Читать книгу Secret Target - Сергей Бакшеев - Страница 7

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.»

«What was Inna Maltseva wearing?»

«A gray, tailored coat. She’s been wearing it a lot lately. Oh, and sunglasses on her face. It’s fall! Why would someone wear sunglasses in the fall?»

«What happened after that?»

«About five minutes later, Inna came running back all of a sudden. Without the coat or glasses this time.»

«Are you sure you remember this correctly? First Maltseva was wearing a coat, then she came back without it.»

«How could I forget? It’s already cold out and she’s walking around in just a shirt.»

«Did anyone enter or leave the Maltsevs’ apartment while she was gone?»

«No, I would’ve seen it. And Chana would’ve sensed it. We were standing on the other side of the door together.»

«Okay. Go on.»

«Why there’s nowhere to go on to. A little later, you people showed up. The door wasn’t locked. They walked in and she was lying there… And she had… Heavens! What a sin to have on one’s soul! What were you thinking, Inna?»

Petelina thanked the old lady. As she was seeing her out, it occurred to her that investigative work would go far less smoothly were it not for neighborly vigilance.

«What now, Mrs. Maltseva? It’d be silly to deny the row you had with your husband.» Elena decided to throw the woman a lifeline. «Perhaps your husband beat you or humiliated you or threatened you – and, succumbing to a fit of passion, you grabbed the cleaver..?»

«I didn’t kill him.»

«Then why did you run away?»

«We had a fight and I left.»

«What was your fight about?»

«I think my husband is seeing someone.»

Elena recalled her own cheating husband, with whom she had separated four years ago. She sat down in a chair across from Maltseva and tried to look her in the eyes.

«That hurts, I understand. But if we women killed every flirtatious husband, the nation’s military casualties would start to seem like child’s play in comparison. Why did you decide to pick up the cleaver?»

«I didn’t kill him. I took the car and went wherever my eyes were looking. Later I came back and saw his legs.»

«You couldn’t have gone anywhere because you returned five minutes after leaving.»

«I went for the drive earlier.»

«In your coat?»

«Probably,» Maltseva faltered.

«Where is it then? We haven’t found a gray coat in your apartment.»

Petelina did not fail to notice how flustered Inna became, how she looked down and began fumbling with her fingers, still stained with her husband’s blood. She still had on shoes suited for fall weather because she really had been outside and yet her coat had vanished. This was the very inconsistency that had so invited the detective’s attention earlier.

«Where is your coat!» Elena pressed harder.

Her experience told her that the slightest inconsistency in a murder investigation could reveal the most unexpected turn. She watched Maltseva’s facial expression intently.

«I got it dirty.»

You’re lying, Petelina thought to herself.

«I tripped and got it dirty, so I threw it away,» said Maltseva.

«Was it a new coat?»

«Yes.»

«And you threw it away?»

«Yes.»

«Where?»

«In the trash.»

«A new coat – in the trash. Where exactly?»

«Next to the house,» confessed Inna, looking earnestly in the detective’s eyes.

But now, you’re telling the truth. You really couldn’t have gone far in five minutes.

Petelina heard Captain Valeyev’s voice from the hallway. He was looking for her. Elena decided to continue exerting pressure and invited the field operative into the room with them.

«Did you have a look around?» she asked.

«Mayorov and I combed the district within a five minute radius from the house.» The operative cast Maltseva an unkind look. «Only, there’s no coat anywhere – or glasses for that matter.»

«Did you look in the trash bins?»

«We checked them first.»

«Did you find the Maltsevs’ cars?»

«They’re parked down there. Both of them.»

«Find the keys and check inside the cars. 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.