“That’s all for now,” I said. “Go to bed. I won’t bother you again today.”
Du Barnstoker stood up too and moved towards me with outstretched arms.
“My dear inspector! You understand of course that I had no idea…”
“Yes, Du Barnstoker,” I said. “But children grow up. All children. Even children whose parents have died. From this point on, don’t let her wear dark glasses. The eyes are the mirrors to the soul.”
I left them to reflect on these nuggets of inspectorial wisdom, and went down the hallway.
“You’ve been rehabilitated, Alek,” I announced to the owner.
“I had no idea I’d been convicted,” he said, looking up with surprise from his adding machine.
“What I mean to say is that I’ve taken all suspicion off you. You have an airtight alibi now. But don’t think that gives you the right to clog my head with all your zombie mumbo-jumbo… Don’t interrupt me. Right now you’re going to stay here and remained seated until I permit you to get up. Don’t forget that I have to be the first person to talk to the one-armed fellow.”
“And if he wakes up before you do?”
“I am not going to sleep,” I said. “I want to search the building. If that poor sap wakes up and calls for anyone, even his mother, get me immediately.”
“Yes, sir,” said the owner. “One question. Is the inn’s schedule to remain the same as before?”
I thought about this.
“I suppose so. Breakfast at nine. And then we’ll see… By the way, Alek, when in your opinion should we expect anyone from Mur to arrive here?”
“Hard to say. The excavation of the avalanche could begin as early as tomorrow. I remember times when things have happened this efficiently… But then again, they know full well that we’re not in any danger here… It’s possible that in two days Tsvirik the mountain inspector will arrive by helicopter… If the other locations are doing all right. The whole problem is that first they need to hear about the avalanche somewhere… In short, I wouldn’t count on anything happening tomorrow…”
“You mean today?”
“Yes, today… But tomorrow someone could fly in.”
“You don’t have a radio transmitter?”
“Where would I get one? And more importantly, why would I have one? It’s not worth the cost for me, Peter.”
“I understand,” I said. “Tomorrow, then…”
“I won’t say tomorrow definitely either,” the manager said.
“Then in the next two or three days… All right. Now, Alek—suppose you wanted to hide in this building. For a long time, several days. Where would you hide?”
“Hm…” the manager said skeptically. “You still think that there’s an outsider in the inn?”
“Where would you hide?” I repeated.
The manager shook his head.
“You’re barking up the wrong tree,” he said. “Honestly. There’s nowhere to hide here. Twelve rooms, only two of which are empty—but Kaisa cleans them every day, she would have noticed something. People always leave trash behind them, and she’s a stickler for cleanliness… As for the basement, I locked it from the outside, with a padlock… There isn’t any attic, in the space between the roof and the ceiling there’s barely room for your hand… The service rooms are all locked from the outside too, and anyway, we spend all day running around there, sometimes me, sometimes Kaisa. And that’s everything.”
“How about the upstairs shower?” I asked.
“Good point. There is an upstairs shower, and we haven’t checked it in a long time. Also, it might be worth looking at the generator room—I don’t look around there that much either. Go look, Peter, snoop around…”
“Give me the keys,” I said.
I looked and I snooped. I clambered around in the basement, peeked into the shower, examined the garage, the boiler room, the generator room—I even took a look at the underground oil tank. Nothing. Naturally, I hadn’t expected to discover anything, that would have been too simple, but my damned bureaucratic integrity wouldn’t let me leave any stone unturned. Twenty years of impeccable service are twenty years of impeccable service; anyway, it’s always better to look like a scrupulous blockhead rather than the slapdash man of talent in the eyes of one’s superiors, not to mention subordinates. So I groped, crawled, wallowed, breathing in dust and trash, pitying myself and cursing my stupid fate.
When I made my way out of the underground tanks, upset and filthy, it was already dawn. The pale moon was leaning to the west. The huge grey cliffs were covered in a purple mist. And what fresh, sweet, frosty air had filled the valley! Damn it all!…
I had just made it back to the inn when the door swung open and the owner came out onto the porch.
“Aha,” he said, catching sight of me. “I was just going to get you. Our poor man woke up and is asking for his mother.”
“I’m coming,” I said, shaking my jacket off.
“Just kidding,” the manager said. “He didn’t ask for his mother—he asked for Olaf Andvarafors.”
12.
When he caught sight of me, the stranger leaned forward eagerly and asked, “Are you Olaf Andvarafors?”
I wasn’t expecting this question. I wasn’t expecting it at all. I looked around for a chair, pulled one up to the side of the bed, sat down slowly and only then looked at the stranger. I was very tempted to answer in the affirmative and see what happened. But I am not a detective and not in counterintelligence. I’m an honest police bureaucrat. So instead I answered:
“No. I am not Olaf Andvarafors. I am a police inspector, and my name is Peter Glebsky.”
“Really?” he said, surprised but unruffled. “But where’s Olaf Andvarafors?”
Apparently he had recovered completely from yesterday’s events. His thin face had become rosy; the tip of his long nose, which had been so white last night, was now red. He sat on the bed, a blanket pulled up to his waist. The neck of Alek’s nightshirt (which was clearly too big for him) hung open, revealing his sharp collarbone and the pale hairless skin of his chest. His face was hairless too—only a few whiskers where his eyebrows should be and sparse white eyelashes. He sat, leaning forward, his left hand absentmindedly gathering up his empty right sleeve.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “But first I have to ask you a few questions.”
The stranger didn’t say anything to this. His face took on a strange expression—so strange that at first I didn’t understand what was happening. But then I realized that one of his eyes was fixed on me, while the other eye had rolled up in its socket, so that I could barely see it. Some time passed in silence.
“Well, then,” I said. “Before anything else I would like to know who you are and what your name is.”
“Luarvik,” he said quickly.
“Luarvik… And your first name?”
“First name? Luarvik.”
“Mr. Luarvik Luarvik?”
He was quiet again. I struggled with the feeling of discomfort that one always gets when dealing with very cross-eyed people.
“More or less, yes,” he said finally.
“What do you mean ‘more or less’?”
“Luarvik Luarvik.”
“Very well. If you say so. Who are you?”
“Luarvik,” he said. “I am Luarvik,” He was quiet. “Luarvik Luarvik. Luarvik L. Luarvik.”
He looked healthy enough, and, what was more surprising, completely serious. But I’m not a doctor.
“I would like to know your occupation.”
“I’m mechanic,” he said. “Mechanic and driver.”
“A driver of what?” I asked.
Here he stared at me with both his eyes. He clearly did not understand the question.
“All right, we’ll put that aside for now,” I said quickly. “You’re a foreigner?”