Samsonov moved from the wall with confidence and knelt on one knee before the policeman.
'I have had very little opportunity to practice here,' said Samsonov, his fingers running the length of Rostnikov's left leg. 'And no opportunity for research. Remarkable muscle tone. You must be a very determined man. In most people this leg would have atrophied.'
'We endure,' Rostnikov said as Samsonov stood.
'Whether we like it or not,' agreed Samsonov. 'Do you take any medication?'
'No,' said Rostnikov.
'I can give you the name of an American muscle relaxant which should help you if you can get it. You take one a day for the rest of your life. I assume that since you are a policeman you have connections for such things.'
'Perhaps,' said Rostnikov.
'I may have a bottle of the medicine among my things. I'll see if I can find it. I can also give you a set of exercises that should ease the pain and make walking easier,' said Samsonov moving to a chair. 'Are you interested?'
'Very much.'
'I'll ask Ludmilla to type them up and get them to you before you leave.'
'And now?' asked Rostnikov.
'And now,' said Samsonov, as his wife came back into the room carrying a tray with three matching cups and a plate of small pastries.
'I'd like you to tell me about your contacts with Commissar Rutkin,' said Rostnikov, accepting a steaming cup of tea offered by Ludmilla Samsonov. She placed the tray on an inlaid table to Rostnikov's left.
'He was a fool,' Samsonov said, the anger returning to his voice. 'They sent a fool. It took the death of a fool for them to send you to find out what happened to our Karla.'
'I'm going to tell you something,' said Rostnikov, putting down the tea and leaning forward. 'I want you to hear me out, not interrupt me till I am finished.'
'Say it,' Samsonov said impatiently.
'I have told you that I have not been sent here to investigate your daughter's death.'
Samsonov clenched his fists and closed his eyes. He looked for an instant as if he were going to cry out. His wife touched his shoulder and Samsonov laughed.
'You're only here to look for the one who killed that fool,' he said. 'God.'
'I asked you to hear me out without interruption,' said Rostnikov.
'And I never agreed,' said Samsonov.
'Let him finish,' said the woman.
'Why bother?' asked Samsonov.
'Let him finish,' she repeated quietly looking at Rostnikov.
'I think it possible, probably even likely, that the two deaths are related,' he said carefully. 'I have been told that someone else will be sent to investigate your daughter's death, but I do not see how I can conduct the investigation of Commissar Rutkin's murder without knowing something about what happened to your daughter. Do you understand?'
Samsonov cocked his head to one side and examined Rostnikov.
'You have been ordered away from Karla's death but you intend to pursue it anyway,' Samsonov said.
In answer, Rostnikov reached for one of the pastries which he plunked into his mouth.
'Very good,' he said.
'I made them myself,' said the woman. 'I do a great deal of baking since… I do a great deal of baking. How can we help you?'
'A few questions. A few answers,' Rostnikov said resisting the urge to reach for more pastries. He looked at Samsonov. 'You are the only doctor for several hundred miles. I assume you examined Commissar Rutkin's body.'
Samsonov bit his lower lip, took a deep breath and clasped his hands in his lap.
'I would think you had the pathologist's report,' Samsonov said. His wife reached over to touch him again.
'Yes, of course,' said Rostnikov, 'but you were first, possibly you saw, noted something that they might later miss and, as you know, each pathologist is different, searches in his or her own way. You understand.'
'Yes,' said Samsonov with a pained grin. 'You don't trust them. Good. Neither do I. My daughter died of trauma. Rutkin made it clear that he thought she fell from the rock near the river. Her bones, her body… She was hurled from the rock. She was murdered and I told him as I tell you, if the murderer is not identified I shall carry the story with me into the West. It is too late to stop us from leaving. The world already knows I am leaving.'
Rostnikov took a small sip of the tea, a very small one. Soon he would need a washroom, but he did not want to stop. He would have to be more careful, more precise with his questions. He had not wanted the man to conjecture about the death of his daughter. His questions had clearly been about the dead Commissar.
'I understand you discovered the body of Commissar Rutkin,' he said.
Samsonov looked at his wife and nodded his head to confirm the policeman's understanding.
'Tell me about it,' Rostnikov said.
'Tell you about it,' Samsonov said, shaking his head and touching his hair as if he suddenly felt unkempt. 'I got up early, before the plow. I wanted to be there when Rutkin arrived to conduct his hearing, present his findings. I wanted him to face me. I knew that he planned to find that Karla had died of an accidental fall. I did not intend to let him get by with that.'
'So,' Rostnikov prompted to get the man back to the subject, 'you got up early.'
'Early, yes. I was out by six, possibly a bit earlier. I didn't see the body till I was almost at the door to the People's Hall.'
'So you heard nothing? Saw nothing?' asked Rostnikov.
'No shouts. No screams. No whimpers. No regrets,' said Samsonov looking up at Rostnikov.
'How long had he been dead when you found him? Could you tell?'
'Minutes. The temperature was 40 below and the blood had not yet frozen,' said Samsonov. 'Cause of death appeared to be a puncture wound through his left eye and into his brain and a second about two centimeters across just above the shoulder blade, barely into the neck. It appeared to be deep and, judging from the hemorrhaging into the eyes and mouth, I think it penetrated the carotid artery and cut through the esophagus. I am not a pathologist. I did not get an opportunity to examine the body very closely, but this all seemed obvious.'
'So the killer knew what he was doing, how to kill?' asked Rostnikov. 'I mean in your opinion.'
'Who knows?' sighed Samsonov reaching for a cup of tea, picking it up, changing his mind and putting it back down again. 'It could have been luck. I've seen accidental trauma, a fall, a car crash that caused incisions that looked as if they had been done by a skilled surgeon.'
'Do you think someone caught him unaware?'
'Impossible,' said Samsonov. 'He was in the square, the open square. The snow hadn't been plowed. Get out there some morning. You can hear the slightest change in the wind. He was running away from whoever got him. You could see the footprints in the snow. I told that fool Famfanoff. I tell you.'
'So, if Commissar Rutkin saw someone coming at him with a weapon, he had time to call for help.'
'Probably,' Samsonov agreed.
'But no one heard him call,' said Rostnikov. 'The report says…'
'The square itself is a small, silent canyon, but if the wind is blowing toward the river, you would have to be right in the square to hear someone yell,' said Samsonov. 'What's the difference? I knocked at the door of the People's Hall and Mirasnikov helped me bring the body inside before it froze.'
'How long did it take for him to answer your knock?'
'I don't know. Not long. Almost immediately.'
'Was he dressed?'
'Dressed? Yes,' said Samsonov with irritation. 'He was dressed, but…'
'If Commissar Rutkin shouted in the square, would someone inside the People's Hall hear it?' Rostnikov continued.
'Probably. Who knows? If you mean Mirasnikov, he is an old man. So is his wife. I don't know what they can
