R. Morris - The Gentle Axe

He unscrewed the cap of the last bottle and inserted the nozzle of a long pipette. Holding this over the test tube, he released a rapid drizzle of droplets.

All at once, the contents of the test tube turned inky blue.

“Well, there you have it,” said Dr. Pervoyedov. “Govorov speaks. Or rather, his stomach does.”

Porfiry Petrovich extinguished the cigarette and threw it behind him as the door to 17 Bolshaya Morskaya Street was opened. Stepping inside, he felt a sudden unpleasant taste rampage through his mouth, metallic and cloyingly sweet. It was so strong, he felt for a moment he would be sick.

“What’s that? Something in the air?” he asked Katya.

She looked at him neutrally. “We have been fumigating the mattresses. Marfa Denisovna has complained of being bitten.”

“Fumigating? What do you use?”

“Did you really come here to talk about fumigating methods?”

“No. I came to talk to Anna Alexandrovna.”

“Very well, I shall tell her you’re here.”

Porfiry Petrovich admired the smooth curve of Anna Alexandrovna’s back as he followed her into the pale blue drawing room. There is something that surprises and saddens in every part of her, he thought.

“May I offer you some tea?” As she turned to him, he saw that this quality was most concentrated in her eyes.

Porfiry refused with a smile and a minute shake of his head. “I don’t wish to detain you any more than is necessary,” he said. “There are, however, one or two questions I must ask, in the light of some new evidence.”

“New evidence?” Anna Alexandrovna’s hand shook as she set down the redundant glass.

“Do you know a man called Konstantin Kirillovich Govorov?”

Relief expanded Anna Alexandrovna’s beauty, chasing out the frown. She shook her head vehemently. She is relieved because she is able to answer honestly, thought Porfiry.

“He was an associate of Stepan Sergeyevich’s,” explained Porfiry. “He is dead now. Murdered. Poisoned, I believe, by the administration of the same substance that killed Borya.”

“But I thought Borya hanged himself? That’s what we read in the gazettes.”

“That is what someone wished us to believe. Until recently I thought that person was Govorov. Now I must look for someone else.”

“And you have come here to look?” Anna Alexandrovna’s alarm contained a note of remonstration.

“I have some further questions, that’s all. I wish to understand, clearly, fully, the argument between Borya and Goryanchikov.”

Porfiry noted Anna Alexandrovna’s flinch under the force of his uncompromising gaze.

“You’ve asked me about this before. Why are you asking me again? I told you everything I knew then.”

“Did you?”

“Yes!” Her neck flushed patchily with the heat of her insistence. Her instinct for defiance showed in her eyes. But she couldn’t hold the look.

“What was Stepan Sergeyevich Goryanchikov to you?” asked Porfiry abruptly.

“A lodger,” she protested with outrage, then insisted: “He lodged in my house.”

“And Borya?”

“My yardkeeper.”

“Is that all?”

“What are you suggesting?”

“That the argument was about you.”

“You are wrong.” Her response was calmer than he might have expected.

Porfiry Petrovich bowed but kept his fluttering gaze fixed on her.

“Stepan Sergeyevich…” began Anna Alexandrovna but lost heart. Her voice cracked.

“The place where their bodies were found, in Petrovsky Park-”

Anna Alexandrovna shook her head, tight-lipped, forbidding.

Porfiry continued, “Last time we spoke, when I mentioned Petrovsky Park…”

“What of it?”

“I noticed…it was as if I had…”

“What?”

“I suppose the expression is ‘touched a nerve.’”

“Is that so?”

“What happened there, in Petrovsky Park?”

“Is it really necessary to go into this?”

“I’m afraid so. Please, there’s no need to be afraid of the truth. I realize…”

“What do you realize, Porfiry Petrovich?”

“These matters may be painful to you.”

She answered him first with a narrowing of her eyes. “We went there once. In the summer. There was a performance in the open-air theater. We picnicked in the park beforehand.”

“When you say ‘we’?”

“Myself and my daughter, Sofiya Sergeyevna. Marfa Denisovna was with us.” There was a slight beat before she added, “And Osip Maximovich.”

“I see.”

“Vadim Vasilyevich was there too.” She added this hopefully.

“Please. Tell me what happened.”

“Borya.” Her voice was heavy as she said the name.

“I see.”

“Borya was there. That is to say, I think he must have followed us. He was not of our party. Or perhaps it was a coincidence, meeting him there like that.”

“Like what?”

“He was drunk. That is the only explanation there can be for his behavior.”

“What did he do?”

“We had set up the picnic in a slight dip in the land, a hollow surrounded by birch. The others had gone for a walk. I was tired. I stayed to read my novel. Borya suddenly appeared. From nowhere. He stumbled and almost fell on top of me. He…”

“There is no need to be afraid. It can only help you if you tell the truth.”

Anna Alexandrovna’s expression was momentarily outraged. “He declared feelings for me. He told me he loved me.”

“And how did you react to his declaration?”

“He was a yardkeeper!” Her eyes widened.

“He was a man.”

“Please.”

“You rebuffed him?”

“It was horrible! He was drunk. Am I to be the object of the yardkeeper’s drunken affections?”

“Did anyone else see him?”

“No. No! Thankfully.”

“Can you be sure?”

“I sincerely hope not.”

“And what of Stepan Sergeyevich? Was he with you that day?”

“No.”

“Stepan Sergeyevich…” Porfiry repeated the name musingly. Anna Alexandrovna frowned. “Your daughter’s name is…?”

“Sofiya.”

“Sofiya Sergeyevna.”

“Yes.”

“Your husband, then, was Sergei?”

“Sergei Pavlovich. What are you suggesting?”

“Sergeyevna…Sergeyevich.”

“This really is preposterous.”

“The coincidence of patronyms is striking.”

“It’s just a coincidence.”

“Is it not true that your husband felt some obligation toward Stepan Sergeyevich? That’s why he had him come to live in the house, isn’t it?”

“I really cannot answer for my husband.”

Porfiry nodded decisively. “Do you think it possible that Stepan Sergeyevich taunted Borya about the feelings he felt toward you? Could that have been the cause of the argument?”

“I…” The angle of her averted face quickened his pulse.

“Or were they rivals, perhaps?”

“Please!” cried Anna Alexandrovna. “In one breath you are suggesting that he was my husband’s son, in the next that he was my lover.”

Porfiry’s bow was very close to an affirmative nod.

Suddenly, the double doors to the drawing room parted, revealing the portly, bespectacled figure of Osip Maximovich Simonov. His face was determined, antagonistic. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

“Osip Maximovich,” gasped Anna Alexandrovna. “Thank God!” She rushed toward him as he came into the room. Her out-held hands came to nothing. She turned from him, almost chastened.

“Sir, I demand an explanation,” said Osip Maximovich, and closed the doors behind him.

“I am conducting an investigation into the murders of three people.”

“And you suspect Anna Alexandrovna?”