Boris Akunin - Murder on the Leviathan

The Englishwoman had clenched her fingers together nervously, she was gazing at Gauche imploringly, but nothing was going to stop him now - this fine lady should have known better than to look down her nose at a commissioner of the Paris police.

‘Miss Stamp found romance in plenty. In the Ambassador Hotel she made the acquaintance of an exceptionally suave and handsome gentleman, who is listed in the police files under the name of the Vampire. A shady character who specializes in rich, ageing foreign women. The flames of passion were ignited instantly and - as always happens with the Vampire - they were extinguished without warning. One morning, on the thirteenth of March to be exact, madam, you woke alone and forlorn in a hotel room that you could barely recognize because it was so empty. Your friend had made off with everything except the furniture. They sent me a list of the items that were stolen from you.’ Gauche glanced into his file. ‘Number thirty-eight on the list is “a golden brooch in the form of a whale”. When I read that, I began to understand why Miss Stamp does not like to remember Paris.’

The foolish woman was a pitiful sight now - she had covered her face with her hands and her shoulders were heaving.

‘I have never really suspected Mme Kleber,’ said Gauche, moving on to the next point on his agenda, ‘even though she was unable to give a clear explanation of why she had no emblem.’

‘But why did you ignore what I told you?’ the Japanese butted in. “I told you something very important.’

‘I didn’t ignore it!’ The commissioner swung round to face the speaker. ‘Far from it. I had a word with Mme Kleber and she gave me an explanation that accounted for everything. She suffered so badly during the first stage of pregnancy that her doctor prescribed … certain sedative substances. Afterwards the painful symptoms passed, but the poor woman had already become habituated to the medication, which she took for her nerves and insomnia. She was taking larger and larger doses and the habit was threatening to get out of hand. I had a fatherly word with Mme Kleber and afterwards, under my watchful eye, she threw the vile narcotic into the sea.’ Gauche cast a glance of feigned severity at Renate, who had stuck out her lower lip like a sulky child. ‘Remember, my dear, you promised papa Gauche on your word of honour.’

Renate lowered her eyes and nodded.

Clarissa erupted. ‘Ah, what touching concern for Mme Kleber! Why could you not spare my blushes, monsieur detective?

You have humiliated me in front of the entire company.’

But the commissioner had no time for her now - he was still gazing at the Japanese, and his gaze was grave and unrelenting.

The quick-witted Jackson understood, without having to be told, that it was time. There was a funereal gleam of burnished steel as he took his hand out of his pocket. He held the revolver with the barrel pointing straight at the Oriental’s forehead. “I believe that you Japanese think of us as ginger-haired monkeys?’ Gauche said in a hostile voice. ‘I’ve heard that’s what you call Europeans. We are hairy barbarians and you are cunning, subtle and so highly cultured. White people are not even fit to lick your boots.’ The commissioner puffed out his cheeks sarcastically and blew a thick cloud of smoke out to one side.

‘Killing ten monkeys means nothing to you, you don’t even think of it as wrong.’

Aono sat there tense and still. His face was like stone.

‘You accuse me of killing Lord Littleby and his vassals … that is, servants?’ the Oriental asked in a flat, lifeless voice. ‘Why do you accuse me?’

‘For every possible reason criminal science has to offer, my dear chap,’ the commissioner declared. Then he turned away from the Japanese, because the speech he was about to make was not intended for this yellow dog, it was intended for History.

The time would come when they would print it in the textbooks on criminology!

‘First, gentlemen, allow me to present the circumstantial evidence indicating that this person could have committed the crimes of which I accuse him.’ (Ah, but he shouldn’t be giving this speech to an audience of ten people, he should be addressing a packed hall in the Palais de Justice!) ‘And then I shall present to you the evidence which demonstrates beyond all possible doubt that M. Aono not only could have, but actually did murder eleven people - ten on the fifteenth of March on the rue de Grenelle and one yesterday, the fourteenth of April, on board the steamer Leviathan.’

As he spoke, an empty space formed around Aono. The Russian was the only one left sitting beside the prisoner, and the inspector was standing just behind him with his revolver at the ready.

‘I hope nobody here has any doubt that the death of Professor Sweetchild is directly connected with the crime on the rue de Grenelle. As our investigation has demonstrated, the goal of that murder most foul was to steal, not the golden Shiva, but the silk shawl …’ Gauche scowled sternly, as if to say: Yes, indeed, the investigation has established the facts, so you can stop making that wry face, monsieur diplomat. ‘… which is the key to the hidden treasure of the rajah of Brahmapur, Bagdassar. We do not yet know how the accused came to learn the secret of the shawl, and we are all aware that the Orient holds many impenetrable mysteries for our European minds. However, the deceased professor, a genuine connoisseur of oriental culture, had succeeded in solving this mystery. He was on the point of sharing his discovery with us when the fire alarm was sounded. Fate itself had sent the criminal a golden opportunity to stop Sweetchild’s mouth for ever. Afterwards all would be silence again, just like at the rue de Grenelle. But the killer failed to take into account one very important circumstance: this time Commissioner Gauche was on hand, and he is not one to be trifled with. It was a risky move, but it might have worked. The criminal knew that the scholar would dash straight to his cabin to save his papers, that is, his manuscripts. It was there, concealed by the bend in the corridor, that the murderer committed his foul deed.

And there we have the first piece of circumstantial evidence …’ the commissioner raised a finger to emphasize his point ‘… M. Aono ran out of the salon and therefore he could have committed this murder.’

‘Not only I,’ said the Japanese. ‘Six other people ran out of the salon: M. Renier, M. and Mme Truffo, M. Fandorin, M. Milford Stokes and Mile Stamp.’

‘Correct,’ Gauche agreed. ‘But I merely wished to demonstrate to the jury, by which I mean the present company, the connection between these two crimes, and also that you could have committed yesterday’s murder. Now let us return to the “Crime of the Century”. M. Aono was in Paris at the time, a fact of which there can be no doubt, and which is confirmed by a telegram that I recently received.’

‘One and a half million other people were also in Paris,’ the Japanese interjected.

‘Perhaps, but nonetheless we now have our second piece of circumstantial evidence,’ said Gauche.

‘Too circumstantial by far,’ put in the Russian.

‘I won’t dispute that.’ Gauche tipped some tobacco into his pipe before he made his next move. ‘However, the fatal injections were administered to Lord Littleby’s servants by a medic of some sort, and there are certainly not one and a half million medics in Paris, are there?’

No one contested that, but Captain Cliff asked:

‘True, what of it?’

‘Ah, monsieur capitaine,’ said Gauche, his eyes flashing brightly, ‘the point is that our friend Aono here is not a military man, as he introduced himself to all of us, but a qualified surgeon, a recent graduate from the medical faculty at the Sorbonne! I learned that from the same telegram.’