Вячеслав Яцко: The Professor's Murder

"Listen to me, Ole", said I. I called her so after the personage in Anderson's tales who used to tell small children unbelievable stories. Olga herself had no idea of my implication. For her 'Ole' was just a diminutive of "Olga".

"The first question that occurs to an investigator is 'Who has profited from Smirnov's murder?' As soon as he answers this question he asks a second one: 'What was that person doing at the time of murder?' So who will inherit Smirnov's property?"

I sat at the desk, took a sheet of paper, wrote in the centre 'Smirnov' and included it into an oval.

"According to the law hairs apparent are parents, children, and spouses", declared I and made three more ovals placing parents above Smirnov, children – below him, and spouses – to the left of him.

"You are his second wife, aren't you?", asked I Olga who was painting her lips and seemed completely calm. My firsthand knowledge is that sex and makeup produce a sedative effect on women.

She nodded. I put down her name in the oval with spouses.

"And who was his first wife?"

Olga knitted her brow and pondered for a moment having put aside her lipstick that was a distinct manifestation of her interest. I got all ears to listen to a story from my personal Ole Lukøje.

"I got acquainted with Smirnov as I was a student, as you might remember", began she with inspiration. "By that time he was already several years divorced. His ex worked as a lecturer at the University. I happened to see her once. She was as flat as a board wearing thick glasses and shapeless clothes".

"What was her name?", interrupted I; my fingers itched with the yearning to fill another blank in my scheme.

"Her first name was Vera, and the last one – something like Kotova or Krotova".

"And after divorce she resumed her maiden name?"

"That is the point! She kept her maiden name when she married Nick".

"Rather unusual", agreed I and put down 'Vera Krotova/Kotova?' in the corresponding oval.

"Of course I asked Nick how he could have married such a scarecrow. The explanation was banal: he married because she got pregnant".

"Ah, there was a child!" exclaimed I ready to fill the oval with children.

"You don't hurry, Sherlock Holmes. I know it was a girl. I don't know her name and never saw her. As I and Nick got married his ex with the daughter moved to another city".

"Very well", muttered I and put down 'daughter' in the corresponding oval. Then I drew another oval and entitled it 'Colleagues'.

After their marriage Smirnov fixed his wife with an ephemeral part-time job of an assistant at his laboratory for which Olga got a symbolical salary of $50 per a month".

Olga, who watched my manipulations with interest, said: "Both his parents died long ago. If you think that I can provide you with information about Nick's colleagues you are badly mistaken".

"Yes, I understand that you never appear in the office but Smirnov could have told you something at home".

She became thoughtful for a moment and even extended her fine lips painted in cerise. Then she said: "Actually Smirnov was on bad terms with many of the staff members. I remember one conflict between him and one of his postgraduates who stated that Nick was a magician rather than a scientist. Smirnov had nearly beaten him".

"Is that all?"

"That is all, sweetheart. I hope you will manage to extricate us from this mess".

"We have much information to reflect upon", murmured I. "Thank you Ole…", said I and added mechanically: "Lukoje".

"What? What did you say?" – Olga's eyes rounded and darkened acquiring an unpleasant expression.

"What did I say?"

"Yes. What. Did. You. Say.", snapped the woman carefully separating each word.

I…just", began I mumbling. At that moment the room was filled with the rasp of Rammstein's music:

"Du hast

Du hast mich

Du hast mich gefragt

Du hast mich gefragt

Du hast mich gefragt und ich hab

nichts gesagt",

bashed the German singers out.

Olga's Nokia phone that emitted this cacophony trembled as if in fever.

She opened the flip and snapped: "Smirnova speaking". While listening she bit her lip and began pulling at her gold necklace pendant.

"My flat was robbed", - she informed me somewhat embarrassingly. "The police asked me to come there as soon as possible". She rushed to the door.

For the first time I felt respect for Rammstein's music.

Left alone I cast a steady glance at my drawing. It resembled an underdeveloped model of a molecule that I studied in junior high school or a helicopter's rotor deformed after a catastrophic crash. With the completely inefficient judicial system in this country it was up to me to undertake the investigation so as to find the murderer and be cleared of all suspicions. As Russian classic writers stated: " The rescue a drowning person is the responsibility of the drowning person himself".

2. The Murdered Man

I was driving my Ford C-Max along a busy road populated with Toyotas, Nissans, Mazdas, Chevrolets, Hyundais; the unhappy owners of Russian Ladas, which only twenty years ago were sweet dreams of Soviet citizens, constituted a timid minority. The vehicles bustled about in Brownian motion violating all laws of nature to say nothing of traffic rules.

It was due to a car accident that I got to know Olga Smirnova about a year ago. She pulled an illegal U-turn and was deprived of her driving license. Somebody of her acquaintances recommended me as a lawyer and before I could bat an eye I found her between my sheets. In this way as she explained later she wanted to encourage me do my best at the trial. Her efforts were not in vain: I managed to prove that the road markings rubbed away and were not visible and after I oiled appropriate palms she got her license back.

The state machinery in this country was corrupted to backbone, sporadic attempts of government representatives to launch struggle against corruption were doomed to failure from the start. Just after the current President declared war on corruption the average cost of a bribe more than doubledand next year it doubled again reaching a lump figure of 40,000 rubles. Actually, bribe-taking and bribe-giving became a way of life of all decent people in Russia.

The corruptive schemes didn't boil down to primitive bribe taking and were as numerous as insect species. Several years ago I entered into such a scheme with Michail Rogov, an officer at the Police Headquarters. Rogov leaked me the results of police investigation of the persons whom I defended so that I could use this information at the trial, and I shared with him my fee.

Now I was making my way to Vacuum Restaurant where I had a meeting with Rogov.

The signboard above the door of the restaurant ran: VACUUM: TONNS OF ATTRACTION. The owner was a fan of the famous band whose harmonious music created a peculiarly relaxed atmosphere that I liked. Two years ago at this cozy place I had my tooth broken in a fight with a certain Ivan Voronin. At a trial I managed to prove innocence of my defendant and it occurred that clues of his innocence were at the same time evidence of guilt of Voronin who was then sentenced for two years of imprisonment. Later by coincidental misfortune we found ourselves at the same place and at the same time. The fight with Voronin cost me a broken tooth and him – another two years in jail.

On entering the restaurant I carefully looked about. At this time of day it fitted its name: only several tables were occupied and at one of them sat Rogov who was enthusiastically consuming a big roast beef.

As I sat at his table having ordered a cup of tea Rogov opened the conversation with a bromide: "Well, Alex, I have two news for you: one is a good and the other one is bad. What shall I tell first?"