The Professor’s Murder

by Viacheslav Yatsko

Chapter 3: Ole Lukoje

Captain Murkin turned out a small, round-headed middle-aged person with a big moustache. His appearance fit his name, and as he opened his mouth to greet Rogov and me, I was ready to hear him purr. Instead I heard the familiar hoarse voice: “Good evening, sir.” He was addressing Rogov.

Mike had decided to accompany me to prevent Olga from “being put to torture,” as he loftily declared. As an officer from Central Headquarters he knew personally the heads of local police stations and could be very helpful.

“Hullo, Captain,” responded Rogov condescendingly. He had a higher rank and a much higher position.

“And this must be Mr. Anderson,” said the Captain, scrutinizing my face and clothes.

“I am not Anderson.”

Murkin, looking embarrassed, explained: “The woman gave your telephone number and said your name was Anderson and you ‘had begotten’ her. But you seem too young to be her father.” He smiled, evidently being sure he had paid me a complement.

“My name is Alexei Larin,” I informed him, and produced my lawyer’s ID card.

After the policeman had carefully read it, I added, “And the woman’s name is Olga Smirnova.”

“Your name is Larin rather than Anderson; her name is Smirnova, rather than Lukoje,” repeated Murkin. “And what shall I write in her examination record?” he asked, looking completely confused.

“Nothing,” intervened Rogov. “You will write nothing, because there shall be no examination record,” he added with disarming frankness, looking straight into the Captain’s eyes.

“And what shall I do with this?” complained Murkin, opening a folder on his desk and taking out several sheets of paper. “This is a complaint filed by Mr. Zilberman, the manager of Otvet restaurant. He writes”:

The woman who, as it was clearly seen, was very drunk jumped on the stage dashed to Miss Snegova who was performing a song, snatched the microphone out of her hands and rudely shoved her away. Miss Snegova couldn’t keep her feet and fell down on a table near the stage. The table broke to pieces. Miss Snegova had numerous injuries and was taken to hospital.

Fortunately, people sitting at the table remained physically safe though their clothes sustained irreparable damage. Meanwhile the woman with the microphone uttered shrill sounds that were like the squeak of a pig. I was able to make out two words: ‘Luk’ and ‘Oi’ . In that way she continued until the police arrived to arrest her.

“And that’s not all!” added Murkin offensively. This is a report of Sergeant Avarov: “The woman put up strong resistance. She kicked me at the groin, making me inactive for a while...”

“If I release her, what shall I say to Mr. Zilberman, Miss Snegova and other people who will come tomorrow bringing complaints about Smirnova?”

“That complicates matters,” agreed Rogov. “Can I have a look at the documents?” He extended his hand and Murkin, showing hesitation, handed over his folder.

Rogov looked through the papers and said: “Let us do it in the following way. I keep these documents with me. Mr. Larin will meet all these people and take signed releases and waivers. If he manages to do that, the documents disappear and Mrs. Smirnova is set free. If he fails, I give the documents back and the Captain starts legal procedures.”

Murkin pursed his lips, manifesting dissatisfaction.

“It goes without saying that Mr.Larin must compensate Sergeant Avarov and Police Station 11 at once for the damage caused by the actions of his defendant. And you, Captain, must provide Mr.Larin with a list of the aggrieved persons with their addresses. Agreed?”

Murkin assumed a detached air. They shook hands.

“I’ll see you later,” Rogov said to me and disappeared from my view.

Murkin sat at his desk and diligently began making notes, compiling a list of the aggrieved persons.

I fixed my eyes on him. He was obviously a good, ordinary officer who knew the rules and never ran into trouble. The general practice at local police stations was to classify detained persons into two groups. One included people who had influential helpers or relatives. These men of consequence were informed about the incident and usually took efforts to hush up the affair. The police officers got money or promotions.

The rest of the people were subject to ordinary legal procedures. If the police had doubts about the personality of the detainee, they tried to establish his or her identity, as was in the case with Olga. Murkin did his duty and expected a reward. And I didn’t let him down.

As he handed me the list I took out my wallet. “This is for Avarov, for you personally, and an additional sum for Mrs. Smirnova if she needs something,” I explained, showing gratitude and giving him twelve thousand rubles. “How is she, by the way?”

Murkin quickly switched on a walkie-talkie.

“Is this you, Sidorov? What about that woman in the third cell? A blonde?” He looked at me questioningly. I nodded energetically. “Yes, a blonde. No, her name is Smirnova, as it turns out. Who else is in the cell? And what are they doing? Really?”

He switched off and reported. “She is in the cell with three prostitutes. Right now they are singing.”

“What are they singing???” I couldn’t hide my surprise.

Murkin shrugged his shoulders. “Let’s go and see for ourselves.”

We left his office and went downstairs. We entered a long corridor of cells for detainees. The corridor was filled with sounds of a Russian folk song.

Oh, Father Frost, Father Frost,
Don’t freeze me, don’t freeze me!
Don’t freeze my horse!

intoned women’s voices, and among them I unmistakably recognized Olga’s contralto.

Now I had no doubt Olga would survive. She was perfectly adapted to her imprisonment. Perhaps she had a propensity to living in a prison cell.

“The last question, Captain. How much time do I have?”

“I cannot detain her for more than 24 hours, you know. So the deadline is tomorrow evening. But the sooner the better. I’ll be here on duty the whole night.”

We shook hands and I went out to undertake my night odyssey.

To be continued...