Death's Executioner

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Konrad did not waste any time interviewing Lady Lysak’s friends. According to Kavara Halim, she was not known to have had any particularly close associates, only a large acquaintance. Anything that was merely common knowledge about her, Mrs. Halim would already have heard.

That left him with no real idea how to proceed. He delivered Mrs. Halim’s information about Zolin and Lysak to Alexander, who promised to chase down anything more that he could. Konrad held some faint hope that there might be a record somewhere of Zolin’s original arrival in Ekamet, though perhaps there would not; if he wished to conceal his origins he might have travelled under an assumed name. Or, perhaps he’d been born in the city, and had simply invented the persona of Bogdan Zolin a year ago.

As for Lady Lysak, without some kind of clue as to her possible destination, he wasn’t optimistic about tracking her down. ‘Somewhere outside the city?’ he said, brows raised. ‘That could be anywhere.’

Konrad had been able to say nothing more useful than, ‘I know.’

He’d found Alexander in his office, apparently in danger of drowning in paperwork.

‘What’s all this?’ Konrad asked, pausing on the threshold in surprise. Alexander’s office was always a little disordered, but his shabby old desk was disappearing under bits of paper. Some of them were newsprint, but the nature of the rest was a mystery.

Alexander waved him to the hard oak chair that sat before, and a little to one side, of his desk. Heavy grey clouds had gathered in the skies outside, choking what little wan winter sunlight might otherwise penetrate the gloom of Alexander’s office. A single oil-lamp fought bravely against the darkness, but without great success. The inspector wore a weary air and a deep frown as he battled through his piles of documents. ‘They should at least let you have a better lamp,’ said Konrad.

‘A better office in general would be nice. But I have everything I truly need.’

‘Except more light. What’s all this?’ he said again.

Alexander dropped a sheet of paper into the stack before him, and rubbed at his eyes. ‘We’ve run out of leads.’

‘I noticed that, too.’

‘I’ve got a lot of things here. Guest list for her ladyship’s ball, provided by her housekeeper. Witness statements from some of those who saw the fight between Lysak and Zolin; nobody remembers seeing anyone else leave the party early, and certainly no one seems to have followed Zolin out. At least, if they did, no one saw. Your Mrs. Halim seems to have been quite right about Zolin, besides: everybody came to know him as the friend of a friend, or some such. Nobody knows where he sprang from in the first place, or who secured his first introductions into society. I’ve had people pull every newspaper on file that might mention Zolin — or Lysak — and several do, but it’s just the usual banalities.’

‘Have you got anything at all? Even something small—’

‘I know, Savast. The smallest detail can be enough to crack a case, yes. I don’t think we have that detail. I can’t even find out what the fight was about, because they weren’t rowing in front of the guests. They had gone off by themselves — nobody noticed when, or has any idea why — and while their raised voices were audible enough after a while, nobody clearly heard anything that was said. At the time, Miss Maximovna was obliging the company with an air upon the pianoforte.’

‘Delightful. But then, who saw Zolin leave?’

‘It seems he flung back in to the drawing-room after the fight, but immediately left again. Lady Lysak returned soon afterwards, and informed the company that Zolin had been called away, and offered his regrets, etc.’

‘Nobody took that at face value, I imagine.’

‘No. That the two had fought, and that Zolin was in a towering rage, was evident to everyone.’

‘And Lysak? Was she in a rage?’

‘Seemed composed. That appears to have been a universal impression.’

Konrad gave a sigh, and stared out of the window. The clouds’ dark promise was on the point of being fulfilled, judging from the scatter of snowflakes drifting down. ‘I badly want to talk to that woman.’

‘Yes, so do we. Perhaps she anticipated that.’

‘You mean that may be why she ran?’

‘If she’d heard of Zolin’s death by then. Consider, in her shoes: what might you think? The man you were known to have quarrelled with is discovered violently killed very soon afterwards. There may have been something relating to that fight that would cast clear suspicion upon her, if it were known. And if she had seen the head upon her mantelpiece, too, she must know that the police would soon arrive with some very hard questions to ask.’

‘You speak on the assumption that she’s innocent.’

‘So far, I have no reason to believe otherwise. I admit that the limited evidence we have looks bad, but I still can’t see her hacking off Zolin’s head like that. Apparently her ladyship is a slim woman, and not tall. That she could have the body strength seems unlikely. Plus, numerous of her guests have asserted that she did not again leave the drawing-room, and the party went on until very late. Zolin may well have been dead by the time she had any opportunity to follow him, and how could she have known where he had gone?’

Konrad nodded, finding nothing to disagree with. The inspector’s clear logic could rarely be faulted.

‘The most likely explanation is that someone followed him the moment he left Surnin Place,’ said Konrad. ‘Whether it was one of the guests slipping away without being noticed, or whether somebody was waiting outside the house for him, I don’t know.’

‘Could be,’ said Alexander.

Konrad continued, ‘Though, we’re stepping over the question of where he was trying to go. He was very determined to get somewhere down that specific alley, despite the extreme difficulty of doing so. Somebody else may have been able to anticipate that.’

‘Including her ladyship, I suppose,’ said Alexander with a sigh.

‘Certainly including her ladyship. If she knew him well enough to fight with him, well, that seems to put her ahead of every other member of his acquaintance.’

‘There’s someone else involved,’ said Alexander. ‘There has to be.’

Though less inclined than the inspector to doubt the culpability of wealthy, refined ladies — he had gone through far too many difficult cases to imagine them all fragile innocents, anymore — he could not picture the scenario where Lady Lysak had killed Zolin, either. ‘She could have sent someone else to kill him,’ said Konrad.

‘So she could.’

‘A manservant, or a friend.’

‘It isn’t that easy to find the kind of friend — or servant — who’d kill for you,’ said Nuritov. ‘But we’ve interviewed all the servants, of course. No reason to suspect any of them, at the moment.’

The day closed in similarly unsatisfactory state, and since Nanda had pleaded duty and returned home, Konrad spent his evening alone in his study — well, alone save the ever-present glass of brandy at his elbow — turning over the facts of the case in his mind.

He had rarely encountered a case with so little to show for days of investigation. The victim seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, and without apparent source; the only suspect had disappeared into somewhere, apparently without trace. And nobody knew anything.

How many people were involved, really? There could be as many as four, by Konrad’s reckoning. Besides Zolin himself, and some probable connection pertaining to Lady Lysak, the killer might well prove to be a third, as yet unidentified person.

If that were so, the identity or identities of the killer and drawing-room decorator remained so utterly obscured, Konrad could not see how it would ever be possible to catch them.

If only more might be learned about the victim, at least. His identity was known, but nothing else about him.

Frustrated with inactivity, Konrad downed the remains of his glass and rose from his warm retreat by the fire. The clock struck one o’clock as he crossed the hall, startling him; how had it grown so late?

No matter. The Malykt’s Temple was open to him at all hours, and he had business there. A walk through the piercing cold might clear his head, or give rise to some new idea. If not, perhaps Zolin’s corpse might have something to offer.

Konrad frequently found an excuse to walk in the late hours of the night. The deserted streets offered an eerie kind of peace, which soothed his often ruffled temper. And though he walked abroad, he need not trouble to maintain his façade, nor recall what was expected of Mr. Savast of Bakar House. He need talk to nobody at that hour; there was no one to talk to. He paced slowly on his way to the temple, walking in near silence, thick snowfall muffling his steps. His serpents, ever loyal, followed in his train: Eetapi drifting behind, Ootapi soaring high above his head.

There were, he decided, two sets of questions that most urgently required answers.

One, just who was Zolin? Was it some aspect of his present life that had led to his death, or had something followed him out of his mysterious past?

Two, what was Lady Lysak’s involvement in the case? And why had she run away? Konrad would give a great deal to know what those two had been fighting about. He could not shake the feeling that something in that argument held the key to the mystery, even if the quarrel itself had not led directly to Zolin’s death.

He must learn more about Zolin, then, and he must find Lady Lysak.

A side-door afforded Konrad entrance into the temple, to which he held a key. He locked it carefully behind him, and proceeded to the morgue.

To his immense surprise, someone else was there before him. Shadowed though the halls of the morgue might be, he’d know that silhouette anywhere.

‘Nanda?’ he said, softly, hoping not to startle her.

She jumped anyway, and stood up, turning to face him. She’d been perched on the edge of a vacant table, staring at something before her. ‘I wasn’t doing anything,’ she said quickly.

‘No, indeed,’ he agreed. ‘A visit of idle pleasure, no doubt.’

She sighed and turned her back to him again, regaining her seat upon the table’s edge. Konrad joined her. ‘I was thinking,’ she said, and waved an expressive hand at the tableau before her.

She had apparently been thinking along similar lines as Konrad, for she had found Zolin’s corpse and brought him out for perusal. A small lamp cast a dulcet glow over his dead flesh, scarcely enough by which to discern more than minimal detail.

‘Me, too,’ said Konrad. ‘What were you looking for?’

‘I hardly know. Only… if he was not born to the gentry-life, perhaps there is some trace of his true character to be found in his remains.’

‘And is there?’

‘I hardly know,’ said Nanda again, frowning. She hopped down from her table, and began to pace around Zolin’s corpse. Konrad found the vision peculiarly disturbing. ‘He looks the part, does he not? But I suppose that is not so hard to do, if you know how.’

Konrad took a long look. The two parts of Zolin’s sundered corpse had been reunited, though his head lolled to one side. Nothing in that face had given him the smallest clue before, and nothing did now. It was a face that could have been anyone at all.

Konrad picked up Zolin’s left hand, frowning at it in the low lamplight. ‘Some calluses,’ he reported, discovering this more by feel than by eye. ‘More than one would expect of a gentleman, perhaps, though nothing severe.’

‘Possibly just faded,’ said Nanda, performing her own examination of Zolin’s other hand. She traced a finger slowly across his palm, and nodded. ‘No gentleman should have calluses on the palm of the hand, surely?’

‘There can be no occasion for developing any,’ he agreed.

‘Not that this helps us. We had already surmised that he was not born to grand privilege. He may have been some kind of labourer, at one time.’

‘Possibly.’ Konrad let the hand fall. ‘The Order sent me a report,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Their examination and autopsy revealed nothing of particular note, either. But I can’t help but think…’

‘What?’ said Nanda.

‘We must be missing something. And it may well prove to be something very obvious.’

Nanda accompanied Konrad back to Bakar House, upon his mild insistence. ‘It is much nearer,’ he said, hoping to sweep aside all possible objections as efficiently as possible.

‘Lie,’ said Nanda promptly. ‘My house is quite a bit closer.’

‘I have no idea what you mean.’

‘Yours is a peculiar way of reckoning distance.’

‘My house is warmer?’

‘That I can hardly disagree with.’

‘Then it’s decided.’

Such a statement would normally ignite all of Nan’s quarrelsome side, but today she let it pass, and fell into step beside Konrad without complaint. Perhaps she valued the company, on so cold and silent a night. ‘How did you get in?’ Konrad said.

‘To the temple? I broke in.’

He blinked. ‘How?’

‘Only a fool would make a present of such a secret to one of the Order’s highest officials.’

‘Considering that one of said officials happens to be a close acquaintance of yours, you couldn’t have simply asked me to go with you?’

‘I wanted some quiet thinking time.’

‘Ah. How fortunate that it was so productive.’

‘I reserve the right to investigate independently at will.’

‘What right is that? You aren’t a detective, Nan.’

‘I can be anything I want to be.’

‘And you want to be a murder detective? Macabre choice.’

‘Setting aside the utter hypocrisy of that statement, coming as it does from you, you’re forgetting that I was a poison’s trader to begin with.’

‘True. You’re as bad as I am.’

Nanda shook her head, and slipped her arm through Konrad’s. ‘Poor Konrad. No one is even half as bad as you.’