Virginsky grunted his reluctant assent.
‘You cannot bring about a just society through injustice. In the same way that you cannot reach the truth through lying — though many are seeking to do exactly that.’
The carriage drew up outside the Surgical-Medical Academy just as the first fine particles of snow began to swirl in the grey.
‘By doing our job, Pavel Pavlovich. Carefully, meticulously, patiently.’ With that Porfiry forced himself out of the carriage, like a cork popping from a bottle.
27 I. P. S
‘You have come back?’ Professor Bubnov held the expression of distaste that he had worn all the way across the foyer.
‘Yes,’ said Porfiry, his eyes flickering coyly as though he believed Professor Bubnov’s exclamation had been prompted by irrepressible joy. ‘We went away. And now we have come back.’
‘I see.’ Professor Bubnov touched the tip of one finger delicately to his lips. ‘This is about the initials.’
Porfiry gave an unconvincing performance of surprise. ‘Ah yes, the initials! How kind of you to remind us. Have you had any success in interpreting them?’
‘I know nothing about the meaning of any initials.’ Professor Bubnov seemed to be picking his words advisedly. ‘However, there is a man here who may be able to shed some light on them.’
‘Where is this marvellous luminary? You must take us to him immediately.’
‘He is not a luminary. He is a very lowly individual.’ If Professor Bubnov understood Porfiry’s pun he gave no indication of enjoying it. ‘Smerdyakov is a porter of sorts. It is his job to receive the bodies from the police.’
‘Then he truly is the man to clear up the mystery.’
They were taken to a large storeroom at the rear of the academy, with wide double doors of an unloading bay open to the elements. A cloud of tobacco smoke hung over a screened-off area in one corner. Professor Bubnov approached the screen, seemingly to converse with the smoke. Eventually, a man dressed in a peasant’s belted shirt and high boots, with a pipe clamped between his teeth, stepped out of the booth. He had a lean, strangely bent face, his long jaw being at an angle to the rest of his head. His eyes were pinpricks of cunning. He took a moment to get the measure of Porfiry and Virginsky before approaching them.
‘You want to talk to me?’
‘You take receipt of bodies that are brought here by the police?’ Smerdyakov flashed a glance back towards the professor, who was in the process of vanishing beneath Smerdyakov’s smoke trail.
‘A-aye?’
‘Could you explain to me what happens? The police bring the bodies here …?’
‘A-aye?’
‘And you record the receipt in the ledger book?’
‘No.’ Smerdyakov was startlingly emphatic in his denial. ‘I am not the one who writes in the book.’
‘But you do make some kind of record?’
‘I fill in a chit.’
‘I see. And the chit goes with the body to the morgue?’
‘A-aye?’
Porfiry experienced a strange surge of gratification at the return of the equivocal refrain.
‘What details are recorded on the chit?’
‘You know. The standard ones.’
‘Please be more specific. I’m afraid I don’t know at all.’
‘Sex. Age.’
‘You are qualified to determine the age?’
‘I have a go.’
‘What else?’
‘Date. Time.’
‘And the details you put on the chit are subsequently entered into the ledger book?’
‘A-aye?’
‘Who is responsible for that?’
‘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.
28 A representative of the Third Section
The St Petersburg Gazette, Thursday, 17 October 1870
INVESTIGATORS EXAMINE LINK BETWEEN MURDERS
DEAD 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.