“My view of the enforcement of the law is somewhat different,” Kensi said drily. “In any case, you don’t decide such matters, the court does.”
“The court would have shipped him off to the swamps,” said Andrei. “But he has a wife and a child.”
“Dura lex, sed lex,” said Kensi.
“That adage was invented by bureaucrats.”
“That adage,” Kensi said gravely, “was invented by people who wished to preserve a unified legal basis for the social coexistence of a disparate mass of free human beings.”
“That’s exactly it, disparate!” said Andrei, seizing on the word. “There simply cannot be a single law for all. There is no single law for the exploiter and the exploited. Now, if Wang had refused to move from being a director to being a caretaker…”
“It’s not your job to interpret the law,” Kensi said coldly. “The court exists to do that.”
“But the court doesn’t know Wang like I do, and it never can!”
Kensi shook his head with a crooked smile. “God almighty, what great experts you have here in the Prosecutor’s Office!”
“OK, OK,” Andrei growled. “So why not write an article about it? Idiot investigator releases criminal caretaker.”
“I would, too. Only I’d feel sorry for Wang. I wouldn’t feel sorry for you at all, you fool.”
“Well, I feel sorry for Wang too, don’t I?” said Andrei.
“But you’re an investigator,” Kensi retorted. “And I’m not. I’m not bound by the laws.”
“You know what,” said Andrei. “Just stop hassling me, for Christ’s sake. My head’s spinning already without you lending a hand.”
Kensi looked up and chuckled. “Yes, I can see that. It’s written on your forehead. Was there a raid?”
“No,” said Andrei. “I just tripped over something.” He looked at his watch. “Another shot?”
“Thanks, but no more,” said Kensi, getting up. “I can’t drink so much with every investigator. I only drink with the ones who give me information.”
“Well, screw you then,” said Andrei. “Chachua’s just shown up over there. Go ask him about the Falling Stars. He’s been making really great progress—he was boasting about it today… Only don’t forget that he’s a very modest guy: he’ll deny everything, just don’t let him off the hook, pump him really hard, and you’ll end up with a real gem!”
Moving chairs aside, Kensi set off toward Chachua, who was dejectedly hunched over a skinny little meat rissole, and Andrei gently strolled over to the door, smirking vengefully. I’d just love to wait and watch Chachua bellow, he thought. Too bad there’s no time for that… Right, then. Citizen Katzman, how have you been getting on? And God help you, Citizen Katzman, if you feed me any more of that hogwash. I won’t stand for it, Citizen Katzman…
In room 36 every possible light had been turned on. Citizen Katzman was standing there, leaning his shoulder against the open safe, avidly leafing through some case or other, fiddling with his wart in his usual fashion, and grinning like a Cheshire cat at something.
“What the hell!” said Andrei, caught off-guard. “Who gave you permission? What sort of behavior is this, dammit?”
Izya looked up at him with a mindless expression in his eyes, grinned even wider, and said, “I never realized what a huge, tangled mess you’d made of the Red Building.”
Andrei tore the file out of Izya’s hands, slammed the metal door shut with a clang, grabbed him by the shoulder, and shoved him toward the stool. “Sit down, Katzman,” he said, straining every nerve to control himself. Fury blurred everything in front of his eyes. “Have you written that statement?”
“Listen,” said Izya, “this place is simply full of idiots… There’s 150 of you cretins sitting here and you still can’t understand…”
But Andrei wasn’t looking at him any longer. He was looking at the sheet of paper with the title “Testimony of the suspect I. Katzman…” There wasn’t any testimony, but there was a pen drawing instead: a male sex organ, life size.
“You bastard,” Andrei exclaimed, and choked. “You scumbag.” He tore the phone off the hook and dialed a number with a trembling finger. “Fritz? It’s Voronin here…” With his free hand he ripped open his collar. “I really need your help here. Please, come over to my room right now.”
“What’s the problem?” Heiger asked in annoyance. “I’m about to go home.”
“Please, please!” said Andrei, raising his voice. “Just come over here!”
He hung up and looked at Izya, and immediately discovered he couldn’t look at him, so he started looking through him instead. Izya burbled and giggled on his stool, rubbing his hands together and talking nonstop, pontificating about something with a repulsive, self-righteous sort of glibness, something about the Red Building, about conscience, about idiotic witnesses… Andrei didn’t listen; he didn’t hear anything. The decision he had taken filled him with fear and a sort of diabolical merriment. Everything inside him was jigging about in excitement—he simply couldn’t wait for that moment, any time now, when the door would open and somber, angry Fritz would stride into the room, and then he would see that repulsively smug face change, contorting in horror and ignominious fear… Especially if Fritz showed up with Ruhmer. The mere sight of Ruhmer would be enough—those bestial, hairy features of his, with the flattened nose. Andrei suddenly felt a chilly sensation on his back. He was completely covered in perspiration. He could still change his move after all, couldn’t he? He could still say, “Everything’s OK, Fritz, it’s all been squared away, sorry I bothered you…”
The door swung open and in walked Fritz Heiger, sullen and irascible. “Well, what’s the problem?” he inquired, and then he spotted Izya. “Ah, hi!” he said, breaking into a smile. “What are you two up to in the middle of the night? It’s time to sleep; it’s almost morning.”
“Listen, Fritz!” Izya howled joyfully. “Explain to this blockhead, will you? You’re a big boss around here—”
“Silence, suspect!” Andrei bellowed, slamming his fist onto the desk.
Izya fell silent and Fritz instantly gathered himself, giving Izya a different kind of look.
“This bastard is treating the investigation with contempt,” Andrei said through his teeth, trying to calm down and stop trembling all over. “This bastard is refusing to talk. Take him, Fritz, make him answer the questions he’s asked.”
Fritz’s transparent Nordic eyes opened wide.
“And just what questions is he being asked?” he inquired with brisk glee.
“That’s not important,” said Andrei. “Give him a piece of paper, he’ll write it himself. And I want him to say what was in the file.”
“Got it,” said Fritz, and turned toward Izya.
Izya still didn’t understand anything. Or he didn’t believe it. He slowly rubbed his hands together and grinned uncertainly.
“Right, then, my Jewish friend, shall we go?” Fitz inquired affectionately. His grim sullenness had disappeared without a trace. “Move it, bucko!”
Izya carried on dragging his feet, and Fritz took hold of his collar, swung him around, and shoved him toward the door. Izya lost his balance and grabbed hold of the doorpost. His face turned white. Now he understood.
“Guys,” he said in a choking voice. “Guys, wait…”
“If anything comes up, we’ll be in the basement,” Fritz purred in velvet tones, smiled at Andrei, and prodded Izya out into the corridor.
That was it. Feeling a repulsive, sickening chill inside him, Andrei walked around the office, turning off the unnecessary lights. That was it. He sat down at the desk and stayed there for a while, with his head lowered into his hands. He was covered in perspiration, as if he were about to faint. His ears were buzzing, and through the buzzing he kept hearing Izya’s soundlessly deafening, desperate, choking voice: “Guys, wait… Guys, wait…” And there was the sound of music solemnly roaring, feet clacking and shuffling across a parquet floor, the clatter of dishes and indistinct mumbling: “A gwass of cuwaçao and some pine-app-uw, quickwy!” He tore his hands away from his face and stared blankly at the drawing of the male sex organ. He took the sheet of paper and started tearing it into long, narrow strips, then threw the paper noodles into the trash basket and buried his face in his hands again. That was it. He had to wait. Summon up his patience and wait. Then everything would be justified. The nauseous feeling would pass off, and he’d be able to breathe a sigh of relief.