Dangerous Evidence

“Enough already with the Cockers and the Spaniels!”

“I’m sorry. Joe is a witness too. The next morning he uncovered the ushanka hat in the little park. The same one that had formerly crowned the agitated patron, the presumable Grebenkin.”

“Are you sure?”

“Go ahead and try finding another one like it in Moscow. And let’s not forget Joe here, who, blind as he is, has preserved his keen sense of smell.”

“Did you write down the woman’s statement?”

“You’re insulting me, Len. I even took possession of the hat.”

“Have it checked for sweat and grease deposits.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about Grebenkin’s sweat and grease deposits. I’m afraid that they’ve been contaminated by Joe’s hair and slobber deposits. The dog, you see, felt it necessary to exact his revenge on the hat of his assailant.”

“Igor Vasilevich Grebenkin, the father of Ekaterina Grebenkina,” Elena Petelina checked her notes. “I recall that he mentioned the pimp and even threatened him.”

“There’s your motive – blood vengeance! Manuylov fell out with his ‘employee’ and pushed Katya off the roof. Then, her distraught father shot him dead.”

“Could be. Here’s what I want you to do. Find and bring Igor Grebenkin to me as quickly as you can.”

“I think the Tadpole took a photo of him. And you wrote down his number.”

“A call from us might scare him off.” As she spoke with Valeyev, the detective began searching the law enforcement databases on her computer. “In the meantime, get Grebenkin’s photo from Ustinov. Have him send it to your phone.”

Petelina could here Valeyev relay her order to Ivan Mayorov. A few minutes later, her computer displayed the results of her search on her screen. The detective’s face lit up.

“Okay. Found it! Last night, an I.V. Grebenkin registered himself into the Sayany Hotel. I sure do enjoy working with amateurs. Get over there, Marat, detain him and bring him to me!”

Having finished talking to Valeyev, Elena Petelina went down to the forensics lab. The first person she saw upon entering was Vasilich, crumpled in his armchair. The eternal habitant of the lab, Vasilich was a human-sized artificial skeleton with a natural human skull. This time, Vasilich was decked out in felt boots, an ushanka hat and mittens. As per custom, a sheet of paper hung from his ribs with a plaintive quip: “This winter is starting to get to me!”

This year’s winter really had distinguished itself with its snowfall and length.

“It’s the second month of spring,” remarked Petelina to Misha Ustinov, who had looked up from his electron microscope upon her entrance.

“Yet it’s summer eternal in Thailand.”

“Envy is one of the criminal motives, Misha. When you take your vacation, you’ll be able to visit the tropics too.”

“Masha is begging me to go to the mountains. She wants to put me on a snowboard.”

“You’re still dating that perky journalist? Your constancy is admirable. How is she doing?”

“She’s closer friends with Vasilich than with she is with me,” the expert nodded his curly head in the direction of the skeleton. “She’s started a blog for him on the Internet. Every week she posts a new photo.”

“You don’t say!”

“She’s gotten more than two thousand followers in two months.”

“But of course: In Russia, true fame comes only after death.”

Petelina glanced from Vasilich back to the Tadpole. People who spent their entire lives behind a computer had the worst posture. Soon enough the Tadpole would become a living copy of Vasilich. It was a good thing that her daughter Nastya didn’t spend her time hunched over the keyboard, preferring to pursue a sport. It was no big deal that she wasn’t a champion; at least her womanly stature was already manifesting itself.

“Listen, Misha, I got this issue for you. You got the evidence from Boris Manuylov’s murder scene?”

“I’m already working on it.”

“How did the night shift do?”