R. Morris - A Vengeful Longing

‘I did not kill him.’

‘I was rather afraid you might say that. You see, it does complicate things for us your saying that.’

‘I cannot help that.’

‘Unfortunately, the position of the wound does not incline me to accept your theory of suicide.’ Porfiry looked down at the body on the floor. ‘We can see that the flesh and material have been pushed inwards, indicating that the bullet entered from the front.’ Porfiry looked at the window and frowned. ‘Nevertheless,’ he continued thoughtfully, ‘I have never yet come across the case of a suicide attempting to shoot himself through the heart. In my experience, those who elect for the pistol as a means of self-annihilation invariably choose to blow their brains out, either by holding the gun to the temple, or inserting the barrel into the mouth. This is the preferred method of the disgraced cavalry officer. I take it you would have informed us had there been anyone else in the room with you during your interview with Colonel Setochkin?’

‘We were alone.’

Porfiry peered tentatively around the back of the screen; then, finally, closed the lid on the trunk, as if he expected to find someone crouched in its lee. Discovering no one there, he looked at Salytov meekly, though he continued to address Vakhramev. ‘Could anyone have entered the study in between the moment you left it and the moment you heard the gunshot? Without your noticing? ’

‘I do not believe it would have been possible. It was only a matter of minutes, and I was in the hall the whole time.’

‘But were you watching the door?’

‘No, admittedly, I had my back to it.’

‘Tell me, was the windowpane open at the time of your interview with Colonel Setochkin?’

‘I didn’t notice.’

‘And the door? Closed as it is now? Locked?’

‘I really have no idea.’

‘But did anyone come into the room afterwards, besides Colonel Setochkin’s manservant — and the police, of course?’

‘No. I was in here all the time. I saw no one else.’

‘You did not see the servant open the window at any time?’

‘No,’ said Vakhramev decisively. ‘So I think it must have been already open.’

‘What about the door to the balcony? Did you see him lock the door?’

‘No.’

‘And you did not lock it yourself?’

‘No.’

‘So we may assume that the windowpane was open and the door to the balcony was locked at the time of the colonel’s. . demise?’

‘I think it’s a reasonable assumption,’ agreed Vakhramev.

‘And to go back to our mysterious letter, is it possible that the servant removed it?’

‘I didn’t see him do so,’ said Vakhramev. ‘I suppose it’s possible. My mind was not entirely focused.’

‘Of course. .’ Porfiry smiled and batted his eyelids to compensate for what was coming. ‘We have only your word that this letter existed.’

‘And that isn’t enough for you?’

‘I personally would be content to accept your word on it. But now we have juries. And there is this new emphasis on evidence.’ Porfiry’s smile became apologetic.

Vakhramev puffed out his cheeks as if he had never heard anything quite so preposterous. Porfiry nodded with sudden grim finality to Virginsky, who frowned back uncertainly.

‘And so, am I to consider myself under arrest?’

‘Not at all, not at all,’ said Porfiry brightly. ‘That is to say, not for the moment. We have yet to speak to the butler.’

The kitchen welcomed Porfiry and Virginsky with a freshly baked aroma that for an instant took all thought of anything apart from bread and meat pies out of their minds. Porfiry paused at the threshold to lose himself in it, his eyelashes fluttering with pleasure.

At last he looked at the two people who were gazing up at him with some bewilderment from the kitchen table.

‘Forgive me. Such smells always take us back to our childhood, do they not? I was somewhere else entirely for a moment. Colonel Setochkin was a fortunate man indeed to have such a cook as you in his household.’

The cook, a large woman with muscular forearms from a lifetime of stirring, beating and folding, wrinkled her face suspiciously. Her eyes gave nothing away.

The butler’s head shook in an unceasing gesture of denial. ‘But who will eat them now?’ he said. ‘There was to have been a party tonight.’ His eyes, beneath bristling eyebrows, were bloodshot and moist. He looked at Porfiry without comprehension.

‘We are the investigating magistrates,’ explained Porfiry. ‘You are?’

‘Yegor.’

‘Colonel Setochkin’s servant?’

Yegor gave a dignified, though trembling, nod. ‘I have been with His Honour for twenty-six years. We served together in the Izmailovsky regiment. I was his batman. When he resigned his commission, I followed him and entered into service as his butler.’

‘Can you tell me what happened today?’

Yegor glared in outrage. ‘He was shot down in cold blood.’ His outrage intensified into fury: ‘By Vakhramev.’

‘You witnessed this?’

‘Witnessed?’ Yegor frowned impatiently. ‘I heard the gun. He had the gun when I got to him.’

‘Where were you when the gun was discharged?’

‘Here in the kitchen, with Dunya.’

‘You are Dunya?’

The woman nodded confirmation, without taking her eyes off Porfiry for one moment, as if he were some exotic creature at the zoo.

Somewhat disconcerted by her gaze, Porfiry continued questioning Yegor. ‘And how long did it take you, after hearing the gun, to get to the study?’

‘Why, it’s only just across the hall. It would have taken me no time at all.’

‘Provided you went immediately.’ Porfiry pointed a finger at nothing in particular, one of his courtroom tics.

‘Of course I went immediately. What else would I do?’

‘You might have hesitated. It would have been reasonable to proceed with caution.’

‘Are you suggesting I was afraid?’

‘Caution is not the same as fear. This Vakhramev. .’ began Porfiry.

‘He is the murderer.’ Yegor thumped the table. ‘He said he would kill the colonel and he did.’

‘I see. What exactly did he say?’

‘He demanded satisfaction. He was going to fight a duel with the colonel. Obviously, he couldn’t wait. He shot him in cold blood instead. In the back, I shouldn’t wonder.’

‘No. Not in the back, as a matter of fact. So they argued?’

Yegor’s eyes bulged. ‘I should say so.’

‘What was it about?’

‘Vakhramev accused my master of seducing his daughter. But if you knew this Tatyana, you would know it was she who had him wrapped around her little finger. She is not as innocent as her father would believe. She is a one. A Russian minx.’

‘When you went into the room after hearing the gunshot, did you see a letter lying on the floor?’

Yegor frowned as he thought back, then shook his head. ‘No. No letter.’

‘You are sure about this? You did not tidy it up, thinking it a piece of litter?’

The cook guffawed, prompting a wounded look from Yegor. He shook his head dejectedly.

‘I see. And you did not take it for any other reason?’

‘I saw no letter.’

‘And did you lock the door to the balcony at that point? To prevent Vakhramev from escaping perhaps?’

‘No. I didn’t think to.’

‘Then that door was already locked. Did you see anybody else enter or leave the room by the other door?’

‘No.’

‘Could there have been anyone, hiding behind the screen say, who slipped out while you weren’t looking?’

‘Impossible.’

‘Yes. I am inclined to agree with you. Here is the mystery. If there was a letter, how was it transported from the room? And if it wasn’t Vakhramev who discharged the gun, who then was it and how indeed did they effect their escape? Surely not through the single small pane that was left open.’