The White Russian by Tom Bradby Read Free Book Online

shared files?”
    “New regulations.”
    “Well,” Ruzsky said. “It doesn’t look like a political case. Start with your own files.”
    “ Petrograd or Empire-wide?”
    “Start with St. Petersburg, then Moscow, then work through the other cities.”
    Ruzsky put the mouthpiece back on its hook and it rang again immediately.
    “It’s Sarlov. You can come down now.”
     
    Sarlov’s laboratory was next to Veresov’s fingerprint bureau in the basement and it was equally damp and even more tiny. Sarlov always complained about this, but Ruzsky thought the pathologist enjoyed the fact that it forced detectives to stand too close to the bodies.
    There was a bright lamp in the ceiling and the two victims lay side by side on a steel table beneath it. The table had been designed for one, and the man’s body looked as if it was about to tumble onto the floor.
    Sarlov had a mask across his face and wore a white apron spattered with blood. He had a small saw in his right hand. “Ruzsky,” he said, surprise in his voice. “I didn’t know you were back. To what do we owe the pleasure?”
    “Did you see Rasputin’s body?” Ruzsky asked, ignoring his question.
    “No.”
    “Is it true he was still alive when they put him in the river?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Don’t you doctors talk?”
    “Sometimes.” He leaned over the man’s body and raised the saw.
    “Please, Sarlov,” Pavel said. “Not now.”
    “You can see for yourself. There’s not much to tell you. I’ll give you a full report upstairs when I’m finished.” Sarlov leaned back and pulled down his mask. “The man was in his early forties, died around three A.M. Between three and four. Severe loss of blood from the stab wounds. Seventeen in all. Look at him.”
    Ruzsky realized he had been consciously not looking at either of the victims, but he forced himself to do so now. The man was bulkier than he’d imagined, a thick pelt of hair running from his chest to his waist. His body had been punctured repeatedly, but his face looked less distorted now that the wounds had been cleaned. He’d not been a handsome man, Ruzsky thought; his cheeks were too fleshy and nose too broad. The girl, by contrast, was prettier than she’d appeared. She had a neat face, with a petite nose and long eyelashes. She’d been stabbed only once, precisely, in the center of her chest. She was naked and Ruzsky instinctively wanted to reach forward and cover her up.
    “So?” Pavel asked.
    “They were followed from behind,” Ruzsky said. “And yet stabbed from the front.”
    “I can certainly tell you they were stabbed from the front,” Sarlov responded.
    “The man has no marks on his arms, so the first blow must have been sudden and unexpected. He was caught unawares.”
    “Very good, Ruzsky. I’m pleased to see provincial life has not dulled your powers of observation.” Sarlov’s eyes twinkled with laughter. He liked to hide his affection beneath a manner that was alternately curmudgeonly and playful.
    “Who was killed first?” Ruzsky asked, failing to return the smile. He knew the game. He was supposed to be the butt of their humor-now more than ever.
    Sarlov shook his head. “I don’t know. Common sense dictates it must have been the man.”
    “One of them was expecting this to happen,” Ruzsky went on, “because neither ran. Perhaps the girl was killed first, but the man was expecting it, so he stood and watched. Then the murderer turned unexpectedly on him.”
    “And stabbed him seventeen times?” Pavel asked.
    “Have you found anything on them, Sarlov?”
    “No. Their pockets have been cleared out.”
    “But nobody took the money.”
    Sarlov shrugged.
    “Have you found any clues at all?”
    The doctor shook his head. “The man has had some dental work. It’s gold foil treatment, very elaborately performed. That is not to say it couldn’t have been done by a dentist here, just that it is more likely to have been done somewhere else. Europe,