Page 58 of Last Violent Call
“Nothing, I haven’t found anything yet.” Marshall paused, taking a moment to run through the Russian alphabet in his head. “Pharmaceuticals” would be nearer the end. He continued flipping. “I merely like your smell.”
“And yet I’m the one who keeps getting accused of killer tendencies.” Despite his words, Benedikt looked quite pleased. He subtly turned his nose down, sniffing his white shirt collar as if he wasn’t sure what he smelled like. The train soap was horrific; he had brought his own, the same one he used in Moscow. Sea salt and pine wood. Charred at the edges like it had been dusted with warm smoke.
“Stepan Maximovich just told me that our dead man worked in pharmaceuticals.”
Benedikt dabbed the back of his hand against his temple, taking away a drop of water before it could seep from his hair. “And he knows this because…?”
“There was a brief conversation after departure, allegedly. I can’t imagine how it came up, but it would be an awfully bizarre thing to lie about.”
“Strange that he didn’t mention it during questioning.”
Marshall slapped the table. “That is exactly what I said!”
“Unless,” Benedikt continued slowly, still chasing the same line of thought, “this information is something he already knew before he boarded the train, and he is trying to aid the investigation without coming off as a suspect.”
The directory was now open to a page listing businesses involved with pharmaceuticals, starting with the research companies. There was Laboratory Ten, and Mercury Coats Research, and…
“Do you think Stepan Maximovich knows more than he is telling us?” Marshall asked. He turned the directory in Benedikt’s direction, showing him one of the listings. There were two addresses side by side, one primary establishment in Moscow and one secondary in Vladivostok. Above the listing information, however, there was a single company name, claiming ownership to both establishments.
POPOV’S PHARMACY
“So our victim was the founder of a pharmaceuticals research company.”
Marshall shook the directory vigorously. “We need to interview everyone again.”
9
“Do you take any medicines?”
No one who sat down for questioning knew how to answer. Or rather, they would blink, trying to comprehend the relevance of the topic, then answer hesitantly—which Benedikt hoped meant they were caught off guard just enough not to lie.
“Sleeping pills, I suppose,” Portsmith said.
“I have high blood pressure.” Mrs. Kuzmina massaged her temples while she spoke. “Do you want a list of all my medicines?”
“Vitamins,” Yeva Mikhailovna answered. “My husband tells me I need to keep my bones strong.”
“I do not.” Stepan kept an innocent expression. “Only the occasional painkiller.”
By nightfall, they had made an abundance of scribbles on the passenger list, having questioned every person in soft-class but one: Eduard Kozlov. He had stayed in his compartment, refusing to show up.
Benedikt looked up as Marshall returned to the table holding two plates in his hands. He had asked the attendants for a quick dinner so that they didn’t collapse while investigating.
“What is that?”
“Don’t be fussy,” Marshall replied. It didn’t go over Benedikt’s head that he deliberately did not answer.
“Veal?” Benedikt guessed, even more wary. He picked up a fork andprodded the side of the meat. Though it was smothered with brown gravy, the whole dish colorless, part of the meat fell free as soon as he nudged the fork against it, its quality dry and hard.
“Eat, Ben.”
“Must I? Which of the attendants is doubling as the cook, because I would really like a word with—”
Marshall forked a piece into his mouth, shutting him up. The food didn’t taste any better than it looked. But sustenance was sustenance, so Benedikt chewed obediently, trying not to make a face.
“How are our findings looking?” Marshall asked, leaning over to peer at the passenger list. “I am shocked that Vodin has such a long list of medications.”
“I suspect he’s had some sort of surgery recently,” Benedikt said.
