Page 63 of Last Violent Call
“The next stop is Krasnoyarsk,” Marshall said, picturing the approximate map of the Trans-Siberian Express. “It could be a full day before we arrive and get out of this freight container.”
Benedikt sighed. He tilted his head back with a thud, and given he was still lying on his back, it created a rather painful-sounding impact with the wall behind him.
“Start thinking hard, then,” Benedikt said. “Because we are right back to square one.”
11
It wasn’t until after a new night fell, a whole daytime passing at a snail’s pace, that the train started to slow again. Five minutes later, it came to a complete stop.
“Are you two alive in there?”
The door thudded open. Benedikt sat up, nudging Marshall out of his doze. Only moonlight illuminated the station’s surroundings as Vodin hauled himself into the freight carriage, peering around as if he had expected to find something other than two pseudo-investigators crammed up with the boxes, covered in day-old dust.
“Debatable,” Benedikt replied wryly, checking his wristwatch. “Have we arrived in Krasnoyarsk?”
“Yessir.” Vodin crossed his arms. He sounded slightly winded from his brisk walk over from soft-class—he must have hurried out as soon as the train stopped, because it had been less than thirty seconds before his appearance. “Did we get an escapee?”
Benedikt grimaced, ending the back-and-forth volley of questions. He got himself onto his feet, dusting off his trousers to put some semblance of respectability into his appearance. Marshall, on the other hand, stayed sprawled where he was, his collar pulled loose and his shirt unkempt.
“Eduard Kozlov made a run for it, but he isn’t involved in the case we are concerned with.” Out loud, that didn’t sound as persuasive as Benedikt would have liked. He continued: “Or rather, he is guilty ofleaving that threat on the mirror because our investigation interrupted his drug trafficking, but he didn’t put the pen in Popov’s throat.”
Vodin contemplated the conclusion. His mouth opened.
“So yes,” Marshall said from the floor, speaking ahead of Vodin, “we no longer need the handwriting samples.”
Without the engine running, the train was alarmingly quiet. Each lull in the conversation emphasized the rustling air outside or the scatter of a pebble being kicked across the floor.
“Correct me if I am wrong,” Vodin said slowly, “but you are saying you cannot investigate the murder further?”
They had tried their best. Benedikt and Marshall had thrown the wildest ideas at each other, spent that whole day in the freight carriage thinking about every possible motive someone could have to kill Popov. It was easy enough to come up with those possibilities, but without evidence, each motive was nothing more than fiction.
“I wouldn’t saythat,” Marshall replied defensively. “We must be missing something, or—”
Vodin shook his head. “It is irresponsible to keep the train driving if there is no answer in sight. I understand the risk of the culprit escaping, but I must bring in the police.”
“But—”
“I have already made contact here,” Vodin continued, not letting Benedikt finish his protest. “They cannot get a force out at this hour, unfortunately, so they have passed the summons on to Irkutsk, and wewillbe stopping. The police there are good.”
No matter how good they were, though, a train couldn’t be halted at a station for long, which meant passengers needed to be cleared off and allowed to disperse. They could do their very best to hunt down the passenger list afterward, but any guilty killer would have made their way far into the city by then. Irkutsk was large and unfathomable. It used to be a center of exile for nobles who had revolted against the tsar. Nothing about the streets there allowed for an easy search; everythingfrom its hand-built houses to its bridges was designed to help someone disappear.
But it seemed there was nothing more to say to change the officer’s mind.
Vodin fished his pocket watch from his vest, glancing at the face. “It’s almost midnight. Return to your compartment and get some rest. We will arrive at Irkutsk tomorrow afternoon.”
As soon as Benedikt woke up the next day, he started to pack their things. It wasn’t the end of the world. Even if this particular express rail made its last stop in Irkutsk, there might be another short-distance train that could take them to Vladivostok. They might be able to take a vehicle, use the remaining time they had to drive farther inland.
The problem was that Irkutsk was located at the southern end of Lake Baikal, but on the western side, which meant they would still need to go around before proceeding east. Benedikt wondered if they could travel through Mongolia instead, but that meant approaching Vladivostok from Manchuria, and with the Japanese invasion there, it would be terribly dangerous to travel by land.
He heaved a sigh.
The socks went in the corner. The shirts in the middle, wrapped around the gun he was putting away.
“It is very beautiful outside. Such a shame that we cannot live around these parts instead.”
Marshall was hovering by the window. Every so often, he pointed out the little lakes they were passing, the scenery turning more ice-blue the closer they came to Lake Baikal.
“I thought you were reading the directories,” Benedikt said, making space at the base of his luggage case. While he was distracted with putting every miscellaneous item away, Marshall had been hovering overthe directories all morning. He had brought them into their compartment, lugging each of the five volumes off the dining carriage’s bookshelf and dumping them onto their bed. There was one for each year, with the most recent being 1932, issued only this month, and he had been browsing silently. Marshall unspeaking was a very scary Marshall. Under normal circumstances, Benedikt might have been concerned about what he was brooding about, but he had a suspicion that this was Marshall’s last effort to find some lead in their investigation, and he knew he ought not disturb any revelations being made.
