Stuart Kaminsky - A Whisper to the Living

“I have a word that will prove your crime,” said Vera.

“Speak it,” said Albina, moving across the room and into a small kitchen from which she continued to address her visitor.

“DNA,” said Vera, still seated.

Albina was back in the living room, a blue ceramic teapot in her left hand.

“I plan to tell the police to check the DNA at the crime scene. I am sure they already have it, but they have had no reason to check it against yours.”

Albina weighed the ceramic pot and considered what to do.

“You watch too many American television police shows.”

“I watch none of them,” said Vera.

Albina moved across the room, teapot now at her side. Vera considered moving quickly to the door. The woman with the teapot was much bigger than Vera and, besides, she had been a boxer. Vera had entered the apartment looking for further information. She had talked herself into finding a murderer.

“Do you plan to kill me?” asked Vera.

“Plan? I have no plan. I do not want to go to prison. Not for killing that bag of lying, cheating filth. I do not wish to hurt you. I do not wish to hurt Ivan. I followed them to that room, called Ivan, and told him to hurry to the hotel room. Then I heard the sounds inside. They were not screams of ecstasy. The door was open and they were in the middle of the room. He was beating her with his fists. He did not even notice my presence. I picked up the vase or whatever it was, hit him. He let her go. She crumpled to the ground as if her bones had turned to water. I hit him three or four times and then I punched him in the face. I do not know how many times.”

“Maybe you can convince the police and a judge that you lost your mind for a. .”

Albina was shaking her head “no.”

“I knew what I was doing.”

“Soon the police will check the DNA even without my asking them to. Then you will have to answer for two murders. And what will you do with my body?”

“Get something to wrap you in and carry you out of here tonight.”

Albina towered over her guest with a look of great sadness.

“I will scream.”

“Few will hear and those few will not respond. You are not in a luxury high-rise building, not even a fully respectable Stalin concrete tower.”

Vera looked around for something with which to fight back. Nothing was close enough to get to before the larger woman could beat her to death with teapot or fist.

It was at this point that Albina raised the pot high. Vera held her arms over her face and tried to rise with no plan but to get to the door. But the blow did not come. Slowly, cautiously, Vera lowered her arms.

“I cannot do it,” said Albina, looking at the pot in her hand. “Can I get you some tea? A glass of wine?”

“Tea will be fine,” said Vera.

Albina nodded and moved back to the kitchen, her voice now coming to her visitor as if she were in a cave.

“Where was I? Oh yes. He did not even notice I was there.” I picked up something, I do not remember what, and hit him in the side of the head. I hit him hard. I watched the blood come as he turned his head to look at me. There was so much blood. I had seen a great deal of blood when I was a boxer, but this was different. This was Fedot. I would say he was astonished. It came to me that he had sinned and now knelt before me in prayer. Do you take sugar?”

“Yes,” said Vera.

“I waited for someone to come and count him out. A fight without a winner.”

Albina Babinski returned and continued.

“The pot is on. It does not take long.”

Once again she sat across from her guest. This time Albina folded her hands in her lap. Was her makeup giving way? Vera thought so. The two women were quiet for a while.

“I met Fedot Babinski in Gomel; that is in-”

“Belarus,” Vera added.

“Yes. I was working in a hair salon. I went to see the fights one night. Fedot was in the main event. He won. After the fight I went for a drink with my friend. Fedot came in. I was not as you see me now. I was considered to be a beauty of sorts. Maybe I can go back to hairstyling if I am not hanged.”

A high-pitched whistle came from the kitchen. There was time enough to get up and run to the door when Albina rose, but Vera simply continued to sit.

Minutes later, the tea was on a trivet on the table and the two women were silently drinking.

“Fedot taught me to fight. I did well, far better than he. He enjoyed the additional money but complained about my ability. Gradually, he wore me down and I stopped boxing while he continued to both box and be the Giant’s sparring mate. He also continued to bing-bang every willing woman of even passing good looks. I complained, but it did no good. Oh, I am sorry. I do have some cookies to offer you.”

“No, thank you.”

Albina’s head turned as if on command and she looked at the television sitting on top of a table across the room.

“I watch a lot of television,” she said. “I spend most of my days looking at that little screen and waiting, waiting for him. I cheated on him just once, three years ago. A young boxer with a fine body and a nose already flattened. I cheated once and felt guilty. Fedot Babinski cheated often and felt no regret.”

“Perhaps you could argue that you were trying to save the woman. After all, she was beaten to death by him.”

“I hit him two or three times with whatever I had in my hand and then I pummeled him with my fists.”

“You could have followed him to the hotel intending to confront him, but you came upon him killing the woman.”

Albina poured the tea and considered her options.

“That is exactly what did happen,” she said. “But I was not there to save her.”

“I suggest you call a lawyer and then turn yourself in to the police. I assume you are full of regret for what you have done.”

“No,” said Albina with a very small smile. “Are you sure you will not have some cookies?”

Ivan Medivkin,a man of considerable height, strength, and weight, was subdued, cuffed, and seated in the interrogation room with the two detectives.

“When I get up, I will get free and kill whoever beat Fedot Babinski after I get him to confess.”

Iosef sat in a wooden chair. He tugged his shirt from under his arms. He knew he was sweating in the room that reeked of the smell of human bodies.

“I do not think much of your plan, Ivan Medivkin,” said Iosef. “You proclaim your innocence and plan a murder.”

“Not a murder. An execution,” Ivan amended.

Iris Templetonput on a clean white blouse and a comfortable blue cotton skirt. She straightened her skirt and stood up. Then there was a knock at the door. She almost asked who it was when Sasha, gun in hand, emerged from the bathroom and motioned for her to be quiet and move to the bathroom as he walked slowly to the door and slowly opened it as the knocking continued. During the night, Sasha had changed rooms, moved into the room directly across from that of Iris Templeton, but he had awakened at her side.

Sasha threw the door open. In front of him now at the threshold stood a very muscular man with a shaved head and another man, a thin man with very white hair.

“Breakfast?” said the man with white hair.

He sounded cheerful, cheerful enough that Sasha hesitated, but only for an instant, only long enough to see the guns suddenly appear in the intruders’ hands.

“Come in,” said Sasha, dropping to the floor. The two men came in firing at the bed and looking toward the bathroom. Then Elena came out of the room across the hall behind them firing her weapon. Sasha did the same. The noise was familiar but not welcome to the two men in the doorway. Then both intruders fired, the white-haired one at Elena, the bald one at Sasha.