Boris Akunin - He Lover of Death

‘Nonsense! Wild conjecture!’ the superintendent cried. ‘You have no proof! You weren’t even in Moscow at the time!’

‘But do not f-forget that I have many old friends in M-Moscow, including many among the police. Not all of them are as b-blind as your superiors. But that has n-nothing to do with the matter at hand. I only wish to say that p-provocation and entrapment with a b-bloody outcome are nothing new to you. You are calculating and c-cold blooded. And therefore I do not b-believe in your wild, uncontrollable passion for the Prince’s l-lady love – you only need the lady as a s-source of information.’

‘What, this one too?’ the Prince groaned in a voice filled with such pain and torment that Senka actually felt sorry for him. ‘You’re the greatest whore on God’s earth! You’ve lifted your skirts for all of them, even a lousy copper would do!’

But Death just laughed – a low, rustling laugh that was almost soundless.

‘Madam,’ Erast Petrovich said, glancing at her briefly, ‘I d-demand that you withdraw immediately. Senya, t-take her away!’

The smart engineer had chosen the right moment all right – after he’d stirred them all up like that, they couldn’t care less about Death now, let alone little Senka.

And little Senka didn’t have to be asked twice. He took hold of Death’s hand and pulled her towards the mouth of the passage. Mr Nameless’s meet was going to end badly, no doubting that. It would be interesting to watch it to the end, of course, only through opera glasses, from a seat in the top circle. But as for being on stage when they started bumping everyone off – thanks for the offer, but maybe some other time.

Death took two small steps, no more, and then she refused to budge and Senka couldn’t shift her. And when he took hold of her sides and tried to pull her, she dug her elbow hard into the pit of his stomach, and it really hurt.

Senka grabbed hold of his belly and started gasping for air, but he carried on peeping out from behind her shoulder, trying to keep up with the action. It was interesting, after all. He saw the superintendent back away to the wall and point one revolver at Erast Petrovich and keep the other trained on the bandits.

‘So it’s a trap?’ he exclaimed, just as flustered as Senka. ‘You picked the wrong man, Fandorin. I’ve got twelve bullets in these cylinders. Enough for everyone! Boxman, come over here!’

The constable walked over to his superior and stood behind him, his eyes glinting menacingly under his grey brows.

‘This is not just one t-trap, Innokentii Romanovich, but two,’ Mr Nameless explained calmly after the superintendent called him that strange word again. ‘As I said, I wish to c-conclude all my business in Moscow tonight. I only stated the b-basis for my suspicions so that you would have the f-full picture. The culprit is here, and he will receive the p-punishment he deserves. I invited the rest of you here for a d-different purpose: to f-free a certain lady from dangerous liaisons and even m-more dangerous delusions. She is a quite exceptional lady, g-gentlemen. She has suffered a great deal and d-deserves compassion. And by the way, in c-calling you all spiders, she has suggested an excellent name for this operation. A most p-precise image. You are spiders, and while f-four of you belong to the species of c-common spider, the fifth is a g-genuine tarantula. So, welcome to Operation Spiders in a Jar. The n-narrow confines of this treasure chamber render the title even m-more fitting.’

The engineer paused, as if inviting the others to appreciate his wit.

‘The fifth?’ asked Solntsev. ‘Where do you see a fifth?’

‘Right behind you.’

The superintendent swung round in fright and stared at Boxman, who glared down at his superior from his great height.

‘Constable Boxman is my g-guest of honour here today,’ said Erast Petrovich. ‘A spider of t-truly rare dimensions.’

Boxman barked so loudly, he brought the dust sprinkling down from the ceiling.

‘Your Honour must have lost his mind! Why, I—’

‘No, B-Boxman,’ the engineer retorted sharply. It wasn’t very loud, but the constable stopped talking. ‘You’re the one who has l-lost his mind in his old age. But we’ll t-talk about the reason for your mental derangement later. First let us d-deal with the essence of the matter. You were the prime suspect from the very b-beginning, in spite of all your c-caution. Let me explain why. The vicious m-murders in Khitrovka started about two months ago. A d-drunken reveller was killed and robbed, and then a reporter intending to write an article about the s-slums. Nothing unusual for Khitrovka, if n-not for one certain detail: their eyes were g-gouged out. Then the m-murderer gouged out the eyes of everyone in the Siniukhin family, in exactly the s-same way. There are two circumstances of n-note here. Firstly, it is impossible to imagine any of these exceptional c-crimes occurring on your beat without you f-finding out who committed them. You are the true master of Khitrovka! Superintendents come and g-go, the top dogs in the criminal underworld change, b-but Boxman is eternal. He has eyes and ears everywhere, every d-door is open to him, he knows the s-secrets of the police and the Council. More murders took p-place and the entire city started t-talking about them, but the ubiquitous Boxman d-didn’t know a thing. From this I concluded that you were c-connected with the mysterious Treasure Hunter, and m-must be his accomplice. My suspicions were corroborated by the fact that in s-subsequent murders the victims’ eyes were not put out. I recalled t-telling you that the theory of images being retained on the retina after death had been d-disproved by science . . . But I was still n-not certain that you were the killer and not s-simply an accomplice. Until yesterday n-night, that is, when you killed a young m-man, one of your informers. That was when I finally excluded all the other spiders f-from my list of suspects and focused on you . . .’

‘And how exactly, if I might enquire, did I give myself away?’ Boxman asked, looking at the engineer curiously. Senka couldn’t see a trace of fear or even alarm in the constable’s face.

But then he had to turn his head to look at the superintendent: Are you admitting it, Boxman?’ Solntsev exclaimed in fright, recoiling from his subordinate. ‘But he hasn’t proved anything yet!’

‘He will,’ Boxman said with a good-natured wave, still looking at Mr Nameless. ‘There’s no wriggling out of it with him. And you keep your mouth shut, Your Honour. This has nothing to do with you.’

Solntsev opened his mouth, but he didn’t make a peep. That was what the books called ‘to be struck dumb’.

‘You want t-to know how you gave yourself away?’ Erast Petrovich asked with a smirk. ‘Why, it’s very s-simple. There is only one way to twist someone’s n-neck through a hundred and eighty degrees in a s-single moment, so fast that he doesn’t even have time to m-make a sound: take a firm grasp of the c-crown of the head and turn it sharply, b-breaking the vertebrae and tearing the m-muscles. This requires truly phenomenal physical strength – a strength th-that you alone, of all the suspects, possess. Neither the Prince, nor Deadeye, n-nor the superintendent could have done that. There are not many people in the world c-capable of such a feat. And that’s all there is t-to it. The Khitrovka m-murders are not a very complex case. If I had not been involved in another investigation at the s-same time, I would have got to you m-much sooner . . .’

‘Well, no one’s perfect,’ Boxman said with a shrug. ‘I thought I was being so careful, but I slipped up there. I should have smashed Prokha’s head in.’

‘Indeed,’ Mr Nameless agreed. ‘But that would n-not have saved you from participating in Operation Spiders in a J-Jar. The outcome would still have b-been the same in any case.’