Where do you keep the car keys, Mrs. Maltseva?»
Maltseva looked around the room dazedly.
«My purse.»
«Marat, look in the entryway. And another thing: If that coat was nice, someone could have fished it from the trash. Ask the building janitor about it.»
«What, like right now? Janitors usually work in the mornings. Where am I going to find him at this time of day?»
«Either way, it needs to be done,» Petelina smiled warmly. «I believe in you Marat.»
«Well alright,» the captain acquiesced and walked out.
In his wake, Misha Ustinov peeked into the room. Based on the sly look on his face, Petelina understood that he had something interesting for her.
«Detective Petelina, I am ready to make a preliminary finding,» he said with a cold look at the arrested woman.
«You can speak here, Misha.»
«Mrs. Maltseva’s smudged fingerprints are on the cleaver. The blood on her hands is that of the deceased and the time of death coincides with the time that the neighbor called the police.»
«It all fits.»
«Your run-of-the-mill domestic dispute – it’s not even interesting. Of course, I’ll examine the secondary evidence as well, but that will only help to fill in the general picture.»
«It wasn’t me!» Maltseva began to shake her head and cry. Long stray hairs stuck to her tearstained cheeks.
Petelina sighed. She was getting sick of this cheap spectacle. The evidence was unequivocal, as were the witness accounts. The detective’s voice adopted a crueler tone.
«Enough, Mrs. Maltseva! You would be better served by a confession.»
The woman continued to whimper. Petelina bent down to her.
«You quarreled with your husband, decided to leave, got dressed but he insulted you. That’s when you ran to the kitchen and grabbed the cleaver! He didn’t expect the blow and you killed him. Then, terrified, you fled the apartment, noticed the drops of blood on your coat once you were in the courtyard, threw it away and, at that point, remembered the main piece of evidence. The cleaver! So you came back for it, but when you saw what you had done, you fainted.»
«Not much to it. Remember what I said when we first got here?» Ustinov looked at his watch meaningfully. «I’m done here. Oh, by the way, they’ve come for the body. Are we ready to send it to autopsy?»
«Let them take it,» said Petelina, still drilling into Maltseva with her eyes. «Did I get it right?»
Inna raised her hands. Her eyes were darting back and forth between the palms stained with dry blood and the detective’s face.
«Blood. His blood. Help me wash my hands,» she began to shift, becoming agitated. «I didn’t throw the coat away because there was blood on it. There is no blood on it! Where is my coat? Find it!»
«Please get ahold of yourself.» Elena was beginning to feel sorry for her. The woman had given in to her emotions and committed a fatal mistake. As long as she remained in shock there was no point talking to her. «Here, have some more water. We’ll resume this tomorrow.»
Instead of drinking, Maltseva poured the water out over her hands and began to compulsively rub them with a handkerchief.
From the hallway came the sound of something being moved. The body was being taken to the morgue. Slowly, the shuffling receded beyond the apartment.
All of a sudden, Ms. Broshina’s exclamation pierced the room.
«That isn’t him. That’s not Maltsev!»
Inna jumped up. Petelina managed to grab her in time but couldn’t hold her back. Both women found themselves side-by-side in the landing beside the body. The dead man’s face was now clearly visible. There was no agony on it, just a look of pain that had molded its muscles into a deathly pallor. The dead man on the stretcher scared Inna. Her face distorted in terror.
«This isn’t my husband,» she exhaled.
Her eyes darkened as her legs wavered. Maltseva fell into the arms of the dispirited Petelina.
6
Detective Petelina’s office remained well-lit long into the evening. She had asked the office manager to install additional lamps. This way she could create the illusion that it was still not too late and that she could go on working. The illusion worked – as long as she didn’t look at the clock or turn to the darkened window behind her.
Elena both loved and hated these kinds of evenings. The day’s surprise, with its unidentified corpse, had elevated the case from a simple domestic matter to an enigmatic conundrum. The top brass didn’t like cases like this, whereas Elena, if she had it her way, would work exclusively with such bewildering incidents. And anyway, the unexpected turn of events created room for the possibility, however slight, that Inna Maltseva was innocent after all. Petelina sympathized with women who were in a bind and would often, scrupulously, seek out any details that could soften the indictment. Inna Maltseva still remained the chief suspect but at least now she wasn’t the only one.
Elena hated having to work late because of her daughter. Naturally, Elena’s mother could feed the 12-year-old Nastya and put her to bed. She could even take her to curling practice three times a week, but it was the homework that grandma could not be of much help with. And Nastya already has more B’s than A’s. Any day now, even those would turn to C’s.
The detective had finished studying Dmitry Maltsev’s criminal file when she got a call from Misha Ustinov requesting her presence in the lab. However, when she got down there, Elena had to wait and watch as the Tadpole flitted about in an unbuttoned lab coat between various devices and his computer’s large screen.
«Just a second longer,» he kept promising as he passed.
Finally, the forensic expert raised his arms, stretched comfortably and pushed off on his office chair to the table where the kettle stood. The switch clicked, the water began to hiss, and the crackling of a chocolate wrapper filled the room.
«Would you like some coffee, Detective Petelina? I’ve got some excellent chocolate here.»
Petelina shook her head with a sad smile. The ever-hungry, forensic expert ate chocolate like bread and yet remained stick-thin. For her meanwhile, one extra calorie, especially before going to bed, was like an enemy invasion aiming to secure and expand a beachhead along the coast of her waist.
Thanks but no thanks, I’d prefer to stay a six.
«Vasilich will keep you company.» Elena nodded over at a nearby chair where a skeleton was reposed. This was a plastic anatomy model, with one important peculiarity: Its skull was a real human one. Word had it that a hardened felon named Vasilich had bequeathed it to the Investigative Committee, doing so because he had always wanted to be a detective himself. Skeleton Vasilich had made himself at home in the lab. At any time of day or night, he could be found hunched over a keyboard or just hanging out, taking it easy. Either way, there was always a note with
