Yevgeniy sat, took a breath, and said, “Absurd.”
“It depends on how you react to it,” said Rostnikov, accepting the cup of tea from Anna Porvinovich. “When I first became a policeman, I was often struck by the absurdity of most of the crime I encountered. Gradually what used to seem absurd began to seem quite normal.”
He sipped his tea and looked at Yevgeniy.
“We are not policemen,” Yevgeniy said.
“I know,” Rostnikov replied. “You are kidnappers and, possibly, accessories to murder.”
“We …?” Yevgeniy said, looking at Anna again and getting no help.
“Yes,” said Rostnikov, reaching over for another lump of sugar. The move did not please his withered left leg. It protested as Rostnikov sweetened his tea.
“The tea is a bit tepid,” Anna said, taking a sip. “I’m sorry.”
“It is excellent tea,” he said.
“Do you plan to arrest us?” Anna Porvinovich asked calmly.
“Not yet, unless you would like to confess and tell us where your husband is?”
“I cannot do that,” she said. “I do not know. I know nothing about Alexei’s kidnapping.”
“Well,” said Rostnikov, finishing his tea. “We will get the information from Solovyov. I must go.” He rose, holding the arm of the chair to get himself into a reasonably erect position.
“Is it particularly painful to have such a crippled leg?” Anna Porvinovich asked.
“Yes,” said Rostnikov. “But my leg and I have come to an understanding. I no longer curse it and it minimally cooperates.”
“When you walk,” she said, “it looks as if you are in pain.”
Rostnikov looked at the woman, who was smiling, a very slight, falsely sympathetic smile.
“Given the choice,” he said, “I would prefer to live with pain than with guilt.”
“You have no choice,” she said, looking at his leg.
“I will return soon,” said Rostnikov, buttoning his jacket. “Thank you for the tea and sympathy.”
She remained seated, languidly holding her cup of tea in one hand, her cigarette in the other. Yevgeniy rose and moved ahead of Rostnikov to the door.
“I assure you, Inspector,” Yevgeniy said, “we are distraught over what has happened to my brother. Anna and I had nothing to do with his kidnapping. We only wish him back. We will pay them anything. I’d give everything I have to see him walk through that door.”
There was a click in the door in front of Yevgeniy and Porfiry Petrovich. The door opened, and standing there, a key in one hand, a pillow in the other, stood a man. The man was about six feet tall, perhaps a little shorter. He wore a badly rumpled suit without a tie. His hair was uncombed, and he had a day’s growth of brown and gray stubble over his grotesquely distorted and swollen purple face.
“Alexei?” said Yevgeniy.
Still standing in the doorway, the man let the pillow drop to uncover the automatic weapon he carried. He said nothing, but pointed inside the apartment. Rostnikov and Yevgeniy backed up, and Alexei pocketed his key and closed the door.
“You,” he said to Rostnikov, pointing the gun at him. “Who are you?”
“A policeman,” said Rostnikov.
“Alexei, I’m so-” Yevgeniy began, but was cut short by a sudden thrust of the weapon across his face.
“Shut up,” said Alexei Porvinovich.
Yevgeniy’s face was bleeding from a nasty slit across his nose and left cheek. He looked as if he was about to weep.
“Move,” said Alexei.
Yevgeniy kept his hand across his face, trying to stop the bleeding. Rostnikov was at his side. They moved slowly into the big living room.
Anna turned and stood erect at the sight of her armed husband. She put down her cup and her cigarette.
“Pleased to see me?” asked Alexei.
She said nothing. Cool. Unafraid.
“Well, I am pleased to be back with my family,” said Alexei with a horrible smile. “It has been a difficult night and day. Sit.”
Anna sat, and Yevgeniy and Porfiry Petrovich went back to the same seats in which they had been sitting before. Alexei stood about three yards away from the trio, much too far for Rostnikov to attempt a leap, even if he were capable of such an action.
“Would you like to know what I have been up to since you last saw me?” Alexei said. “I spent a night of fear and the expectation that I would die. I spent the night knowing that my wife and brother had planned my murder. And then I devised a plan and got this gun from one of the fools who had taken me. I bound him and waited for your friend, Artiom. Then we had a nice talk and I killed them both. I seem to be in a killing mood.”
“You’re crazy,” said Yevgeniy, pressing a napkin to his cheek. The napkin was already dark red with blood.
“Precisely,” said Alexei. “I am insane. I hope it is only temporary, that sometime after I kill you and Anna, my sanity will return. That happens sometimes, doesn’t it, policeman?”
“Chief Inspector Porfiry Petrovich Rostnikov,” Rostnikov said.
“Do you think I am out of my mind?” asked Alexei, his weapon pointed at his wife.
“Yes,” said Rostnikov. “But it is complicated. You are crazed by what has happened to you, but you think you are not. You think you are only pretending to be insane so that you will not be held responsible for killing your wife and brother.”
“Either way, I’m crazy,” said Alexei with a grin.
“True,” said Rostnikov, “but we have a strange judicial system. I have seen demonstrably mad killers sentenced to death or prison and quite lucid murderers declared insane.”
“But did they go through what I’ve gone through?” Alexei shouted.
“My wife and I are caring for two young girls,” said Rostnikov, unbuttoning his jacket. “Their grandmother, with whom they were living, could barely feed them. She shot a food-store manager, killed him, and sat down on a little stool. What she had gone through had driven her quite mad. She is now in prison and will probably spend the rest of her life there. Would you like another example?”
“No,” said Alexei. “I still intend to kill these two.”
“Alexei,” said his wife, “I am sorry.”
“Sorry,” Alexei said with an animallike snort. “You expect me to believe that?”
“No,” she said. “You misunderstand. I am sorry you got away. I am sorry that fool Artiom didn’t kill you. I’m sorry the plan didn’t work, such a simple plan and such fools to deal with. I sometimes wonder why I get involved with men who are fools.”
“Am I a fool, Anna?” Alexei asked as his brother reached for a fresh napkin and began to sob.
“A clever fool,” she said, folding her arms.
“Are you afraid, Anna?” asked Alexei.
“No,” she said. “I know that is what you want, and perhaps you deserve it, but I am not afraid. I’m weary of all of you.”
She turned her back on her husband and walked to the window.
“Was I so bad to you?” Alexei shouted.
“Yes,” she said softly, closing her eyes.
“How?” he demanded. “What did I do that deserved my murder?”
She shrugged and said, “Little things, big things. I’m not going to give you a long list. The way you laugh, snore, gloat. The business stories you tell over and over. Your pitiful sex. There’s much more. What difference does it make? You are going to kill me soon.”
“If you put down the gun,” said Rostnikov, “I will arrest them both for your kidnapping. When they come out of prison, they will be old. They will have missed life while you are free to start a new life without them. Isn’t that better than killing them?”
“Is it?” asked Alexei.
