And, thought a puzzled Rostnikov, you look very close to being a fool, which means there will be two of them in this room for fifteen minutes.
CHAPTER FIVE
Though there are rules and regulations, restrictions and requirements, it is no easier in Moscow to find a killer or a saint than it is in New York, Tokyo, or Rome. If the world does not know this, the police do, and so they learn to value patience and good shoes.
Sasha Tkach had begun his day and was putting his patience to practice.
He was sitting in a small, surprisingly warm room drinking a cup of tea. He had lost the opportunity to remove his coat, and he had lost the initiative in the conversation when the man to whom he was speaking, Simon Lvov, had greeted him warmly, invited him in and offered him tea. Lvov was a tall man of seventy-five who stooped over slightly and smoked a pipe. His dark grey hair was unkempt, and perched on his huge nose were the glasses all too familiar to Russians, the standard dark, round frames like those of the American comedian Harold Lloyd. Tkach had been prepared for hostility, trickery, deception, but not for this warm man in a dark cardigan sweater who ushered him in and made him sit in a soft, ancient chair.
“You are a young man,” Lvov said, simply, in reply to Tkach’s first question about Granovsky. It was clear that, from some source, Lvov had heard about Granovsky’s death. It was also clear that he was not in a state of deep mourning. According to the information Tkach had, this Lvov had been a scientist-an agronomist or something; he was one of Moscow’s leading dissidents and had worked closely with the murdered Granovsky. Yet for a scientist he was maddeningly indirect.
Before long Tkach had completely lost control of the interview, and Lvov, sitting comfortably at a small table, leaned forward on his elbows and watched the puffs of smoke from his pipe while he told a parable.
“Once there was a powerful warden in a prison in another country, let us call that country Peru, shall we?”
“Yes,” agreed Tkach, sipping his tea and assuming he was watching the first of stages of the man’s senility. “Peru.”
“Well,” Lvov continued, “a friend of mine had the misfortune to find himself in that prison, and one night the warden had my friend brought into a large room filled with guards and newspaper reporters. It was very late at night and my friend, in prison for counter-revolutionary activity, had been sleeping. He rubbed his eyes at the huge gathering and rubbed them again when he saw that the fat warden wore a rare smile under his great mustache. The warden ordered my friend to a table in the center of the room on which stood, or rather slumped, a black cloth bag. The conversation in the room stopped, and the warden cleared his throat.
“ ‘An anmesty has been called for all political prisoners in honor of the one hundreth anniversary of liberation day,’ said the warden with a sweep of his hand. ‘However, since this prison contains only the worst and most dangerous elements, our president is reluctant to include you and your fellows. But our president is a fair man and in public display he has ordered me to give you an even chance to secure liberation for yourself and the others who plotted against the state. In that bag are two small white balls. On one ball is written “freedom” and on the other “prison.” You will, by virtue of your high rank in the counter-revolutionary conspiracy, place your hand in that bag and remove one of the balls. If the ball contains the word “freedom,” you all go free. If it contains the word “prison,” then you all remain. The press has been invited to prove that we abide by our word. Now take out a ball and let us see what your fate is.’
“Do you see my friend’s dilemma, Officer…?”
“Lvov, no, I…” said Tkach, suddenly needing very much to urinate.
“My friend was no fool,” Lvov went on, examining the bowl of his pipe. “He knew that the fat warden with the great mustache hated him, and what better way to get rid of an enemy in prison than to make him the object of hatred of his fellow inmates? Surely, my friend knew, if he selected the ball marked ‘prison’ the other prisoners would hear of it, be told of it, and he knew there were those among the prisoners whose minds had been eroded by brutality and who might very well kill my friend for his ill luck and theirs. My friend pretended to still be sleepy as his mind worked rapidly. There is no chance of pulling the right ball, he thought. The warden would not look so confident with an even chance of losing his pets.
“The truth was obvious to my friend. Both balls have the word ‘prison,’ and it made no difference which one he picked. No one would dare challenge the powerful warden by asking to see the remaining ball, least of all my friend, who knew that any effort to do so would surely result in his own death. But remember, my friend was a clever man and he made up his mind quickly.
“He strode to the table, plunged his hand into the bag, grabbed a ball, and without looking at it, threw it into his mouth and swallowed it in one gulp, almost choking. A gasp rose from the crowd, and the warden reached for his pistol.
“ ‘What are you trying to do?’ shouted the purple-faced little man. ‘Nothing,’ answered my friend innocently, pretending a combination of stupidity and drowsiness. ‘I thought I was supposed to eat it. Anyway, there is no harm done. All you have to do is see which ball remains in the bag and the one I ate is, by elimination, the other one.’ More tea Inspector Tkach?”
“Officer Tkach,” Tkach corrected. “No thank you, but if…”
“Well,” continued Lvov, examining the bowl of his pipe, “A sharp-featured young reporter standing near my friend shouted, ‘Ridiculous. Ridiculous, but true.’ A murmur of approval ran through the reporters, who were anxious to discover the fate of the prisoners. The warden, teeth clenched and eyes magnificent with hatred fixed on my friend, dumped the ball onto the table and it bounced, bounced, bounced toward the sharp-featured young reporter who snatched it and read it.
“ ‘Freedom,’ said the reporter handing the ball to the warden. ‘This ball says “freedom.” He swallowed the ball that said “prison.” ’ In seconds the room was clear, and my friend was surrounded by guards and faced by the evil warden. Several weeks later my friend was found dead; someone had stabbed him with a-”
“Sickle,” Tkach supplied.
Lvov pointed his pipe at the young detective and nodded, pushing his glasses back. “Yes, I think it was something like that. No one ever discovered whether he had been killed by guards or prisoners.”
Lvov rose and stretched, trying to straighten up, but was refused that pleasure by his body.
“Outsmarted himself,” said Tkach.
“No, oh no,” Lvov said with a pained grin. “Not at all. He had been absolutely correct. Both balls had ‘prison’ marked on them. The sharp-featured reporter had used the opportunity to do a good turn for the powerful warden, who rewarded the reporter years later by having him imprisoned on some false charge. Then the young reporter told the truth, but it was too late to do my friend any good, and since the warden denied it, it did no good for the reporter or the remaining prisoners.
“That is indeed a sad tale,” said Tkach, finishing his tea and forcing himself out of the comfortable chair. “Am I to gather from it that you will not cooperate in my investigation?”
Lvov shrugged. “I’d be happy to cooperate. I will cooperate, but I am afraid there is nothing I can tell you. Nothing that would do Granovsky or me or you any good, nothing that would help, you see?”
“Help who?” said Tkach.
“Who are we trying to help?” Lvov countered.
“If you could answer me with an answer instead of a question or an evasion,” Tkach answered irritably, “I could-”
“All right,” Lvov answered, suddenly dropping his whimsy. “Who would it help?”
Tkach was confused. The answer seemed so obvious.
“We want to find the person who murdered Aleksander Granovsky,” he answered reasonably. “Don’t you?”
“That depends on who you find, doesn’t it?”
“Whoever it is…” Tkach began.
“If it is some poor madman, some enemy, will that bring Granovsky back?”
“More questions,” sighed Tkach.
