The door opened and Senior Investigator Fritz Heiger strode confidently into the office. Casting an indifferent glance at Tailbone doubled over on the stool, he walked across to the desk and perched sideways on the papers. Without bothering to ask, he shook several cigarettes out of Andrei’s pack, stuck one in his teeth, and arranged the others neatly in a slim silver cigarette case. Andrei struck a match and Fritz took a drag, nodded as an expression of gratitude, and blew out a stream of smoke toward the ceiling.
“The boss told me to take the Black Centipedes case off you,” he said in a low voice. “That’s if you don’t mind, of course.” He lowered his voice even further and puckered his lips significantly. “Apparently the solicitor general came down on our boss like a ton of bricks. Now he’s calling everyone to his office and giving them an earful too. Just wait—he’ll get around to you soon.”
Fritz took another drag and looked at Tailbone. The suspect, who had been straining his neck to catch what the bosses were whispering about, immediately cringed and emitted a pitiful moan.
“Looks like you’re done with this one, right?”
Andrei shook his head abruptly. He felt ashamed. This was the second time in the last ten days that Fritz had come to take a case from him.
“Oh really?” Fritz said in surprise. He studied Tailbone for a few seconds, sizing him up, then spoke under his breath—“With your permission?”—and slipped off the desk without waiting for a reply.
Walking right up close to the suspect, he leaned down over him compassionately, holding his cigarette away at arm’s length.
“Hurting all over?” he inquired sympathetically.
Tailbone moaned in the affirmative.
“Like a drink?”
Tailbone groaned again and reached out a trembling paw.
“And you’d probably like a smoke too, I suppose?”
Tailbone half-opened one eye distrustfully.
“He’s hurting all over, the poor soul!” Fritz said loudly, but without turning toward Andrei. “It’s a shame to watch a man suffering so badly. He hurts here… and he hurts here… and he hurts here too…”
As he repeated these words, varying the tone of his voice, Fritz made short, obscure movements with the hand that wasn’t holding the cigarette: Tailbone’s pitiful lowing suddenly broke off, to be replaced by squawking gasps of surprise, and his face turned pale.
“Get up, you bastard!” Fritz suddenly yelled at the top of his voice, taking a step back.
Tailbone immediately jumped to his feet, and Fritz swung a horrific punch into his stomach. Tailbone swayed forward and Fritz landed an open-palm uppercut on his chin with a dull thud. Tailbone swayed backward, knocking over the stool, and fell on his back.
“Get up!” Fritz roared again.
Sobbing and gasping for breath, Tailbone started hastily scrabbling across the floor. Fritz bounded over to him, grabbed his collar, and jerked him up onto his feet. Tailbone’s face was completely white now, with a green glint to it, his eyes were goggling crazily, and he was sweating profusely.
Wrinkling up his face in disgust, Andrei looked down at the floor and started fumbling in the pack of cigarettes with trembling fingers, struggling to catch hold of a cigarette. He had to do something, but it wasn’t clear what. On the one hand, Fritz’s actions were abhorrent and inhuman, but on the other hand, the way this barefaced gangster and thief, this noxious boil on the body of society, made a mockery of justice was just as abhorrent.
“I believe you’re dissatisfied with your treatment?” Fritz’s ingratiating voice was saying in the meantime. “I believe you’re even thinking of making a complaint. Well then, my name is Friedrich Heiger. Senior Investigator Friedrich Heiger…”
Andrei forced himself to look up. Tailbone was standing there stretched out to his full height, but with his entire body leaning back, and Fritz was standing right up close, leaning down toward Tailbone and hovering over him menacingly, with his fists propped against his sides.
“You can complain—you know who my present boss is… But do you know who used to be my boss before? A certain Reichsführer-SS Heinrich Himmler! Ever heard that name before? And do you know where I used to work before? In an organization that went by the name of the Gestapo! And do you know what I was famous for in that organization?”
The phone rang and Andrei picked up the receiver. “Investigator Voronin here,” he said through his teeth.
“Martinelli,” replied a slightly strangled voice that sounded short of breath. “Come to my office, Voronin. Immediately.”
Andrei hung up. He realized he was going to get a humongous bawling-out from the boss, but right now he was glad to get out of this office—as far away as possible from Tailbone’s crazed eyes, from Fritz’s savagely thrust-out jaw, out of the congealing atmosphere of the torture chamber. What was Fritz doing this for… the Gestapo, Himmler…?
“The boss wants me in his office,” he announced in a strange, squeaky voice that didn’t seem to be his own, mechanically pulling out the drawer of the desk and putting the pistol in his holster so that he would report in due form.
“Good luck,” Fritz responded, without turning around. “I’ll be here for a while, don’t worry.”
Andrei walked toward the door, moving faster and faster as he went, and shot out into the corridor like a rocket. Beneath the gloomy vaulted ceiling, a cool, odorous silence reigned, with several ragged individuals of the male sex sitting motionless on a long wooden garden bench under the strict gaze of the guard on duty. Andrei walked past a row of closed doors and into the detention cells, past a stairway landing on which several young investigators from the latest intake puffed continually on cigarettes as they passionately explained their cases to each other, went up to the third floor, and knocked on the door of his boss’s office.
The boss was in a somber mood. His thick cheeks were drooping, his sparse teeth were bared in menace, he was breathing heavily through his mouth with a whistling sound, and he glowered at Andrei from under his brows.
“Sit down,” he growled.
Andrei sat down, put his hands on his knees, and stared out the window… The window was covered with bars, and the darkness outside it was impenetrable. About eleven o’clock, he thought. I’ve wasted so much time on that slimeball…
“How many cases do you have?” asked the boss.
“Eight.”
“How many do you intend to close by the end of the quarter?”
“One.”
“That’s not good.”
Andrei didn’t say anything.
“Your work record’s poor, Voronin. Poor!” the boss said hoarsely, tormented by his shortness of breath.
“I know,” Andrei said humbly. “I just can’t get into the swing of it.”
“Well, it’s about time you did!” said the boss, raising his voice to a whistling hiss. “You’ve been working here all this time and you’ve only closed three pitiful cases. You’re not fulfilling your duty to the Experiment, Voronin. And after all, you have people you can learn from, people you can ask for advice. Look at the way that friend of yours works, for instance, I mean… er, er… I mean Friedrich… er, er… He has his shortcomings, of course, but there’s no point in you just adopting his faults. You can adopt his virtues too, Voronin. You came to us together, and he’s already closed eleven cases.”
“I don’t know how to work like that,” Andrei said gloomily.
“Learn. You have to learn. We’re all learning. Your… er… Friedrich didn’t come here from law school either, but he works, and he works pretty well… Just look, he’s already a senior investigator. And some people think it’s time he was made deputy head of the Criminal Sector… Yes… But they’re not happy with you, Voronin. For instance, what progress are you making on the Building case?”