Secret Target

Petelina drew up the witness statement and gave it to Maltsev to sign. The sparkle of success in his eyes bothered her. What was making him so happy? The conclusion of an unpleasant procedure or had he managed to trick her somewhere along the way?

When Maltsev had relaxed and was about to leave, Elena asked a final question, a kind of test shot.

«Mr. Maltsev, could you please describe to me the car attendant on the Moscow to St. Petersburg train?»

Maltsev wavered and took his time responding.

«The attendant? What, am I required to remember her?»

Elena noted the touch of anxiety in his eyes. She always paid more attention to her subject’s emotions than their words. A liar prepares all the right words beforehand; it’s hard to trip him up. Emotions, however, reveal the truth at times.

«At least tell me her approximate age, or body-type. Or was it a man?»

«It was a woman. That’s all I remember,» Maltsev grew angry. «Can I go?»

«If that’s all you remember, you may go.»

As he was about to leave the office, Maltsev turned around glowing.

«I just remembered: The attendant had a black eye. She covered it up with make-up, but it was still noticeable.»

The test shot had whistled wide of its mark. Maltsev was telling the truth. The detective was once again left with one suspect in her murder investigation.

9

Elena Petelina could not shake the burdensome impression that her as of yet fruitless interrogation of Inna Maltseva had made on her. The chief suspect in the brutal murder had not answered a single question. She had clammed up and stared at the detective as if Petelina were some news anchor, speaking an alien language on the TV. Where was her mind? What was she thinking about? Why didn’t she try to defend herself? At one point, the semblance of a smile had softened her tightly pursed lips. That was when Elena had asked her about the little girl’s photograph in her purse. Elena had clutched at this straw but, try as she might, not a single peep had followed.

Someone rapped on the door. Detective Petelina turned away from the window, instinctively adjusted her cardigan and fixed her hair. In the doorway stood a heavyset, forty-five year old man in a mackintosh, an ascot and large glasses with thick frames.

«Arkady Borisovich Krasin, psychiatrist,» the doctor introduced himself. His was the signature on Inna Maltseva’s prescription. «You wished to see me?»

«Please come in, Dr. Krasin.»

The psychiatrist noticed the coat rack and took off his mackintosh, unveiling a tweed jacket with ornamental elbow patches.

«May I?» he indicated the armchair next to the desk.

Elena nodded and Krasin sat down. From behind his glasses, his clingy gaze traversed across the desk and down to the detective’s feet; it clambered its way up the detective’s figure and stuck intently to her face. Petelina found herself the subject of an unabashed examination by a pair of hazel, half-squinted eyes. She began to feel uncomfortable: She was accustomed to observing the faces and mental states of her guests – not vice versa. Petelina sat down behind her desk, shuffled some papers, opened and closed a drawer and adjusted her laptop’s screen.

«Please, feel yourself at ease, Detective Petelina,» Krasin said graciously.

Okay, this is too far!

The detective shut her laptop and looked defiantly at the psychiatrist.

«I’d like to remind you that it was I who invited you here and not the other way around,» she said.

Krasin leaned back in his chair and let a smile ooze across his face.

«Your uniform flatters you. I like women in uniform. The female body in a male guise connotes a volatile admixture of emotion and reason. Two opposing elements and which will be victorious remains an open question.»

Petelina made a show of turning on the voice recorder and rattled off in an icy voice:

«I am more interested in a different kind of question. I called you, Dr. Krasin, to discuss a patient of yours with you.»

«I am all ears.» The psychiatrist leaned forward officiously. «Whom do you have in mind?»

Elena could clearly make out his aquiline nose with its prominent bridge which looked custom made to support the glasses resting on it. Or had his toucan’s beak evolved to accommodate the hefty frames’ tectonic pressure?

«Inna Maltseva.»

«Inna… is not a simple case.»

«How long have you known her?»

«About three months. I was treating her for depression.»

«Is her affliction related to her familial relationships?»

«Yes and no.»

«Could you explain what you mean, please?»

«I am a doctor. For me, the physician-patient privilege is sacro – »

«Inna Maltsev is the main suspect in a brutal murder.»

Krasin threw up his hands.

«I am aware of the horrible tragedy that has occurred in her family. It is a very sad – »

«How did you find out?» the detective latched on.

«He husband, Dmitry, called me. He was cursing, accusing me of being unprofessional, that kind of thing. Tell me, did Inna really commit such a horrible act?»

«Let’s not change the subject, Dr. Krasin. Please answer my questions. And so, what were the symptoms of Mrs. Maltseva’s depression?»

«Please understand that in our society, people go to the psychiatrist as a last resort – they are at the end of the line and have nowhere else to turn. More often than not, their relatives force them to take this step. Accordingly, Inna’s husband first brought her to me.»

«Did you know him prior to that?»

«No. One of his acquaintances recommended me to him. Word of mouth is the best advertisement for a doctor. For a lawyer too, by the way. As for a detective… Well, obviously your clients aren’t exactly eager to find you.»

«Unfortunately, I am not lacking in clients.»

«You know, me too,» Krasin laughed. «What is happening to this country!»

«I would like to know the cause of Inna Maltseva’s depression.»