“Stepmother? Have her father remarried? What about the first wife?”
“She died when his first daughter, Clara, was about two years old. The other daughter was born in the second marriage.”
“Got it. Who else have you checked? Neighbors?” Kudinov calmly answered:
“One neighbor, Nona Ivanovna Chizhova, retired, was at home at the time of attempt. She immediately went to a scream. But the second neighbor, Tatiana Vladimirovna Barysheva, apartment number one hundred and ten, was walking these morning hours.” Captain emphasized the last words and, knowing that Colonel would interrupt him with a question, fell silent. Colonel immediately said:
“Walking? Did she walk her dog?”
“No, she doesn't have a dog. According to her, she was just walking.”
“I see. Who else did you check? Neighbors at Bychkova’s previous address did not interest you?”
“They did,” Kudinov answered smoothly, “but I did not have time to check them.”
“Shit, he is mocking me,” Stasov thought, asking:
“Is that all?” Captain answered in the affirmative. Sitting still, Colonel clasped his fingers, grouped, took a deep breath, held it for a while, exhaled noisily and, looking around but speaking to no one, said:
“So, what do we have. Someone has been trying to kill Clara Yurievna Bychkova twice. The method of murder is unusual, I would even say, original. Now,” Colonel turned to Captain Rublev, “you can build your own versions, even the most absurd. What do you think, Captain Rublev?”
“First of all, it is obvious that the killer is not a professional, as he has already made two mistakes. He got nervous. Today he threw a knife at a woman, not even having time to examine her properly.”
“Correct, but it is clear even to the fool. What about knives?”
“The killer probably has a set of knives. I think the next attempt will be committed with the same knife.”
“Next attempt? You think…”
“Yes, I'm sure the killer will repeat his attempt, because he probably knows he killed the wrong woman. These knives, in my opinion, are a work of art. I don’t know much about it, but I think these are antique.”
“Give the knife for examination,” Colonel ordered.
“You know the result of the examination,” Major Cheredkov recalled, “the killer used gloves.”
“I'm talking about another examination,” Colonel grimaced in irritation, “knives should be shown to art historians.”
“I handed the first knife to Florensky, antiquarian,” Major said, “he promised to show it to professionals and find out something. In general, I think they didn’t want to kill Bychkova, they just wanted to scare her. Maybe this is someone from TAKHO. She said that last year, when she was checking another company, she had also been threatened and called.
“Did they fulfill their threat?”
“No, they just scared her. Maybe they’re scaring her now.”
“What do you think, Captain Kudinov?” Colonel sharply turned to Andrei Vladimirovich.
“I admit all the proposed versions. We’re working on it, Colonel.”
“Good. Major Cheredkov, please take care of the company. You,” Colonel addressed Captain Rublev, “deal with the knives. Although Major has already taken up knives. When did they promise to give a result?” He turned to Major Cheredkov.
“They didn’t promise much,” Major shrugged vaguely. “When it works out, maybe tomorrow, or maybe the day after tomorrow.”
“I see. Captain Rublev, take care of the knives and knife throwers. It’s strange none of you paid attention to the fact that throwing knives also requires a certain skill, I would even say professionalism. Now almost everyone knows how to shoot, but rare person can throw knives.”
“I think we all paid attention to this,” said Captain Kudinov with a pressure in his voice. “I arranged a meeting with circus director Denis Petrovich Shakura for tomorrow.”
“And you were silent?”
“You demanded to report only about the result.”
“Good,” Colonel answered, turning away from Kudinov, as if he was something very unpleasant. His answer sounded evil and even threatening. Then he turned to Captain Rublev and ordered: “You work with the knives and knife throwers, and meet with the director tomorrow. And you, Captain Kudinov,” still not turning to Andrei Vladimirovich, with a reproach and accusation in his voice, squinting his eyes evilly, Colonel turned to Andrei Vladimirovich, “you,” he paused, apparently thinking something over, then slowly turned to Captain “you’ve done a good job with parents, sisters and neighbors. Check the neighbors at the previous address and, most importantly, check the deceased woman: maybe they wanted to kill her, not Bychkova, and they need Bychkova for fraud. Well, that’s it. Thanks to everybody, you're free to go.”
Colonel Pyotr Danilovich Stasov was called the Novice, although he had not been a beginner. He’s been working in this police department for two years, and two more people came there after him, but the nickname stuck to him, probably because upon his arrival he announced to his subordinates that they would now work in a new way. Although he himself admitted and often complained that he still could not teach his subordinates to work in a new way, there were too many amateur performances in their work, deviations from the rules he established. Everything in the department was very homely: employees called each other by name or strange nicknames; they exchanged information on the go, without waiting for meetings; treated Pyotr Danilovich, their immediate superior, incorrectly. There was no servility in their attitude. On the contrary, there have always been a smile and indulgence slid. Captain Kudinov stood out among the others for his mocking. Colonel was sitting at his desk, holding heavy hands with fingers locked. His gaze rested on the edge of the shabby blue cuff of his shirt. “What did she give me?” He thought of his wife. “It's time to take this shirt to the country house. This bastard”, his thoughts again jumped to Kudinov “always wants to make a fool of me. You see, he made an appointment with the circus director, though he didn’t have my order. What a snob. Cheredkov is no better: he gave the knife to a friend. Who ordered him to do so?” Pyotr Danilovich was stifled by resentment, he wanted everything to come from him and his subordinates to do strictly what he ordered them instead of doing what they wanted. Their job was to carry out his orders and report on the implementation.
Pavel did not like this. He did not think that everything would turn out that way. He planned to quickly do the job, make three thousand dollars and start a business. But there he was, with two misfires! The lady seemed to be bewitched. “That’s okay,” Pavel reassured himself, “there will be no third misfire.”
Pavel learned to throw knives from his grandfather Pavel Evgrafovich Zipunov. Pavel Evgrafovich was once a circus performer and knife thrower. His wife, Bella Nikolaevna, Pavel’s grandmother, assisted him. For fourteen years of work in the arena, Pavel’s grandfather never missed and never wounded his assistant. All fourteen years Pavel Evgrafovich worked with the same knives inherited from his father, also a knife thrower, people's artist Evgraf Panteleimonovich Zipunov. The knives that Pavel got, twenty-four pieces in a large leather case, were presented by the great leader Joseph Stalin. Stalin liked Zipunov: he was accurate like a highlander, respectful like a true citizen, and most importantly, he had a young beautiful wife Tosya who assisted him. Twice the Zipunovs were invited to speak in a narrow circle of people close to the leader. For the third time Stalin himself drove into