1
To the left—nowhere. Right—easy. Down—a little bit. Up… Oops, something snapped. Probably cartilage.
"Gross!" Force exclaimed with disgust. "Why did you do that?"
"I want to understand something." Cord pulled out the shard of the bottle from the nasal septum of the dead man and turned it over in front of him. "How many here?"
"Six centimeters, I would say," answered Forensics.
"Not bad! How did the killer manage to break the bottle like that?"
Cord got up and handed the shard to one of the passing forensic experts, who immediately placed it in an evidence bag. Cord glanced at the corpse again.
A man in a spattered black down jacket looked young, less than thirty, with a white face, except for the frozen blood. There was frost on the eyebrows and beard. The mouth was half-open, but the eyes were closed. A massive cut ran across the forehead, diagonally from right to left and then down to the curled up nose, from which Cord has just pulled out the shard of glass. Force was holding a package with a bloody broken bottle found lying in a snowdrift two meters from the dead man.
"The matter does not appear to be the bottle," Cord shook his head. "The wound, though deep, went to the left, to the nose, not to the brain. The bottle was broken on his forehead, but you have to try very hard to kill someone with a blow there."
"Then what is the cause of death?" asked Forensics.
"You know."
"I'm interested in your opinion."
"He froze to death. The blow knocked him out, the weather did the rest. At night, what was the temperature, minus twenty? An hour, I think, would have been enough. This alley is not the main one, and in winter, no one walks here at night. He might well not have been noticed until morning. As a result—frost and sun, a day so fine! You're still dreaming, dear friend divine."
"Don't vulgarize that beautiful verse," Force grimaced.
But Cord could not calm down:
"It's time, our beauty, for you to arise: open your eyes closed with bliss, then with the coming of the moment you'll rise the evil dead!"
"You have a talent," Forensics said approvingly. "I'd say ten points."
"Eight," said Force, "for the vulgarization of a beautiful verse."
"Come on," Cord chuckled. "Tell me something even better: do you think this corpse is the work of the Villain?"
Force shrugged.
"I see no reason the Villain would have killed this bum."
"I agree. I have no idea what the man this is. Before, the victims were always contextually linked to the first murder or to our investigation. Therefore, there is a chance that here were just drunks who quarreled, and one of them was slightly killed."
"Hmm. Perhaps that makes sense, but I still want to check everything out," Force shook the package with the broken bottle.
"Of course. I think he bought the bottle nearby."
"Yeah, and perhaps the seller remembers him."
"Unlikely. Do you know how many people pass by in front of these sellers?"
"Well, we still have no other leads. So let's go."
"This is the first time I see you wanting to take a walk," Cord smiled.
"I might be wanting to lose weight," Force muttered.
***
There were not that many grocery stores around the park, and they were quite far from each other. The investigators were too lazy to return to the car, so they decided to walk, at least to the first two stores. Shortly Force began to whine, grumble and gasp.
"You suggested this yourself!" Cord chuckled at another intermittent grumble by Force. "You knew you couldn't do it."
"Go to hell… Phew." Force stopped. "Wait, let me take a break."
Cord stood by his side and looked around.
"By the way, that looks like a liquor store over there. It's not so far. Let's go, and you can have a rest there."
After a moment's hesitation, Force heroically replied:
"Okay."
***
It was a tiny shop focused on alcoholic beverages and snacks. However, conscience did not allow for it to be called simply a liquor store: besides shelves with various types of booze, part of the area inside was filled with a refrigerator and a freezer. This type of shop was typical of the kind found in the depths of some bedroom communities; local drunks and bachelors who ate dumplings day to day usually came here to shop.
At the counter sat a stout woman in her thirties or fifties, idly leafing through a women's magazine. Not "Women's Secrets", and at least that was one good thing.
Cord took the package with the broken bottle from his partner and went to the counter.
"Hello."
The saleswoman looked up at him thoughtfully.
"Investigator Cord," the practical investigator introduced himself. "We're investigating the murder of a man in the park. The fragments of a bottle were found near the body," Cord showed her, "As we understand it, from a vodka bottle. Could you tell us what brand it might be?"
The saleswoman perked up perceptibly. She put the magazine aside, took the evidence bag from Cord's hand, and carefully examined the shard inside, which had been a piece of the neck of the bottle. Then she went to the shelf, where the needed bottle was located. When she returned, she put it on the counter.
"This one."
Cord turned it over in his hands. "Silver". It was at the very bottom of the premium segment, quite expensive, but with a most common taste. Inside the bottle was a souvenir silver coin, 999-proof was written on it.
"Do people often buy this kind from you?"
"From time to time, but usually as a gift or for the holidays."
"So the drunks don't drink it?"
"We do not serve such people!" the saleswoman proudly lifted her chin. "Our clients are respectable!"
Hmm. Like that, aye?
Cord pulled a recorder from his pocket. The saleswoman glanced at him suspiciously.
"Do you mind if we record our further conversation?"
"Why?"
"Because those are the rules. Perhaps you sold this bottle of vodka to a criminal yesterday, so maybe you can describe him. Then we will catch him quickly, and he will kill no one else."
"And… Will anything happen to me?" the saleswoman was agitated.
"What do you mean?"
"Well… Punishment."
"Of course not," Force reassured the woman. "Your testimony will help us create a profile of the criminal."
"We assume this person is known to us. Besides that, we will buy this bottle of vodka from you," added Cord.
"Will you buy some fish?" the saleswoman's eyes lit up. "They brought us fresh, lightly salted salmon; you will lick your fingers!"
"And we will buy salmon," Cord smiled.
"Good!" the saleswoman was delighted. "Then turn on your recorder."
Cord pressed the record button and, having said the mandatory part, began the questioning.
"Introduce yourself, please."
"Magnolia."
"What is your position?"
"Private entrepreneur. This is my shop."
"Could you say its full name?"
"'The Decanter' liquor store."
"Were you at work yesterday?"
"Yes."
"All day?"
"Yes."
"Did anyone buy any 'Silver' vodka yesterday?"
"Yes, twice—one buyer in the afternoon and another in the evening, almost right before closing."
"Can you describe them?"
"Well, the first one, he… He was a solid-looking older man, in a hat, with a mustache and a briefcase, one of our regular clients."
"And the second one?"
"He was… a newcomer. Anyway, that was the first time I saw him, but I can call my saleswoman so that you can check with her."
"We would be grateful if you would. Describe him in as much detail as possible."
The woman pondered, trying to recall the buyer's appearance.
"Tall and… Quite powerful, I would say. He was dressed in a beige sheepskin coat with a fox hat on his head. There was hair sticking out from under his hat, which means that it was long."
"Hair color?"
"Blond."
Hmm.
Cord asked a few more questions, but rather for the sake of the forms. A powerful blond… Was it really Familiar again?
This had to be contemplated in a calm atmosphere.
2
Returning home in the evening, Cord showered and drank a cup of coffee. Dinner was languishing on the stove—lamb in pickled cabbage with cranberries. Coming from the bedroom, he could hear Dia's remarks: she was rehearsing.
So, since there is time, I need to ponder today's murder. Of course, he had promised himself not to work at home, but since Dia was now busy and he had no intention of distracting her, work was the optimum choice for spending the time.
The cause of death was clear, the cause of the injury also, but the motive? That's more difficult with this one: the murder is out of context. If the second and the third were related to the investigation and to me and so on, this one looked to be absolutely unrelated to any of them. Apart from one thing, of course.
Stop, two. Both the prostitute and the current homeless person were killed in the same park. However, this felt like just a coincidence.
Was it also a coincidence that the description of the customer easily identified Familiar? Was there a chance that the bum was his victim?
Cord knew his former friend pretty well and could confidently say that having a propensity for murder, even with the most minimum brutality, was a trait that, in fact, was absent in his character. He was a nervous type, he had mood swings, and his appearance was intimidating, thanks to regular exercise at the gym. Still, in reality, Familiar was one of those people about whom people say "he wouldn't hurt a fly". However, he could stand up for himself, although he never usually brought matters to a fight, at least around Cord.
There was no doubt: Familiar could easily knock a man out with one blow. As well as throwing a stone with enough force to shatter a girl's skull. Intuition told Cord that he was right.
If I compare those murders with the massacre in the hospital and the strangulation of Madam, it is obvious that they could easily have been committed by different people. Both the second and the third looked… How to put it… Staged. The massacre in the hospital was a pure action movie, the strangulation of Madam—a thriller about a serial killer. But the park killings looked… Random?
Hmm. If one thought that way, everything fell into place.
Familiar had a conflict with a prostitute. He went after her, perhaps wanting to apologize, but the prostitute did not want to stop and listen to him. Then he picked up a rock from a flower bed and, in a rage, flung it at the girl. Perhaps not even aiming and certainly not intending to cause her even minimal harm, but it turned out how it turned out.
The motive for today's murder… Obsession.
What are the reasons one person might have for hitting another? For example, if one was getting under someone's skin and did not understand a polite warning. So then a punch! A relevant way to clarify a key issue.
What if the slow-witted person stinks of urine, rancid booze, and an unwashed body? The punch becomes stronger.
I suppose Familiar was walking by himself and drinking vodka. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a bum materialized and perhaps started whining: "Give me a treat", "Treat me some of that as a brother", "What's wrong with you, ah?" Familiar could not stand it and smacked him. The drunkard's brain could not take the pressure and shut off. Then his blood circulation could not cope with the heat exchange and decided to rest, just for a minute. As a result, the bum quit this scene of troubles.
The question is, why did Familiar go to the park, and even more interesting, at night? Did he want to return to the scene of the murder nearly four months later? What prompted him to do this?
***
"CORD, DINNER IS READY!" he heard from the kitchen.
Fine.
This Saturday, he and Dia were planning on going to the theater. She wanted to introduce him to the director of the play. On the morning of the same day, he would exchange a few words with Familiar. It was about time to ask him a couple of questions.