The moment had come. Andrei carefully laid his pencil across the reports and statements, leaned forward slightly, and peered intently through narrowed eyes at Eino Saari, saxophonist. “There are discrepancies in your testimony. First, as forensic analysis has demonstrated, if you were on Parrot Street, there was no way you could have seen the roof or the chimneys of a three-story building.”
The jaw of Eino Saari, mendacious saxophonist, dropped open, and his eyes started darting about in confusion.
“To continue. The investigation has established that at nighttime Parrot Street is not lit at all, and therefore it is quite incomprehensible how, in the pitch darkness of night, three hundred meters from the nearest streetlamp, you could have made out such a host of details: the color of the building, the old brick, the brass door handle, the shape of the windows, and, finally, the smoke from the chimney. I would like to know how you account for these discrepancies.”
For a while Eino Saari merely opened and closed his mouth without a sound. Then he gulped convulsively and said, “I don’t understand a thing… You’ve completely flummoxed me… It never even dawned on me…”
Andrei waited expectantly.
“It’s true, why didn’t I think of it before… It was completely dark there on that Parrot Street! Never mind the buildings—I couldn’t even see the sidewalk under my feet… Or the roof… I was standing right beside the building, by the porch… but I absolutely, distinctly remember the roof and the bricks and the smoke from the chimney—that white, nighttime smoke, as if it were lit up by moonlight.”
“Yes, that is strange,” Andrei said in a wooden voice.
“And the handle on the door… Brass, and polished by the touch of so many hands… such a subtle pattern of flowers and little leaves… I could draw it now, if I knew how to draw… And at the same time it was absolutely dark—I couldn’t make out Ella’s face, I could only tell from her voice that she was smiling when—”
A new idea appeared in Eino Saari’s gaping eyes. He pressed his hands to his chest.
“Mr. Investigator!” he said in a despairing voice. “At this moment my head is filled with confusion, but I realize quite clearly that I’m testifying against myself, leading you to suspect me. But I’m an honest man—my parents were absolutely honest, deeply religious people… Everything I’m telling you now is the absolute, honest truth! That’s exactly the way it was. It’s just that it never dawned on me before. It was pitch dark, I was standing right beside the building, and at the same time I remember every brick, and I can see the tiles of that roof as if it were right here, beside me… and the three chimneys… And the smoke.”
“Hmm…” said Andrei, and drummed his fingers on the desk. “And perhaps you didn’t see all this yourself? Perhaps someone else told you about it? Had you ever heard about the Red Building before the incident with Miss Stremberg?”
Eino Saari’s eyes started darting about again. “Nnnn… I don’t recall,” he said. “Afterward—yes. After Ella disappeared, when I went to the police, after she was declared missing… there was a lot of talk then. But before that… Mr. Investigator!” he declared solemnly. “I can’t swear that I didn’t hear anything about the Red Building before Ella disappeared, but I can swear that I don’t remember anything about it.”
Andrei picked up a pen and started writing the record of interrogation. At the same time he spoke in a deliberately monotonous, officious voice, intended to inspire in the suspect a state of dreary melancholy and a sense of implacable fate propelled by the impeccable mechanism of justice. “You must realize, Mr. Saari, that the investigation cannot be satisfied with your testimony. Ella Stremberg disappeared without a trace, and you, Mr. Saari, were the last person to see her. The Red Building that you have described in such detail here does not exist on Parrot Street. The description that you give of the Red Building is not credible, since it contradicts the elementary laws of physics. And finally, as the investigation is aware, Ella Stremberg lived in an entirely different district, a long way from Parrot Street. That in itself is not evidence against you, of course, but it does arouse additional suspicions. I am obliged to detain you from this moment until a number of circumstances have been clarified… Please read the report of the interrogation and sign it.”
Not saying a word, Eino Saari approached the desk and signed each page of the report without even reading it. The pencil was trembling in his hand, his narrow jaw had dropped, and it was trembling too. Afterward he walked back to the stool, shuffling his feet, sat down limply, and said through gritted teeth, “I wish to emphasize once again, Mr. Investigator, that in providing my testimony…” His voice broke off and he gulped again. “In providing my testimony, I was aware that I was acting against my own interests… I could have made something up, I could have lied… I could easily not have become involved in the search at all—nobody knew that I had left to see Ella home.”
“This declaration of yours,” Andrei said in an indifferent voice, “is already included in the report. If you’re not guilty of anything, you are in no danger. You will now be shown to a detention cell. Take this sheet of paper and pencil. You can render assistance to the investigation, and yourself, by writing down, in as much detail as possible, who spoke to you about the Red Building, when they did so, and under what circumstances. Before or after Ella Stremberg’s disappearance, it doesn’t matter. In the greatest possible detaiclass="underline" who—the name and address; when—the precise date and time of day; under what circumstances—where, for what reason, for what purpose, in what tone. Do you understand me?”
Eino Saari nodded and said a soundless yes.
Looking intently into his eyes, Andrei went on. “I’m certain that you learned all the details about the Red Building somewhere else. Quite possibly you yourself have never even seen it. And I earnestly recommend that you remember who provided you with these details—who, when, under what circumstances. And for what purpose.”
He rang the bell for the duty guard, and the saxophonist was led away. Andrei rubbed his hands together, punched holes in the report of interrogation, added it to the case file, asked for hot tea, and called the next witness. He was feeling pleased with himself. Imagination and a knowledge of elementary geometry could come in useful after all. The mendacious Eino Saari had been exposed in keeping with all the laws of science.
The next witness, Matilda Husáková (sixty-two years of age, knitting work from home, a widow), was, at least in principle, a far simpler case. She was a powerfully built old woman with a small head that was covered with completely gray hair, ruddy cheeks, and cunning eyes. She didn’t look in the least bit sleepy or frightened; on the contrary, she seemed to be quite pleased with this adventure. She had turned up at the Prosecutor’s Office with her basket, balls of different-colored wool, and a selection of needles, and in the office she immediately perched on the stool, put on her eyeglasses, and started working away with her needles.
“It has come to the attention of the investigation, Pani Husáková, that some time ago, speaking among friends, you told the story of what had happened to a certain František, who supposedly entered the so-called Red Building, had various adventures there, and only escaped with some difficulty. Is that true?”
The aged Matilda laughed, deftly tugged out one needle and set in another, and answered without looking up from her knitting: “It is, that happened. I told people that story, and more than once, only I’d like to know how the investigation came to find out about it… I don’t believe I have any acquaintances among the judiciary.”
“I am obliged to inform you,” Andrei said in a confidential tone, “that at the present time an investigation is being conducted concerning the so-called Red Building, and we are extremely interested in contacting at least one person who has been inside this building…”