‘Maria Petrovna, I for one do not believe that Yelena Filippovna killed the children. That account does not represent the official position of my department. I cannot say how it found its way into the newspaper. I can only say that I regret it very much.’
Powerful, conflicting emotions pulled at the muscles of her face, leaving them ravaged. ‘Then it is not over.’
‘No,’ said Porfiry. ‘We have found another child. I am sorry, but we have to know whether he was a pupil here.’
The cry came from deep within her, a throbbing shift of anguish painfully disgorged. ‘You want me to go with you … to see!’ Her face was taut with horror.
‘No,’ said Porfiry gently. ‘That will not be necessary in this instance. We already have a positive identification of the body. All we need to know from you is if the boy was a pupil here. His name was Innokenty Zimoveykin.’
‘Innokenty?’ The wild careening of her eyes was all the confirmation they needed. ‘Why are they killing my children? It is because of me, isn’t it? I am to blame. I am to blame for all this. If I had not started the school, none of this would have happened. If they mean to hurt me, why don’t they just kill me? Perhaps they will. When they have killed all the children, they will come for me.’
Her voice had risen to an almost hysterical wail. The door to the second classroom opened and Perkhotin emerged, his face drawn with solicitude. He took in Porfiry and Virginsky with a quizzical frown. His fingers pulled anxiously at his great shovel beard, which seemed to have gained in mass since the last time Porfiry had seen it. ‘My dear Maria Petrovna, whatever is the matter?’
‘Innokenty,’ sobbed Maria. ‘Innokenty is dead.’
Perkhotin’s face was instantly drained of any remaining colour. His eyes stood out in shock. ‘No, that is not possible. I mean to say, how can it be? I had read in the paper that the police suspected Yelena Filippovna.’
Maria jerked her head violently in denial. ‘Yelena … is innocent.’
‘Is it the same as the others?’ Perkhotin demanded of Porfiry. ‘I mean to say, was he strangled? Were there the same marks?’
‘Yes. So far as we know, the details are the same in this case as with the other children.’
‘How extraordinary. We had hoped it was all over. It was shocking to read the charges against Yelena Filippovna, but at least it meant an end to it, or so we hoped.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Porfiry. ‘You taught Yelena Filippovna too, did you not? At the Smolny Institute, I believe.’
‘Yes, that’s true,’ confirmed Perkhotin.
‘And her sister Aglaia?’
‘Yes. How is Aglaia?’
‘She suffered a terrible shock which her nervous constitution was not strong enough to withstand. It seems to have induced an onset of epilepsy. Added to that, she reacted adversely to the medication her doctor prescribed and sank into a coma from which she only periodically emerges.’
‘They have suffered so much, the sisters.’
‘You are referring to the deaths of their parents?’
‘Yes.’
‘What happened to them, do you know? It is unusual for both parents to die prematurely.’
‘Their deaths are related, tragically. The father killed himself over some scandal. He shot himself, I believe. He was a military man. And then, I’m afraid to say, the mother also committed suicide … whether her heart was broken or her mind unhinged, I cannot say.’
Porfiry was unable to quell a fit of startled blinking. ‘That is an extraordinary tragedy.’
Perkhotin nodded his agreement gravely.
‘One cannot help wondering what effect it had on the girls. There were no other siblings?’ wondered Porfiry.
‘No.’
‘And what ages were they when their parents died?’
‘I cannot say for certain …’
‘Yelena was sixteen,’ cut in Maria. ‘Aglaia must have been fourteen, or perhaps fifteen.’
‘You were closest to Yelena?’ Porfiry narrowed his eyes into what seemed a calculating expression. His voice was compassionate though.
Maria nodded wordlessly, her lips pressed tightly together, as if she feared what she might say.
*
Soon after returning to his chambers, Porfiry was visited by Lieutenant Salytov, his blasted face shadowed by something that might have been contrition. He was not able to meet either Porfiry’s or Virginsky’s gaze.
‘There has been another child found, I hear.’
‘Yes,’ answered Porfiry. ‘Fortunately, the first politseisky on the scene was an honest man. It did not occur to him to seek to profit from the discovery. Do you have any information for me?’
‘Yes. I have spoken to my man. The boy Mitka was found on the Yekaterininsky Canal embankment, near the Kammeny Bridge.’
‘Very well. You may go.’
Lieutenant Salytov clicked his heels and spun around.
‘This muddies the waters, Pavel Pavlovich,’ said Porfiry as soon as Salytov was out of the room. ‘Kammeny Bridge is over two versts from the Nevsky Cotton-Spinning Factory.’
‘What of it?’
‘Innokenty was found at his place of work. I had hoped for a pattern to emerge.’
‘They were both pupils at the school,’ offered Virginsky.
‘Yes, that is something, I suppose. But the discrepancy in the location of the bodies, one killed and left where he works, the other transported halfway across the city, is troubling.’
‘Perhaps it was simply a question of circumstances. The children were killed as and when opportunity allowed, the bodies discarded in a similar manner, according to opportunity. It may be wrong to read too much into it.’
‘That is our job, Pavel Pavlovich. To read too much into everything. We must operate on the assumption that everything is significant. Unfortunately, we do not have sufficient information about the location of the other bodies to determine whether there is a pattern to their disposition, and whether Mitka’s body or Innokenty’s is the exception to it.’
The door to Porfiry’s chambers opened and Slava came in bearing Porfiry Petrovich’s lunch tray. Porfiry and Virginsky exchanged a significant glance.
‘What is this?’ said Porfiry, as the tray was set in front of him.
‘Your lunch.’
‘Yes, I see that. But what is it?’
‘It is a meat pie. I would have thought that was evident.’
‘A meat pie? I cannot eat a meat pie.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘Today is Wednesday, a fast day. I am allowed only bread, vegetables and fruit.’
‘No. Today is Thursday. I brought you your fasting meal yesterday.’
‘No, yesterday you brought me a meat pie, which I ate. So even if today is Thursday, I will forego this meat pie as a penance. Take it away.’
‘Very well,’ said Slava uncertainly. ‘Am I to bring you some bread and fruit instead?’
‘There is no need to bring me anything.’
‘But you must eat.’
‘Do not concern yourself.’
‘You have stopped confiding in me,’ observed Slava darkly as he lifted the tray.
‘It is not a question of that. You are my domestic servant. It is inappropriate for you to involve yourself in my investigative work.’
Slava looked ominously from Porfiry to Virginsky, as if he suspected them of a conspiracy. ‘You will regret excluding me in this way.’ With that he pushed the tray back through the door, disappearing into Porfiry’s private apartment.
‘Good heavens, Pavel Pavlovich! Was that a threat?’
‘Do you really think he is dangerous?’
‘I do not know what he is.’
‘He seems so … ridiculous.’
‘It would be easy to underestimate him.’
Virginsky smiled to himself. ‘That is what is said of you, Porfiry Petrovich.’