A Vengeful Longing (31 page)
Read A Vengeful Longing Online
Authors: R. N. Morris
‘Golyadkin cannot be Colonel Setochkin’s murderer, I am afraid. He himself died in a boating accident some years ago.’ Porfiry sipped from his tea. He closed his eyes for a moment, complacently almost, then suddenly stared over his cup, which he held to his mouth without drinking from it.
‘What is it?’ said Virginsky.
Porfiry lowered the cup slowly. He smiled but said nothing, basking in the speed of his eyelids’ oscillation. Instead he directed a mildly enquiring glance to Virginsky’s father.
He appeared discomfited by the magistrate’s attention. ‘But I don’t understand what all this has to do with Setochkin,’ he complained. ‘There is really nothing connecting Setochkin with Chermak School.’
‘Nothing?’ challenged Porfiry. ‘Apart from the fact that his murderer may have attended there?’ Porfiry sucked his tea up noisily and continued to watch Virginsky’s father with a greedy eye.
A distant rumble of thunder at first startled, then relieved, and, finally, depressed them.
3
Misericorde
The savagery of the storm cowed them. Hurled from a booming sky, the rain pelted the windowpanes in an angry fusillade. They could hear it hammering on the roof too, as if its rage was directed against them personally. The air was chill now; a stealthy gloom had taken away every memory of the sun.
Porfiry joined Virginsky at the window and watched the rain streak through the charged darkness. A flash of brilliance lit up the devastated patch of the city before them. Across the Yekaterininsky Canal, its surface frantic with motion, the tenement buildings behind the Haymarket seemed to shiver and flinch in the glare. Hunched figures on the embankments were momentarily frozen in their dash towards doorways. Another flash, a second later, and they had disappeared.
‘If this keeps up, the Ditch will flood,’ said Virginsky, as if he took pleasure from the prospect.
Virginsky’s father’s voice behind him reminded Porfiry of his guests. ‘It will be impossible to get a cab, of course.’
‘Oh, but you mustn’t think of going in this,’ said Porfiry turning, though in truth he was ready for them to go. He craved a cigarette and there was work to be done. In effect, it amounted to the same thing.
Virginsky’s father smiled weakly and cast an eye at the hostile weather. It seemed that he had merely been voicing a wish, the unattainability of which he well understood. There was resignation in his face and posture. ‘So . . . it seems we are imprisoned by the storm.’
‘I for one am glad of the rain,’ said Natalya Ivanovna firmly. ‘It will lighten the oppression in the air. I hope it will freshen the generally noxious atmosphere of the city too.’
‘Indeed,’ said Porfiry. ‘If I may say so, you have not chosen to visit St Petersburg in its pleasantest season. Most people in fact choose to vacate the city in the summer.’
‘Those who can afford to,’ said Virginsky.
‘We had little choice in the matter,’ admitted Virginsky’s father. ‘The business that brought us here was pressing.’
‘Your business with Colonel Setochkin, you mean?’ said Porfiry.
Virginsky’s father’s eyes stood out with distaste. ‘So, we are back to that, are we?’
‘Will you be pursuing the sale of the land through another agent, now that Colonel Setochkin is dead?’ Porfiry tried to make the enquiry sound casual.
‘He was not my agent in any formal sense. He was merely an individual who was facilitating a transaction. But no, to answer your question. The need for the sale is no longer pressing.’
‘How fortunate!’ said Porfiry warmly. ‘That
is
good news.’ A moment later Porfiry’s expression clouded. ‘This change in circumstances, it would not have anything to do with Colonel Setochkin’s death, would it?’
is
good news.’ A moment later Porfiry’s expression clouded. ‘This change in circumstances, it would not have anything to do with Colonel Setochkin’s death, would it?’
‘Really!’ cried Virginsky’s father, rising to his feet. ‘That is the most despicable suggestion I have ever heard. Storm or no storm, I will not remain here to be subjected to this innuendo. Come along, Natalya Ivanovna.’ He took his wife’s teacup and placed it with his own on the tray. ‘Unless, sir, you are intending to formally arrest me?’
‘Not at all,’ said Porfiry, who gave every impression of being baffled by the outburst. ‘But really, I cannot let you go out into that storm. At the very least, allow me to give you some umbrellas. You would be amazed how many get left here.’
‘He once gave me a dead man’s boots,’ remarked Virginsky as Porfiry fussed to fetch two umbrellas from a stand by the door.
Virginsky’s father took his with a look of indignation, as if this represented the final insult. Perhaps his son’s comment had prejudiced him against any gift from the magistrate. ‘And may we consider ourselves free to leave St Petersburg?’
‘You may consider yourselves free to do whatever you wish,’ said Porfiry with a slight bow.
‘This came.’
Porfiry watched the receding figures of Virginsky Senior and Natalya Ivanovna. They crossed the floor with stiffened gait, carrying umbrellas tightly furled like grudges. Other figures cut across them, some steaming from the drenchings they had just received. Then the couple was lost to him, absorbed by the loose congress of the receiving hall.
He looked down at the letter Zamyotov had thrust at him. He took it uncertainly. It bore the crest of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, Department of Public Health. He looked into Zamyotov’s face in amazement. ‘We’ve had a reply!’
‘Contain your excitement,’ said Zamyotov.
The brief, though beautifully scripted, note was signed by one A. I. Rostanev.
Re: Yekaterininsky Canal adjacent to Stolyarny Lane.
Your letter regarding the above has been investigated. No action was deemed necessary.
Porfiry read the lines again. An astonished rage rushed through him, rising quickly to his face. ‘No action necessary!’
‘I told you it was a waste of time,’ said Zamyotov, attending to a thread on the cuff of his frock coat.
‘This is outrageous.’ Porfiry rapped the paper with the nails of one hand. ‘Investigated? What do they mean? Nobody has been here. No one has talked to me.’
‘Ah,’ said Zamyotov, becoming uncharacteristically shame-faced. ‘I believe an official from that department did come here. But you were out.’
‘But that’s no good. He needed to talk to me. He should have come back. He should have made an appointment.’
‘It was the day young Virginsky started,’ Zamyotov offered, almost as an excuse. Virginsky shifted awkwardly, as if he felt himself implicated in the failure. ‘Word had just come in of that double poisoning,’ continued Zamyotov. ‘The German woman and her son. You dashed off and missed him by a matter of minutes.’
‘She was not German,’ said Porfiry studying the official letter as if he believed some meaning other than the obvious would make itself apparent. ‘She was married to a German.’
‘I let him into your chambers. He sniffed around a bit and then left.’
‘Good grief! Surely he must have noticed the stink? What did he say?’
‘Not much. Nothing actually. He just made some notes and was gone.’
‘No action necessary,’ repeated Porfiry. ‘This is an outrage. We will have to write another letter. We will take it higher up. Who is this Rostanev? He does not even give a rank.’
‘Porfiry Petrovich?’
Porfiry looked up to see Lieutenant Salytov frowning impatiently at him.
‘Yes, Ivan Petrovich, what is it?’
‘Could I ask you, please, to moderate your fury as I am trying to take a statement from a witness and your outburst is proving to be rather distracting?’
‘Y-’
‘Thank you.’ Salytov clicked his heels and bowed.
‘But -!’
‘Furthermore, Nikodim Fomich has requested me to notify you of the details of the case as he feels a criminal investigation may be necessary.’
‘I see.’ Porfiry passed the letter back to Zamyotov. ‘Of course.’ He angled his face away from the attention of the others as he took out and lit a cigarette with shaking hands. ‘I hope it is understood that I am not normally given to such shows of passion. However, the communication I have just received would be enough to try the patience of a saint.’
‘The case,’ insisted Salytov, with a note of censure in his voice, ‘as it stands is one of a missing person. The witness I am interviewing, one Lara Olsufevna Mikheyeva of Demidov Lane, came into the bureau to report the disappearance of her tenant, Yemelyan Antonovich Ferfichkin.’
‘I see.’
‘This Ferfichkin, according to Mikheyeva, has many enemies. In particular, a man called Gorshkov, a former factory worker, now an indigent drunk, was heard to threaten the life of Ferfichkin. It is Mikheyeva’s view that he has made good on the threat.’
‘Ah.’
‘Mikheyeva’s description of Ferfichkin matches that of a body discovered this morning in the Summer Garden, according to a bulletin released by the Eastern Admiralty District Police Bureau.’
‘Very well. Then the thing to do is to take the woman to identify the body. Do we know how the man died?’
‘He was stabbed through the heart. The weapon, a poniard, was discovered still in place.’
‘That is very interesting.’
‘Nikodim Fomich was of the view that you would like to talk to the Mikheyeva woman.’
Porfiry gave a wincing smile and sighed. ‘It is something of a distraction from the cases I am working on at the moment. Is it not enough that I am chasing two hares?’ He drew deeply on his cigarette. ‘I feel it would be better to wait until she has positively identified the body as Ferfichkin.’
‘But what if she is right? That would give this fellow Gorshkov time to disappear,’ protested Salytov.
‘We cannot arrest people merely on hearsay. At the very least, we need to be sure that a crime has taken place. Ferfichkin may have returned home while she has been giving her statement.’
‘But somebody is dead and somebody has killed him,’ said Virginsky. ‘Do you not count it significant that she should report her tenant’s disappearance at precisely the moment a body is found answering his description?’
Porfiry rubbed a hand over his face and sniffed the air. ‘I had hoped that the rainfall would alleviate the fetid atmosphere. It seems merely to have added an unwelcome rankness to it.’
A distant cannon boom signalled a flood warning.
‘The Ditch is rising,’ said Virginsky.
‘The woman?’ pressed Salytov.
‘Very well, bring her to my chambers.’ Porfiry shook his head in weary defeat. ‘If I talk to her now it may save time later,’ he added over his shoulder as he made for his door.
Lara Olsufevna Mikheyeva inhaled the air in Porfiry’s chambers with her head angled back sharply. She regarded Porfiry down the bridge of a long straight nose, upon which a pince-nez was precariously imposed. It seemed she suspected him of being responsible for the smell that pervaded the room. Lara Olsufevna was self-evidently a respectable woman, somewhere in her fifties. The set of her mouth inclined Porfiry to believe her a spinster. She kept her eyes narrowed, in an expression of permanent distrust.
The thunder grumbled morosely now, the storm’s ferocity spent. The rain lashed the windows with an erratic beat, falling hard and sharp like cast gravel. The day’s light had not yet fully returned. But something else, a kind of cold glow, had taken its place.
Porfiry scanned Salytov’s transcript of her statement. ‘So, Lara Olsufevna . . . You became aware of your tenant’s disappearance this morning.’
‘That’s right.’
‘We do not normally open a missing person file so soon after a disappearance is first reported.’
‘Ferfichkin is not missing. He is murdered.’
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