"Smith, Martin Cruz - Gorky Park" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Martin Cruz)

'That's better.' Relief carried Belov to the door. 'Have you spoken to your father lately?'

'No.' Arkady spread the preliminary autopsy reports over his desk and pulled his typewriter stand close.

'Give him my regards when you do. Don't forget.'

'I won't.'

Alone, Arkady typed his preliminary investigation report:



Moscow Town Prosecutor's Office, Moscow, RSFSR.



Crime  Homicide. Victims  2 Unidentified Men, 1 Unidentified Woman. Location  Gorky Cultural and Recreational Park, Octobryskaya region. Reporting Party  Militia.

At 0630, a militiaman making his rounds of the southwest corner of Gorky Park found what appeared to be three bodies in a clearing app. 40 meters north of the footpath on a line with Donskoy Street and the river. At 0730, militia officers, officers of State Security and this investigator examined three frozen bodies.

Because of their frozen state it is possible now only to state that the victims were killed sometime this winter. All three were shot through the heart. The two men were also shot through the head.

5 bullets recovered all came from the same 7.65-mm. weapon. No cartridges were recovered.

All the victims wore ice skates. No papers, change or other items were found in their clothes. Identification will be hampered by mutilation that removed the flesh of the face and fingertips. Reports  serology, odontology, ballistics, chromatography, autopsy and further on-site examination  are forthcoming, and a search of persons with possible knowledge of victims or the park site has begun.

It may be assumed to be a premeditated crime. Three people were killed quickly by a single weapon, all personal effects removed in the middle of the city's most crowded park, extreme measures carried out to hinder physical identification.

Note: One of the dead men dyed his hair and another wore a jacket with a false foreign label, possible indications of antisocial activity.

Renko, A. V.

Chief Investigator



While Arkady read this flimsy familiarization report through, Detectives Pavlovich and Fet knocked and entered, Pasha carrying a briefcase.

'I'll be back in a minute.' Arkady put his jacket back on. 'You know what to do, Pasha.'

Arkady had to go down to the street to enter the prosecutor's side of the building. A prosecutor was a figure of unusual authority. He oversaw all criminal investigations, representing both state and defendant. Arrests had to meet the prosecutor's approval, court sentences came under his review and appeals came from his initiation. A prosecutor entered civil suits at his pleasure, determined the legality of local-government directives and, at the same time, decided the million-ruble suits and countersuits when one factory delivered nuts rather than bolts to another factory. No matter how great or small the case, criminals, judges, mayors and industrial managers all answered to him. He answered only to the prosecutor general.

Prosecutor Andrei Iamskoy was at his desk. His skull was shaved pink, a startling contrast to his uniform, dark blue with a general's gold star, especially tailored for his oversized chest and arms. Flesh had accumulated over the bridge of his nose and cheekbones, and his lips were thick and chalky.

'Wait.' He went on reading a paper on his desk.

Arkady stood on a green carpet three meters from the desk. On the paneled walls were photographs of Iamskoy heading a delegation of prosecutors at a ceremonial meeting with General Secretary Brezhnev, shaking hands with the General Secretary, speaking to an international conference of prosecutors in Paris, swimming at Silver Grove, and  absolutely unique  the remarkable Pravda portrait of him arguing an appeal before the Collegium of the Supreme Court for a worker wrongly convicted of murder. Behind the live prosecutor was a window guarded by maroon curtains of Italian velvet. Large brown freckles mottled Iamskoy's shining cranium, though sunlight was already fading, tucked behind the curtains.

'Yes?' Iamskoy turned the paper over and looked up. His eyes were pale, like watery diamonds. As always, his voice was so soft that a listener had to concentrate. Concentration, Arkady had decided long ago, was the key to Iamskoy.