could not believe that Maltseva would so stubbornly ruin herself and rephrased the question:
«Try and think hard before answering, Inna: Did you want the person to die as a result of your actions?»
«Of course,» Maltseva answered naïvely.
Elena pursed her lips in disappointment. Murder in the first degree was far removed from the charge she had planned on for this poor woman who was so tormented by her impossible desire to have a child. Article 5, Section 1—murder in the first – provided for 6—15 years’ imprisonment, whereas Article 107—manslaughter in the heat of passion – entailed a maximum of up to 3 years. Meanwhile, if the court decided that Maltseva had acted with excessive cruelty, then she could even be charged under Article 104, Section 2. Then, if she was found guilty of that, she could be given life.
Elena was overcome with compassion. The psychiatrist had been right when he had remarked that her investigations vacillated between the cliffs of reason and the waves of emotion. Waves could erode the jagged edges to softness, but only rock could ensure a stable footing. Elena had to cast aside emotion and discover the truth. She had to present it in the form of clear evidence and submit it for the court’s decision. That was her job. Feelings during an investigation could only get in the way of that.
«Tell me how you put your plan into action,» Petelina asked more coldly, already anticipating the answer. The image of the crime and the murder weapon – the hair-plastered cleaver – did not leave much room to the imagination.
«I came up from behind.»
«Unnoticed?»
«Yes.»
«Go on. You came up from behind and…»
«And fired.»
Fired?! The word, pronounced so quietly, had the effect of a real gunshot.
Petelina recoiled and looked quizzically at the psychiatrist. Krasin remained unperturbed. He scribbled something on a piece of paper and passed it to the detective. Elena read: «In a state of hypnosis, she is unable to make anything up.»
The detective looked at Maltseva. The woman had an open and earnest expression on her face devoid of the slightest smirk or shade of cunning. She had given her reply and was simply waiting for the next question.
Had she told the truth then? But that was impossible!
«Inna, let’s try this again, from the beginning. You decided to commit a murder. You approached your victim from behind. And then? Do you remember the gunshot clearly?»
«Yes.»
«Then you must have the weapon somewhere.»
«The gun.» Maltseva looked at her hand, raised it and extended her index finger. «I fired. Like this.»
Inna bent her finger. Her hand jumped from the recoil and dropped to her knee.
Elena could not understand what was happening. Anton Maltsev had been killed with a cleaver – the autopsy had confirmed it. There was no handgun! There were no bullets! What the hell was the suspect talking about?
Petelina glanced at the voice recorder and mechanically asked her next question:
«Where did you aim your shot?»
«At her head. I fired and she fell.»
«She?!»
12
Captain Valeyev put some clothes in a bag and explained what he was doing to the janitor.
«These constitute material evidence, which I am hereby confiscating.»
«Completely?»
«Completely completely.»
The Tajik janitor nodded enthusiastically and suggested the boss take some more things. He understood now that his date with his motherland had been put on hold and was grateful to the kind boss for his wise decision. Valeyev handed the bag to Mayorov and the two operatives left the basement.
In the courtyard, the captain noticed Dmitry Maltsev hurrying by.
«What a welcome surprise!» Valeyev exclaimed. «It’s good to see you back in the free world!»
Maltsev twitched as if he had stumbled against an invisible barrier.
«I was released,» he muttered.
«Verily, the drunk tank overfloweth. Thy return shall be most welcome.»
«Well I don’t normally drink so much… That was kind of an accident.» Maltsev waved his hand in resignation and asked, «What about Inna, my wife? Where is she? She isn’t answering her phone.»
«Kindly direct all your inquiries to the detective.»
«Is she under arrest?»
«Are you deaf? Ask the detective!»
«Yes, of course,» Maltsev checked himself and pointed at the driveway uncertainly. «May I go up? To my apartment?»
«If you’ve got your keys, go for it.»
«But isn’t the… well.. you know, in there…?»
«They’re doing the autopsy at the morgue. It’s more comfy there. I’m sure you understand. In fact, I know you do because I heard that you’ve dealt with this kind of thing before – like when you went hunting that one time.»
Maltsev’s eyes flashed with a spark of rage. The man deflated and turned away. His stooping figure, its sour face, dragged off toward the front entrance.
«And where are we off to?» asked Mayorov.
«To the car, Vanya, to the car.» Valeyev gave his partner a soft push, weighing whether he should tell Petelina about his meeting with the janitor in person or by phone.
Detective Petelina’s head was running in circles. What was Maltseva talking about? Where was she getting this stuff? A gunshot instead of a blow? A handgun instead of a cleaver? A she instead of a he? Drivel – plain and simple. Everything had happened completely differently.
«Go on,» Dr. Krasin whispered to Elena. His expression, however, lacked its former conviction.
Elena discarded all tact and stated directly
«Mrs. Maltseva, last night you did not shoot anyone.» Elena discarded all tact and asserted directly. «Instead, you struck a man with a cleaver!»
«No. I shot a woman with a gun.»
«What woman?»
«The woman in the red car.»
«What car?»
«A red Volvo.»
«You were at home last night.»
«I was
