It was no use. She could not read the English words. She put the book aside and turned off the light. As she did, a wonderful idea came to her, which she vowed to implement in the morning. She was asleep within three minutes.
In the morning, the wonderful idea was gone.
“Your wife was killed by Fedot Babinski,” said Iosef. “It is her blood on his hands and knuckles.”
Ivan Medivkin and Klaus Agrinkov stood silently, absorbing the information. Osip the middleweight was simply bewildered.
“Fedot killed Lena?” said Agrinkov in disbelief.
“Of that there is no doubt, according to our laboratory,” said Iosef.
“Then who killed Babinski?” asked Klaus Agrinkov.
Eyes turned to Ivan.
“Your nose is bruised,” said Iosef. “Let us see your knuckles.”
“His knuckles are always bruised,” said Klaus quickly. “His nose bleeds. Ivan is a boxer. He works out on the bags. His hands bleed and scar and grow harder. Bruised knuckles prove nothing.”
“You do not understand,” said Ivan. “When I got the call saying Lena and Fedot were at the hotel, I was here. My hands were taped.”
“Fedot Babinski killed your wife,” said Iosef.
They still stood in the same semicircle in the gym, Iosef, Zelach, Ivan the Giant, his manager, Klaus Agrinkov, and Osip, the young boxer with a towel draped around his neck.
“Fedot Babinski?” asked Ivan, looking at each face for an answer he did not receive.
“Her blood was on his hands,” said Iosef. “He hit her so hard that he broke a knuckle on his right hand.”
“Weak knuckles,” said Agrinkov. “That is why his career was over. He had to wear pillow-sized gloves just to spar with Ivan.”
“Why did he kill her?” asked Ivan.
“We do not know with any certainty,” said Iosef. “Not yet. A quarrel over something. Tryst gone wrong.”
“She had a fierce tongue,” said Agrinkov. “And a temper that could sting.”
Ivan was shaking his head, trying to figure out what he had heard.
“Our theory,” said Iosef, “is that you came to the hotel room, heard your wife being beaten, entered, and then, seeing her bloody and probably dead, became enraged and beat him to death.”
“I would have,” said Ivan. “But he was dead when I went into the room.”
“How did you get into the room?” asked Zelach.
“The door was unlocked and not completely closed,” said Ivan. “I went in and saw them both there dead. Then I ran and someone tried to stop me.”
“And you went to the room because someone called and told you to go there?” asked Zelach.
“Yes.”
“Did you recognize the caller’s voice?”
“No. I think it was a man, but I am not certain.”
If Ivan was telling the truth, it was very likely the caller had killed Babinski. The caller may even have used the telephone in the hotel room. Iosef whispered something to Zelach, who nodded and moved to the gym door.
“I dressed quickly and did not remove the tape till after. . I did not kill him. I would have, but they were both already dead when I got to the hotel room.”
“To which you were directed by an anonymous phone call?”
“Yes.”
“Man or woman?” asked Iosef.
“I am not certain,” said Ivan.
“And your bruised and bloody nose?”
“I tripped and fell when I ran from the hotel room.”
He was certain what he should do.
Iosef also believed the Giant, which was why he did not bring forth his gun when Ivan bolted back through the door of the room from which he had entered. Instead of firing, Iosef darted after him. Catching up with Ivan was not a great problem. Stopping him was an insurmountable difficulty.
Iosef tried. And failed.
If he had hopes that Agrinkov and the young boxer would help him, such hopes were quickly dashed. In the darkened room, Iosef leaped upon Ivan’s back. Ivan shook his shoulders and threw the policeman against a wooden crate.
Ivan hurried through the room to the back door that led to the alleyway. Iosef, now in pain, forced himself up and tried to run after the Giant. The consequences and embarrassment of allowing the suspect to escape were too great to contemplate.
Ivan threw open the door and dashed into the alley with Iosef a few wracking steps behind him. It was a useless pursuit. Perhaps, Iosef thought, I can shoot him in the leg. No, if Ivan Medivkin was innocent, Iosef might well be ending his career and find himself responsible for having done so.
Once in the alley, Ivan turned to his left. Something hurtled toward him. He was unprepared for the sudden battering ram to his stomach. He went down, sitting awkwardly, and tried to catch his breath. Before he could rise, Iosef was through the door and twisting Ivan’s arms behind him.
Iosef had witnessed the scene but could not fully appreciate what had happened.
“Is he injured?” asked Zelach.
“You knocked the wind out of him,” said Iosef, looking down at the still-seated but now-cuffed Giant.
Iosef had seen Zelach launch himself headfirst into Ivan an instant after the boxer cleared the door.
“You were supposed to go to the hotel,” said Iosef, looking through the doorway at Agrinkov and Osip, who were now standing there.
“I was going to, but then I thought that Medivkin might bolt and that you were alone with him,” said Zelach. “I did not think you would shoot him. I thought the hotel room could wait till we brought Medivkin in.”
“You were right,” Iosef said.
The policemen helped the huge boxer to his feet.
“Ivan did not kill Babinski,” said Agrinkov as the boxer was ushered back into the gymnasium.
“How do you know this? Did you kill him?” asked Iosef.
“Me? No, of course not,” said Agrinkov. “No more than Osip killed him.”
The young boxer was quite confused now.
“I did not kill Babinski or anyone else,” said Osip.
“No one thinks you did,” said Agrinkov, touching the young boxer’s shoulder reassuringly.
“I must try to find the killer of Babinski myself,” said Ivan, starting to breathe almost normally again.
“Why must it be you who catches the killer?” asked Agrinkov. “The police can handle it.”
“I do not know,” said Ivan, dropping his shoulders in defeat. “Sometimes. . I do not know. I want to know why Fedot killed Lena. I want to know who killed Fedot. I want something, someone I can pound until they talk.”
“We will find him,” said Iosef.
Zelach was going to alter Iosef’s words but thought better of it. He needed a bit more evidence before he named the killer of Fedot Babinski.
“Ivan, no one would blame you for killing him if you walked in on Babinski right after he killed Lena,” said Agrinkov.
“I did not kill him,” said Ivan Medivkin.
“I believe you, Ivan Medivkin,” said Agrinkov.
“Thank you,” said Ivan.
Ivan repeated his innocence a few minutes later when he was squeezed into the backseat of the marked police car. He repeated it when he was fingerprinted. He repeated it when he was examined by a doctor. He repeated it again when he was placed alone in a cell. He repeated it again when he was allowed a telephone call and spoke to Vera Korstov.
“I did not kill him. They are not even looking for the real killer.”
“I know,” Vera said. “I will find out who did this.”
Iosef whispered something to Zelach, who nodded and shuffled out the door of the gymnasium.
Iosef had held back one essential piece of information that Paulinin had given him. Babinski had been struck from behind by a heavy object. The blow had cracked his skull, the crack not visible until Paulinin had shaved the dead man’s head, chiseled and sawed his way into the skull, where blood had seeped into the brain of the fallen boxer, killing him almost instantly. Babinski was dead before the first punch crashed into his face.