R. Morris - A Razor Wrapped in Silk

‘It would greatly assist us also if we were able to take a meaningful statement from Aglaia Filippovna.’

‘Do you think she witnessed her sister’s murder?’

‘That would certainly account for the extremity of her reaction to it.’

‘Am I to take it that you regard her reaction as excessive, Porfiry Petrovich?’

‘Who can say? Grief takes many forms. And it was certainly an excessive crime.’

‘We should not be surprised that it has wrought such destruction on a delicate feminine constitution.’

Porfiry looked at his friend sharply. ‘Are you implying that her constitution must necessarily be delicate because it is feminine? Feminine ergo delicate?’

Nikodim Fomich became momentarily flustered. ‘I, well … is that not the case, Porfiry Petrovich? I mean, are women no longer delicate? Is that then the resolution of the woman question?’

‘Surely you and I have encountered, in the pursuit of our duties, women whose constitutions, and indeed sensibilities, are very far from delicate.’

‘But look at the severity of Aglaia Filippovna’s collapse … Surely that is in itself a cogent argument for the delicacy of her constitution.’

‘I believe that is known in logic as a circular argument.’

‘I don’t know anything about that. At any rate, news has reached me of a communique from the very highest quarters. As a result of which, the Prefect of Police is keenly desirous that progress should be made. To put it bluntly, Porfiry Petrovich, he is looking for an arrest.’

‘ Gr-ahh! I am afraid my hand is beginning to throb most vehemently. I believe I have some dandelion lotion in my apartment. You will forgive me, Nikodim Fomich, while I administer to my injury.’

‘Are you by any chance running away from this conversation, Porfiry Petrovich? I shall await your return.’

*

When Porfiry returned to his chambers, holding aloft an untidily bandaged hand, he found that Nikodim Fomich had been joined by the police clerk Zamyotov.

‘There is someone to see you. A young lady. She does not have an appointment. However, she insists that she is a friend of yours.’ Zamyotov tilted his head back in a display of scepticism.

‘A claim which we may easily verify, Alexander Grigorevich. Please show her in.’

Nikodim Fomich raised both eyebrows enquiringly and watched the door with interest. A moment later, Maria Petrovna came through it.

Porfiry was aware of Nikodim Fomich watching him closely as he greeted the young lady, which made his welcome more stilted than it otherwise might have been. He sensed an unexpected coldness in Maria Petrovna, as if she too felt similarly constrained. He craved her gaze, just a flash of her brilliant eyes in his direction, for him alone, but she withheld it. He wondered if it was not so much the presence of Nikodim Fomich as the recollection of how they had parted, and with what emotion, that inhibited her.

He saw that she held a copy of the St Petersburg Gazette , which seemed to act as a further constraint on her. She appeared uncertain what to do with it, yet it was clear that she had brought it with some purpose. She cast sharp, almost wary glances at Nikodim Fomich as she fumbled with it.

Porfiry was attuned to her unease. ‘May I introduce Nikodim Fomich, Chief Superintendent of the Haymarket District Police Bureau.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Nikodim Fomich. Perhaps you know my father, Pyotr Afanasevich Verkhotsev?’

‘Our two departments from time to time engage in joint endeavours.’ An edge of wariness crept into Nikodim Fomich’s usually affable tone.

Maria Petrovna relaxed enough to smile. ‘And the rest of the time, regard one another with mutual suspicion. I know how it is.’

‘Not at all!’ But Nikodim Fomich’s uneasy smile belied his words.

‘Please sit down, Maria Petrovna.’ Porfiry gestured with his damaged hand towards the brown sofa. ‘Perhaps you would care for some tea?’

Maria Petrovna did not sit down. ‘No, thank you. I did not come here for tea.’

Porfiry absorbed her abruptness with a pained smile. ‘Nikodim Fomich?’

‘As you have gone to so much trouble, I will take a glass with you.’

Porfiry looked uncertainly at the samovar. ‘Ah. I seem to have forgotten something.’

‘What?’

‘The tea liquor. Zakhar always took care of such things.’

‘Please, Porfiry Petrovich, do not trouble yourself any further.’

‘It will only take a moment.’

‘No, no. You must attend to your guest …’

Porfiry hesitated. Then bowing stiffly to Maria, he said: ‘You have remembered something concerning Yelena Filippovna?’

‘It is not that.’ Maria’s voice hardened with remembered grievance. But her eyes tracked his bandaged hand and she frowned. ‘You have hurt yourself?’

‘It is nothing.’ Porfiry could not keep a small flicker of pleasure from his lips. Neither could he resist a proud, vindicated glance at Nikodim Fomich. He was somewhat put out, however, by the carelessness with which Maria accepted his demurral.

‘Have you seen the Gazette ?’ She thrust the paper forward. The hardened, unmistakably aggressive tone had returned to her voice. ‘Yelena Filippovna’s murder is turning you into something of a celebrity, Porfiry Petrovich.’

‘That’s hardly fair, Maria Petrovna. Nikodim Fomich and I were just talking about the newspaper reports. They are far from flattering. Was I not charged with bumbling incompetence ?’

‘No, that was me,’ said Nikodim Fomich. ‘You were ineffectual . Really, these journalists …’

‘Thank you, Nikodim Fomich. I confess I only glanced at the piece. However, such articles are helpful when we are trying to locate a suspect. They serve to alert the public. After all, the Gazette is extremely widely read. There is a description of Captain Mizinchikov, I believe? And do we not also call for him to give himself up? All that is standard procedure in such cases.’

‘You are also quoted as saying that you are …’ Maria Petrovna scanned the front page to read in an accusatory tone, ‘ devoting all my energies to the single imperative of finding Miss Polenova’s murderer .’

Porfiry blinked uncertainly. His mouth contracted into a questioning shape. ‘Is that not what you would have me do? I understood she was your friend.’

‘And what of Mitka?’ Her voice rose sharply in pitch. ‘Can you tell me how your enquiries into Mitka’s disappearance are progressing? Will you, I wonder, have energy remaining to devote to that?’

‘Who is Mitka?’ asked Nikodim Fomich.

‘I see you have not even deemed it necessary to discuss the case with the Chief Superintendent.’

‘Forgive me, Maria Petrovna. The murder of Yelena Filippovna has proven unusually distracting, I admit. And a murder is necessarily given precedence over a missing persons case. The presence of a dead body does have a galvanising effect on policemen.’

‘Particularly when it is the body of a beautiful woman with society connections,’ said Maria bitterly.

‘Hers was a conspicuous death, certainly,’ said Porfiry. ‘There is considerable pressure on us to bring the case to a swift and satisfactory conclusion. A killer is at large.’

‘And how many more children will have to go missing before you take Mitka’s disappearance seriously?’

‘I repeat, who is Mitka?’

‘Mitka is a boy,’ said Porfiry, ‘a factory worker and a pupil at Maria Petrovna’s school. He has gone missing. He is one of several children from the school to have gone missing. Maria Petrovna fears that the children may have come to some harm.’

‘I see,’ said Nikodim Fomich. ‘Then we must look into it. Have you discussed the case with Prokuror Liputin?’