R. Morris - A Razor Wrapped in Silk

‘You want to talk to me?’

‘You take receipt of bodies that are brought here by the police?’ Smerdyakov flashed a glance back towards the professor, who was in the process of vanishing beneath Smerdyakov’s smoke trail.

‘A-aye?’

‘Could you explain to me what happens? The police bring the bodies here …?’

‘A-aye?’

‘And you record the receipt in the ledger book?’

‘No.’ Smerdyakov was startlingly emphatic in his denial. ‘I am not the one who writes in the book.’

‘But you do make some kind of record?’

‘I fill in a chit.’

‘I see. And the chit goes with the body to the morgue?’

‘A-aye?’

Porfiry experienced a strange surge of gratification at the return of the equivocal refrain.

‘What details are recorded on the chit?’

‘You know. The standard ones.’

‘Please be more specific. I’m afraid I don’t know at all.’

‘Sex. Age.’

‘You are qualified to determine the age?’

‘I have a go.’

‘What else?’

‘Date. Time.’

‘And the details you put on the chit are subsequently entered into the ledger book?’

‘A-aye?’

‘Who is responsible for that?’

‘Who?’

‘Aye. I mean, yes.’

‘Not me.’

‘No. Very well. What about the initials?’

‘Initials?’

‘Each entry in the ledger has a set of letters in one column. Professor Bubnov was not able to tell us the meaning of those letters. He rather thought you would be able to.’

There was a stirring in the smoke. Smerdyakov determinedly refused to turn towards it. ‘Did he now?’

‘Yes. Are these letters taken from your chit?’

‘Maybe they are.’

‘I see. And if they were, what possibly could they mean?’

‘That’s who we got it from. For settling up, you see.’

‘Who you got it from? You mean to say they are the initials of the individual policeman supplying a particular corpse?’

‘A-aye?’

‘And the payment is made to the individual policeman, not to the force as a whole, or the station from which he comes.’

‘A-aye?’

‘Who pays them? Not you?’

‘No. Not me.’

‘Who, then?’

‘The bursar’s office. The chit goes to the bursar’s office. They present themselves for payment.’

‘It’s all very organised.’

‘It has to be.’

‘You receive a lot of bodies in this way?’

‘The students must have their corpses.’

‘The policemen who supply the corpses are all known to you?’

‘Maybe?’

‘If we were to get the ledger now, you would be able to tell us the identity and station of every officer entered in there?’

‘Ah! If I may intervene here.’ Professor Bubnov stepped forward from the cloud of smoke that half-enshrouded him. ‘I am afraid to say that the ledger has gone missing.’

‘Missing? How can this be?’

‘We have searched everywhere for it. I fear … it may have been … stolen.’

Porfiry’s rage expressed itself in the mute and frantic snapping of his eyelids. ‘But why?’

The professor gave a forlorn shrug.

‘I will tell you why. To prevent the information it contains coming into my hands. By God, I was a fool not to take the book when I had a chance. I misjudged you, professor. I thought I was dealing with a decent man, a man of humanity and compassion. I believed if I gave you a little latitude you would do the right thing. How wrong I was! My God! Do you not realise? This is murder we are investigating — the murder of three innocents — and all you are concerned about is protecting your sources of supply!’

‘But I know nothing about the disappearance of the ledger,’ protested Professor Bubnov lamely.

‘I know nothing, I know nothing! It’s always the same with you moral cowards. Be under no illusions, I hold you responsible for this, sir.’

‘We have turned the Academy upside down.’

‘You were the last person to have the ledger in his possession. You knew the importance of the book to the investigation. Don’t think you’ll get away with this. If the book does not turn up, you may face a charge.’

‘I cannot produce the book, sir. It is out of my hands.’

‘I want a name. Tell him to give us a name, or you will be arrested.’

‘But you don’t understand. It was the police. The police themselves came for it.’

Porfiry’s eyes widened as he took this in. After a moment his expression contracted into a threatening glower. ‘That will not help you. Let me explain something. I am independent of the police. The police cannot protect you from me. From the law. My God, how it shames me as a Russian to be having this discussion. Tell him to give me a name or you’ll suffer the consequences.’

Professor Bubnov bowed assent.

‘You, Smerdyakov,’ snapped Porfiry. ‘I. P. S.? Who is I. P. S.?’

‘That’ll be Salytov. Lieutenant Ilya Petrovich Salytov. Of the Haymarket District Police Bureau. The one with the face.’

Porfiry placed a hand over his eyes, as if to still their frenzied blinking, and groaned.

The St Petersburg Gazette, Thursday, 17 October 1870

INVESTIGATORS EXAMINE LINK BETWEEN MURDERS

DEAD BEAUTY SUSPECTED OF HORRIFIC CRIMES

Magistrates investigating the disappearance of three child factory workers, Dmitri Krasotkin, Artur Smurov and Svetlana Chisova, are considering the possibility that they were murdered by the society beauty Yelena Filippovna Polenova, herself the victim of murder, as reported in these pages on the 2nd instant .

The outlandish theory hinges on the discovery of mysterious bruises on the necks of three juvenile remains, which have been positively identified as belonging to the missing children. Magistrates are of the opinion that these bruises correspond closely in shape and size to the design of a ring worn by the dead woman. It is supposed that, for reasons known only to herself, Mademoiselle Polenova strangled the children to death, and in the process of so doing, left the imprint of her ring on their innocent necks .

As of yet, no one has been charged with the murder of Yelena Filippovna, although magistrates have appealed for Captain Konstantin Denisevich Mizinchikov, a deserter from the Preobrazhensky Regiment, in whose apartment an incriminating razor was found, to come forward and give an account of his conduct, at the Naryskin Palace, on the 1st instant, being respectively the location and date of Mmelle Polenova’s demise .

A source at the Department for the Investigation of Criminal Causes has revealed that whoever killed Mmelle Polenova may have done so to prevent the slaughter of future innocents. If this is indeed the case, it is to be expected that such an individual would be treated with great sympathy by investigating magistrates. We urge the killer to hand himself over to the authorities, not only for the good of his own soul, but for the peace of mind of the entire city .

*

Ivan Iakovich Bakhmutov slammed the paper down on the boardroom table.

‘Bad, very bad,’ snarled von Lembke, through teeth clenched around a cigar he was in the process of lighting.

Prince Naryskin took the paper. ‘What?’

‘There!’ Bakhmutov jabbed the offending article with a finger.

‘My God! It cannot be true?’

‘Of course it’s not true,’ declared Bakhmutov, pacing the room restlessly.

‘Then why print it?’

The naivety of Prince Naryskin’s question drew an ugly guffaw from von Lembke.

‘Our enemies are behind this,’ said Bakhmutov darkly. ‘They seek to ruin us.’

‘I thought you had friends on the Gazette .’ Von Lembke’s tone was mocking. Bakhmutov did not deign to answer the remark.