Penny Criminal Case

“Okay,” Starkov shrugged indifferently.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Petin Sr. was delivered an hour after his pimply son was returned to the prison meal. Dad turned out to be a colorful personality, but despite the visual involvement in the criminal world: two impressed rings on his fingers, some faded tattoo on his shoulder – he obviously didn’t be an “authority”. His whole appearance spoke rather of a hooligan past and an alcoholic present. And now he was drunk, wrinkled and sleepy.

“Sit down.”

“I’ll still be in time,” Petin began to pretend to be “authority”, “not moving away” from the chair, but not even approaching it. He failed – in contrast to the hose, which briskly walked on the back of the “dissident”. Next to the rubber was connected the knee of captain, which helped the defendants to realize their place in this office: in the center of the chair.

“We know everything,” Petrov, who was pretty tired to talk – not from physical assault – began his work immediately.

“What to talk about then?” Petin grinned.

“About confession.”

“Don’t bluff, ‘cop’!”

The “opposition” cost him two more sobering sets of rubber hose.

“Let’s start, or what?” Petrov bent over him.

“So you already started.”

Grimacing painfully, Petin rubbed his “bruised” shoulder.

“True, not from the end…”

“Should I hit you in the face right away?” Petrov “specified the coordinates of the end” immediately. This time, Petin thought it best to remain silent: apparently, he began to understand, that this “cop” was too straightforward for a “courtly” conversation.

“Will you talk?”

Petrov patted rubber on the palm.

“About what?” Petin glances at the hose with cautious.

“About how you and your son discussed the plan of rape and murder of a minor Kotova.”

Petin frowned.

“We did not discuss anything with him.”

“But your son claims the opposite.”

This time, the lieutenant colonel did not pick up the hose, but the interrogation report, which he waved in front of the person under investigation.

“What do you say?”

Instead of answering, Petin tried to take his eyes off – along with his head – from the lieutenant colonel, but his head – along with his look – was immediately and without unnecessary courtesy returned by captain to the place.

“Should I repeat the question?” Petrov smiled “promisingly”.

This time Petin was not silent for long – five seconds, not more.

“Yes, son… he came up with some nonsense… And I told him that I would deal with this bitch… so as not to offend my son… Already there was no strength to endure her arrogant antics! And her parents are the same bastards!”

“Well, and how: did you deal with this bitch?” Petrov leaned even lower over him.

“I would do it,” Petin grinned grimly, “but I was overtaken by some kind person…”

“And what kind of a policeman was at your house?” Starkov connected “contrary”. “On the day, when you decided to deal with Kotova?”

Trying to remember, Petin wrinkled his forehead and honestly “plunged into himself”.

“A hell knows! I saw him for the first time. A lot of your ‘cops’ visited me: I am tagged, where to go! Especially our local police inspector… he bothers me especially! But I have not seen that ‘cop’ before.”

“Can you recognize him?”

Petin went away to the side for the answer again.

“I do not know… It was dark… I drank a lot… All of you are the same…”

“What was the conversation about?”

“With son?”

“With a policeman!” Starkov didn’t even raise the voice: he was carried away by the version again.

Petin made a face and spread their hands, turning their palms “face out”.

“So, about that, about this… He asked me about where I was, what I was doing… and so on.”

“What case?”

“I don’t remember”, Petin shrugged his shoulders, as if surprised at the inconsistency of the investigator. “He told about some kind of theft, but I don’t remember, what kind of theft it was: I was drunk…”

“Where was you on the day of the murder?” Petrov barely waited for his turn.

Petin “peeled off his eyes” from the floor slowly.

“And when was this day?”

“The day before yesterday.”

Remembering, Petin several times rode a dirty palm over the overgrown cheek.

“The day before yesterday?..”

The palm “was already going back”, when suddenly it changed its mind and worked on her forehead with a resounding slap.