‘Wanted?’ read Porfiry.
‘Yes, I apparently filled out the chit for a Wanted poster. .’
‘Pink,’ interjected Zamyotov, with condemnatory terseness.
‘Instead of for an Information Concerning poster.’
‘Lilac.’
‘Did you not specify any other wording?’ asked Porfiry.
‘Well, yes, actually, I did. I detailed the circumstances surrounding the finding of the body, the possible time of his disappearance — we believe, do we not, that he must have been deposited in the canal last year, just before or at the onset of winter? It must have been already cold, although not quite freezing, judging by the preservation of the body. I explained too about the changes to his appearance that had been wrought by the process of adipoceration. I drew particular attention to the pockmarks, and the unusually small size of the eyes. And I asked for anyone who might have any information regarding such an individual to make their presence known at their nearest police bureau.’
‘Why did this wording not find its way onto the poster?’
‘It seems that Imperial State ignored it, as it was not relevant to a Wanted poster, it being a Wanted poster chit that I had filled in.’
‘You must take more care in future, Pavel Pavlovich. You know how important it is to pay attention to details when dealing with the bureaucracy.’ Porfiry took the poster from Virginsky. ‘Nevertheless, this will do. At least it will serve to publicise his face.’
‘Are you not concerned that it will make us look rather. . foolish?’
‘I am more concerned that we find this man’s killer, as soon as possible. Reprinting the poster will only occasion delay.’
Virginsky gave a quick consultative glance to some of the other magistrates, who nodded back encouragingly. ‘But is there not the possibility that it may deter some individuals from coming forward? Friends of this man may not be willing to offer information if they think it is in connection with his arrest, whereas they might be very happy to help in tracking down his murderer.’
‘But surely everyone will realise that he is dead? And that we cannot want to arrest a dead man?’
‘We were talking about this before you came in, Porfiry Petrovich,’ said Nikodim Fomich. ‘I am afraid the prevailing view was that the poster will only confuse the public.’
A chorus of assenting murmurs reinforced the Chief Superintendent’s words.
Porfiry gave the poster back to Virginsky with a defeated air. ‘Hold on to this copy, but return the rest to Imperial State. Perhaps they can print up a patch to be pasted over the offending word. And this time, Pavel Pavlovich, please take care to fill out the correct chit.’
‘I am not sure what the correct chit is for a patch,’ admitted Virginsky forlornly.
‘Alexander Grigorevich will be able to advise you.’
‘There is no chit for a patch,’ said Zamyotov, with a sharp shake of negation. ‘Therefore it cannot be done.’
‘Can you not go to the Imperial State Printing Works yourself and talk to the manager?’
The clerks who were present were evidently scandalised by this suggestion.
Porfiry waved them away. ‘Take these out of my sight.’ He handed the ream of posters, still wrapped in brown paper, to Virginsky.
The room emptied of all except Porfiry and Nikodim Fomich. Porfiry sat down at his desk and lit a cigarette without looking at the police chief.
‘You alright, dear friend?’ ventured Nikodim Fomich.
‘It’s damned frustrating.’
‘Of course. But perhaps we won’t need the posters, after all. Pavel Pavlovich tells me you went to meet a possible witness.’
‘He did not keep the appointment.’
‘Ah.’ Nikodim Fomich sank into the sofa with a groan. ‘How aggravating for you.’
‘It’s more than aggravating, Nikodim Fomich.’ Porfiry took the anonymous letter from his pocket. He waved it vaguely at Nikodim Fomich, who was forced to heave himself out of the loosely upholstered sofa to receive it.
‘I wouldn’t place too much store by these ominous hints,’ pronounced Nikodim Fomich. ‘This letter may well be a fraud, written by some self-dramatising egoist.’
‘He knew the number of sailors.’
‘Very well, let us grant that it is what it seems to be. Even so, anything may have prevented him from meeting you. He may have been detained by a woman, or fallen into a ditch, or been waylaid in a tavern. He may simply have thought better of his original intention. If he is mixed up in this affair in some way, we may imagine that his state of mind is far from stable. You’re the psychologist, Porfiry Petrovich.’ Nikodim Fomich handed the letter back to Porfiry conclusively. ‘It may simply be someone playing a trick on you. A great prankster like you ought to be constantly on the alert for hoaxes.’
Porfiry gave an offended flutter of eyelids. ‘I don’t think it is a prank. For some reason I have an ominous feeling.’
‘Have you any idea who the writer might be? He obviously knows of you.’
‘I’ve been trying to recollect. I did not read any of the newspaper accounts of the Raskolnikov trial at the time.’
‘They will be archived.’
‘Yes, that’s true. I will look into it.’
‘And so, what do you make of these fires?’ asked Nikodim Fomich, settling again on the sofa.
‘I know only what I have read in the papers. I have not been called to investigate in an official capacity.’
‘A nasty business,’ pronounced Nikodim Fomich. ‘The Tsar must crack down heavily on the intellectuals. Suspend the universities. Tighten up censorship. It is the circulation of dangerous ideas that is responsible for these outbreaks, do you not agree, Porfiry Petrovich? The young people are too much in the thrall of these nihilists.’
‘Certainly I agree with your last statement, though I cannot concur with the measures you propose. All that has been tried, without success. In fact, it is counterproductive, as it only results in greater resistance. It invests the dangerous ideas you speak of with a glamorous appeal they would not otherwise possess. It is that which draws the youth, like moths to a candle flame. Far better to expose these ideas to the fresh, cleansing air of careful scrutiny and rational dispute. Then the young people would see them for what they are and reject them. We must learn to trust our own children.’
‘Good grief, Porfiry Petrovich. I never thought I would hear such views from you.’
‘That is because you do not really know me, Nikodim Fomich.’
‘But you are one of my oldest friends!’
Porfiry declined to comment; in fact, he scrupulously avoided looking at Nikodim Fomich. At last he muttered, ‘Because we have known one another for a long time, it does not mean. .’ But he trailed off without completing the sentiment.
Nikodim Fomich watched his old friend closely, uneasily. ‘What do they hope to achieve, Porfiry Petrovich? Can you tell me that?’
‘They wish to build a new world, a fairer, better world. But first, they have decided that they must destroy the old one.’
‘Even if that means killing women and children?’
‘The end justifies the means.’ After a moment, Porfiry added, ‘They would say.’ Porfiry considered the smouldering tip of his cigarette. ‘However, it is not our concern, Nikodim Fomich. Another department investigates such crimes, as you know.’
Nikodim Fomich nodded morosely. ‘The Third Section. Of course. I know you disapprove of their means, but I wonder, at times like this, perhaps their way is the only way?’
‘You cannot fight criminality with criminality.’
‘That’s rather strong, isn’t it?’
‘I speak only from experience.’ Porfiry Petrovich took a long draw on his cigarette.
Nikodim Fomich slapped his hands down on his thighs conclusively. ‘No one can deny that you have your fair share of that!’