‘I believe so.’
‘Captain Mizinchikov?’
‘I am not so sure. The only thing condemning Captain Mizinchikov is his flight from the scene of the crime. There may yet turn out to be a reasonable explanation for that.’
‘But what of the razor found at his apartment? Not to mention the bloodstains on his uniform?’
‘As for the razor, it proves nothing. A man may keep a razor. It cannot possibly have been the murder weapon. It is true that it was found in an unusual place — one does not normally keep one’s razor in a desk drawer — and that it was found together with some letters that seem to suggest a motive.’
‘So it could be significant? The newspapers certainly considered it incriminating.’
‘I do not direct my investigations according to what is printed in newspaper editorials.’
‘Quite right. But the blood?’
‘It does not appear to be her blood, as far as we are able to tell.’
‘You can tell this?’
There was a knock at the door. Now, at last, Lieutenant Salytov presented himself. Porfiry judged the impact of his entrance in Verkhotsev’s eyes, which flickered with interest as he took in the other man’s damaged face.
‘You wished to see me?’
‘Shall I wait outside?’ suggested Verkhotsev with disarming discretion.
‘No. This pertains to the case.’ Porfiry pinched the bridge of his nose as he bowed his head, before turning abruptly to Salytov: ‘On the twenty-third of September, you sold the body of a male child to the Medical-Surgical Academy on Morskaya Street. Do you deny it?’
The expression of Salytov’s melted flesh was one of perpetual surprise. But it seemed possible that he was genuinely surprised to find himself summoned to the investigating magistrate’s office to answer not questions but allegations, and in the presence of a stranger. He regarded Verkhotsev haughtily. ‘Who is this man?’
‘That need not concern you,’ answered Porfiry quickly, cutting off Verkhotsev before he could introduce himself. ‘Just answer the question. Do you deny that you traded in the body of a dead child?’
‘I do not deny it.’
‘By what authority?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Who authorised you to make the sale?’
‘No one. That is to say, I did not need any authorisation.’
‘Where in the police code does it say that officers are entitled to sell for their own gain whatever bodies they happen to come across?’
‘I cannot point to the specific article of the code, but the practice is widespread and allowed.’
‘Allowed? Oh no, my friend, it is not allowed! Did you not consider that you had a duty to report the body and investigate the death?’
‘What’s the point? There was no way of identifying the body. No one came forward to claim him.’
‘Did you advertise the discovery of the body?’
‘N-no,’ admitted Salytov; for the first time a note of uncertainty entered his voice.
‘Then how can you be surprised that no one came forward?’
‘No one ever does. He was a street child, most likely. Left for dead by his family. They could not care for him in life. What did they care about his death? His parents, if they are alive, and if they did not kill him themselves, were probably in a drunken stupor the night he died. Even now, I dare say, they do not realise he is missing. Or if they do, they are glad. It is one less mouth to feed. Certainly, he is more use to society dead than alive, if his body can be used to train future doctors.’
‘You knew nothing about him. Your assumptions are incorrect. He was not a street child. He was a factory worker. An orphan.’
‘Well then. There you are. No one to care. No one to grieve. And more importantly, no one to pay his funeral expenses. I certainly wasn’t going to.’
‘He was murdered. A crime had been committed. You are a policeman. You had a duty.’
‘Don’t lecture me about my duty. How do you think I got this?’ Salytov jabbed a waxy pink hand towards his glistening face. Porfiry sensed Verkhotsev flinch.
‘I know how you got that, Ilya Petrovich. But I fear that the bomb blast disfigured more than just your flesh. Was your soul, too, blackened by the flames? The Lieutenant Salytov I knew before that outrage would never have contemplated this evil trade.’
‘Wrong! You are wrong about that, Porfiry Petrovich!’ jeered Salytov.
‘But you have children of your own. Were you not moved as a father?’
‘My children are nothing to do with that sort.’
‘What do you mean by that sort?’
‘The poor.’
‘Are you not ashamed to hear yourself say such things? You are a Christian. You are a Russian!’
‘The poor will always be with us. So it says in the Bible.’
‘That is not a licence to profit from their deaths.’ Porfiry pushed a hand back through the colourless stubble on his scalp. ‘Where did you find him?’
‘Who?’
‘Mitka! The dead boy!’
‘I … don’t remember,’ Salytov answered evasively.
‘What is this? You don’t remember! My God, man! Is the discovery of a dead child now such an insignificant event that it fails to register on your memory? I would have thought that the circumstances would have been etched in your mind.’
Salytov considered Porfiry in silence for a moment. ‘Before you condemn me out of hand, there is something you should know. Your friend, our esteemed chief, Nikodim Fomich … a father himself … he knows about this practice and has even, in his time, engaged in it.’
‘That is a lie! A slanderous lie!’
Salytov angled his head provokingly. Something like a smile of triumph contorted the permanently contracted muscles of his face. ‘No,’ he said calmly. ‘It is the truth. The salaries of policemen are pitifully inadequate, particularly for men like myself and Nikodim Fomich. Fathers, that is to say. It is accepted that we may exploit certain opportunities that arise in the exercise of our duties to supplement our income. It is the way things are done. It has been since time immemorial. Your good friend, the very civilised gentleman, Nikodim Fomich, is no more immune to the way things are done than I am.’
‘Nikodim Fomich is a decent man. I cannot believe …’
‘Now then, as for the boy,’ continued Salytov, with the tone of one pressing home an advantage. ‘I do not know where he was found because I did not find him. It was one of my men.’
‘I don’t understand. If that is the case, then why were your initials entered in the ledger at the Medical-Surgical Academy?’
‘All the transactions go through me.’
‘I see. A picture is indeed beginning to emerge.’ Porfiry gave the neutral remark a bitter emphasis.
‘I will not be judged by you.’
‘You were so eager to get your hands on your cut,’ continued Porfiry hurriedly, ‘that you did not ask even the most rudimentary questions of the man who brought you the body. You are worse than a Jew!’
‘Be careful what you say.’
‘No Jew was ever so rapacious that he would sell the body of a child.’
‘I warn you.’
‘Who was it? The politseisky?’
‘You will not hear his name from me.’
‘Wha-at?’
‘I take full responsibility for the disposal of that body.’
‘Don’t you understand? It is not a question of that. We are investigating a murder here. It is vital that we know where the body was found and in what state. We have only a head to work with now. The rest of the body was dismembered by students. I must talk to the policeman who found him.’
‘I will not betray one of my men.’
‘This misguided honour beggars belief! Your first loyalty is to the truth, Ilya Petrovich.’
‘And I tell you, Porfiry Petrovich, no good will come of investigating this. I advise you to drop it.’
‘I cannot drop it, even if I wanted to. It is in the newspapers now.’ Porfiry pointed to Verkhotsev, who had been following the interview with a wry expression. ‘The Third Section is involved. I would not be surprised if the Tsar himself has taken an interest in the case.’