Virginsky did not answer. It was clear that the questions were asked rhetorically.
‘Ruslan Vladimirovich Vakhramev?’ Porfiry’s voice seemed to come from far away. He turned to face Virginsky, as if he did want an answer after all. He had finished his cigarette.
‘But Vakhramev has confessed to visiting prostitutes. A true hypocrite would not be able to do that, I feel,’ said Virginsky.
‘Yes. He even wrote it all down in a diary for his wife to read. What a charming wedding present that must have made.’
‘I admire him for doing that.’
‘Do not admire him too much. You see, he did not destroy his bachelor diary as he promised her.’
‘How can you know that?’
Porfiry shrugged. ‘How could he have borne to do so? He would have been destroying part of himself.’
‘But what if it was a part of himself he wished to destroy?’
‘Hmm. That is certainly the impression he wished to give to his angelic wife.’
‘I am beginning to wonder, Porfiry Petrovich, whether the only qualification one needs to be an investigating magistrate is a mind as filthy as your hated Ditch out there. That and an ability to suspect everyone of the vilest acts.’
Porfiry half-turned, almost wistfully, back towards the window. ‘Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps the only reason I don’t like the Ditch is because it reminds me of myself.’
‘You certainly spend long enough staring at it. But why can’t you take Vakhramev’s word that he destroyed the diary?’
‘Because he did not give me his word. He did not say that he had destroyed it at all. He merely said that he had promised his fiancée that he would destroy it. And when I deliberately chose to assume that this meant the diary was destroyed, he became quite embarrassed, and yet did not correct the misapprehension.’
Virginsky angled his head, almost conceding the point, but allowing himself to retain some scepticism. ‘But perhaps there was no misapprehension?’
‘No, no, no,’ said Porfiry shortly. ‘When you have worked in this job as long as I have you will learn to pay especial regard to the precise form of words people choose, particularly suspects.’
‘So you do suspect him of killing Setochkin?’
‘I suspect him of something. I suspect him of lying to his wife. I suspect him of not destroying the diary. I suspect him of continuing to visit prostitutes after his marriage. Despite his deep atonement and repentance. Yes, he continued in that — how shall I describe it? — practice for at least six and possibly seven years after he had abased himself with his face in the mud.’
‘Again, how can you know that?’
‘Because he recognised the photograph of Raisa Ivanovna. From what Meyer said of Raisa Ivanovna’s history, she cannot have worked at Madam Josephine’s for long. A year, possibly two at most. Raisa Ivanovna was already pregnant with Grigory when Martin Meyer married her. Grigory was thirteen at the time of his death. Let us say, then, that Raisa Ivanovna was at Madam Josephine’s fourteen years ago — which is indeed the timescale given in the malicious letter sent to Meyer. The photograph I showed Vakhramev must have been taken soon after then. And yet Vakhramev has been married to his angel for twenty years.’
Virginsky was silent for some time, during which Porfiry lit and began smoking another cigarette. ‘Do they help, the cigarettes, really?’
Porfiry held the case out towards Virginsky, who nodded once and took one. He coughed three times as Porfiry lit it for him, then held the cigarette away from his face and studied the burning tip. ‘You said you were not here to judge him, but that is what you have done. Despite the fact that you yourself have confessed to identical peccadilloes.’
‘What peccadilloes have I confessed to?’ Porfiry narrowed his eyes.
‘To visiting brothels. You said that you have visited brothels.’
‘I said that I had visited one establishment. Fräulein Keller’s. I went there once — no, actually, twice I think it was — in the course of the investigation during which you and I first became acquainted, Pavel Pavlovich.’
Virginsky gingerly attempted another inhalation. ‘So how do you?’
Porfiry met the question with an innocent blink.
‘Deal with the issue of needs?’
Porfiry looked at Virginsky thoughtfully but did not seem inclined to provide an answer. At any rate, there was a knock at the door and Zamyotov came in, as usual without waiting to be admitted.
‘There are some females here. .’ His emphasis was one of disapproval, outrage almost. ‘They claim to be connected with that individual Vakhramev.’
In his wake, was the sense of a commotion nearing.
5
‘Ruffians! Ruffians and rogues!’
Bursting in like a cannonade of silk, the woman came to a halt before Porfiry, her eyes wrathful and seeking. ‘Where is he? Where is our Vakhramev? What have you done with him?’
She was compact, almost compressed, a little shorter than Porfiry and somewhat stouter. She moved with a top-heavy momentum. Porfiry was relieved that she had stopped short of charging him. Her mouth was pinched with determined indignation.
Following her into the room was a drifting, aloof girl of about nineteen or twenty, who looked around her from the vantage point of a long neck, seemingly without seeing, as if she did not want her vision to be demeaned by the objects it might fall upon. If she believed herself visible to those around her (for example, to Virginsky, who could not take his eyes off her), she certainly gave no indication that they were visible to her.
‘We are holding him,’ said Porfiry, ‘in a cell.’
‘Ruslan Vladimirovich Vakhramev? In a cell?’
‘I’m afraid so, madam.’
This provoked a disdainful jerk of the head from the drifting girl. Her gaze, though, refused to come anywhere near Porfiry.
‘Who, may I ask, are you?’ ventured Porfiry to the indignant woman.
‘What business is it of yours?’
‘I am Porfiry Petrovich, investigating magistrate. I am dealing with the case in which Vakhramev is implicated.’
‘Implicated? How dare you!’
‘Are you, by any chance, his wife?’
‘I am Nastasya Petrovna Vakhrameva and I have the honour to be the wife of Ruslan Vladimirovich Vakhramev. I command you to release him this instant.’
‘I’m afraid that will not be possible. A man has been murdered. Until we have eliminated Ruslan Vladimirovich from our investigations, it will be necessary to hold him in a secure place.’
‘I have never heard of anything so ridiculous in my life. You take him away without a word to his family. He is a gentleman. We have friends, you know. Friends who could crush you like a beetle. ’ The woman pulled on Porfiry’s shoulder and hissed into his ear: ‘Yaroslav Nikolayevich Liputin.’ When she pulled back, Porfiry saw that she had a gleeful smile on her face. ‘There! That’s scared him. That’s right. Yaroslav Nikolayevich Liputin. So, what are you waiting for? Release Vakhramev.’
‘I’m not sure I understand,’ said Porfiry. ‘You are friends with the prokuror?’
The woman nodded. ‘And he is not happy about Vakhramev’s arrest, let me tell you. He is on his way here now. So, if you want to avoid trouble, little man, you would do well to release Ruslan Vladimirovich immediately.’
‘As I have explained, that will not be possible. As a matter of course, Yaroslav Nikolayevich would be informed of the details of the case. He frequently visits the department.’
‘He is furious. When Vakhramev failed to come home, I naturally went straight to my good friend Yaroslav Nikolayevich. Good friend that he is, he made enquiries on our behalf. That is how we discovered that you had brought Vakhramev here. I would not like to be in your shoes when Yaroslav Nikolayevich arrives.’