Читать книгу Secret Target - Сергей Бакшеев - Страница 8

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 some edifying message pinned to his frame.

At the moment Vasilich’s bony digits had wrapped themselves around a bottle of dubious whiskey, confiscated from a nightclub in the wake of a mass poisoning. The note on his back read, «Don’t drink – lest you become like Vasilich.»

Misha rattled his teaspoon, mixing a generous portion of sugar into his large mug. His lips made a reedy sound as he sipped the coffee.

«Get on with it,» the detective hurried him. «Why’d you call me?»

«I’ve confirmed your version of events, Detective Petelina. Dmitry Maltsev wasn’t killed – the dead man was his brother, Anton. We have his prints in our database.»

«Okay, at least this isn’t a dead end.»

«Why, where do we go from here?»

«I checked out his file. Anton Nikolaevich Maltsev, thirty-three years old, was released from prison just yesterday.»

«Looks like it’s safer to be sitting under guard there than be out here. What was he in for?»

«Article 109—manslaughter. A hunting accident. Dmitry Maltsev testified at his trial. The victim was a business partner of theirs, Vadim Zaitsev.»

«An ominous surname for a hunter,» said the forensic expert, alluding to the zayets – «rabbit» in Russian – at the root of Zaitsev’s name. He broke off another square of chocolate: «I’ve established that the Maltsev brothers were drinking. Their fingerprints are on the cognac bottle and glasses.»

«So they celebrated his release and then Dmitry disappeared. Maybe his wife Inna is innocent? One brother killed the other one and then got out of there.»

«Doesn’t gel.»

«His fingerprints aren’t on the cleaver?»

«Not just that. Dmitry Maltsev’s disappearance was premeditated.»

«Meaning?» Petelina asked surprised.

«Allow me to explain,» the expert uttered his favorite catchphrase and slid his chair toward the computer monitor. «I started monitoring Dmitry Maltsev’s credit card. This morning, he bought a ticket on the express train to St. Petersburg online.»

«Departing at what time?»

«Seven-thirty in the evening.»

«And the murder took place at eight!»

«Give or take five minutes.»

Petelina looked at her watch.

«If Dmitry Maltsev was on a train, then he has an alibi. His cell phone is on but he isn’t picking up. I ordered field ops to find his whereabouts.»

«Hundredth Company received your orders. Look – » Mikhail pointed at the monitor where a bright dot could be seen moving through a map. «Maltsev is arriving in St. Petersburg on time. Or, at least, his cell phone is.»

«Let’s give it another shot.» Elena dialed Dmitry Maltsev’s number again and listened to it ring.

«You should call St. Petersburg and tell them to arrest him, detective.»

«What about the train’s departure time? Clearly he’s not the murderer – best case scenario he may be a witness. Dmitry Maltsev left the apartment at least an hour before the incident.»

«That does seem incontrovertible.» Misha took another sip of coffee and a bite of chocolate. «Then everything points back to Inna Maltseva yet again. Instead of killing her husband, she killed his brother.»

«Why? What’s the motive? That’s what I want to know.»

Misha reclined in his seat and locked his fingers behind his head.

«There were no signs of struggle. The blow came unexpectedly. Perhaps, something happened between Inna and Anton Maltsev, and she decided to get revenge.»

«In the past?»

«Well, why not?

«It’s possible,» agreed Elena, involuntarily recalling her missing brother. «The past holds many secrets.»

«And the husband will help us figure out what those secrets are. We need to arrest Maltsev.»

«Okay. Prepare a description and photo of Dmitry Maltsev. I’ll try to get in touch with the St. Petersburg guys.»

The Tadpole hunched over his computer. When the APB for Dmitry Maltsev was ready on the screen, Elena read it over and said, «Misha, can you bring up Anton’s data beside it?»

Grasping her train of thought, the forensic expert deftly combined the two men’s information and blurted out what was already evident:

«The Maltsev brothers look like each other! Height, body type, hair color – it all matches. Even their age difference is just three years. And Dmitry also cuts his hair short.»

«Inna could have mixed them up. She struck from behind and thought it was her husband.»

«I wonder whether Maltsev will be happy to hear the news. On the one hand, the guy got lucky – but on the other hand… You know, Detective Petelina, this is another reason why marriage just isn’t for me.»

«Random dates involve a higher incidence of murder.»

«I meet people through the Internet. In experienced hands, the web is like a treasure trove of information. I enter a girls contact info and – »

«The less you say about that, the better,» Petelina cut him off, dialing a number on the office phone. «Don’t forget where we work.»

Elena called her colleagues in St. Petersburg. They heard her out, transferred her to some other extension, explained that the senior officers were absent and told her to submit an official request. When the detective’s patience had run thin and she was ready to lose it, Mikhail pulled on her sleeve.

«Detective Petelina, look!»

«What is it now?» Petelina glanced over, annoyed.

«Maltsev is on his way back!» Misha was pointing at a bank statement on the screen. «He just used the card at the train station to buy an overnight ticket to Moscow.»

«What’s the train’s number? And get me the number of the car he’s in.»

«Just a second. Here it is! The train and car number. Train gets in to Moscow at 7:55.»

Petelina hung up on St. Petersburg and sighed.

«I’ll say it again, our field ops are still the best.»

«As well as our forensics,» Mikhail added helpfully.

«You, Misha, are simply amazing,» Elena agreed reaching for her cell phone. «I’ll tell Valeyev the good news. Let him put a welcome party together for Maltsev tomorrow morning at Leningradsky Station. While they’re at it, they can have a chat with the car attendant on duty in the train that Maltsev ran off on.»

«Have you no faith in the power of computer technology?»

«Technical stuff is great and all, but I want to make sure that that cell phone was travelling in its owner’s company.»