The Sin Collector

ANDREY

When Pasha finally called, Andrey raced off to the morgue. Something was needling at him. He knew his intern didn’t deserve this treatment. She had been working hard all day. A couple of times Andrey had noticed the intense focus on that odd, striking face of hers. An honor student! He had to admit she knew something about navigating case files. He wasn’t sure what sort of strange stuff she had dug up, but if it helped her with her thesis, then fine, why not? Why shouldn’t she run around asking questions? Some people would tell her to fuck off, but some might tell her what she needed to know. It wouldn’t hurt her to learn a little about working with people, too, instead of just paper.

In this pedagogical mood, Andrey walked into Pasha’s office and shook his enormous hand, before accepting the latex gloves his friend held out for him.

“Crazy stuff,” Pasha began, pointing to the dead man’s open stomach.

Andrey winced and looked inside. A big, empty cavity.

“All his internal organs had been removed,” Pasha said, nodding. “Somebody gutted the guy like a big fat chicken. All I found inside him was this.” Pasha handed Andrey a plastic bag.

“Money?” he asked.

“Right. Soviet kopecks, to be precise. Pennies.”

“How many?”

“Fourteen.”

“Huh.” Bewildered, Andrey sat down.

Pasha went on. “And on the back of his head—”

“I know. I saw the number.”

“But that’s not all. Look!” He lifted up one of the blue hands for Andrey to see. “I found ice under his fingernails. But it’s not from a freezer. There are microparticles in there that indicate the ice occurred naturally.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, it’s the middle of July, and the last time there was ice on the river was February, maybe March at the latest. His lungs are gone, but I can tell you for sure the guy was drowned. Dropped through some hole in the ice.”

“Okay. And the body froze?”

“Yes, and I stand by that. Plus, he was only thrown back in the river again a couple of days ago.”

“That’s crazy.” Andrey rubbed his forehead.

“I know,” Pasha said, his voice tired.

“So, this is what we have.” Andrey made himself look again at the man’s contorted face. “The guy is dying because somebody chucked him through a hole in the ice, then he tries to claw his way out of there—”

“He gave it a good shot, too. He’s covered in scrapes and scratches. Look.” Pasha turned the corpse’s head so Andrey could get a better view.

“Right. So the guy puts up a good fight, but he croaks. Then the murderer goes and reels him in, and puts his catch on ice for six months before tossing it back. Was he trying to cover up the time of death, maybe?”

“Well, if the killer’s not a complete idiot, he knew we’d detect the frozen tissues. On the other hand, he might have killed him, say, three winters ago. If it was frozen well, the body could still be in this sort of shape.”

“No, Pasha.” Andrey looked again at the victim’s wide-open eyes. “That’s not possible; Yelnik disappeared last winter.”

“That’s the guy’s name?” Pasha pushed the corpse back into the refrigerated compartment.

“Yep. Matched him to his mugshot yesterday. The tattoo helped. So if the murderer wasn’t going to be able to trick us in terms of time frame, then why make such a big tzimmes, as an old woman I know used to say?”

“The place?” asked Pasha, pulling off his gloves.