Free A Razor Wrapped in Silk by R. N. Morris Page B

you. This is not unusual. It happens from time to time. One might even say frequently.’
    ‘It is very tiresome for those concerned.’
    ‘One becomes accustomed to it.’
    ‘I was thinking of myself.’
    ‘Ah, yes, of course. That is only natural.’ Porifiry Petrovich lit a cigarette and considered Bakhmutov’s face. There was something sealed-off, almost steely, to his bearing. A contained power lurked behind the slackening skin, still blotched with summer colour; and yet, at the same time, there was no doubt that the source of that power was shaken.
    Porfiry blinked, then looked down and re-opened Virginsky’s notebook. ‘You said in your statement that you saw Konstantin Denisevich Mizinchikov, an officer in the Preobrazhensky Guards …’ He made a show of reading fromthe statement in front of him: ‘ … running away . Those were your words. Running away.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘How is it possible to tell that a man is running away, as opposed to simply running? Could he not just as plausibly have been running towards something as running away from something else? Perhaps he was running to get help.’
    ‘If he was running for help, why did he push past me and ignore my urgent enquiries?’
    ‘Ah, forgive me. That information is not in your statement. Pavel Pavlovich, did you fail to take down everything this gentleman said?’
    Virginsky rippled his brows over the sudden sharpness in Porfiry’s tone but did not answer.
    Turning to Bakhmutov once more, his tone softer again, Porfiry continued: ‘Would you care to add it now? I understand how these things can be forgotten, or overlooked. Here …’ Porfiry pushed the notebook across the desk towards Bakhmutov. He uncapped a reservoir pen, which he offered to the other man. ‘You can write it underneath the main statement and initial it. There is space.’ Bakhmutov made no move to take the pen. ‘Have you not used a reservoir pen before?’
    ‘I … Lena is dead. Do you not understand?’
    ‘Did you know the deceased?’
    ‘Lena … Yes.’
    ‘In what capacity?’
    Bakhmutov pursed his lips before replying: ‘We were friends.’
    ‘I see. Well then, it is a terrible shock. I understand. I am not a monster.’ There was a strange stifled noise from Virginsky which drew questioning glances from both Porfiry andBakhmutov. Porfiry blinked out his surprise and continued. ‘I will write it for you if you prefer – but you must tell me what to write, and initial it yourself, of course.’
    ‘Lena is dead, damn you. Why are you wasting time with all this talk of pens and writing?’
    ‘These things are important, I assure you. Such details may be crucial. In any trial, the existence of an accurate written testimony, taken near the time of the crime, may decide the case. May I write that Mizinchikov pushed past you?’
    Bakhmutov grunted his consent.
    ‘And ignored your urgent enquiries?’
    Bakhmutov formed a fist and held it to his lips. He hooded his eyes and nodded.
    ‘Thank you. Now, if you would be so good as to …’
    Bakhmutov signed the addendum with a deep sigh.
    Porfiry snapped the notebook to, as if closing a trap, and pocketed the pen. ‘Did you know Mizinchikov?’
    ‘I beg your pardon?’
    ‘I’m sorry, did I not speak clearly? I asked whether you knew Mizinchikov. I mean, was he known to you before tonight? Perhaps that is what you didn’t understand.’
    ‘I do not … understand … your tone.’
    ‘My tone?’
    ‘Your tone is impertinent.’
    ‘Forgive me. I too am tired. You see, you are not the only one who can be tired. I am merely trying to get through this as quickly as possible so that you may go home. So that we may all go home.’
    ‘But this is not necessary. As I have said, I have already given my statement to your colleague.’
    ‘Which, regrettably – as we have discovered – contains someomissions.’ Porfiry stabbed the black leather cover of Virginsky’s notebook with his index finger repeatedly.
    ‘The