R. Morris - A Razor Wrapped in Silk

Porfiry affected a look of weary disdain. ‘It is metal encased in leather. I must express my gratitude to Major Verkhotsev, who had the greater foresight to equip me with it. I knew that I had delivered a shock to Aglaia Filippovna’s system. For her to hear news of another child murdered in the same manner as she had committed her crimes was simply beyond her comprehension. She had successfully gained mastery over almost every aspect of her physiology, but she could not control her emotions when Princess Naryskina read out the article from the St Petersburg Gazette.’

‘Which you say was written by your manservant Slava?’

‘It would seem so. He was at least the source of the information. At any rate, Aglaia Filippovna’s surprise betrayed her. Only the murderer of the first three children would be shocked to hear that a fourth had been killed. She opened her eyes involuntarily and was met by the sight of the towel that had been used to mop up her sister’s blood. At the same time, she felt my fingers toying at the base of her thumb, at the very place where the ring would have been when she carried out her crimes. I was letting her know that I suspected her.’

‘Without question, it is that that provoked her attack. You brought it on yourself.’

‘It was essential to put some pressure on her, to force her into revealing herself.’

‘But when did you first suspect her?’ The question came from Virginsky, who was at the window, his back to the room. The day was overcast with a heavy quilt of cloud. Virginsky’s voice came heavy with resentment.

‘Once, when we were called to the palace because Aglaia Filippovna had come round briefly, I noticed that she toyed compulsively with her thumb, as if twisting something endlessly round and round. The gesture made no sense to me at the time as we had not yet discovered the children’s remains, with the tell-tale bruises. Indeed, I forgot all about it, until the day that I was summoned to see the Tsar. I noticed that he had the nervous habit of twisting a ring on one of his fingers. Somehow in my mind, the pieces fell into place. I realised that that was what Aglaia Filippovna had been doing, although the ring itself was lacking.’

‘Remarkable,’ declared Nikodim Fomich, who was striding the room delightedly. ‘But then to suspect her of murdering her sister! Could there be a more unnatural crime, or one more difficult to conceive of?’

‘For any normal person, perhaps. But here is a girl who had already murdered her mother.’

‘Good Lord!’

‘Or so I believe. Her father committed suicide, without question. But the circumstances of her mother’s death are less clear. It is conjecture — I accept — but nonetheless it is reasonable to believe that Aglaia Filippovna had a hand in it, especially considering her later career. Mention of her parents’ deaths certainly aroused my suspicions with regard to the violent demise of her sister. To lose a father, a mother and a sister … one has to wonder. One often finds that a suicide in the family initiates a preoccupation with death. It is as if a door is opened. Death becomes familiar. It also gains a certain viability as a solution to one’s problems. Most often, it sets an example that can be followed. In this case, I believe, her father’s suicide triggered a murderous propensity. The tragic event occurred during her adolescence, a period of intense emotional upheaval at the best of times. We can imagine that she loved her father dearly, perhaps jealously. No doubt she blamed her mother for his death, and conceived a way to exact revenge.’

‘Has she confessed to this?’ asked Nikodim Fomich hopefully.

‘No. She has fallen back on her favourite evasive strategy. She is feigning unconsciousness again. Playing dead, we might almost say. Nevertheless, even if we do not go so far as to accuse Aglaia Filippovna of matricide — a charge we will never be able to prove — even so, it is not unreasonable to assume that the double loss of her parents at such an age had a devastating effect on her young psyche. Her sister, too, was thrown into turmoil, as evidenced by her wayward and promiscuous life. We may put it this way: one sought to heal herself through excessive love, the other through excessive hate.’

‘But why?’ demanded Virginsky, crossing to Porfiry’s desk. ‘Why did she kill her sister? Why did she kill the children? Why did she do any of it?’

‘I confess I do not yet have answers to all the questions that this case raises. The most impenetrable question of all is why . I suspect it has something to do with the one individual at the centre of all this.’

‘Maria Petrovna.’

‘Yes. She is the link between the sisters and the dead children. I suggest we call on her at our soonest convenience,’ said Porfiry, rising.

‘Before you go,’ cut in Nikodim Fomich, ‘I have a question which perhaps you can answer. It’s to do with Captain Mizinchikov. How did he get blood on him? Have you worked that out?’

Porfiry directed a display of impatient blinking towards Nikodim Fomich and sighed. ‘That is the only question you have? You have no questions regarding the illicit trade in cadavers conducted by the men under your command? A trade I am told you condone and indeed have engaged in, and which, I might say, considerably hampered our investigation.’

‘Who has told you this?’

‘Lieutenant Salytov. A man you admire for his skill in extracting confessions.’

‘And the primary transgressor in this affair. Did it not occur to you that he may have sought to implicate me in order to deter you from pursuing the matter?’

‘Do you swear to me that you have never profited from the sale of an unidentified and unclaimed body?’

‘There will be an enquiry, Porfiry Petrovich. I am confident that I will be found blameless.’

‘That is not the same thing.’ Porfiry’s voice was leaden with disillusionment. He would not meet Nikodim Fomich’s defiantly cheerful countenance.

‘But what of the blood stains?’ There was a desperate jollity to Nikodim Fomich’s tone. He was trying to win Porfiry over by appealing to his cleverness.

‘Pavel Pavlovich, do you remember the first time we visited Aglaia Filippovna, when Dr Muller lifted her nightdress and showed us the wounds on her leg?’

‘Yes.’

‘I believe she harvested her own blood, and somehow engineered to disseminate it on to Captain Mizinchikov, in order to incriminate him and direct attention away from herself. Nothing in a murder case screams so loudly and distractingly as blood.’

‘Good heavens!’

‘When Captain Mizinchikov entered the dressing room, she held out a hand, pointing at him, almost touching him.’ Porfiry mimed the gesture, reaching his hand towards Nikodim Fomich. ‘What if she had had something concealed in the closed palm of her hand?’

‘Something? What exactly?’

‘It came to me when Princess Naryskina tipped out the contents of her handbag. Although in truth, I think I had an inkling of it from the very beginning of the investigation, from that night at the Naryskin Palace. I went into the theatre and saw a woman spray herself with scent from an atomiser.’

‘An atomiser?’

‘The bulb of an atomiser, adapted to release a coarser jet than usual. It could easily be concealed in the hand.’

‘What happened to it? Why did we not find it?’ said Virginsky.

‘A good question. I have come to the opinion that the emblem of the double-headed eagle has a great significance to this case, though not in the way we formerly imagined. It does not incriminate a member of the Romanov family, as you once suggested, Pavel Pavlovich. Its significance is rather more subtle and almost serendipitous. The use of this particular ring was after all forced on Aglaia Filippovna. Allowing for that, I believe it operates unconsciously to reveal the presence of an accomplice. Do you remember the anonymous note sent with a fine red thread, claiming a political aspect to Yelena Filippovna’s murder? Aglaia Filippovna did not send that. It was her intention to blame Captain Mizinchikov for her sister’s murder, not to credit a political tendency.’ Noticing a questioning frown across Virginsky’s brow, Porfiry went on: ‘Perhaps to punish him for some slight or insult, we cannot know.’