The Gentle Axe Paperback by R. N. Morris Read Free Book Online Page B

wagons—lurked in the shadows at the edge of the hangar. With less reticence, six men stood around the tables. In addition to Porfiry Petrovich and Nikodim Fomich, present was Yaroslav Nikolaevich Liputin, the prokuror. In any criminal prosecution, it was his responsibility to decide if a crime had been committed and to draw up the indictment once a suspect had been arrested, as well as to prosecute the case through the courts. According to procedure, he was Porfiry’s superior, a relationship that was emphasized by Liputin’s towering height. It was impossible to argue with his appearance, dressed and groomed as he was with such consideration. Every hair, every hem, every button knew its place in the ordainment of his presence. Also in attendance were the two official witnesses required by the new laws, in this case Major General Volkonsky and Actual State Councilor Yepanchin; retired gentlemen, dressed now, naturally, each in the uniform of his rank. A certain querulous confusion was evident on the face of the major general. Actual State Councilor Yepanchin hid his emotions behind a mask of dignity. Both were quick to defer to Liputin. Finally, Porfiry had invited Salytov, out of courtesy, given his role in discovering the bodies.
    The heat from a brazier at the rear of the shed barely reached them.
    “So we are waiting for?” demanded Liputin imperiously.
    “The physician, your excellency,” explained Porfiry.
    “Physician? I don’t think we need a physician to tell us what has happened here, Porfiry Petrovich.”
    “With respect, your excellency.”
    “One corpse with his head hacked in, the other hanging by the neck with a bloody axe about his person. Really. You are not required to call a physician, you know. Under the new laws, an autopsy is not demanded in every case. You may use your discretion. You are able to look at the bodies yourself and draw certain conclusions. There is no need to waste our time like this. What need do you have to involve the office of the prokuror ?” Liputin spoke as if this were something separate from himself. “Yes, there has been a crime, two crimes, in fact. One murder, the other suicide. The man wanted for both lies dead on a trestle table. The case is closed.”
    “Indeed, prokuror. But it is because I have examined the bodies—and the area in Petrovsky Park where they were found—that I feel it is necessary to call in a physician.”
    Liputin’s eyes narrowed minutely, almost imperceptibly.
    “This flask,” said Porfiry, lifting a pewter flask from the table of objects, “which Lieutenant Salytov recovered from one of the pockets of the hanging man.” Porfiry unstopped the flask and held it out to Liputin.
    “Vodka,” confirmed the prokuror, inhaling.
    “Yes. And it’s full. I can imagine a man intent on such deeds steeling himself with alcohol. Especially as he has gone to the trouble of preparing this flask. But to take the vodka along and not drink it?”
    “You think the vodka is significant?” asked Nikodim Fomich.
    “In cases like this, everything is significant.”
    “Perhaps it was not a question of steeling himself,” objected Salytov, with some heat. “Perhaps he killed the dwarf in a fit of rage. And hanged himself in a fit of remorse. Perhaps too he was in the habit of carrying a flask of vodka about with him wherever he went. In the turmoil of the moment it was forgotten.”
    “It is an interesting theory,” commented Porfiry. “And I am grateful to you for sharing it with us.”
    “But you do not hold with it?” asked Liputin.
    “Look at his coat.” Porfiry nodded toward the larger body. “What do you notice?”
    No one risked an answer.
    “Well, let me ask this of Lieutenant Salytov. Did you notice anything on the back of the coat when you cut him down?”
    “Yes, there were some black marks,” said Salytov. “Oil, I think.”
    “Yes. Oily marks on the back of his greatcoat. But on the front?”
    “No oily marks,” ventured