Chapter Twenty-Four
TWENTY-FOUR
“I still think it’s fishy that Miss Devenish left town without informing us,” said DI Mackinnon.
“If you’d met her,” said Alec, “you’d realise that it would be much more fishy if she had notified us, because out of character.”
“I want to meet her. I’d like to check her alibi in person. Who knows how competent the local bobby is? With respect, sir, I think you’ve dismissed her as a suspect too easily.”
“I haven’t dismissed her. She’s just low on my list. She’s a very earnest woman and the soul of candour, with no notion whatsoever of hiding her feelings.”
“And she’s inherited a fortune from the victim, with nothing to stop her devoting it to what she considers the best of all possible causes.”
“All right, Mac, if you want to trek to darkest Yorkshire. We haven’t a shadow of grounds for making her come back.”
“I hope you like dogs, sir,” Piper put in cheekily.
“I and my wife have two terriers, Sergeant, a Scottie and a Westie. Find the best train for me, please.”
“Tomorrow,” said Alec. “This evening I want your opinion of the Russians. Ernie, we’ll need a copy of the list Miss Zvereva sent over. And let my wife know I won’t be home for dinner, would you?”
“Right, Chief. I’ll tick off the duplicate names from other lists, the ones we’ve already vetted. Mr. Mackinnon, here’s the last train tonight and the first in the morning, and all the changes.”
“Already? You’re a wonder-worker.”
“I had it ready in case of need.”
The sandy-haired Scot regarded him with approval. “Verra efficient.”
* * *
The jeweller’s shop was still open when Alec and Mackinnon reached it. At least, the sign still read OPEN and the door was unlocked. The jangle of the bell as they stepped in out of the chilly drizzle failed to bring anyone from the backroom, however.
The inspector looked round with interest. “That’ll be the back o’ the Russian stove?” he asked, indicating the tiled wall. “A fine thing that would be in a Scottish winter! Shall I knock on the door behind the curtain, sir?”
“You can try, but it’s a heavy steel door. If it’s closed, we’ll have to try the doorbell again.”
Mackinnon drew the curtain aside. The steel door was open, the room beyond empty.
Stepping through, Alec swung towards the safe. As far as he could see it was closed as it should be. He frowned. “I wonder what’s going on. I hope—”
A clatter of footsteps rushing down the stairs cut him off. Petrov appeared, his hair in disarray. “Kto—? Eh, police! I go fetch taxi.” He strode past Alec, but Mackinnon stood square and solid in the doorway.
“Where are you off to, sir, if I might ask?”
“I fetch taxi. Most oldest friend of Stepan Vladimirovich dies—is dying. He must go say farewell, da?”
“Whose friend?”
“The prince,” said Alec. “Let him pass.”
“Spacibo, gospodin.” Petrov dashed off.
“But sir, he may be doing a flit!”
“Possibly. What do you want: a knock-down fight, roll about on the floor and clap on the darbies? We haven’t a ghost of a justification, you know. I never took you for an impetuous man.”
“I’m not! I’m a dour, canny Scotsman. It just goes against the grain…”
“I know. That’s life. Come along, we’ll go up.” He crossed to the stairs, treading softly.
He was halfway up the steep narrow flight, Mackinnon close behind, when an irate roar in Russian emanated from above. A firm response in a female voice indicated that two of their birds were still in the coop. The old man muttered fretfully. Alec wished he understood what was being said.
The door at the top was ajar. He knocked, producing a sudden silence within.
“Kto—Who is there?”
“Police.” He pushed open the door and stepped into the hot, low-ceilinged room. “Good evening, Miss Zvereva, sir. I’m sorry to trouble you at this time—”
“Mr. Policeman, is good time! My father very agitating—agitated. Cannot talk to you. You help my father down the stairs, yes? He goes to visit dying friend. These stupid girls he not trusting and I am not strong enough to go down. Is more harder than up.”
Alec gave in. As she said, the prince was in no state to answer questions.
She was also correct about the difficulty of getting the hefty old man down the stairs.
It was a struggle even for two reasonably fit coppers—given the manservant’s lack of English, Alec helped Mackinnon.
From the bottom of the steps it was easier.
The prince, muttering what sounded like imprecations all the way, could walk after a fashion and needed only support on each side.
A cab backed into the alley as they reached the street.
Petrov jumped out. Alec stepped back and let him and Mackinnon get Zverev into the back seat.
That accomplished, Mackinnon was about to close the door when Miss Zvereva slipped past him to join her father in the taxi.
Saying something to the driver that Alec didn’t catch, she pulled the door out of the inspector’s hand. It shut with a thud and they were off.
Mackinnon uttered something very Scottish that sounded blasphemous. “I thocht the lassie was biding here,” he said.
“Never mind, Petrov didn’t go with them.” The goldsmith was standing in the middle of the alley, looking very much as if he wished he had departed with his employers. “Did you get the address?”
“The street. Not the number.”
“We’ll find the dying friend if we want him. Mr. Petrov, we’d like a few minutes of your time, if you please. I suggest we go indoors.”
Without a word, he passed them and entered the shop. He held the door as they went in, then shut and locked it and turned the sign to CLOSED.
“Please to come in, gospoda,” he said with an ironic bow, holding back the blue velvet curtain.
In the back room, he seemed as at-home as in his own quarters on the other side of the courtyard, going straight to the samovar. Like the kettles eternally on the hob in England, the Russian apparatus seemed to be kept ever-ready to supply tea.
“This is Detective Inspector Mackinnon, Mr. Petrov.” Again Alec avoided mentioning his own name. “The inspector would like to ask you a few questions.”
“How do you do, sir,” said Mackinnon, accepting a glass of tea without any sign of misgivings. “Thank you. Let’s start with everything you know about Edward Devenish.”
“He was diletant. Is same word in English, da? He think he knows all, he criticise all, he makes—nyet, he creates nothing.”
“You didn’t like him.”
“I despise him. He is not worth two thoughts.”
“‘A second thought.’ Your English is very good, sir. Do you meet many English people?”
“Vo-cab-u-lary is good. Grammar not so much, is difficult. I go to evening class to make better. Is not sense to live in country, not learn to speak language.”
“Very true, sir. Miss Zvereva knows you take these English lessons?”
“Konechno! Of course. Is not secret.”
“Yet when the chief inspector and DS Piper came to interview you, Miss Zvereva said your English was very poor and she was determined to interpret for you.”
“She is interested—curious to hear, perhaps.” He shrugged. “Who can understand what is in woman’s mind?”
Or man’s. Though calmly composed, to Alec he sounded evasive. It was hard to judge since his speech in general was deliberate, careful, halting, as he hunted for the right words in a foreign tongue.
“You have known Miss Zvereva a long time?”
“Since child. I grow up on estate of prince. My father was servant, my grandfather was serf. I live there until sent to be apprentice in Fabergé workshop.”
A situation that might lead to eternal loyalty or to undying resentment, Alec thought, or to an uneasy mix of both. Loyalty to the prince and resentment of his daughter’s privileged childhood? It certainly complicated the question of what motive Petrov might have for murdering Devenish.
“I understand Devenish didn’t admire the skills you learned under Fabergé.”
“If Mr. Chief Inspector tell you this, he say also that I care nothing for opinion of this diletant whose opinion is not worth to have.”
“Naturally, sir, I’ve read DS Piper’s report. You said Devenish was crazy.”
“I have learn new word—egzentric. This better perhaps than crazy. But Zina?da Stepanovna believe he court her with meaning from start to jilt, only because she dislike his wish for tiepin. But is not better reason we can guess. Is crazy, nyet?”
“Sounds pretty crazy to me. And very upsetting.”
“For her, not. Was more relief. She did not like, and Stepan Vladimirovich wanted that she marry him.”
“Stepan—oh, her father. The prince must have been angry.”
“First angry with daughter that she did not encourage, then more angry with Mr. Devenish for insulting. Was insult to both. In Russia, would be duel. Here is legal matter, but Devenish did not write promise to marry, and Zina?da Stepanovna will not swear he said this. She does not wish to marry. Prince can do nothing.”
“Someone did something. Do you have any inkling who—”
“Excuse: ‘inkling’ is what?”
“Sorry. Do you have any idea—can you make a guess—who might have killed Devenish?”
“I? Why you think I have idea?” He sounded surprised, not at all agitated. “I meet him two-three times, not know who are his friends, who are his enemies.”
“But you know he had enemies?”
“I see what he did to Zina?da Stepanovna. He is … ‘spiteful’ is the proper word?”
“Spiteful would suit.”
“Spiteful man is not likely only one time to do such thing. Make plenty enemies, da?”
“Da. Nicely argued, sir. You’re right. We know of a number of people with no cause to love him. We’re asking all of them the same questions, more or less. Including the most important, of course: Where were you last Wednesday morning?”
“Again!” Petrov sounded exasperated. “I have said already that I was at home, in my workshop, working. I checked order book; now I can tell you exactly what I made—what I was making and show you. This will prove nothing.”
“Very true.” Mackinnon glanced at Alec, who nodded. “I’d like to see, all the same.”
“You come to workshop.”