Two years ago, after the death of Pavel Evgrafovich, grandmother handed the knives to 15-year-old Pavel at the funeral of her husband, and ordered to protect them. “These knives,” his grandmother said, “are very expensive. They brought wealth to your great-grandfather and your grandfather. By the grace of God they will help you raise your capital, Pavel.” Pavel believed those words, and perhaps because of this he easily accepted the offer to kill the lady. He has seen a lot of action films, read enough detective stories and played enough of the bloody computer games, so he began to perceive the murder as an ordinary thing. Not a single thought from Raskolnikov’s torments flashed in his mind. At that moment he was not worried about his ruined life – he was worried about the money, about the loss of time and about the second lost knife. However, Pavel had reassurance (consolation): there were four of them in the box. Two were gone, one had to be used, so he had one more left. He had to sell it. Those knife could not remain in the box alone. That would be a waste. The main thing was not to cheapen. “How much should I ask for? Thought Pavel. “Fifty dollars, one hundred?”
Pavel sold his knife for one hundred and fifty dollars. They easily gave him more than he expected to ask, but his mood did not improve: he thought it was cheap. They gave one hundred and fifty dollars with ease, which means they needed it. Thus, they could have given more. He should have bargained
“I think,” said Katia, playing with the slipper on her foot, “this is some kind of maniac. Or at least a person with a mental disorder. Who would throw knives in the twenty first century! They are the same, with some ominous symbolism. I can’t imagine who it can be. Maybe someone whom she pushed at work. You know Clara is so adherent to her principles! Crazy! It was impossible to agree on anything, even in childhood. She’s an idealist.”
“Did she push many people?”
“Yes, I think many people were compromised.”
“She doesn’t love her sister”, Captain thought of Katia. “Boy, she can be a killer too. The reason is inheritance. The wealth that Yuri Vladimirovich has officially is only a part. The unofficial part is probably much more interesting.”
“Want some more coffee?” asked Katia.
“No, thanks.”
“I also think that this is because of jealousy. Have you seen the neighbor of Leonid Alekseevich? She has a killing look not only at Clara, but even at me. They say she is in love with Leonid.”
“Excuse me, but who said that?”
“Well, I don’t know,” Katia motioned vaguely with her shoulder. “Clara once told me. I asked her that this neighbor next door was looking at me like a beast. So Clara explained to me. Their neighbor on the landing told me the same thing… Although I don’t think she did it. Most likely this is someone among her victims.”
“Victims?”
“I mean, those whom Clara strangled with her checks. Actually, I am surprised that she is still intact, because, as a rule, most crimes are committed because of money.”
“Ekaterina Yurievna, you think one can commit a crime because of inheritance?”
“Hm. Of course, if it’s worth it.”
“You and Clara Yurievna are also the heirs of your father.”
“Ha ha! You must be joking about inheritance. Although, if you think about it…” Katia beautifully lifted her head, wondering something in her mind. “Perhaps you are right: Clara and I will inherit our summer house, car and gas station after his death. For some people this is unimaginable wealth. For example, as far as I know, Leonid Alekseevich gets miserable wage.”
“She only listed a small fraction of what they should inherit,” thought Andrei, looking at the beautiful good-looking girl. “She has an alibi, but she could hire a killer. She didn’t have to throw knives herself. But why knives? It was easier for a hired killer to arrange a car accident for his victim, shoot her, or even slaughter her in a dark corner with the same knife. It doesn’t make any sense. Such a maniacism. I wonder what kind of men surround this woman?”Andrei voiced his question, giving it a slightly different shape:
“I'm sorry, but are you dating someone? Or have a groom?” Katia smiled indulgently. Her eyes became playful as she asked: “Do I look very much like a woman who does without men?”
“No, you are not at all like that, but I had something else in mind. Do you have an intention to cast in lot with someone?”
Katia laughed softly: “I do have an intention, but I have not yet decided who and when would it be.”
“This one will never cook borscht for her husband,” Andrei thought about Katia, admiring her. Katia was dressed in a sleeveless dark blue dress with a shaped collar, which resembled sailor’s costume with its size, white stripes and a white tie. Her hair was neatly gathered into a bun and locked with a white hairpin. Her home look was not “home” in the common sense of the word; the only home thing was the slippers that matched to the girl’s dress. The decoration of Katia’s apartment showed the wealth of its hostess and the good design work. Andrei noted the skillful use of color, light, the absence of unnecessary things, which, as a rule, get into an apartment by chance and litter it. All the things in Katia’s apartment were in place complementing each other, were in harmony with each other and were not cheap.
“You probably won’t drop in here,” thought Andrei, wondering who, in his opinion, could. “The apartment has been cleaned well, obviously not by this young lady. She probably holds a servant. Where does she get the money?”
“Ekaterina Yurievna, excuse me, I will ask you a tactless question – however, all the questions of the investigators are tactless. What means do you live on? Are you supported by your parents?”
“No, I wouldn't say that. They help me. But I earn myself.”
“What do you do?”
“Different things, for example, translation.” Captain noticed that the girl was not at all embarrassed. “Translation costs a penny,” thought Andrei, “she is skillful at lying. She didn’t even bat an eye.” Katia, in turn, hastened to change the topic of the conversation:
“Don’t you think I was trying to kill my sister?” Andrei silently continued to examine the girl. This offended Katia. “Do you really suspect me?” She asked indignantly.
“Suspecting is my profession,” Captain answered, smiling timidly.
“Do you consider yourself a professional?” Katia asked with sarcasm. “Or maybe you just confuse the meaning of “profession” and “job”?”
“I do not confuse them,” Captain answered as calmly as possible, “I mix them.”
“In my opinion, this is an inadmissible luxury,” the girl retorted with a hint of anger and sarcasm.
“Perhaps I overestimate myself…” Katia didn’t let Captain finish and interrupted:
“I’m afraid you do. You know, Captain, if you were a professional in the generally accepted sense of the word, the killer would have been arrested. Instead you’ve been interviewing Clara’s closest people for two days, but it’s obvious that the killer is a maniac, a hysteric or something. Maybe even a sectarian. But it’s obvious he is mentally ill,” Katia said these words without malice, without sarcasm, and even despite their content, without reproach. There was a request in her voice and almost a plea, as if she had asked Captain to search for the killer. After listening carefully to the girl, Andrei asked Katia:
“You said that your father,” Andrei deliberately replaced the word “parents” with the word “father,” “is supporting you with money. How much? And how often?”
“Hm,”