R. Morris - The Cleansing Flames

‘The deceased was a distant relative of a dear friend of the Tsar’s, and had been a courtier. It was therefore natural that the Tsar should attend her funeral.’

‘A dear friend? You are talking about his mistress?’

‘Please, you must not pay attention to scandal-mongers.’

‘I saw Totsky talking to you,’ said Virginsky abruptly.

‘Yes. Totsky was our agent.’

‘Then you will know from him what happened. Unless he is lying to cover his own duplicity.’

‘That fellow saved your life, you know. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he had rendered the nitroglycerine in your corset inert, you would have blown yourself up and taken God knows how many innocent souls with you. Mine included.’

Virginsky overlooked the Major’s appropriation of innocence. ‘I was drugged. They put the corset on me without my knowledge or consent — of course. I was acting under duress. They said that they would kill the baby if I didn’t obey.’

‘Baby?’

‘There is a baby. They said that they would kill it.’

Major Verkhotsev smiled. ‘It is unlikely that they ever intended to kill it. Even these people have some compunction. It was enough to hold out the prospect of infanticide to ensure your compliance. You have to hand it to them. They are astute psychologists.’

‘Have you arrested Tatiscev?’

‘It seems that Professor Tatiscev has gone to ground. He has not been seen at the university, or at any of his other usual haunts.’

‘And Tatyana Ruslanovna?’

‘From what Totsky says, wherever Tatiscev is, Tatyana Ruslanovna will not be far away. You knew of course that they were lovers?’

‘Totsky and Tatyana?’

‘No. Tatiscev and Tatyana.’

‘I see,’ said Virginsky, as if it made no difference to him. ‘What about the others? Kirill Kirillovich and Varvara Alexeevna? Botkin?’

‘Oh, we have them . So that is something, eh?’

There was a momentary silence. The animal pacification that Virginsky had experienced at the satisfaction of his immediate bodily needs gave way to a dull depression. ‘Tell me, was Porfiry Petrovich’s death ever announced?’

‘His death? No. Of course not. He has not died.’

‘No, I meant as a ruse. To convince the terrorists to trust me.’

‘There were bulletins about the seriousness of his condition and his decline in health. But naturally we would not release such egregiously false information. No matter what plans you and Porfiry had hatched.’

‘She lied to me. She told me that his obituary had appeared in the papers.’

Major Verkhotsev shook his head. ‘They played a ruse of their own, it seems.’

‘And Princess Dolgorukaya? That was Princess Dolgorukaya in the coffin?’

‘Yes.’

‘How did she die?’

‘She suffered a heart attack.’

Virginsky let out an involuntary laugh.

Major Verkhotsev raised a quizzical eyebrow.

‘It was something Tatyana Ruslanovna said,’ explained Virginsky. ‘She implied that I had killed her.’

‘Unless you were responsible for her son’s death, you did not. Princess Dolgorukaya’s fatal heart attack was brought on by the news of Prince Dolgoruky’s suicide. The old princess was deeply religious, you see. As far as she was concerned, he would go straight to Hell. It broke her heart.’

Virginsky placed a hand over his eyes.

‘Yes, it’s all been a terrible strain for you, I’m sure. The tragedy is that none of this was necessary. If you had come to us, we would have told you that we already had a man in there. This distrust between the Department of Justice and the Third Section is most regrettable, you know. It helps neither of us.’

‘It is hard to trust people who employ such methods as you do.’

‘My dear fellow! What a thing to say! After all this!’

Virginsky removed his hand from his eyes and stared accusingly at Major Verkhotsev. ‘Rakitin.’

‘Rakitin?’

‘The witness you took from us.’

‘We have no record of ever receiving anyone by that name. And neither do you, by the way.’ The remark was made lightly, almost cheerfully. There was no sense of threat in it.

Major Verkhotsev seemed to be aware of the difficulty this would cause Virginsky. He sensed the need for explanation: ‘It may surprise you to learn this, but I am considered a liberal, you know.’

Virginsky gave a cynical shrug.

‘Ask my daughter.’

Virginsky bristled at the mention of Maria Petrovna.

Major Verkhotsev smiled with satisfaction at the effect his last sally produced. ‘Yes, Maria Petrovna and I are as one on many issues.’

‘She does not condone the murder of state witnesses.’

‘No one has been murdered. Whatever wild conclusions you have leapt to concerning the fate of this — what did you say his name was?’

‘Rakitin. You know full well.’

‘Yes. Rakitin. Rest assured that, as so often, it is not as you imagine. Perhaps Mr Rakitin wished to disappear. And perhaps we aided him in the accomplishment of his wishes. Perhaps he found himself superfluous to events, and so took himself off. One simply does not know.’

‘You know.’

Major Verkhotsev tapped an index finger impatiently on the table. ‘Yes, I am quite the liberal,’ he continued, as if they had not talked about Rakitin at all. ‘I keep up with all the liberal papers, and even some of the radical ones.’

‘I’m sure you do.’

‘Oh no. It’s not like that. I don’t do it to keep an eye on them, if that’s what you’re suggesting. I read them because they interest me. Genuinely. I find myself sympathetic to many of the views expressed.’ Verkhotsev crossed to another table at the side of the room, on which a number of newspapers and journals were laid out. ‘Take this, for example. In this week’s Spark .’

Knowledge of the worst that men can do

Opened your eyes to the best in them.

Zones of darkness you dared to enter,

Observing with an eye informed by ruth.

Dwelling there you saw not monsters but brothers;

A light you shone into their souls, discovering

Virtue lives alongside vice; hope neighbours hate;

Love beds down with lust; joy succumbs to fear’s embrace.

Eternal God, the judge of all, we beseech you,

View with equal compassion our brother’s soul.

‘Of course, it’s just a bit of doggerel by someone who never knew him. And it reads rather too much like an epitaph, for my liking. Still and all, it is rather affecting. I wonder who wrote it,’ said Major Verkhotsev. ‘It is not credited to anyone. But quite an extraordinary stance for such a radical-leaning publication to take, do you not think? I was particularly struck by the overtly religious tone. A prayer indeed! And when you consider that most radicals believe that Porfiry Petrovich was the victim of a justifiable revolutionary attack. .’

‘Kozodavlev,’ said Virginsky. There was a sense of wonder in his voice.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Kozodavlev wrote it. If you look at the first letter of each line.’

Major Verkhotsev retrieved the paper and scanned the lines of the poem eagerly. ‘Good Heavens! But I thought he died in the fire?’

‘Yes, that is what he wanted us to think. But, obviously, it was the man they sent to kill him who died.’ Virginsky shook his head in begrudging admiration. ‘ What Is to Be Done? ’

‘Well, of course, we will make enquiries with the newspaper.’

‘No. I meant the book. What Is to Be Done? by Chernyshevsky. Have you never read it?’

‘Of course, Lopukhov’s hat! Well I never. But this is not quite the same, is it? I mean, in What Is to Be Done? a deception was perpetrated, but no one died. Lopukhov’s hat was fished out of the water with a bullet hole in it and from that the authorities concluded he had committed suicide. By the by, I always objected to the stupidity of that episode. It is highly implausible on so many counts. But here, five children perished, as well as the unknown individual found in Kozodavlev’s apartment.’