‘I remember. You were the last known person to see Comrade Lenskaya alive.’ Korolev gave the caretaker another long, hard look. ‘And the first known person to see her dead.’
‘I was,’ Andreychuk said, not seeming to like the way those two little sentences sounded. Korolev didn’t blame him. There were detectives who’d have stopped the investigation at this point, and procurators who’d have felt happy the case was resolved. Everyone had quotas to fill these days, now that administering justice was considered just as quantifiable a task just as mining coal.
‘Well, Comrade?’ Korolev asked, and waited, aware of the value of the open-ended question. Andreychuk lifted his eyes, squinting slightly. He shook his head slowly from side to side. It was true, Korolev thought, the caretaker was in a bad situation.
‘I was checking the house,’ Andreychuk began. ‘Everyone was down in the village so I was going to shut the place up. But I saw the light on in the young lady comrade’s office and so I knocked.’
‘When was this?’
‘At about seven-thirty. I remember because I was due to be down in the village for the film people, but I know my duty, so when I saw the light on I went to find out.’
‘Find out what?’ Korolev said, keeping his voice neutral.
‘What she was up to, of course.’
‘And?’
‘She was typing – on a black typewriter.’ He paused, as if remembering the scene. ‘She said she wasn’t coming down to the village and I wasn’t to bother about her. So I left her there, on her own.’
‘So she was the only person in the house when you left? There was no one else?’
Andreychuk looked at Korolev, and then at his feet. ‘I couldn’t swear to that, Comrade Captain. I didn’t check every last room, and I’m not asked to. I was in a rush as well. There might have been someone in one of the upstairs rooms, for example, sleeping perhaps, but there were no other lights on. And if someone wanted to hide themselves – well, I don’t check the place that way. It’s a big house, and I have to lock up the rest of the College buildings as well. I keep the place running – I’m not a watchman.’
‘But you saw no one – that’s useful. And you locked the house after you?’
‘I did.’ Andreychuk clearly felt more confident about this answer.
‘Why did you leave Lenskaya alone in the house?’
‘She was like that, Comrade. Always working. It wasn’t unusual for her to be working when the rest would be laughing around the place.’
‘I see, and when you returned later the house was completely secure, is that correct? And no signs of a break-in?’
‘Nothing.’
‘And you were the first person to return to the house?’
‘I opened the house for the film people when they’d finished.’
‘Tell me exactly what you saw when you found her.’
The caretaker spoke slowly – as though he were living through the moment of discovery once again so as to describe it the better.
‘She was hanging from the bracket in the dining hall, the one you saw. The rope had cut into her neck – it hadn’t cut her skin, but it had been pulled into her neck by her weight as far as it could go, almost to her ears, and her head had fallen forward. There was a chair on the ground beside her – I thought she must have stood on it, and kicked it away before – ’ his voice caught – ‘before she died. Her arms were hanging straight down. She was wearing the clothes you saw her in, and, well, she was dead all right.’
Korolev wrote down the caretaker’s words verbatim, then looked up at him. ‘How high from the ground was she, Citizen? When you found her?’
‘Her feet, you mean?’
‘Yes.’
‘Only a few inches off the ground.’ The caretaker held his hands apart – four inches or so.
‘What you did you do?’
‘Well.’ Andreychuk’s eyes moved sideways as if wanting to avoid the mental image the question prompted. ‘I dropped to my knees, if the truth be told. I’d just opened the door, the film comrades had finished in the village and everyone was coming back, and I saw her. Hanging there. And I could see she was dead straight off.’
‘And then? You cut her down?’
‘Yes, we did.’
‘We?’
‘I know Comrade Shymko was one of them. The others – well, I’ve been trying to remember myself, but the only face I can see now is hers. We stood on a table, and treated her as gently as we could.’
‘You liked her?’
‘She was a good woman. A fine woman. I think everyone liked her.’
‘Any enemies you know of? Any arguments she might have had, anything at all?’
‘She was popular as far as I know. But I’m only the caretaker.’
Korolev felt a stab of frustration that clenched his knuckles white around the pen. Only a caretaker, was he? He didn’t have eyes in his head? He damned well did if his description of finding her was anything to go by.
‘What about particular friends, or lovers?’ he said, keeping his voice calm.
‘I don’t get involved in other people’s business,’ Andreychuk answered, his eyes dropping to his feet once again. Korolev studied him, wondering what he was holding back.
‘I’ll ask that question again, Citizen. Had she a lover, or a particular friend or friends?’
‘She was friendly with most people. I don’t know about her having a lover. I’d tell you if I knew something. I know my duty.’ The words were barely audible.
‘Can you write, Citizen?’ Korolev asked, allowing his voice to harden.
‘Yes, Comrade Captain. I can write all right.’
‘Well, I want you to write me a list of everyone you thought she was “friendly” with. When she saw them and so on. Bring it back to me in an hour.’
Andreychuk nodded, still not meeting his eyes.
‘And another question. The doors to the house – you’re certain all of them were locked when you left and when you returned?’
Andreychuk took a bunch of keys from his pocket, as though to remind himself, then nodded slowly.
‘I’m certain they were locked when I left, and I know the front door was locked when I returned because I was the one who opened it. As for the others, after we found her…’ His voice tailed off.
‘Everything was in confusion, I’m sure. Do you remember unlocking them though? When things had calmed down.’
‘No, but others have keys to the house and some of the doors can be opened from the inside without a key. Do you think she might have let him in? The killer?’
Korolev looked up from his notebook.
‘I don’t think anything at the moment, Comrade,’ Korolev said. ‘My job is to establish possibilities and then prove them or disprove them.’
But at the moment it seemed there were a lot of possibilities and not much to disprove any of them.
‘Will there be anything else?’ Andreychuk asked.
‘For the moment that’s all,’ Korolev said and then, when the caretaker made to rise, he looked up at him. ‘One thing. You said earlier that Lenskaya told you she was from these parts? When was that?’
‘I’m not sure I remember it. Perhaps I was mistaken.’
‘You seemed sure enough earlier. Did she say from where?’
The caretaker seemed to be considering the question. He didn’t look comfortable.
‘I don’t think so. I think I was mistaken.’
‘You’re sure she said nothing, then?’
Andreychuk shrugged.
Korolev didn’t say anything, but he was sure the fellow had more to tell them. He’d let Slivka have a go at him in the morning. And perhaps one of the other interviews would shed some light on the matter in the meantime. He made a quick note to himself.
‘You can go, but we’ll want to talk to you again. And if I were you, Citizen Andreychuk, I’d work on that memory of yours.’
The caretaker nodded, bobbed his head in thanks, and quickly left the room. Korolev considered joining one of the Militiamen, already, he hoped, presenting the first interviewees with their menu of questions, but decided against it. It would only confuse them if he deviated from the script. Instead he looked at his list for the next interviewee Slivka had lined up for him – Sorokina, the actress. Well, if nothing else, this case had at least one compensation.