A Negotiable Instrument

Chapter Fourteen

'Inspector, can I have a word?'

'Not now.'

'It won't take long, Inspector.' Boyarsky was nothing if not persistent.

'What is it?' Tursunov asked, curbing his impatience. 'I need to interrogate one of my prisoners. You haven't lost any more, have you?'

'No, Inspector, it's not us that loses them. But it's them I want to talk about.'

'Get on with it, then.'

'It's the state of the prisoners after they've been interrogated, sir. Now don't get me wrong,' he rushed on when he saw the look on Tursunov's face, 'we all know they sometimes need a bit of extra persuading, so to speak, and Dolmatov's always been handy with his fists -'

'Any physical intimidation or coercion carried out by Sergeant of Investigation Dolmatov has been authorised by me,' Tursunov interrupted. 'Was that it?'

'Now, as I said, Inspector, don't get me wrong. I don't care what you do to the bastards, they all deserve it and a lot worse, I'm sure. But when it goes too far -'

'Do you mean the injuries suffered by Hickl?'

'Well, now that you mention it, I was thinking about prisoner Hickl.'

'Any injuries suffered by Hickl had nothing to do with Sergeant Dolmatov. They were a direct result of the beating I gave him. Anything else, or can I get on with my interrogation?'

'It's the paperwork, you see -' Boyarsky began again.

'Do you want me to sign something, Sergeant?'

'No, Inspector. Only, I'm supposed to report any injuries to prisoners while they're in custody, and that means paperwork, you see.'

'I suggest you go and find Superintendent Radostev. He will be only too happy to talk to you about the finer points of paperwork. I have better things to do with my time.' Tursunov began to walk away.

'But I haven't reported Hickl's injuries, Inspector!' Boyarsky called out.

'In that case,' he said without breaking his stride, 'we have nothing further to talk about.'

When he reached Fourreé's cell he signalled to the patrolman standing guard outside the door to open it for him. Fourreé, like Hickl, had been put in one of the isolation cells, well away from the communal cells. He lay on the wooden bench, his face to the wall, his arms hugging his ribs, and his damaged leg stuck out at an odd angle. He didn't move or make any sign of recognition as Tursunov entered the room.

'Get up,' Tursunov ordered, but got no response. 'I am quite happy to beat you until you move, Fourreé. I thought we had established that. I have something to show you.'

'There is nothing I wish to see,' Fourreé said, shifting his position on the bench to ease one of his many aches. His voice sounded hollow, all of his previous arrogance gone.

'Humour me.'

After a short pause Fourreé uncurled himself, his movements slow and awkward, and struggled to his feet.

'Follow me,' Tursunov said.

'Where are we going?' Fourreé asked, but his voice betrayed his lack of interest.

'To meet some new friends.'

The slow walk to their destination tested Tursunov's patience to its limit. He had to keep stopping to let Fourreé catch up or catch his breath, each halt accompanied by groans of pain or self-pity. He couldn't tell which, and he didn't care. The tortuous descent of the stairs was the worst part of the short journey. He was sorely tempted to push Fourreé down the second flight if only to see the look of horror on Boyarsky's face when he contemplated the days of paperwork stretching out in front of him. Grim reality prevailed, and he waited at the bottom of the stairs until Fourreé joined him. It was cold, damp, and gloomy in the basement of the building, and there was only one reason to pay it a visit.