The Greatest Russian Stories of Crime and Suspense (25 page)

Their first letters arrived a month later. They wrote of their first impressions, the details of their journey, and their plans for the future.

“Everything would be fine,” read the Professor’s letter, “if not for the constant presence of this character, who definitely qualifies as a subject for scientific study by any zoologist. This young man continues to get on my nerves. Being here and unfortunately having to see him constantly, I am once again convinced that my original dislike of him was well founded.”

Voronov, in turn, complained of “the absolute intolerance of the old grouch and the torture of being with him, day in and day out.”

At the University they read the letters, chuckled, and wondered at the stubbornness of these two men in their indefatigable dislike of each other.

The other Professors argued about how long the groundless feud would last. The optimists said both would finally make up and even come to like each other; the pessimists contended it would be just the opposite. Several bets were made, and two quarrels broke out.

A month later, however, a brief telegram from Kolguyev Island informed the University that Professor Burov had been murdered by Assistant Professor Voronov.

The special investigator assigned to the case began by looking for a means of reaching the island. Meteorological conditions, unfortunately, made the journey impossible at that time of the year.

The investigator then radioed instructions to the Captain of an icebreaker cruising near the island. The Captain was to deliver the frozen corpse to Moscow, to interrogate the witnesses—if there were any—and to search the scene of the crime thoroughly. Voronov was to be brought to Moscow with all due precautions.

Three weeks later, the Captain delivered to the special investigator’s office a man in his thirties with a lost and frightened expression—the chief, and only suspect, Assistant Professor Voronov.

“Please be seated,” the detective said, looking Voronov over with cold curiosity.

“Thank you,” Voronov answered quietly.

The detective had carefully studied the records of Voronov’s past. In his thirty-two years, Voronov had lived honestly until the day he killed Burov. Voronov was undoubtedly a talented scientist. He had written several scientific papers and was firmly on the road to professional acclaim.

The questioning began.

“What in God’s name made you murder the Professor?” the detective, usually a calm and self-controlled man, exclaimed.

Voronov shrugged helplessly.

“You see,” he said in an apologetic, hesitant voice, “you see—well, the thing is, I didn’t murder him.”

“But he
was
killed?”

“Yes.”

“Was there anyone at the scene of the crime except the two of you?”

“No, only the two of us. No one else was there—no one else could possibly have been there.”

“In that case I can’t see why you don’t confess. You’ll have to agree that if only two people are together and one of them is murdered, the murderer—”

“—must be the other,” Voronov finished the sentence. “It’s undoubtedly so. But I did not kill him. The terrible thing is that I realize the utter hopelessness of my situation. I have no chance in the world to defend myself. Of course, I’ve been—what is it you call it?—caught red-handed. If I were in your shoes, I’d never have a moment’s doubt. I understand. I’m prepared for the worst—for the very worst. But I did
not
kill him.”

And Voronov began to weep. He sobbed as strangely as he had spoken. This tall calm, cultured man wept like a child, helplessly, without anger, and touchingly. He did not at all intend his tears to move his interrogator. On the other hand, he made no attempt to hide them. He wept as simply as he had spoken, and just as unaffectedly.

“Pull yourself together,” the detective said gruffly. “If you murdered him—and everything points to that—it’s best to confess. If you did
not
, then defend yourself. Refute my arguments, explain your actions, present your side of the story.”

Voronov’s guilt seemed too obvious, too incontrovertible. All the evidence pointed to the fact that Burov had been murdered by Voronov and no one else. But to the investigator’s amazement, Voronov, far from trying to defend himself, provided additional and extremely incriminating information without the slightest prompting. While continuing to deny his guilt, he went on hurriedly to disclose new circumstances, new facts, all piling up further evidence against him.

“When we came to the island,” he said, “our animosity grew sharper. We tried to keep our emotions in check, but our hatred of each other entered every word, look, and gesture. It was very difficult to keep oneself always in control, and that, unfortunately, did nothing to help the situation. Professor Burov couldn’t stand the sight of me, and I felt the same way about him. To tell you the truth, there were moments when I had half a mind to strike him, even to kill him. These thoughts began to torment me. They even found their way into my diary. I’ve brought it along. Here, read it.”

With these words Voronov handed the detective a large notebook. True enough, among other entries were those which showed that more and more often Voronov had kept playing with the thought of killing Professor Burov.

“I really don’t know,” he continued, “but perhaps in the end I might actually have killed the Professor. Perhaps! But I did
not
kill him. This is what happened.

“That morning we decided to go duck hunting on a small lake in the center of the island. We went there by dogsled. Our driver was a Nenets named Vasya. Halfway there the sled broke down. We had about two miles to go, so we decided to continue on foot, while Vasya stayed behind to fix the sled.

“We arrived at the lake and began shooting. Then the ducks swam off to the far shore. I suggested that the Professor remain where he was while I went round to the other side to shoot from there. He agreed, and I set off for the opposite shore.

“I had a clear view of the Professor as he stood all alone on the other side of the lake, not far away. There was no one near him, and no one could have been. Of this I was sure. Then a shot rang out from the area where he was standing. I saw him jerk strangely and fall, and I ran back to him, wondering what had happened.

“When I reached him, the Professor was still alive, but unconscious. A hunting knife was plunged into his left eye to the very hilt. His rifle lay beside him.

“I lost my head, not knowing what to do for the unfortunate man. I tried to pull the knife from his eye, but could not—it had been driven in with great force. Then I ran back to where we had left the sled. Vasya was just finishing his repairs. I told him there had been a terrible accident. By the time we reached the lake, the Professor was dead. We took his body to camp, where we finally managed to get the knife out of the eye with great difficulty. That’s all.”

Voronov lit a cigarette, inhaling hungrily. After a brief pause he spoke again.

“So you see, it’s hard for me to defend myself. I’m intelligent enough to see that everything in this case points to my guilt. In fact, I may even stand a better chance in court—for clemency—by confessing, by making a clean breast of it and sincerely repenting my crime. Yet I cannot do that. I did
not
kill him. I did not commit murder, although I can’t prove my innocence. I have only one request before you arrest me. These letters are from my fiancee, and this is a letter I’ve written to her. Will you please send them to her?”

“No, I won’t,” the detective replied bluntly. “You can give the letters to her yourself. I’m not going to arrest you, Voronov.”

There are cases in which the unusual solution, the sudden conclusion, does not spring from a chain of formal clues and evidence, from a logical sequence of data already established, from a final summary of the events. Often there are such dark and tangled labyrinths of facts and details of human relations, such a terrible piling up of all sorts of circumstantial evidence and chance occurrences, that the most experienced investigator finds himself ready to throw up his hands. In such cases his guiding lights are his intuition and experience, his perseverence and conscience, and above all, his humaneness. These will surely lead him to the truth in the end …

The detective had put himself in a very awkward position by releasing Voronov. On the one hand, Voronov’s guilt seemed indisputable; on the other hand, the freeing of Voronov had been prompted solely by the investigator’s intuition—by the fact that he believed the man’s story despite all proofs to the contrary. He based his belief on those dim, vague, and unclear grounds which are formed within the soul, which do not always seem logical, which are so difficult to express in words, which appear as a result of the investigator’s psychological and professional insight, and the keenness of his intuition. They are the fruitful outcome of many years of thoughtful and tireless work, of training in observation, of experience in criminology, and of the constant habit of analyzing events and characters.

The detective was convinced that Voronov had not murdered Professor Burov. But he had to prove it, and what is more, he had to solve the mystery of the Professor’s death. Certainly Voronov could not be cleared of the murder charge simply because the detective was emotionally convinced of his innocence.

The autopsy was performed by Dr. Semyonov with his usual skill and care. His findings boiled down to two points. First, Professor Burov died as a result of injuries caused by the blow of a hunting knife, plunged into the victim’s left eye; and second, the blow had been inflicted with a force greater than that of a human being’s.

“What do you mean by ‘greater than that of a human being’s’?” the detective asked.

“I mean,” Dr. Semyonov answered, “that the strength with which the blow was struck was greater than could be expected from an average person. But just how great that force was I cannot tell.”

The detective examined the Professor’s rifle. It was a Winchester and supplied nothing of interest to the case. The knife which inflicted the fatal blow was also quite ordinary—a cheap hunting knife with a wooden handle. But on examining it more closely, the detective discovered a small fault in the end of the handle, obviously the result of poor workmanship. The tiny tip of the metal rod by which the handle was attached to the blade protruded as a sharp point from the end of the wood, though it was barely perceptible.

The investigator ran his finger over the tiny point of metal, then suddenly sprang to his feet.

An hour later a group of hastily summoned experts—gunsmiths and hunters—crowded the detective’s office.

“Tell me,” he asked them, “what would a hunter do if he had a hunting knife with a wooden handle in his belt and found that a cartridge in his rifle had stuck in the magazine? For instance, if the cartridge became slightly enlarged from dampness or had a flaw—what would a hunter do then?”

The experts began to whisper among themselves.

“In such a case,” one said, when they had finally come to a unanimous decision, “he would probably take his hunting knife and carefully tap its smooth wooden handle on the cartridge to ease it into the magazine.”

“That’s what I thought, too,” the investigator said. “Well, now, have a look at this knife. Notice the tiny metal point sticking out of the wood. Now, imagine that a hunter were to try to push the cartridge in with this knife. What do you think would happen?”

The experts examined the knife, noted the tiny metal protuberance, and reached agreement.

“This bit of metal,” they said, “sharp and strong as it is, could easily play the part of a firing pin. If this knife were used to tap the cartridge, it might cause an explosion that would fire the rifle.”

The detective turned to the gunsmiths.

“Tell me,” he said, “if the cartridge had not fully entered the magazine and if, as a result of the hunter’s carelessness, the rifle were fired, where would the main force of the explosion be directed? And how great would that force be?”

“The force of the explosion would be directed backwards, throwing the hand holding the knife back to the face. The force of the shot would be very great.”

The detective heaved a sigh of relief. His theory had been confirmed.

Just then Dr. Semyonov entered the office. The investigator showed him the knife and told him what the experts had concluded.

“That’s all very clever,” Dr. Semyonov said slowly, “and even quite believable, if not for one small detail. Considering the length of the Professor’s arm, his height, and the correlation of various parts of his body, his right hand would have wounded him in the right eye. And as you know, Professor Burov was killed by the knife entering his left eye.”

The detective’s solution, which had seemed so clear and correct, had fallen to pieces. But he was a stubborn man, so he continued his investigation. Back he went to the family of the dead Professor.

“Was there anything peculiar about Professor Burov physically?”

“No—nothing peculiar.”

“Did you ever see the Professor use a scalpel?”

“Yes, certainly—he often worked at home.”

“In which hand did he hold the scalpel?”

“In his left hand—the Professor was left-handed.”

The detective almost danced with joy. There, at last, was the final clue!

Now everything seemed in order. The truth had been uncovered. Professor Burov’s death was explained, and Voronov was cleared completely. The case could now be closed “For lack of evidence attesting to a crime.”

But the Professor’s brother came to see the investigator.

“I’m ready to agree that you are right and that my brother died as a result of his own carelessness,” he said. “But where did the knife come from? My brother did not own such a knife. Whose knife was it? Until you answer that question, Inspector, I cannot consider the case closed.”

Professor Burov’s brother was certainly entitled to an answer.

The detective checked the supply list. In the huge pile of bills, lists, and receipts, among hundreds of items including ammunition, rifles, tents, canned goods, binoculars, pans, thermos bottles, axes, pliers, hammers, metal cans, kerosene stoves, thermometers, dishes, and a multitude of other things, the detective searched in vain for an item marked:
Hunting knife
—
4 rubles
.