Self-discovery

Chapter 2

Actually, Investigator Onisimov didn’t see anything yet; the expression was a linguistic hangover from better days. He had tried to break himself of the habit, but couldn’t. Besides that, Matvei Apollonovich was preoccupied and very upset by such a turn of events. A half hour before the call from the Institute of Systemology, Zubato, the medical examiner on duty with him that night, had been called to a highway accident outside of town. Onisimov had to go to the institute alone. And he ended up with a skeleton instead of a warm corpse. Nothing like this had ever been encountered in criminology. Nobody would believe that the body turned into a skeleton on its own — he’d be a laughing stock. The ambulance had left already, and so they couldn’t back him up. And he hadn’t had time to photograph the body.

In a word, what had happened seemed like nothing more than a series of serious oversights in the investigation. That’s why he made sure he had written statements from Prakhov, the technician, and academician Azarov before he left the institute grounds.

The electrical technician Georgii Danilovich Prakhov, twenty years old, Russian, unmarried, draftable, and not a Party member, wrote:

“When I entered the laboratory, the overhead light was on; only the power network was disrupted. The stench in the room was so bad that I almost threw up — it was like a hospital. The first thing that I noticed was a naked man lying in an overturned tank, his head and arms dangling, with a metallic contraption on his head. Something was leaking out of the tub; it looked like a thick ichor. The other one, a new student (I’ve seen him around), was lying nearby, face up, his arms outspread. I rushed over to the one in the tub and pulled him out. He was still warm and very slippery, so that I couldn’t get a good grip on him. I tried to awaken him, but he seemed dead. I recognized him. It was Valentin Vasilyevich Krivoshein. I had run into him often at the institute. We always said hello. The student was breathing, but remained unconscious. Since there is no one at the institute except for the outside guards, I called an ambulance and the police on the laboratory phone.

“The temporary short circuit had occurred in the power cable that goes to the laboratory electroshield along the wall in an aluminum pipe. The tub broke a bottle that apparently contained acid which ate through in that spot and the cable shorted out like a second — class conductor.”

Zhora wisely left out the fact that he did not investigate the scene of the accident until an hour after the alarm had gone off.

Arkady Arkadievich Azarov, the director of the institute, a doctor of physics and mathematics, and an active member of the Academy of Sciences, fifty — eight, Russian, married, not subject to the draft, and a member of the CPSU, corroborated the fact that he recognized the features of the body shown to him at the scene of the accident by Investigator Onisimov, M.A., as belonging to Valentin Vasilyevich Krivoshein, acting director of the New Systems Laboratory, and besides that, with the scientific objectivity characteristic of an academician noted that he “had been amazed by the abnormal emaciation of the deceased, the abnormal physical state which did not correspond to his usual appearance.”

At 10:30 in the morning Onisimov returned to headquarters and his office on the first floor, where his windows, hatched with the vertical bars, opened onto Marx Prospect, which was busy at almost any hour of day or night. Matvei Apollonovich gave a brief account of the events to Major Rabinovich, sent a test tube with the liquid to the medical examiner, and called up the emergency room to find out the condition of the only eyewitness. They replied that the lab assistant felt fine and asked to be released.

“Fine, go ahead, I’ll send a car for him,” Onisimov said.

No sooner had he arranged for the car than Zubato, the medical examiner, rushed into his office. He was a red — blooded, loud man with hairy arms.

“Matvei, what did you bring me?” He sank into a chair with emphatic disgust. “Some practical joke! How am I supposed to determine the cause of death on a skeleton?”

“I brought you what was left,” Onisimov explained, shrugging. “I’m glad you showed up. I want to know, off the top of your head, how does a body turn into a skeleton?”

“Off the top of my head, as a result of the deterioration of tissues, which under normal circumstances takes weeks and even months. That’s all that the body can do about it.”

“All right… then how can you turn a body into a skeleton?”

“Skin the body, cut off the soft tissues, and boil it in water until the bones are completely exposed. It is recommended to change the water. Can you tell me clearly what happened?”

Onisimov told him.

“That’s something! I’m really sorry I missed it!” He slapped his knee.

“What happened on the highway?”

“A drunk cyclist hit a cow. Both survived. So you say your body melted?” The expert squinted skeptically and brought his face closer to Onisimov. “Matvei, that doesn’t ring true. It just doesn’t happen, I can tell you for sure. A man is no icicle, even if he is dead. They didn’t trick you?”

“How?”

“You know, switch the body for a skeleton while you were out… and discard the evidence.”

“What are you blabbering about? You mean while an academician stood guard for them? Come on, here’s his deposition.” Onisimov fretted as he looked for Azarov’s statement.

“Ahh, now they’ll show you! The people there….” Zubato wriggled his hairy fingers. “Remember, when that student was exposed to radiation, how the head of the lab tried to blame it all on science, how he said that it was a little — studied phenomenon, that the gamma rays destroyed the crystal cells of the dosimeter. And when we checked, it turned out the students were signed up to work on isotopes without reading about them! Nobody wants to take responsibility, even academicians, if it’s a fishy situation. Try to think: did you leave them alone with the body?”

“I did,” the detective’s voice fell. “Twice.”

“And that’s when your body melted!” Zubato broke out in the hearty laugh of a man who knows that disaster has not struck him.

The detective thought about it and then shook his head.

“Now, you’re not going to throw me off the track here. I saw for myself… but what are we going to do with this skeleton now?”

“The hell with it. Wait, here’s an idea. Send it over to the city sculpture studio. Let them reconstruct the face according to Professor Gerasimov’s method; they are familiar with it. If it’s him, you’ll have the crime sensation of the century on your hands. If not — “Zubato gave Matvei Apollonovich a sympathetic look. “I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes when you talk with Aleksei Ignatievich. All right, I’ll send it over there myself. So be it.” He rose. “And while I’m at it, I’ll do the death certificate. I’ll settle for a skeleton, if you can’t come up with a body.”

Zubato left.

“What if they did trick me?” Onisimov recalled the academician’s hostility, Assistant Professor Hilobok’s flattery, and he shuddered. “I lost the body, the most important thing. Good show there!”

He dialed the chemistry lab.

“Viktoriya Stepanovna, this is Onisimov. Did you analyze the liquid?”

“Yes, Matvei Apollonovich. The report is being typed, but I’ll read you the conclusion. “Water — 85 percent, protein — 13 percent, amino acids — 0.5 percent, fatty acids — 0.4 percent and so on. In other words, it’s human blood plasma. According to the hemoglutins, it’s classified as type A, with lowered water content.”

“Yes, I see. Could it be toxic?”

“I doubt it.”

“Even, if say, you bathed in it?”

“Well, you could swallow some and drown. Does that help?”

“Thank you!” Matvei Apollonovich slammed down the phone. “Wise ass! But I guess that means accidental death is ruled out. Could the assistant have drowned him in the tub? No, it doesn’t look like a drowning.”

Onisimov liked the entire business less and less with every passing minute. He spread out the documents he got at the institute’s personnel department and at the laboratory and lost himself in their study. He was distracted by the phone.

“Matvei, you owe me!” boomed Zubato’s triumphant voice. “I’ve managed to establish a few things from the skeleton. There are deep vertical cracks in the middle of the sixth and seventh ribs on the right side. Such cracks are the result of a blow by a heavy blunt instrument or against a blunt object, whatever. The surface has minute cracks, fresh — “

“I see!”

“These cracks in themselves can not be the cause of death. But a violent blow could have seriously injured the internal organs, which, unfortunately, are missing. Well, that’s about it. I hope it helps.”

“And how! Did you send out the skull for identification?”

“Just now. And I called ahead. They promised to do it as fast as possible.”

“So, this is no accident. Liquid and short circuits don’t break a man’s ribs. Oh, oh. It looks as if there were two accident victims there: an injured victim and a dead victim. And it looks as though the two had a serious fight.”

Onisimov felt better. The case was taking on familiar aspects. He began composing an urgent telegram to Kharkov.

The June day was getting hotter. The sun melted the asphalt. The heat seeped into Onisimov’s office, and he turned on the fan on his desk.

The answer from the Kharkov police came at exactly 1:00 P.M. Lab assistant Kravets was brought in at 1:30. As he entered the office, he looked around, and smirked as he noticed the barred windows.

“Is that to make people confess faster?”

“No — no,” Matvei Apollonovich drawled gently. “This building used to be a wholesale warehouse and so the entire first floor has reinforced windows. We’ll be removing them soon; not too many robbers try breaking into a police station, heh — heh. Sit down. Are you feeling all right now? Can you make a statement?”

“I can.”

The assistant walked across the room and sat in a chair opposite the window. The detective looked him over. He was young, maybe twenty — four, not older than that. He looked like Krivoshein, the way he might have been ten years ago. “Actually, he didn’t look like that,” Matvei Apollonovich thought as he looked at the photo in Krivoshein’s personnel file. “This fellow is much more handsome.” And there really was something of a model’s or actor’s perfection in Kravets’s face. The impression of perfection was marred by the eyes — actually not the eyes themselves, which were blue and had a youthful clarity, but in the marksman’s squint of the lids. “He has eyes that seem to have lived a lot,” the detective noted. “He seems to have gotten over the experience quickly enough. Let’s see.”

“You know, you resemble the deceased.”

“The deceased!” The assistant clenched his jaw and shut his eyes for a second. “That means — “

“Yes, it does,” Onisimov said harshly. “He’s jumpy,” he thought. “Well, let’s do this in order.” He reached for a piece of paper and unscrewed his pen. “Your name, patronymic, age, place of work or study, address?”

“But you must know all that already?”

“Know or not, that’s the regulation; the witness must give all that information himself.”

“So he’s dead…. What should I do now? What should I say? It’s a catastrophe. Damn it, I shouldn’t have come to the police. I should have run off from the clinic. What will happen now?” Kravets thought.

“Please, write down the following: Viktor Vitalyevich Kravets, age twenty — four, a student in the fifth year in the physics department of Kharkov University. I reside in Kharkov, on Kholodnaya Gora. I’m here to do my practical work.”

“I see,” the detective said, and instead of writing it down, twisted his pen rapidly and aimlessly. “You were related to Krivoshein. How?” “Distantly,” the student laughed uncomfortably. “Seventh cousin twice removed, you know.”

“I see!” Onisimov put down his pen and picked up the telegraph; his voice became severe. “Look here, citizen, it doesn’t check out.” “What doesn’t check out?”

“Your story, that you’re Kravets, that you live and study in Kharkov, and so on. There’s no student by that name in Kharkov. And the person you name has never lived at 17, Kholodnaya Gora, either.” The suspect’s cheeks suddenly dropped, and his face turned red. “They got me. How stupid of me! Damn it! Of course, they checked all that out immediately. Boy, lack of experience shows every time. But what can I say now?” he thought.

“Tell the truth. And in detail. Don’t forget that we’re dealing with a homicide here.”

Kravets thought: “The truth. Easier said than done.” “You see, the truth… how can I put it… that’s too much and too complicated,” the assistant began mumbling, hating and despising himself for this lack of control. “I’d have to discuss information theory and the modeling of random processes.”

“Just don’t try to cloud the issues, citizen,” Onisimov said, frowning disdainfully. “People aren’t killed by theories — this was definitely practical application and fact.”

“But… you must understand, actually no one at all may have died. It can be proven… or attempted to be proven. You see, citizen investigator — (Why did I call him that? I haven’t been arrested yet.) — You see, first of all, a man is not, well, not a hunk of protoplasm weighing 150 pounds. There are the fifty quarts of water, forty — four pounds of protein, fats and carbohydrates, enzymes, and so on. No, man is first and foremost information. A concentration of information. And if it has not disappeared, then the man is still alive.”

He stopped and bit his lip. “No, this is nonsense. It’s hopeless,” he thought.

“Yes, I’m listening. Go on,” the detective said, laughing to himself. The assistant glanced up at him, got more comfortable in his chair, and said with a small smile:

“In short, if you don’t want to hear the theories, then Valentin Vasilyevich Krivoshein — that’s me. You can put that into the official record.”

It was so unexpected and daring that Matvei Apollonovich was stunned for a second. “Should I send him to the psychiatrist?” he thought. But the suspect’s blue eyes looked at him reasonably and there was mockery in their depths. That’s what brought Onisimov out of his suspended animation.

“I see!” He got up. “Do you take me for a fool? Do you think I haven’t familiarized myself with his file, that I wasn’t present at the scene of the accident, that I don’t remember his face?” He leaned on the desk top. “ If you refuse to identify yourself, it’s only worse for you. We’ll find out anyway. Do you admit your papers are forged?”

“That’s it. We have to stop playing,” Kravets thought, and said:

“No. You still have to prove that. You might as well consider me a forgery while you’re at it!”

The assistant turned to look out the window.

“Don’t clown around with me, citizen!” The detective had raised his voice. “What was your purpose in entering the lab? Answer me! What happened between you and Krivoshein? Answer!”

“I’m not answering anything!”

Matvei Apollonovich scolded himself for losing his temper. He sat down and after a pause started talking in a heartfelt manner:

“Listen, don’t think that I’m trying to pin anything on you. My job is to investigate thoroughly, to fill in the missing blanks, and then the prosecutor’s office evaluates it, and the court makes the decision. But you’re hurting yourself. You don’t understand one thing: if you confess later, under duress as they say, it won’t count as much as making a clean breast of things now. It might not all be so terrible. But for now, everything points against you. Proof of an assault on the body, expert testimony, and other circumstances. And it all boils down to one thing.” He leaned across the desk and lowered his voice. “It looks as if you… alleviated the victim’s suffering.”

The suspect lowered his head and rubbed his face. He was seeing the scene again. The skeleton with Krivoshein’s head twitching convulsively in the tank, his own hands holding on to the tank’s edge, the warm, gentle liquid touching them and then — the blow!

“I’m not sure myself, if it’s me or not,” he muttered in a depressed voice. “I can’t understand it.” He looked up. “Listen, I have to get back to the lab!”

Matvei Apollonovich almost jumped up: he hadn’t expected such a rapid victory. “Listen, that can happen too,” he said, nodding sympathetically. “In a state of frenzy from an insult or through overzealous self — defense. Let’s go down to the lab, and you can explain on the scene just what transpired there.” He picked up Monomakh’s Crown from his desk and casually asked: “Was this what you hit him on the chest with? It’s a heavy thing.”

“That’s enough!” The suspect spoke harshly and almost haughtily. He straightened up. “I see no reason to continue this discussion. You’re trying to put me into a corner. By the way, that ‘heavy thing’ costs over five thousand rubles. Be careful with it.”

“Does this mean that you don’t want to tell me anything?” “Yes.”

“I see.” The detective pushed a button. “You’ll have to be held until this is cleared up.”

A gangly policeman with a long face and droopy nose appeared at the door. In the Ukraine, people like him are described as “tall but still bends.”

“Gayevoy?” the detective looked at him uncertainly. “Aren’t any of the guards around?”

‘They’re all out in the field, comrade captain,” he replied. “A lot of them are at the beaches, maintaining law and order.” “Do you have a car?” “A small GAZ.”

“Convey the detained suspect to the city jail. It’s too bad you refuse to help yourself and us, citizen. You’re just making it worse for yourself.”

The lab assistant turned in the doorway. “And it’s too bad that you think Krivoshein is dead.” “One of those characters who likes to make a grand exit. Always have the last word.” Onisimov chuckled. “I’ve seen plenty like him. But he’ll come round after a while.”

Matvei Apollonovich lit a cigarette and drummed his fingers on the desk. At first all the clues (faked papers, medical testimony, circumstances) led him to think that the assistant, if he wasn’t the killer, was at least actively involved in Krivoshein’s death. But this conversation had changed his mind. Not what the suspect had said, but how. He did not sense in him the forethought, the game playing, that fatal game playing that gives away the criminal long before there is any evidence.

“It is looking like an unpremeditated murder. He said himself, 1 don’t know if it was me or not. But what about the skeleton? How did it happen? And did it happen? And what about the attempt to pass himself off as Krivoshein by using a theoretical explanation? Is he faking? And what if the absence of game playing is just the most subtle game of all? No, where would such a young, inexperienced fellow develop that? And then, what motives are there for a premeditated murder? What was going on between them? And what about the forged documents?”

Matvei Apollonovich’s mind hit a dead end. “All right, let’s look into the circumstances.” He stood up and looked out into the hall. Assistant Professor Hilobok was pacing up and down.

“Please come in! I asked you here, comrade Hilobok, to — “

“Yes, yes, I understand,” Hilobok nodded. “Others experience tragedy, and I clean up the messes. People do die of old age, and may God grant us both such ends, Matvei Apollonovich, eh? But Krivoshein never did anything the way everyone else did. No, no, I’m sorry for him. Don’t think… it’s always a pity when a man dies, right? But Valentin Vasilyevich had caused me so many problems in the past. And all because he was a stubborn character, with no respect for anyone, no consideration, diverging from the collective time and time again.”

“I see. But I would like to ascertain what it was Krivoshein was doing in that lab that was under his jurisdiction. Since you are the scientific secretary, I thought — “

“I just knew you’d ask!” Harry Haritonovich smiled happily. “I even brought along a copy of the thematic plans with me, naturally.” He rustled the papers in his briefcase. “Here it is, theme 152, specific goals — research on NIR, title — ‘The self — organization of complex electronic systems with an integral introduction of information/ contents of the work — ‘Research on the possibilities of self — organization of complex system into a more complex one with an integral (not differentiated according to signals and symbols) introduction of varying information by adding a superstructure of its output to the system/ financing — here’s the budget, nature of the work — mathematical, logical, and experimental, director of the project — engineer V. V. Krivoshein, executor, the same — “ “What was the gist of his research?”

‘The gist? Hmmm.” Hilobok’s face grew serious. “The self — organization of systems… so that a machine could build itself, understand? They’re doing intensive work on this in America. Very. In the USA — “

“And what was Krivoshein actually doing?” “Actually…. He proposed a new approach to forming these systems through… integralization. No, self — organization. It’s just not clear if he managed to do anything with it or not.” Harry Haritonovich smiled broadly and winningly. “You know, Matvei Apollonovich, there are so many projects at the institute, and I have to look into all of them. I just can’t keep everything straight in my mind. You would be better off reading the minutes of the academic council’s meeting.” “You mean, he reported on his work to the academic council?” “Of course! All our projects are considered before they are incorporated into the plan. After all, how could we distribute funds without any factual basis?” “What was his basis?”

“What do you mean?” The scientific secretary raised his eyebrows. “His idea regarding the new approach to the problem of self — organization? You’re best off reading the minutes, Matvei Apollonovich.” He sighed. “It all happened a year ago, and we have meetings and debates and commissions every week, if not more frequently. Can you imagine? And I have to be present at every one, organize the speakers, speak myself, issue invitations. For instance, right now, I have to go from here to the Society on Distribution, where there’s a meeting on the question of attracting scientific personnel to lecture at collective farms during harvest. I won’t even have time for lunch. I can’t wait for my vacation!”

“I see. But the academic council approved his topic?”

“Of course! There were many who argued against it. Ah, you should have heard how crudely Valentin Vasilyevich answered them. It was totally unforgivable. Poor Professor Voltampernov had to be tranquilized afterward. Can you imagine? The board recommended that Krivoshein be reprimanded for his rudeness, I wrote out the decree myself. But the topic was passed, of course. A man proposes new ideas, a new approach — why shouldn’t he try it? That’s the way it is in science. And besides, Arkady Arkadievich himself supported him. Arkady Arkadievich is a wonderfully generous soul; in fact he set him up in his own lab because Krivoshein could never get along with anybody. Of course, the lab was a joke, unstructured with a staff of one… but the academic council had discussed the situation and voted yes. I voted for it myself.”

“What was the it you all voted for?” Onisimov wiped his brow with a handkerchief.

“What do you mean? To include it in the plan, to allot funds for it. You know, planning is the basis of our society.”

“I see. Tell me, Harry Haritonovich, what do you think happened?”

“Hmmm… I must make it clear to you, my dear Matvei Apollonovich, that I would have no way of knowing. I’m the scientific secretary; all my work is paperwork. They’ve been working together just the two of them since last winter. The lab assistant is the one who would know. Besides, he’s an eyewitness.”

“Did you know that the assistant is not who he says he is?” Onisimov demanded. “He’s not Kravets and he’s not a student.”

“Really? That’s why you arrested him, I see.” Hilobok’s eyes grew round. “No, really, how would I know? That was an oversight in personnel. Who is he?”

“We’ll find out. So you say the Americans are doing the same kind of work now?”

“Yes. So you think he’s the one?”

“Why be so hasty?” Onisimov laughed. “I’m just exploring all the possibilities.” He glanced over at the paper with the questions. ‘Tell me, Harry Haritonovich, did you notice psychiatric problems in Krivoshein?”

Hilobok smiled.

“You know, on my way over here, I was debating whether or not I should mention it. Maybe it’s a trifle and there’s no point? But since you ask… he had these lapses. I remember, last July, when I was combining my duties with heading the laboratory of experimental setups — we couldn’t find the right specialist to run it — we needed a candidate of science — so I was doing it — so that we wouldn’t lose the slot for the position, because, you know, they can take away the allocation, and then you can never get it back. That’s the way it is. And so, just a while back, my laboratory received a request from Krivoshein to prepare a new system for encephalographic biopotential sensors, like that SEP — 1, Monomakh’s Crown, that you have on your desk, but of a more complex construction, so that it would fit in with all kinds of his schemes. Why they ever accepted the order from him, instead of doing their own work, I’ll never know.”

This submersion in scientific data brought on a deep drowsiness in Matvei Apollonovich. Usually he cut through any tangential deviation from the topic that interested him in an interrogation, but now — he was a man with a Russian soul — he could not overcome his innate respect for science, for learned titles, terms, and situations. He had always had this respect, and after his last case at the institute when he also learned the salaries of scientific workers his respect had doubled. And so Matvei Apollonovich did not try to stem Harry Haritonovich’s free — flowing mouth; after all, he was dealing with a man whose salary was more than twice his own, as a police captain, and legal at that.

“So, you can imagine, I was sitting in the laboratory one day,” Hilobok rambled on, “and Valentin Vasilyevich came to see me — without his lab coat, I might add! That is unacceptable. There is a specific rule promulgated about this at the institute, a rule stating that all engineering and scientific workers must wear white coats and the technicians and lab assistants gray or blue ones. After all, we are often visited by foreign delegations. It can’t be otherwise. But he always disregarded convention, and he asked me in a really nasty tone: ‘When are you going to fill my order for the new system? Well, I tried to explain everything calmly to him. ‘It’s like this and that, Valentin Vasilyevich. We will when we can. It’s not so easy to do everything you drew up for us. The circuitry becomes very complicated, and we have to reject too many transistors. In a word, I gave him a good explanation, so that the man would not have any misunderstandings. But he just went on harping: ‘If you can’t do it on schedule, you shouldn’t have agreed to do it! I tried to explain about the difficulties once more, and that we had orders backed up at the lab, but Krivoshein interrupted me: ‘If the order is not completed in two weeks, I will file a complaint about you and turn over the work to the science club in a grammar school! And they’ll do it faster than you, and it will be a lot cheaper, too! That was a dig at me, that last part. He had always made cracks, but I was used to it. And then he slammed the door, and stalked out.”

The investigator nodded rhythmically and clenched his jaw to hide the yawns. Hilobok buzzed on:

“And five minutes later — note that no more than five minutes had passed; I hadn’t even had time to talk to the workshop by phone — Valentin Vasilyevich burst in again wearing a coat this time (he had managed to dig up a gray one somewhere), and said: ‘Harry Haritonovich, when will that order for the sensor system be ready? ‘Please, I said, ‘take pity on me, Valentin Vasilyevich. I explained it to you! And I went into my explanation again. He interrupted like last time: ‘If you can’t do it, don’t try. and then went on about the complaint, the schoolboys, and expenses.” Hilobok brought his face closer to the investigator. “In other words, he repeated exactly what he had said five minutes ago, in the same exact wording! Can you imagine?”

“That’s curious,” the investigator nodded.

“And that wasn’t the only time he got confused like that. Once he forgot to turn off the water for the night, and the whole floor under the laboratory was flooded. Once — the janitor complained to me — he started a huge bonfire of perforated tape on the lawn. The professor meaningfully pursed his fat red lips, funereally outlined with a black mustache, “and so anything might have happened. And why? Because he wanted to get ahead and he was constantly overworking himself.

No matter what time you left the institute the lights in his lodge were always blazing. Many of us at the institute joked about it. Maybe Krivoshein wasn’t aiming for his doctorate but for a break — through right off the bat…. He discovered enough, now go try to figure it all out.”

“I see,” the investigator said and looked down at the sheet of paper once more. “You mentioned that Krivoshein had a woman who was close to him. Do you know her?”

“Elena Ivanovna Kolomiets? Of course! There aren’t many women like her in our town — very attractive, elegant, sweet, in a word, you know — “Harry Haritonovich described Elena Ivanovna’s inexpressible beauty with a zigzagging motion of the hands. His brown eyes glistened. “I could never figure out, nor could others, what she saw in him. After all, Krivoshein — I know, de mortius aut bene nut nihil, but why hide it? — you saw for yourself, he was no looker. She would come to see him. Our houses are next door in Academic Town, so I saw it. And he never knew how to dress well either. But I haven’t seen her around lately. I guess they broke up, like ships in the night, heh — heh! Do you think she had anything to do with this?”

“I don’t think anyone has as yet, Harry Haritonovich. I’m only trying to clear things up.” Onisimov got up with relief. “Well, thank you. I hope that I don’t need to warn you about gossiping, because — “

“It doesn’t need to be mentioned! And don’t thank me, I was only doing my duty. I’m always ready….”

After he left, Matvei Apollonovich put his head directly under the fan and sat for a few minutes without moving or thinking. Hilobok’s voice rang in his head like a fly buzzing on a windowpane.

“Wait!” The detective shook his head to clear it. “We wasted a whole hour, and he didn’t clear up a thing. And all the time it seemed ‘as though we were on the topic, but it was all nothing. Scientific secretary, assistant professor, sciences candidate — could he have been trying to throw me off? Something’s wrong here.”

The phone rang. “Onisimov here.”

There was only panting on the phone for a few seconds. It was obvious the speaker couldn’t get his breath.

“Comrade.. captain.. this is Gayevoy.. reporting. The… suspect… escaped!”

“Escaped? What do you mean escaped? Give me a full report!”

“Well, we were in the GAZ. Timofeyev was driving and I was next to that….” The policeman was muttering into the phone. “That’s the way we transport all detained suspects. After all, comrade captain, you hadn’t warned us about strict observation, and I couldn’t imagine where he could go since you have all his papers. Well, we were driving past the city park and he jumped out when we were going at full speed. Over the fence, and he was gone! Well, Timofeyev and I went after him. Boy, is he good at clambering over uneven ground! Well, I didn’t want to open fire since I didn’t have any instructions about it from you. So… that’s it.”

“I see. Go to the department and write out a report for the captain on duty. You don’t do your job very well, Gayevoy!”

“Well, is there anything you’d like me to do, comrade captain?” His voice was glum.

“We’ll manage without you. Hurry back here; you’ll be part of the search party. That’s all.” Onisimov hung up.

“Well, well, the man’s an artist, a real artist! And I had doubted him! Of course, it’s him. It had to be! So. He had no identification papers. Nor any money. And almost no clothes, just the shirt and trousers he had on. He won’t get far. Unless he has confederates… then it’ll be harder.”

Ten minutes later Gayevoy, even more bent over by his guilt, appeared. Onisimov organized a search party, distributing photos, and a description with identifying marks. The operatives went into town.

Then Matvei Apollonovich called the fingerprint expert. He told him that some of the prints he collected in the lab matched those of the lab assistant; others belonged to another man. Neither set matched up with any known criminal.

“The other man is naturally the victim, of course…. Ho, ho, this is becoming serious business. It doesn’t look anything like a regular crime. It doesn’t look like anything with that damn melted skeleton! What can I do about that?”

Onisimov stared gloomily out the window. The shadows of the trees on the sidewalks were lengthening, but it hadn’t gotten any cooler. Young women in print shifts and sunglasses crowded near the bus stop. “Going to the beach….”

The worst part was that Onisimov still didn’t have a working version of the incident.

At the end of the day, when Matvei Apollonovich was writing out a list for the morning, the commander of the department came in to see him. “Here it comes,” Matvei Apollonovich thought.

“Sit down.” The colonel lowered himself into the chair. “You seem to be having complications in this case: no body, suspect escaped. Hm? Tell me about it.” Onisimov told him.

“Hm….” The commander’s heavy eyebrows met. “Well, we’ll catch that fellow; there’s no question about that. Do you have the airport, railroad, and bus stations under surveillance?

“Of course, Aleksei Ignatievich, I sent out the order immediately.”

“That means he’ll never get out of the city. But as for the corpse… that’s really something very curious. Damn it all! Maybe they switched things on you at the scene?” He looked up at the investigator with his small, wise eyes. “Maybe… remember Gorky’s story Klim Samgin where a character says, ‘Maybe there was no boy? “

“But… the doctor in the ambulance certified the death, Aleksei Ignatievich.”

“Doctors can make mistakes, too. Besides, the doctor was not an expert, and she didn’t list a cause of death. And there’s no body. And our Zubato is having problems with the skeleton…. Of course, it’s up to you. I’m not insisting, but if you can’t explain how the corpse turned into a skeleton in fifteen minutes, and whose skeleton it is, and what caused the death — no jury is going to pay any attention to the evidence. Even clear — cut cases are being sent back by the courts for lack of evidence, or dismissed completely. Of course, it’s good that the law is strict and careful, but…” he sighed noisily, “a… a difficult case, no? Do you have an official version yet?” “I have a draft,” Onisimov explained shyly, “but I don’t know how you’re going to take it, Aleksei Ignatievich. I don’t think this is a criminal case. According to the institute’s scientific secretary, the United States is very interested in the case that Krivoshein was studying in his lab. That’s point one. Lab assistant Kravets, by his demeanor and cultural level, I guess is neither a student nor a criminal. He escaped masterfully, that’s for sure. Point two: Kravets’s fingerprints don’t match any criminal ones on record. Three: so, perhaps — “Matvei Apollonovich stopped, and looked inquiringly at his chief.

“ — we should palm off the case on the KGB?” The colonel finished his thought with a soldier’s directness and shook his head. “Don’t be in a hurry! If we, the police, discover a crime with, say, a foreign accent, it will bring society and us nothing but good. But if the state security organs discover a simple civilian crime or a violation of safety procedures, then… well, you understand. And in the last six months we’ve hit the bottom of the local list for percentage of solved crimes.” He gave Onisimov a good — natured look of reproach. “Don’t give up! You know the saying that the most complicated crimes are the easiest: theses and projects, scientific mumbo — jumbo… it boggles the mind. Don’t rush with your version. Check out all the possibilities and maybe it will be like the fable: ‘The box had a simple lock. Well, I wish you luck and success.” The chief rose and extended his hand. “I’m sure that you can handle this case.”

Matvei Apollonovich got up too, shook hands, and followed the commander out with clear and bright eyes. Say what you will, but when the boss has confidence in you, it makes all the difference!