Chapter Text
Shtolman and Oblansky arrived at 39 Griboyedov Embankment and were greeted by Sergeant Idyaltov, a tall lanky man who provided the detectives with the few details of the case thus far. The victim was the shop owner, Katyushka Polskinova, found an hour ago by Leonid Menshikov, when he arrived to start his work day. The constables from the nearby police bureau, along with Idyaltov, secured the area forty minutes ago; according to Menshikov, no one else came in or out of the shop after he opened the door.
A small crowd of neighbors and passersby had formed near the shop along the avenue. Cutting a path through the onlookers, Yakov Shtolman and Tikhon Efimivich entered the cramped emporium. A room awash in crimson, orange, and deep yellow assailed them; delicately latticed wood screens, broad, lacquered wardrobes, sofas with cushioned seats set in carved ebony, and rich, black wood tables filled every inch of floor space. The walls were adorned with watercolors of graceful birds and scrolls of Chinese calligraphy. Adjoining this room was another, smaller display area. This one, painted a subdued sea green, exhibited tableware, candle stands, mirrors, urns, ceramics, and linens. Plain clay tea sets with eye-catching curves sat alongside effusively ornate ones with gold-leaf trim. A young clean-shaven man about twenty sat, a bit pale and dazed, in a wooden chair.
Yakov and Tikhon continued on to the office, where Katyushka lay on her back in a pool of dark red, an overturned chair next to her. Two orderlies broke off their conversation and turned their attention to Yakov Platonovich. Brief introductions were made.
“A murder weapon was found?” Yakov inquired. The policemen shook their heads.
The older one spoke, “We haven’t moved anything, Your Excellency. We told the boy to sit in the other room. That is all.”
“No one has been in or out?” Yakov asked. More shakes of the head. Yakov noted the papers on the desk, instructed Tikhon to collect them for review back at the precinct and sent him to retrieve the camera from the carriage. He bent down, close to the woman’s head, inspecting the fatal blow. Without disturbing the body, Yakov scrutinized Katyushka’s hands with his magnifying glass, paying particular attention to her fingernails. Upon Tikhon Efimivich’s return, Yakov began his lesson.
Completing their inspection of the crime scene, Shtolman ordered delivery of the body to the morgue. He and Tikhon would now begin interrogation of the man who found Polskinova. Leonid Menshikov appeared to have regained more awareness of his surroundings in the past half hour. Yakov Platonovich pulled up a chair and positioned himself in front of Leonid, close - their knees almost touching.
Turning to Tikhon, who was still standing, Yakov instructed,”You will take note of our conversation.”
Yakov Shtolman waited patiently while Tikhon scurried between the office and the carriage, collecting first the journal, and then a pencil. Leonid Adrianovich reacted with mounting alertness and anxiety to the proceedings. He had had time to consider the circumstances - he was an obvious suspect, the detective, Mr. Shtolman, seemed to take interviewing him quite seriously, and he had nothing of interest to relate to the police. Adding to the heightening tension, men in white uniforms were rushing through the room and shouting to one another as they negotiated a way through the fragile inventory with the corpse.
“You found Mrs. Polskinova?” Yakov began.
“Ah, yes, yes. Ah, I was...I just arrived to get things open.” Leonid was wide-eyed, agitated. He turned his head to look every time someone passed.
“You have keys to the store, then?” Shtolman continued, encouragingly.
“Ah, yes.” Leonid patted down his vest and pant pockets. Seeming not to find what he was searching for, he stood up and swiveled his head around. “My coat - they must be in my coat.”
“Very well, Mr. Menshikov.” Yakov then addressed a passing constable, “Find Mr. Menshikov’s coat and bring it here.”
“Did you see anyone when you arrived, hear anything?” Yakov asked, returning his attention to Leonid, who had returned to his seat..
“No, no.” Leonid shook his head slowly, frowning as he tried to recall.
“You usually open the store at this time?”
“No, I mean...sometimes. I’m a student at the university, so I am at the store only three days a week. But, yes, I get the store ready to open on those days.”
“What time did you arrive today?”
“Fifteen minutes before ten.” The activity in the office and front room had stopped. Leonid Adrianovich visibly relaxed, now focused mostly on Yakov Platonovich.
“And what happened after you unlocked the doors?”
“I came in and walked through to the store room - I mean that was where I was heading when I saw - oh, my God! - Mrs. Polskinova - she was just lying there!” Leonid wrung his hands; his breathing became more rapid. “I got close to see if she was...if I could help,” Leonid said slowly and softly, a far-away look overtook him. He looked intently at his right hand. “That’s when I noticed the blood.”
“Excuse me, Your Excellency,” a constable interrupted. “A woman is outside - she says she has important information about the case.”
Yakov Shtolman looked at Tikhon. “Ask Mr. Menshikov for the names of all the workers, regular customers and other visitors - suppliers, friends and family of the deceased.”