Stuart Kaminsky: Blood and Rubles

The Chazovs were called forward. They were wearing identical heavy brown trousers, white shirts, and plain brown sweaters. Their hair had been cut and they stood in a row, heads up facing the woman behind the bench. Their faces were clean. Behind the three boys stood the lawyer Lermonov and Elvira Chazova, apparently pregnant and carrying a small, sleeping child in her arms.

“Witnesses?” the woman justice called, looking at the complaint that lay in front of her. Her colleagues did the same with little interest or enthusiasm.

“Two,” the man with the stooped shoulders said. “Officers Zelach and Tkach.”

“Step forward,” the woman said.

Zelach helped Sasha forward next to the three boys, who kept their eyes focused on the judges.

“Speak,” the woman said.

“May I sit?” Sasha asked.

The justice nodded, and Zelach brought a chair forward.

“Thank you. We were staking out the apartment building of the Chazov boys. We had reason to believe they had murdered and robbed a man two … no, three days ago. We also had reason to believe they had robbed and murdered others.”

The justices looked at the Chazovs and their mother and then back at the policeman.

“My partner was watching from an apartment across the street,” Sasha went on dryly. “It was midnight and I was coming to relieve him. As I was about to enter the apartment building where he was watching from the window, I was attacked by these three.” He pointed at the Chazov boys.

“You saw this?” asked the woman behind the table.

“I saw two of the boys in front of me. The other hit me with something. I turned. The boy was holding a piece of wood. It was covered with blood, my blood. Then something hit me again. I tried to turn and pull out my gun, but I went down and was unconscious for a minute or so.”

“So,” said the woman, “you did not actually see the boy hit you?”

“There was no one else there but the boy holding a piece of bloody wood.”

“And then?”

“When I opened my eyes, the boys were handcuffed around a lamppost, and I thought I heard an ambulance coming.”

“Officer Zelach, precisely what did you see and do?”

Zelach tried not to shift his weight from foot to foot as he met the eyes of the three justices behind the bench. It took a great deal of effort, but he managed. He also managed to look extremely nervous.

“I heard voices outside the window where I was watching for the Chazovs to return. I heard Inspector Tkach’s voice. I ran out as quickly as I could. That boy …”

Zelach pointed at Boris.

“That boy held a rock in his hand and was about to bring it down on the head of Inspector Tkach, who was lying on the ground. That other boy held the piece of bloody wood in his hand.”

“Did you see anyone else but your partner and the three boys?” asked the woman.

“No,” said Zelach.

“And what did you do?” she asked.

“I … I knocked them down. I hit them. I handcuffed them to the lamppost.”

The full courtroom sat restlessly, thinking about their own cases, trying to determine if there was some pattern, something they should say, some way they should act.

“Officer Zelach,” said the stooped man. “You are a big man. Much bigger than these boys. Why did you have to hit them to subdue them? Each boy has bruises, even the little one.”

“I was trying to protect Sasha Tkach,” Zelach said.

“But,” said the small justice, who was sitting erect and pointing a pencil at Zelach, “they were not beating Inspector Tkach when you arrived?”

“No,” said Zelach. “But I could see they were going to hit him again.”

“So you beat and kicked them?” asked the woman.

“I …” Zelach stammered.

“You were not just protecting your partner,” said the woman. “You were taking out your anger on the boys who you believed had injured him?”

“I … They had almost killed Sasha Tkach. I was-”

“Angry? Out of control?” asked the woman. “Did you ask the boys what had happened before you started beating and kicking them?”

“No,” said Zelach.

“Alexei Chazov,” the woman said, turning her eyes to the tallest and oldest of the three accused. “Did you and your brothers beat Inspector Tkach?”

“No,” said Alexei, firmly shaking his head.

“Who did?” asked the stoop-shouldered justice.

“Two older boys,” said Alexei. “Boys I’ve never seen. We saw them hitting this man from behind and we ran over to help. I hit one of the boys with a piece of wood, made him bleed. My brother Boris picked up a rock and threatened to throw it at them. The two boys ducked into the building right behind us. Then the big policeman came out and started to hit and kick us. We tried to tell him about the two boys who had gone into the building. We thought he might still be able to catch them, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“Mark Chazov,” asked the woman justice, “is this what happened?”

“Yes,” said the youngest and smallest brother, whose face had been scrubbed almost sore.

Lermonov patted Mark on the shoulder, and Sasha, through his dizziness, was sure he had seen nearly imperceptible nods exchanged between the lawyer and the woman justice.

“Any other witnesses? Any more evidence?” asked the woman justice.

“We are poor but good people,” said Elvira Chazova, rocking her sleeping child. “That policeman would be dead if my boys hadn’t run to help him. They took on killers bigger than they were. Instead of thanks they get beaten and put on trial.”

“This is not a trial,” the woman justice said. “This is a hearing to determine if there should be a trial.”

The woman turned to the other justices, and each spoke in her ear. She wrote on the declaration before her and then looked up.

“There is insufficient reason to hold these children for the attack on Inspector Tkach,” she said. “There will be a notice of reprimand placed in the file of Officer Zelach for his thoughtless attack on these children. There is some reason to believe that these children actually saved the inspector’s life. Instead of trying to get them incarcerated, he should be thanking them.”

Sasha’s eyes may have betrayed him, but he thought he saw another instant of eye contact between the woman justice and the lawyer.

“Your Honor,” Sasha said, standing. “These are the boys who beat me. These are the boys who murdered a man only a day before. To let them-”

“The case has been presented and a decision made. You are out of order, Inspector, but the court will overlook this because of your condition. Alexei, Boris, and Mark Chazov are free to go,” the woman went on. “The justices strongly recommend that their mother enforce a curfew of ten o’clock for her sons to keep them from further trouble.”

“I will,” said Elvira sincerely.

“Next,” said the justice.

Zelach looked down at Sasha in confusion. Sasha tried to focus on the Chazovs as they passed him. Each boy had a touch of a smile on his face. The lawyer grinned and the mother paused, baby in her arms, to whisper something to Sasha.

The justices were reading the summary of the next case as Zelach helped Sasha to his feet.

“What did she say?” asked Zelach, looking at the retreating back of Elvira Chazova.

“She told me my home address,” said Sasha.

The twenty-first of that day’s hearing took place late in the afternoon. This one was much shorter, and there was but one justice and only a handful of people in the hearing room.

The single justice was a stout, bullish man in his forties with a short military haircut. He wore a brown suit and a tie that did not come close to matching.

Anna Porvinovich and Yevgeniy Porvinovich stood to the right of the table. Anna’s dark eyes caught those of the justice and he looked away. Rostnikov stood to the left of the table with Alexei Porvinovich, who, with the help of the therapist and drugs prescribed by Sarah’s doctor cousin, had managed to approach a semblance of composure. He was immaculately dressed and his hair perfectly trimmed. His face had an overall discolored puffiness, and his broken jaw had been wired shut so that he could only speak between his teeth like a poor ventriloquist.