pavlovich. But you would not have met him.’
‘No, I would not. Being confined in a police cell, I met very few people, other than my guards and interrogator.’
‘
The Vanished Lover
. My goodness! How very bold of him.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘A very special friend of the prince’s vanished in real life.’
‘I see. The play is autobiographical.’
‘Only up to a point, I imagine. I see that the part of the vanished lover was to have been played by Yelena Filippovna. The prince’s vanished friend could not have been played by her, or any woman.’ Porfiry paused, then added with a heavy, almost comical wink: ‘Prince Bykov was educated at the
Cadet
Corps
, you understand.’
‘He is a homosexual? The
friend
was another man? Is that what you are saying?’
‘Good grief, Pavel Pavlovich, since when did you develop such a lamentable taste for the explicit? Is it not enough to say that he was educated at the Cadet Corps and leave it at that?’
‘Are you suggesting that everyone who comes out of the Cadet Corps engages in the kind of degenerate practices you refer to?’
‘Not at all. But if I say
educated at the Cadet Corps
with an unusual emphasis, whilst winking significantly, surely it is enough for you to pick up the hint?’
‘But you wink so often that it is hard to say when it is done significantly and when it simply occurs as the result of some neurological spasm.’
‘Neurological spasm? I do not suffer from spasms, neurological or otherwise. However, I cannot help it if I am beset by an excess of significance in my professional life, which necessitates a higher than average rate of winking.’
‘And blinking.’
‘Ah now, the blinking is something different. The blinking is an involuntary physiological function. We all do it, even you, Pavel Pavlovich. I have no control over that.’
‘You have control over everything you do, Porfiry Petrovich.’
‘My, how you do exaggerate my abilities, Pavel Pavlovich.’
‘Do you wish to interview this Prince Bykov?’
‘Not formally. I may have a friendly word with him if the occasion arises. I am interested to know how he has fared in the years since last I saw him.’
Virginsky fixed Porfiry with a stare that bristled with astonishment.
‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘Do you think it wise to be seen on friendly terms with such a man?’
‘Why would it not be?’
‘You have admitted that you know him to be a homosexual.’
‘What are you suggesting? That I am in some way imperilling myself? I am sure that Prince Bykov will be able to control himself in my presence.’
‘Do not make jokes about this, Porfiry Petrovich. Consider your position as a magistrate. Homosexuality is against the law, as you well know. By consorting with a known homosexual, you are in effect consorting with a criminal.’
‘I won’t be
consorting
with anyone!’
Virginsky’s head rocked backwards, as if buffeted by a wave of incredulity.
‘I am surprised at you, Pavel Pavlovich,’ continued Porfiry. ‘As one of the new men, as a man of the future. Does the golden future you envisage hold no place for men such as Prince Bykov?’
Virginsky did not answer. Porfiry went back to studying the statements. ‘I will talk to this Bakhmutov first. Will you kindly arrange it, Pavel Pavlovich?’
‘I will send a
politseisky
to fetch him.’
*
‘Ivan Iakovich Bakhmutov?’ said Porfiry dubiously. The young man with ruddy cheeks and blond hair whom Virginsky had just admitted was not at all what Porfiry had expected from the notes.
‘Ah – no. I am his private secretary, Ardalion Gavrilovich Velchaninov.’
Porfiry glared at Virginsky in bemusement.
Virginsky addressed Velchaninov sharply: ‘My orders were for Ivan Iakovich to come here himself. The magistrate needs to talk to him in person.’
‘Yes, yes indeed. But he sent me to find out what you need to know. If I could take a list of your questions to him, Ivan Iakovich would be very happy to supply you with all the answers at his soonest convenience. By tomorrow lunchtime at the latest. Ivan Iakovich feels it would be a better way to proceed. He really is ready to go home now, and does not feel that any purpose would be served by your interviewing him tonight. He really is most, most
tired
.’ Velchaninov shook his head to emphasise his point. ‘It has been a shattering experience.’
‘No no no!’ cried Porfiry, slapping both hands down on the table. ‘That is not how things are done. You may be at his beck and call, but we are not. Bring him here.’
‘I fear he may already have left.’
‘
Im-
possible! I gave orders that no one was to leave.’
‘Yes, but, as I’m sure you understand, Ivan Iakovich is a very important person. Your orders, I’m sure, were not intended to include everyone.’
Porfiry’s mouth gaped in disbelief. He turned to Virginsky. ‘Pavel Pavlovich, what are we to make of this?’
Virginsky shrugged.
‘How could he have left?’ Porfiry’s incredulous rage closed down suddenly into a look of vicarious cunning. ‘Unless … he
bribed
someone?’
‘I …’ Velchaninov thought for a moment before replying: ‘I cannot comment on that accusation, except to say that I am sure Ivan Iakovich will deny it in the strongest possible terms. Furthermore, unless you have evidence to back it up, sir, whoever you are, I suggest you retract it.’ Velchaninov spoke without looking at Porfiry, almost swallowing back his words as he uttered them, so little conviction did he have in them.
‘I am Porfiry Petrovich, the investigating magistrate in this murder enquiry. If I find that your master has bribed one of my policemen, be assured that I will not hesitate to bring the full force of the law down on him. That is how things are done now.’
‘There is a possibility that he may not have left, after all,’ said Velchaninov. ‘I will see if I can find him.’ He ran from the room.
‘What
do
you make of that?’ Porfiry demanded of Virginsky.
Virginsky pursed his lips. ‘The rich and powerful have long considered themselves above the law in this country. It is a difficult habit to break. It will take more than a few judicial reforms. And, of course, they always have their lackeys.’
‘Would he do whatever his master asked of him, do you think?’
Virginsky raised his eyebrows, acknowledging the peculiar significance of the question. ‘I do not believe that Bakhmutov has left already. He was testing the waters, I think. If you had gone along with his little proposal he would have taken himself off. Young Velchaninov will be able to produce him in surprisingly quick time, I dare say.’
A second knock at the door proved the perspicacity of Virginsky’s words. Porfiry treated him to a wryly appreciative smirk. ‘Come in.’ He winked at Virginsky as he snapped out the command.
Porfiry turned his attention on the man who had entered. He gave no sign of being at all contrite, but strode in with his head high and his lavish white mane falling back on his shoulders. Though his hair was long, his beard was precisely groomed in the style of Napoleon III. It was the decisive finishing point on a compelling face: its sharpness complemented that of his aquiline nose and somewhat disguised the unusual fleshiness of his lips. He met Porfiry’s gaze with an unflinching directness.
‘So
you
are Ivan Iakovich Bakhmutov? How good of you to condescend to see us.’
‘It is my pleasure, I’m sure.’ His voice was a resonant bass. ‘One’s duty is always a pleasure when one is a loyal subject.’
‘Please be so good as to sit down. This need take no longer than it will,’ said Porfiry.
‘I beg your pardon? I didn’t quite follow what you just said.’ Bakhmutov’s mask of absolute confidence slipped momentarily. He regarded Porfiry with a look that suggested he did not know whether to make of him a fool or a rogue.
‘It was really quite simple. Sit down. There is a seat. Sit on it.
Unless … you have a problem with haemorrhoids? I have suffered from them myself in the past, so I do sympathise.’
‘No, I do not have that problem, I am happy to say.’ Bakhmutov pulled out a chair hesitantly.
‘Then you are very lucky. A man of your age must be prone to any number of inconvenient ailments. There is your legendary tiredness, for example.’
Bakhmutov was still standing, his hands on the back of his seat. ‘Did you call me here solely to make a fool of me?’
‘Please don’t ask such tempting questions. I called you here because I am conducting a murder enquiry. I urge you to sit down. I have some questions to ask you.’
‘I have already given a statement to him.’ Bakhmutov nodded slowly towards Virginsky as he took his seat.
‘Yes, I have read that statement, and still find I have some questions to ask you. This is not unusual. It happens from time to time. One might even say frequently.’
‘It is very tiresome for those concerned.’
‘One becomes accustomed to it.’
‘I was thinking of myself.’
‘Ah, yes, of course. That is only natural.’ Porifiry Petrovich lit a cigarette and considered Bakhmutov’s face. There was something sealed-off, almost steely, to his bearing. A contained power lurked behind the slackening skin, still blotched with summer colour; and yet, at the same time, there was no doubt that the source of that power was shaken.
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.’