Sergey Baksheev - Secret Target

«There’s the door,» pointed Valeyev.

«And who made the call?» asked Petelina.

«The neighbor. An old bird. A very curious elder lady. I reckon that she’ll be happy to tell us everything she knows.»

«Then she’s the one I’ll start with,» Elena decided. «Take me to her.»

Before they could leave the apartment, however, a disgruntled-looking EMT appeared in the hallway.

«Are you the detective? We need to go. We’ve got other calls to attend to.»

«A couple of questions and you’ll be free.» Petelina wrote down the number of the ambulance and asked a few rudimentary questions: When did they get the call? How quickly did they get to the scene? What did they see? What condition was the suspect in?

«At the moment the lady is alright,» the medic came to the end of his story. «She suffered from a severe loss of consciousness resulting in delayed reactions, but she doesn’t need to go to the hospital. As for the victim – obviously a fatal case. Instant death. We didn’t even touch him. Can we go now?»

Petelina nodded. She spent the next half hour talking to the Maltsevs’ neighbor and the PPS unit that responded to the call. The neighbor had noticed one inconsistency. The police confirmed it. The inconsistency required prompt verification and so Elena sent Valeyev on an urgent assignment.

An hour had passed since she had arrived at the crime scene and Petelina had not even laid eyes on the murder suspect. She knew that her first impression would be pivotal. It could as much help as hinder her subsequent investigation. At times, a suspect could look so innocent and exude such charm that you would need to make a conscious effort to avoid becoming their lawyer. Other times, it would be the opposite – you’d think you were faced with a coldblooded killer when, in reality, the softie couldn’t hurt a fly. However, conundrums like these threw Elena off her track only in the first years of her service. These days, she preferred to conduct her first interrogation only after she had studied all the details of the suspect’s character, as well as the circumstances surrounding the crime. Before first meeting the suspect, she would always compose a mental portrait of her antagonist and, more often than not, it would turn out to be accurate.

Elena Petelina entered the kitchen where Mikhail Ustinov had unfurled his field lab. Fingerprint recognition software was scrolling through the patterns on his tablet computer.

«Any results?» inquired the detective.

«Too early,» the Tadpole cut her off without so much as a look.

Such brevity did not annoy Petelina. She knew that Ustinov would notify her as soon as anything substantial turned up. It did not serve to hurry the young forensic expert. He was already all afire to examine the slightest hair or fingerprint at the scene of the crime. If anything, the Tadpole needed to be restrained at times: Enough, we’re already up to our ears in evidence – save your energy and equipment. The experienced detective envied his enthusiasm and at the same time feared that the monotonous hours and paltry pay would soon turn this enthusiast into a lazy hack. To delay this as long as possible, she went to the top brass every quarter to wring funds for yet another intricate piece of lab equipment.

«Did you pull the Maltsevs’ files?» she asked.

«Sent it to your phone.»

The possibilities afforded by modern communications, which her pushy forensic expert had initiated her in, never ceased to amaze Elena. Her hand darted into her purse. A few gentle swipes of the screen with her finger and, voilà, your standard personal file.

Maltseva, Inna Olegovna. Forty years old. Married ten years. No children. Residence permit matches current address. Studied Education. Has not worked in the last few years. Husband’s name is Maltsev, Dmitry Nikolaevich. Forty-two years old. Businessman. Owns a construction and building repair company. Two years ago figured as a witness in a criminal case. This is interesting , Petelina made a mental note, should check this out further . Both husband and wife have cars registered in their names.

The detective dialed Valeyev right away.

«Did you find it?»

«Nothing yet. Maybe the neighbor got it wrong?»

«I thought you were an expert on women, Valeyev. Clothes are the first thing women pay attention to.»

«The neighbor’s already retired.»

«Sorry, forgot. Your social circle is limited to twenty-year-olds.»

«My favorite memories involve a certain classmate of mine,» came the operative’s repartee.

«Let’s stick to work, shall we? Here’s a slightly simpler task for you: The Maltsevs have two cars. Look around the yard.» Petelina read aloud the license plate numbers. She put the phone away and said to herself, And now it’s time to meet the lady of the house .

Elena entered the spacious living room and nodded to the officer standing sentry. The cop’s brown-green uniform clashed with the room’s heavy, gold-fringed drapes. Cast in semi-darkness, the woman sitting in the deep armchair did not respond to the detective’s appearance. Elena turned on the overhead light. The woman stirred. The large eyes in her haggard face noticed Petelina. This was Inna Maltseva without a doubt, but the photo in the passport resembled the pallid original in the armchair before her about as much as a clear day resembles a foggy morning. Only her shoulder-length, chestnut bob still retained its previous splendor.

«I am Senior Detective Elena Pavlovna Petelina. I am in charge of your case.»

Maltseva did not say anything.

Saturday I’ll dye my hair , Elena made another mental note, noticing the gray roots at the suspect’s scalp. I’ve got grays coming in too. Sooner than I thought.

«Inna, tell me please, what happened between you and your husband?» Elena asked softly.

Maltseva’s chin twitched. She noticed the water on the coffee table, reached for it and looked at her unruly hands with surprise. Handcuffs fettered her bloodied palms. Petelina ordered the cop to remove the cuffs and leave the room. A man with a machine gun isn’t a helpful presence when you’re trying to have a sincere conversation.

Elena handed the glass of water to Inna. The woman drank greedily. Eyes still fixed on the floor. Lips still pursed. A shade of guilt on her face.

The detective decided to begin by stating the current situation.

«Inna Olegovna Maltseva, you have been arrested under suspicion of the premeditated murder of your husband.» Inna raised her eyes imploringly. Petelina repeated her first question in a stricter format, «Why did you kill him?»

Maltseva shook her head.

«I didn’t kill him. I didn’t kill Dmitry.»

«The facts suggest otherwise.»

«That wasn’t me. I didn’t touch Dmitry. Please believe me!»

«A criminal investigation is not interested in concepts such as belief. You were found at the scene of the murder.»

«It wasn’t me. I didn’t…»

Petelina decided to force the woman’s stubborn resistance. She left the living room and returned a short while later with the next-door neighbor, a woman of about seventy who clearly took care to maintain her appearance.

«Ms. Broshina, please repeat what you told me earlier,» the detective requested.

«There’s not much to say – it was all quite in the open… The Maltsevs were fighting during the day. Don’t look at me like that Inna! I wasn’t listening on purpose – you know how our walls are! So anyway, in the evening I heard a terrible scream. My Chana began barking and ran to the door. I went to see what it was about. I have an intercom with a screen – you saw it. I look at it and see Inna dart out of the apartment and run off down the stairs. „Uh-oh,“ I thought, „This doesn’t bode well.“ So I called the police.»