The Red Coffin by Sam Eastland Read Free Book Online Page A

was that if Kirov hadn’t been there, he would have set aside the bowl and would be eating right out of the pot by now.
    ‘Any luck with Nagorski?’ asked Kirov.
    ‘Depends,’ sighed Pekkala, ‘on what you call luck.’
    ‘That machine he built,’ said Kirov. ‘I hear it weighs more than ten tons.’
    ‘Thirty, to be precise,’ replied Pekkala. ‘To hear him speak of it, you’d think that tank was a member of his family.’
    ‘You think he’s guilty?’
    Pekkala shook his head. ‘Unpleasant maybe, but not guilty, as far as I can tell. I released him. He is now back at the facility where his tank is being designed.’ It was then he noticed a large box placed just inside the door. ‘What is that?’
    ‘Ah,’ Kirov began.
    ‘Whenever you say “Ah”, I know it’s something I’m not going to like.’
    ‘Not at all!’ Kirov laughed nervously. ‘It’s a present for you.’
    ‘It’s not my birthday.’
    ‘Well, it’s sort of a present. Actually it’s more of a …’
    ‘So it’s not really a present.’
    ‘No,’ admitted Kirov. ‘It’s really more of a suggestion.’
    ‘A suggestion,’ repeated Pekkala.
    ‘Open it!’ said Kirov, brandishing his spoon.
    Pekkala got out of his chair and fetched the box. He placed it on his desk and lifted the lid. Inside was a neatly folded coat. Several other garments lay underneath.
    ‘I thought it was time you had a new outfit,’ said Kirov.
    ‘New?’ Pekkala looked down at the clothes he was wearing. ‘But these are new. Almost, anyway. I bought them just last year.’
    Kirov made a sound in his throat. ‘Well, when I say new, what I mean is up to date.’
    ‘I am up to date!’ Pekkala protested. ‘I bought these clothes right here in Moscow. They were very expensive.’ And he was just about to go on about the prices he’d been forced to pay when Kirov cut him off.
    ‘All right,’ Kirov said patiently, trying another angle. ‘Where did you buy your clothes?’
    ‘Linsky’s, over by the Bolshoi Theatre. Linsky makes durable stuff!’ said Pekkala, patting the chest of his coat. ‘He told me himself that when you buy a coat from him, it’s the last one you will ever need to wear. That’s his personal motto, you know.’
    ‘Yes,’ Kirov brought his hands together in a silent clap, ‘but do you know what people call his shop? Clothes for Dead Men.’
    ‘Well, that seems a little dramatic.’
    ‘For goodness’ sake, Inspector, Linsky sells clothes to funeral homes!’
    ‘So what if he does?’ Pekkala protested. ‘Funeral directors need something to wear, you know. They can’t all walk around naked. My father was a funeral director …’
    Kirov was finally losing his patience. ‘Linsky doesn’t sell clothes to the directors! Linsky makes the clothes that go on bodies when they are laid out for a viewing. That’s why his clothes are the last ones you’ll ever wear. Because you’ll be buried in them!’
    Pekkala frowned. He inspected his lapels. ‘But I’ve always worn this style of coat.’
    ‘That’s the problem, Inspector,’ Kirov reasoned with him. ‘There is such a thing as fashion, even for people like you. Now look.’ Kirov walked across the room and removed the coat from the box. Carefully, he unfolded it. Then, holding it by the shoulders, he lifted it up for Pekkala to see. ‘Look at this. This is the latest style. Try it on. That’s all I’m asking.’
    Reluctantly, Pekkala put on the jacket.
    Kirov helped him into it. ‘There!’ he announced. ‘How does it feel?’
    Pekkala raised his arms and lowered them again. ‘All right, I suppose.’
    ‘You see! I told you! And there’s a shirt there and a new pair of trousers as well. No one will be able to call you a fossil now.’
    Pekkala frowned. ‘I didn’t realise anyone called me a fossil.’
    Kirov patted him on the shoulder. ‘It’s just an expression. And now I have something else for you. A real present this time.’ He held his arm out towards