Читать книгу Secret Target - Сергей Бакшеев - Страница 6

Elena Petelina walked into the lobby of the apartment building.

The crime scene had attracted the typical hubbub. Cops stand smoking in the stairwell, quietly panning some soccer player. She does not know them but as soon as she appears, fists close over cigarettes, stomachs are gathered in and something like «Good evening, detective!» echoes in her wake – to be replaced by a respectful whisper once she has passed: «That’s her – that’s the Noose.» Elena doesn’t take offense. As Colonel Kharchenko puts it, only the best detectives are given nicknames.

Detective Petelina always tries to visit the crime scene herself. Evidence gathered in the first hours of the investigation is always the most precise. Better see for yourself than sift for it later among barren reports.

She ascends the stairs to the apartment where the corpse was discovered. The Tadpole, still wearing his motorcycle helmet and toting a heavy backpack, can barely keep up behind her. Through the half-open apartment door, she catches a momentary glimpse of a shoulder draped in a familiar jacket. The glimpse is accompanied by a confident gesture, curtly pointing somewhere – and she’s recognized him. Elena is pleased to find Captain Marat Valeyev working the crime scene – and this is not simply because they had once made out at their senior prom and she still remembers going hot all over from his slightest touch.

Life had separated them since that night and only reunited them last year when Valeyev was transferred from the Organized Crime Unit to her district. It was a demotion. But following the death of Valeyev’s partner during an attempted arrest – a death that was caused by Valeyev’s actions – he could consider himself fortunate. Elena never asked Marat about that tragedy. She was confident that he was an excellent officer. He never complained about all the assignments she gave him, was always willing to work on weekends – just as she was – and knew how to get results in a way that would move the case forward. Not every detective knows how to do that. It’s not hard to work with your fists and wave your gun in people’s faces – the problem is that any evidence obtained that way will be crushed to dust by the lawyers at trial.

And the fact that she sometimes catches his masculine gaze lingering upon her – that’s just flattering, no more. She is a woman after all.

«Hello Marat.» Petelina paused long enough to catch his eager but disciplined smile. «What’s the situation look like?»

«Hi Lena. The situation here is looking thusly: A wife patted her husband on the head with a cleaver and the poor guy didn’t find the joke very funny.»

«Alcoholics?»

«God no. Middle class, decked-out apartment, wife’s covered in diamonds. To be fair, there’s an open bottle in the kitchen – but it’s genuine cognac, not the cheap stuff.»

«I hope you haven’t touched anything?» Mikhail Ustinov, the forensic expert, barged into their exchange, moving the captain aside as he entered.

When the Tadpole went to a crime scene, he always brought with him a large backpack stuffed full of cutting-edge electronic devices which he referred to as his gadgets. These enabled him to set up a mini-laboratory on site. Misha pulled off his helmet and passed further into the apartment.

«Nothing but the money and the valuables,» Valeyev grumbled after him.

«Have you examined the windows and the balcony?» asked Petelina.

«Of course. Everything is locked from the inside. There’s nothing in the apartment but the corpse and the murderer.»

«The murderer? That fast?»

«Come on, Lena. We weren’t born yesterday. You’ll see for yourself. Open and shut case, a domestic dispute.»

The detective made her way down the hallway. Ustinov was already fiddling around next to the corpse in latex gloves, taking pictures and bagging evidence. Petelina carefully examined the dead man lying in a bathrobe with a staved-in head.

«The blow came from behind. Unexpectedly. The murder weapon has been left for us as a parting gift,» she stated.

«Simple female imprudence,» Valeyev rushed to explain. «It’s a normal thing with them: a fit of rage leading to a momentary weakness.»

«You’re quite the expert,» Elena smiled wrily.

Valeyev flushed.

«She’ll confess. I’ll bet you anything.»

«That doesn’t mean we don’t have a job to do. Where’s the suspect? What’s her name?»

«Inna Maltseva. She was discovered unconscious right beside the corpse. Here’s her passport. She lives with her husband, Dmitry Maltsev. Or, to be accurate, she now lives without him. At the moment, the little lady is in the other room with an EMT. There’s a PPS sergeant watching over her.»

«Which room?» the Tadpole stirred. «I need to take her fingerprints.»

«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.