Viatcheslav Yatsko
The Professor's Murder
1. The Murder
Olga came into my flat and asked: "Don't you want to tell me anything?"
I have always been puzzled by the ability of the women creatures to force me (and, as I guess, the majority of mankind) into a defensive position. When my ex wife would phone me from the other city where she was on a business trip her first question would always be: "What are you busy with at the moment?" That implied that I was being engaged in an orgy with at least two call girls. Finally I decided to do my best to fit her expectations and we divorced. Olga was my current paramour and the implication behind her question might be something like: 'If you are guilty why don't kneel and kiss my feet to beg pardon?'
She was married to a university professor (twenty years older than she was) who had recently been invited to work at a university in the USA. Olga had to decide whether to go with her husband to live a comfortable life in America or stay with me here in Siberia. She was reasonable enough to choose the first alternative and my great fault was that I didn't stir a finger to dissuade her from going abroad. I was supposed to rend my hair in despair pleading her not to leave me. I did nothing of the sort and that fact infuriated her so that she began each her visit during the last two weeks trying to have it out with me.
I know from my experience that the best thing in such a situation is either to attract the woman's attention to her own appearance or to the appearance of some other woman. That was why I said pointing to a large newly bought LG LCD 43" TV: "With fair hair she looks much prettier and younger, doesn't she?"
Olga immediately fixed her eyes on the screen where a famous actress was performing her new song. She examined the image for a minute and then said: "Ha! The fair hair has nothing to do with her good looks. Don't you know that she had her face lifted in Switzerland? And do you know how much she paid for it? One hundred thousand bucks!" Her voice rang with true satisfaction: at the age of 27 one doesn't need any plastic surgery. My little trick had worked and Olga began to share with me all the information about the celebrity she had.
Meanwhile the picture on the screen changed and there appeared a handsome robust presenter of the 'Criminal Chronicles' programme. "The criminal situation in this city remains rather complex", announced he broadly smiling. "Today in the afternoon a famous scientist, Professor, Ph.D, Nicolas Smirnov was found murdered in his laboratory at the State University".
Olga fell silent at once and stared at the screen. The famous scientist was her husband. The TV presenter began talking about his biography and scientific achievements.
"But that simplifies matters!" – exclaimed she. "Now as I'm free we can safely marry!'
I looked at her with pity. As a lawyer I knew very well that the main suspects in such cases were spouses and their lovers.
"Dr. Smironov's throat was cut ear to ear and the body lay in the pool of blood. Our reporter managed to interview Colonel Egorov, the Chief of the Police Headquarters", cheerfully proceeded the presenter.
"We will make all efforts to investigate this brutal crime", declared the bold headed Colonel. "The reasons for the murder may be found either in Dr.Smirnov's professional activities or in his personal life". The Colonel stopped and seemed to stare at us from the screen.
Olga burst out crying. Perhaps she remembered at last that Nick Smirnov was her husband to whom she had been married for seven years. Or she was impressed by such intimate details as 'throat cut ear to ear', and 'pool of blood'. Or something else.
I headed to the kitchen and came back with a bottle of vodka and two glasses that I promptly filled with the crystal liquid.
"Let's pray for the soul of the God's humble servant, Nikolas Smirov", pronounced I the traditional Russian phrase and empted the glass. Olga, still softly weeping, followed my example. The universal remedy produced its usual effect: the woman ceased weeping, she calmed, her large brown eyes brightened, the cheeks flushed. She looked so attractive that in an instant I found myself kissing her with my arms round her waist. I felt her relax and made up my mind to continue the relaxation process in a more comfortable place, i.e. on the bed.
As we were lying after intensive relaxations it was time to seriously consider the situation.
"Look here, darling, are you aware that you and me will be the main suspects during the investigation? Anyway you should be well prepared for long police interrogations".
That idea evidently hadn't occurred to Olga. She frowned, raised herself leaning on the elbow with frightened look in the eyes. Her round rosy breasts touched my body and I couldn't help comforting her with another round of relaxations. When it was over I said:
"The body was found in the afternoon. When did your husband leave for his office?
"About half past eight", answered Olga. "He said he had to be in the laboratory at no late than nine. They planned to conduct some experiments.
"So the murder was committed between nine and the afternoon. With what were you busy between 9 a.m and 2 p.m. Siberian mean time? If you finished off the old man I'm ready to listen to your confession".
"You, freak, watch what you are saying!" Olga sat up and began putting her clothes on with her angry back to me. I followed her example. My trick had worked again: the atmosphere changed from relaxation to concentration.
Of course I didn't believe that Olga could have killed her husband. Her main advantage was that she was a Female, i.e. female to backbone. She would faint at the sight of a mouse, didn't stand the sight of blood, and was always ready to put to use her charms. As any other person she could commit a crime under some circumstances, in an uncontrollable gust. And I knew that she had had a hard time with Smirnov who I believe was an unpleasant personality. Being really a good scientists he thought himself the most intelligent man in the world, used to teach everybody (and his wife in he first turn), and displayed rudeness not typical of a university professor in case somebody contradicted him or underestimated his scientific contributions. But to cut a throat ear to ear? Impossible for Olga.
"I didn't love Nick, you know, but he was kind to me and generous", continued Olga.
Here she was right. Unlike most of his colleagues Nick Smirnov had money. His works were published abroad, and he had contracts with American firms, and he never forgot about his wife's birthdays. Olga had jewelry with diamonds, sable fur coats, and a Hyundai off-road vehicle. Smirnov himself was the proud owner of a Land Rover full-sized jeep that he ordered from Moscow and that was a rarity in this city. Local gangsters and regional officials preferred Land Cruisers.
"And he was a good lover", added she looking at me with reproach and combing her fair hair. She was already sitting at dressing table.
Once she told me the story of her romance with Smirnov. He made a pass at her when she was a graduate student and he read them lectures in Computer Science. He began courting her, invited to restaurants; they even traveled together to a fashionable resort at the Canaries. She did her darndest to resist the Professor's attacks but finally he coerced her by threatening that he would fail her in the final exams.