The time was passing. She was sitting and talking to the Count.
“It’s getting late. It’s time for me to go, dear Olga,” I said.
“Where should I go?” she asked. “I cannot go to him.”
“Yes, yes, you cannot go to him; he would beat you up again,” I said as I paced the room.
There was silence. Olga and the Count exchanged glances, and I understood everything. I took my hat and put in on the table.
“Well, well,” the Count mumbled, rubbing his hands impatiently. Then he stood up, drew me close to him, and whispered in my ear.
“Listen, Sergey, you have to understand the situation, and these things.”
“Cut to the chase. You can skip the introductory matter.”
“You know what, my dear friend, you should go home. She will stay with me at my place.”
“Excuse me, but you’re the one who doesn’t understand,” I said as I came to her.
“Should I leave now?” I asked, waiting for her answer. “Yes? Should I go?”
With a tiny movement of her eyes she answered “yes.”
I said nothing more to her. What was left to say? I took my hat, and without saying good-bye I left the room.
CHAPTER FIVE THE MURDER
When I arrived at the scene of the crime, my friend Count Korneyev related the following:
“We were in the middle of our picnic, and we heard a terrifying, heart-piercing cry; it just froze the blood. It came from the forest, and the echo repeated it four times. It was so unearthly that everyone got up from the grass, the dogs started barking, and the horses pricked their ears. It was the cry of a woman in terrible, mortal danger. A group of servants ran off into the forest to see what happened.
“The old butler Elias was the bearer of bad tidings. He ran back to the edge of the forest, out of breath, and said,
‘The young lady has been killed!’
‘Which lady?’ ‘Who killed her?’ But Elias did not answer these questions.
“The second messenger was the one person whom we did not expect. This was Mr. Peter Egorovich Urbenin, my ex-manager, and Olga’s husband. First, we heard heavy footsteps in the forest, and the cracking of dry branches. We thought that perhaps a bear would emerge from the dark trees. As he appeared from the bush, he saw us; he took a step back and froze for a moment. His hair was stuck to his forehead and temples. His face, usually red, was extremely pale; his eyes were wide, and he looked a bit crazy. His lips and hands were trembling.
“Yet what caught our attention and what shocked us all were his hands: they were covered with blood. Both hands and shirt sleeves were thickly coated with blood, as if he had just washed them in a blood bath.
“After standing motionless for a long moment, Mr. Urbenin collapsed onto the grass and began to moan. Some of our dogs sensed that something was wrong, and they circled him, barking.
“Casting a dim, sidelong glance at us, Urbenin covered his face with his hands and froze again.
‘Olga, Olga, what have you done!’ he moaned.
“Suppressed sobs rushed from his throat, and his huge shoulders shook as he wept. When he dropped his hands from his face, we all saw the bloody handprints impressed on his face; his cheeks were covered with blood.”
At this point, my friend the Count stopped, shrugged, downed a shot of vodka, and continued,
“After that, I do not really remember in detail what happened next—I was so shattered by these events that I had lost the ability to think logically. I remember only that some men brought a body dressed in torn clothes completely covered with blood out of the forest, and I could not stand the sight. They put the body on a carriage and left. I did not hear the moans and the crying of the others.
“They say she was stabbed repeatedly in the chest, between the ribs, with a hunting knife. She always carried it on her; I remember I gave it to her as a gift.
“It was as blunt as the edge of this shot glass. How in the world could anyone have stabbed her with it?”
The Count stopped, poured another shot of vodka, and continued,
“Listen, shouldn’t this Urbenin stab me as well, since we were lovers?”
“How can you be sure that it was he who stabbed Olga?” I asked.
“Of course he did it! But what I do not understand is how he found her in the forest! He was not with our picnic party, so how could he have known about that particular spot, which I chose for the picnic at the last moment? How could he have known that she would be walking right there in the forest, all by herself?”
“You don’t know anything about this,” I said, “So please, if I take up this case as a local investigator, you must not give me your advice, or your ideas, but only answer my questions. Do you understand?”
I left the Count and went into the room where they had brought Olga.
A small blue lamp was lit, and it barely illuminated the faces of the people in the room. It was so dark that you could neither read nor write. Olga lay on her bed. Her breasts were naked, because they were applying ice to her wounds, trying to stop the bleeding.
Two doctors were in attendance. As I came in, the first doctor, Pavel Ivanovich, who had been in the picnic party, was listening to her heart, his eyes twinkling, his lips pursed. The second doctor, who was from the local village, looked extremely tired and sick; he sat in an armchair next to her bed, lost in his thoughts, pretending to take her pulse.
I looked in the corner—Mr. Urbenin sat there on a small stool. I hardly recognized him; he had changed so much recently. The poor man sat motionless, his head cupped in both hands, without averting his glance from the bed. His hands and his face were still covered with blood. It had not yet occurred to him to wash himself. At that moment, I realized that I could not believe Olga, when she had told me earlier that her jealous husband was capable of murder.
“Was it him or not?” I asked myself as I looked at his unhappy face. And I did not know the answer to this question, in spite of the Count’s direct accusations and the blood covering the man’s face.
“If he had killed her, he should have washed off the blood a long time ago,” I thought. I remembered a phrase that one of my colleagues, a criminal detective, had taught me: “Murderers can’t bear the sight of their victims’ blood.”
In an hour, a male nurse came from the faraway hospital and brought all the necessary things. They gave her an injection.
“It is highly unlikely that she will come to her senses,” Pavel Ivanovich said with a deep sigh. “She has lost a lot of blood, and she was hit on the head with a heavy blunt object, which has probably caused a concussion.”
I don’t know if there was a concussion or not, but she opened her eyes and said that she was thirsty. She began to speak in a muffled, weak voice, and the doctor said that she could not talk for long, just for a few more moments.
Olga was lying on the couch, with a big wound in her right side. She came to her senses and opened her eyes.
“You can ask her whatever you want now,” Pavel Ivanovich pushed my elbow. “Quickly now.”
I came to her bedside. Olga’s eyes focused on me.
“Where am I?” she asked.
“Olga,” I began. “Do you remember me?”
Olga looked at me for a second and closed her eyes.
“Yes,” she moaned, “Yes!”
“My name is Mr. Zinoviev. I am a police detective. I met you earlier, I was best man at your wedding.”
“Oh, it’s you, my dear,” she whispered.
“She is delirious,” muttered the doctor.
“My name is Zinoviev,” I repeated, “I am a police officer. I was present at the hunting party and the picnic that followed. How do you feel?”
“Get to the point.” the doctor said. “I cannot promise you that she will be conscious much longer in her condition.”
“Please, do not lecture me, dear sir,” I said. “I know what to say and what questions to ask. Olga, please try to remember the events of the
preceding day. You were at a hunting party. Then a picnic. Do you remember?”
“And you … and you … killed,” she said.
“The crow?” I asked. “Yes, after I killed the crow, you were upset, left the picnic, and went for a walk in the forest. Someone attacked you there. I am asking you as a police officer, who was it?”
Olga opened her eyes and looked at me.
“There are three people in this room besides me,” I said. She negatively shook her head.
“You have to tell me his name. He will be persecuted and will be sentenced to hard labor in prison. I am waiting. Tell us the name!”
Olga smiled again but did not say a word. The rest of my interrogation did not bring any results. She did not say another word, and she did not move. At quarter to five in the morning, she died.
At seven a.m., the witnesses I had requested from the village finally arrived. It was impossible to go to the crime scene; last night’s rain was falling heavily. Little puddles had become lakes. It was of no use, because all traces of the crime, such as bloodstains, footsteps, etc., were most likely washed away by the night’s rain. Even so, I was formally required to examine the crime scene; however, I postponed the trip until the other police officers arrived.
In the meantime, I set about writing the crime report, and I interrogated other witnesses.
I do not enclose here the complete report and interrogation from the police investigation. It would be too lengthy, and I have forgotten many of the details. However, I will tell you briefly the crime, as I understand it.
Her clothing gave us plenty of evidence. Her upper cloak, made of velvet, with a silk lining underneath, was still completely soaked with fresh blood. The right side had a large hole made by the dagger and lots of clots of blood. The left side of the cloak was also covered with blood. The left sleeve was torn in two places—at the shoulder and at the cuff. Her belt and the pockets of her pants were bloodstained. Her handkerchief and her glove were turned into two small red rags. Her entire skirt was covered with blood spots of various sizes and colors.
The personal belongings of Olga—her big gold and diamond brooch and a massive golden chain—were intact. It was clear that the killer did not do it with the motive of robbing her.
The doctors concluded that she died from a severe hemorrhage and, as a consequence, a considerable loss of blood. It was a complete shock for the doctors that she had not died immediately at the crime scene. However, I digress, and I do not want to postpone the picture of the murder as I saw it, which I will present to you, the reader.
Olga separated from the hunting party while they were having a picnic, and headed off for a walk in the forest. Lost in her thoughts, she ventured deep into the thick forest. There, she met her murderer. While she stood pondering under a tree, the man came to her and began the conversation. She was familiar with this person and was not suspicious of him; otherwise, she would have cried for help. After they had spoken for a while, the killer snatched her by her left arm so hard that he tore her upper clothes and left four of his fingerprints on her upper arm. It was most likely then that she made that terrifying cry from pain, the one that everyone had heard when she realized his intent.
To prevent her from further shouts for help, possibly in a fit of anger, he seized her by her collar, the evidence of which is supported by the two torn upper buttons on her upper dress and the red line across her neck. The killer pulled at the golden chain around her neck, which tightened and made another thin line. After this, the killer dealt a strong blow to her head with a blunt object, probably with a stick or the handle of the dagger that Olga always had on her belt. In his rage, he decided that this one wound was not enough, and so he pulled her dagger from its sheath and stabbed her in her side with a very fierce blow—I say fierce, since the dagger was so blunt.
It was evident that Olga did not name the killer because she knew him and because somehow he was still precious enough to her to make her want to save him from his punishment.
Among such people were her insane father, the husband she did not love but felt guilty about, and the count that she felt obliged to for his financial support. Her father, as the servants later witnessed, was at home writing a letter to the police to punish the imaginary thieves that were surrounding his house. The Count, before and during the time of murder, was with the hunting party; which left only one person—Mr. Urbenin. His sudden appearance from the forest and his strange behavior supported this theory.
If that were not enough, it appeared that Olga’s life had become a complete romance novel that included a loving old husband, jealousy, beating, escape to her rich count/lover. If the beautiful protagonist of such a novel is killed, then you should not be looking for thieves, but rather study the principal characters of the novel.
Thus, Mr. Urbenin, the husband, was the main suspect from any point of view.
I had to begin the interrogation.
[Translator’s Note: A lengthy interrogation of Urbenin and further investigation were complicated by the murder of a farmer who was the key witness and who was killed in his prison cell. Mr. Urbenin, whose cell was in the same hall, is accused in the second murder. The investigation becomes a well-known case across the country. The detective is forced to retire after a fight with one of the minor witnesses.]
I performed the preliminary investigation in the living room of Urbenin’s house, where I once sat on the couch courting the local ladies. Urbenin was the first person whom I interrogated. They brought him to me from the Olga’s room, where he had remained, sitting and staring at the empty bed
For a minute or so, he stood before me in silence, but then he understood that I meant to speak to him in my official capacity as a police detective, and he finally broke the silence and said rather tiredly,
“Please, Sergei Petrovich, could you interrogate other witnesses first. I cannot talk now.”
At that moment, he still considered himself to be a witness, or at least he thought that we considered him a witness.
“No, I have to interrogate you at once,” I said. “Can you please sit down.”
He testified that he was Peter Egorovich Urbenin, fifty years old, and that he was the formerly the manager of the Count’s estate. When he spoke about his marriage with the nineteen-year-old Olga, he said that he loved her madly, and that he knew that she had married him without love, and that he had decided to be satisfied with her friendship and loyalty.
When he mentioned his disappointment in life and his gray hair, he stopped, and then asked not to talk about this aspect of things for the moment.
“I can’t. It is too hard for me now. You know.”
“All right, let us leave this for later. Tell me, it is true that you used to hit your wife? They say that you beat her when you found a note from the Count.”
“This is not true. I just took her by her hand, and then at once she burst out crying.”
“Did you know about her relationship with the Count?”
“I have asked you to postpone this conversation. And why should we talk about this at all?”
“All right, let us talk about this the next time. Now, can you explain to me how you found yourself in the forest where Olga was killed? You said that you were in the city. How did you wind up in the forest?”
“Yes, I had been staying with my sister in the city since I’d lost my position. I was keeping myself busy by seeking another position, and I was drinking, upset by my misfortune. That last week I was drinking nonstop, and I do not remember anything. I was lost.”
“You were going to tell me how you ended up in the forest.”
“Yes, I woke up late. It was a sunny day, and I decided to go and see her, maybe for the last time. I was going to the Count’s place. I wanted to return the hundred rubles that he had loaned to me. I went through the forest, which I knew so well.”
“So, you did not expect to meet your wife there?”
Urbenin looked at me with surprise, thought for a little
while, and answered,
“Sorry, but this is a strange question. You cannot foretell your meeting with a wolf in the forest, and meeting a terrible misfortune, this is even more unpredictable. Look at this terrible case. I was crossing the aspen forest, and suddenly I heard that strange cry. It was so sharp that it seemed to hit me right in the ear.”
His mouth was deformed by a grimace, and his chin trembled. He blinked his eyes and began to cry.
“I ran in the direction of the cry and I saw—I saw Olga lying on the grass. Her hair and forehead were covered with blood, and her face looked terrible. I cried, called her by her name. She did not move. I kissed her, lifted her in my hands.”
Urbenin stopped and mopped the tears from his face with his sleeve. In a minute he continued.
“I did not see the scoundrel. When I ran to her, I heard someone’s distant steps. Probably, he was running away.”
“This story of yours is wonderfully invented whole,” I said, “but you know—the police detectives do not believe in the sort of coincidence that would bring you by chance to the scene of the murder that coincided with your random walk in the forest.”
“What do you mean it is invented?” Urbenin asked me. “I did not invent it at all.”
Urbenin suddenly blushed and stood up.
“It seems that you suspect me of something,” he said. “Well, you can suspect everyone, but Sergey Petrovich, you have known me for a long time.”
“I know, but this is not personal at all. Police investigators must take the circumstances into consideration, and there are a lot of circumstances in this case that tell against you, Peter Egorovich.”
Mr. Urbenin looked at me with horror, shrugged his shoulders, and said,
“But—no matter the circumstances, you should understand that I could not do this. How could I? To kill a quail or a crow is one thing—it is possible, but to kill a person, a person who is more precious to me than my own life. The mere thought of Olga was like sunshine for me. And suddenly you suspect me. And you say this—you whom I have known for many years, Sergey Petrovich. Please, let me go.”