Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 150, Nos. 5 & 6. Whole Nos. 914 & 915, November/December 2017
- Автор: Фузилли Джим, Харрис Шарлин
- Год: 2017
- Язык: английский
- Год: Dell Magazines
- ISBN: 0013-6328
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 150, Nos. 5 & 6. Whole Nos. 914 & 915, November/December 2017». Краткое содержание книги:
Rizzo smiled into the mouthpiece. “I’ll get back to you on that, Moore. Thanks for the help, and good luck to you and the guys dealing with your grief.”
He turned to Ginsberg. “Bingo.”
Ginsberg nodded. “Did you see the scars? One over her right eye, the other on her chin? And those long sleeves. Probably covering black-and-blues. And here I was thinking I couldn’t be any happier Antipov got whacked.”
“Well, now you know, there’s always room for more happiness.” Rizzo pondered it. “How’d you like that Manchurian Candidate recital about her and her brother on the night Antipov got shot? Was that rehearsed to death or what?”
Ginsberg sat stiffly erect, a blank stare on his face, speaking with a rough Russian accent.
“Ф‘Ve vatch the Frasier, very funny.’ Yeah, I bet we ask her brother, he recites it back to us verbatim.” Detective Angela Paulson approached. “Hey, Joe, I got that info you asked for: Krupin, Lev, age thirty, issued a premise pistol permit two years running. Reason: cash business owner, high-risk area.”
Rizzo reached out and took the paper Paulson offered. “Thank you, Angie. What’s the piece?”
“Let me guess,” Ginsberg interjected. “Thirty-eight revolver?”
Rizzo scanned the paper. “Yep. Smith and Wesson, model thirty-six.”
Angela Paulson snorted. “Five-shot three-inch. Girl’s gun.”
Rizzo smiled. “It’ll do, Angie. It’ll do.”
Lev Krupin sat in a harsh wooden chair pushed close against the interview room table, Rizzo and Ginsberg looming over him. Ginsberg, on Krupin’s right, bent to his ear.
“So... you’re telling us somebody stole your gun. Right out of your shop. No burglary, no strong-arm. A guy just wandered in, looked around, opened a few drawers, saw the gun, and glommed it. That’s your story, Lev?”
“Yes. Yes... I... it was stolen.”
“But you didn’t report it?”
“I did not... I did not want trouble. With police. In Moscow, the poli—”
Rizzo interjected. “This is Brooklyn, Lev. Brooklyn. I don’t know about Moscow, but in Brooklyn, cops know a lie when they hear one.”
“Where were you the night your late brother-in-law proved he had a heart by getting part of it blown off?” Ginsberg asked harshly.
“I... I was at my sister’s house... I arrived six-thirty. We had dinner. We... we watched the TV. We watched the news, I fell asleep. Next day I wake... leave house... leave house seven o’clock, to open shop, seven-thirty.”
Ginsberg pulled a chair to himself, turned it, sat down, his arms atop the chair back, his face thrust toward Krupin.
“You forgot the chicken and creamed corn dinner and the ‘We watch Frasier, very funny’ part, Lev. Come on, get with it. You’re screwing up the script.”
The man began to perspire. Rizzo noticed the slight trembling of the fingers, the throb in the vein of the neck. He leaned his haunches against the table and crossed his arms.
Without turning his head toward Lev Krupin, Rizzo quickly ran a few carefully crafted thoeries through his mind. Simply speaking straight ahead in conversational tones, he took his shot.
“Here’s what we know happened, Lev. You got sick of watching your sister get smacked around. You confronted Antipov. He told you to drop dead, maybe smacked you around. You went and got your gun, found him, and shot him.”
“No!” Krupin croaked, his voice breaking. “I’m good man, honest, not criminal. I’m citizen! Five years, citizen!”
“Yeah, well, that’s nice. But — listen carefully here, citizen. I just told you what we know. Now I’m gonna tell you what we can prove. They’re two different things. We can prove your sister got sick of being a punching bag. She called you. You brought her the gun, and you babysat her two kids. Then she killed Antipov. Shot him right in the heart. So even though we know you did it, she takes the fall because she’s the one we can get a conviction on. The conviction you own.” Rizzo now turned to Ginsberg. “Does that sound like the actions of a ‘good man,’ Mark? An ‘honest, not criminal,’ man? A citizen?”
Ginsberg grimaced. “No. Sounds exactly like something Viktor Antipov would do, Joe.” Ginsberg stood, moved even closer to Krupin, and bent to his ear once again. “You or your sister, Lev. Who’s it gonna be?” He smiled coldly. “Makes no difference to us.”
Time: 13:10 hours
Place: Interview Room Two, 62 Pct. Det. Squad Room, 2nd floor
Present: Rizzo, Joseph, Sergeant, Shield #1864, 62 Squad
Ginsberg, Mark, Det. 1st, Shield #2065, 62 Squad
Brusca, Judith, Official Stenographer, OCR I.D. #10502
Bronson, James, P.O., Shield #17860, Video Unit, Bklyn South
Smalls, Juanita, A.D.A., Kings County (catching)
Krupkin, Lev
Interviewer: Rizzo, Joseph
Subject: Krupkin, Lev
Q: Why were you carrying a gun that night?
A: I have permit for in store. But... but I take gun home every night. For protection. I take cash to night drop... I feel safer with gun.
Q: Where is that gun now?
A: Jamaica Bay. I throw off Canarsie Pier Wednesday night.
Q: How and when did you meet up with Antipov on the night he was shot?
A: I go for coffee after I leave my sister’s house.
Q: Alone or with someone?
A: Alone.
Q: What time?
A: Leave sister at eleven at night.
Q: So you didn’t sleep on her couch as you stated to myself and Detective Ginsberg earlier today.
A: No. I go for coffee. That place on Sixty-fifth Street. When I come out, I run into Viktor. He see me with coffee container in hand, laugh at me. He always laugh at me. I tell him, ‘What funny?’ He says I am funny. He says I am joke. I tell him, you are joke. You are criminal. You are wife beater. That get him very mad. He say to me, ‘You are coward. If any man beat my sister, I would cut his throat and drink his blood like wine. But you... you are coward.’
Q: Then what happened?
A: He say come with him, prove I’m not coward. Come with him to alley across street. “If you are a man, we will fight. Or you can walk away — walk away like cowardly shopkeeper you are. And I will beat my wife when she needs beating, and you will stand mute, shopkeeper, and respect me.”
Q: Then what?
A: He walk across street, go into alley. I stand there, shaking. I am not coward. But Viktor... Viktor killer. Very strong man, very tough, no mercy in his soul. I was frightened. Then... I felt the gun. The weight... in my pocket. I went to alley, took out gun, pointed at Viktor. He just laughed. He spit at me. ‘That is for you, shopkeeper. My spit. And now I will take that gun from you. And I will beat you with it. Beat you like a dog.’
Q: And then?
A: (long pause, approx. 15 seconds) I shoot him. And then I run away.
Rizzo hung up his phone and stood. It was ten days since Viktor Antipov had been slain.
He crossed the squad room and dropped heavily into the chair beside Ginsberg’s desk.
“Just heard from the boss of the harbor unit,” Rizzo said. “His divers recovered a Smith and Wesson model thirty-six, right where Krupkin told them they would, twenty yards off the southeast corner of the Canarsie Pier, in about fifteen feet of water.”