Chapter I.II
Vitaly Ivolginsky
Always Visible (Another Prayer for the Dying Horror Genre)
First Act — Tempo De Construção Novamente
Chapter I.II
Squinting from the sunlight, Galbraith came close to the facade of a three-story building overlooking a majestic green square. He stretched out his hand to the brass handle of the double door, but the next second a young sergeant with a blue cap on his head came out to meet him. Galbraith stepped sharply to the side, making way for him, but the young man stopped in place and looked at the inspector with a slight squint.
“Good afternoon, mister Galbraith”, sergeant raised his hand to his cap.
“Hi, Saussure”, inspector answered with some bewilderment.
“Mister chief inspector Schaeymoure wants to see you”, he reported in a brave tone
Hearing this, Galbraith involuntarily lost heart.
“What this is regarding?”, he asked the young man in a stammering voice.
“He’s waiting for you in his office”, Saussure ignored his question and moved on.
Galbraith could not resist the pleasure of looked away this cheerful young man, who, putting on his cap as he walked, walked quickly up the street, slightly tilting his curly head forward. “Interesting”, Galbraith thought, “what made this young man so happy”…
Inspector entered the doors of the police department, but he was in no hurry to immediately go up to the second floor.To begin with, he decided to verify the veracity of the sergeant’s words and looked into the duty officer’s room, where he found old Pauling, who, as always, was sitting at his desk. At that moment, he was pouring himself some coffee, and a little further away, two policemen were dozing on a sofa by the window. When the inspector appeared, Pauling shuddered slightly and, putting the coffee pot on the table, raised his head.
“Excuse me, does mister chief inspector Schaeymoure really need me now?”, Galbraith asked the old man.
“Of course”, answered duty officer. “Have you forgotten that today is a meeting on the Pharqraut’s case?”
“What?”, hearing his friend’s name, Galbraith perked up.
“Everyone else is already in the chief inspector’s office, only you is missing”, the old man blinked his eyes.
“Why didn’t anyone warn me about this in advance?”
“I wanted David to notified you”, Pauling had in his assistant. “But mister chief inspector Schaeymoure persuaded not to disturb…”
Galbraith did not listen to the old man to the end and left the duty officer’s office. Wow, Schaeymoure did not specifically warn him in advance about the important meeting. It seems that mister chief inspector wanted to make his employee look like an idiot, who is supposedly always out of work. Galbraith ran up the stairs to the second floor and first ran into his office. The disorder that reigned on the desk indicated that the owner of the office had not touched his papers for several days. But the inspector didn’t care about that – taking off his light gray jacket, he hung it over the back of his chair and, straightening his tie, went back out into the corridor.
Approaching the door to the chief inspector’s office, Galbraith hesitated a little. Taking a breath, he knocked quietly and, carefully opening the door, stuck his head inside. As might be expected, mister chief inspector Schaeymoure himself sat at the head of the mahogany desk. He was about fifty years old, but his neatly combed back black hair and carefully shaved face made him look younger. Under his strict black frock coat one could see a white shirtfront with a coffee-coloured tie.
Schaeymoure did not seem to notice inspector entering. He didn’t even take his eyes off the open folder in front of him, he just raised his eyebrows slightly and flipped through the page – as it was clear, this document aroused his interest. Galbraith shrugged and walked towards the long table, on which stood a decanter of water and four glassful.
He pushed back his chair and was about to sit down, but at that moment mister chief inspector took his eyes off the documents and signalled to everyone present to get up from their seats. The rest of the meeting, who were inspector Pharqraut, medic Maurice and young lieutenant Nelissen, immediately obeyed. Schaeymoure rose from his seat and, coughing politely, spoke:
“So, gentlemen!”, he raised his anemic hand. “I hereby declare this meeting in session. I’ll leave it to inspector Pharqraut to briefly summarize the facts”.
After these words, Schaeymoure sank into a deep armchair and gave a sign to the young inspector with a slight nod of his head. Pharqraut pulled his black leather briefcase from under the table and, opening it, pulled out a thick folder. Galbraith accepted a hefty stack of snow-white A4 sheets from his friend’s hands and began to look at them. They were covered from top to bottom with typewritten text, and the printing ink had not yet dried and therefore smudged a little under Galbraith’s fingers. Everyone else also received a stack of papers, and Pharqraut, having finished the distribution, returned to his place and stood next to the chair.
“Attention, gentlemen. Don’t rush to read these papers”, said the inspector, noticing how medic Maurice began to flip through the pages impatiently.
Everyone present took their eyes off the stack of papers lying in front of them and stared with interest at the young inspector. Galbraith couldn’t help but notice how Pharqraut bit his lip and became embarrassed when stout Maurice yawned noisily, covering his mouth with his hand.
“So”, he began a little hesitantly. “On the agenda we are dealing with one case. The papers I gave you are a photocopy of the drafts of my material, which I am writing as part of my investigation. Now I want to briefly convey to you the essence of this case, and you will become familiar with the details at a time convenient for you”.
After these words, Pharqraut extended his hand to the decanter standing in the middle of the table and poured himself a full glassful. After drinking the water in one gulp, the inspector put it on the table and, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, looked around at those gathered attentively.
“It all started around the beginning of July. The first death was recorded five days after Independence Day of The United States of America”.
“You forgot to mention where this took place”, medic Maurice interrupted him.
Pharqraut gave the fatso a dissatisfied glare and continued.
“Especially for mister Maurice, I will explain that all four cases occurred in different places in our city. First, I will tell you the names of the victims – Theodore Beckel, Penelope Conway, Alexander O’Brent and Dennis Lang”.
Galbraith noticed that when Pharqraut said the third name, there were notes of hostility in his voice, as if he were talking about some base and despised person. After listing the names, his friend returned to his usual impartial tone, but the inspector felt how difficult it was for him to control his anger.
“Before starting the story, I am obliged to make a small digression. I would never have united these four cases under the same roof if not for one curious fact – the names of all the victims were of Greek origin”.
Having said this, Pharqraut took a breath, as if gathering strength. Maurice twisted his mouth and said with noticeable irritation:
“You’re talking about your supernatural rubbish again!”
This remark infuriated the young inspector, who, looking at the medic and trying to maintain the official appearance of a person speaking at a meeting, said:
“If mister Maurice thinks that I am making the deaths look like some kind of anti-scientific nonsense, then let him continue to think so, but I am not going to give up my investigation”.
In these words of Pharqraut it was felt that he was specifically tired of the fatso’s remarks – undoubtedly, he already hated him with all his heart. Medic was involuntarily taken aback by these words, but, meeting the gaze of mister chief inspector, he was able to swallow the reproach and even tried to make an indifferent face, which he did not do very well.
“I’ll ask inspector Pharqraut to return to exposition of his case”, mister chief inspector spoke up.
After these words, he suddenly turned his head towards Galbraith. Schaeymoure’s glare was strange, as if he was filled with hidden amusement. He involuntarily shivered – it seemed that the eyes of the chief inspector were saying: “Learn from your friend’s mistakes, control your emotions!”.
Pharqraut was a than completely pleased with the effect his words had on Maurice. Pulling himself together, he returned to his speech.
“So, I’ll start in order. The first victim was Theodore Beckel, a janitor at the Union Way. At first sight, what happened to him was nothing more than an accident – while returning home from his evening shift, the poor man was hit by a car”.
“Where did it happen?”, asked the chief inspector.
“Right at the marked crosswalk in front of the shopping center”, Pharqraut answered politely. “Death came instantly, the wheels of the car turned his head into a bloody mess”.
Suddenly a quiet scream was heard in the office. Everyone turned their heads towards Nelissen – lieutenant’s face acquired a deathly white hue. The young man blinked rapidly and opened his mouth, but could not utter a sound.
“What is it with him?”, Galbraith muttered inaudibly under his breath.
These words did not go unnoticed by the stout medic, who immediately leaned towards the inspector.
“Haematophobia, the guy is afraid of the mere mention of blood and gore”, snoring noisily, Maurice whispered to Galbraith.
“And how do such youths get hired into the police”, thought Galbraith, looking at Nelissen. The young lieutenant was finally able to control himself and, swallowing his saliva, looked up at Pharqraut, whose face showed that he was extremely dissatisfied with the young man’s reaction. Here mister chief inspector Schaeymoure spoke again.
“How did you manage to identify the body?”, he turned to Pharqraut.
“Understand that the body belonged to a fifty-year-old Union Way janitor was child’s play – attached to his work uniform was a badge that read “T. Beckel”.”
“Very good”, it seemed that to Schaeymoure liked the logic of this explanation. “What’s next?”
“Now I will begin to describe the second victim – Penelope Conway, twenty-year-old saleswoman in duty-free shop, specializing in all kinds of powders – washing, insect repellents and so on”.
Galbraith was a little amused by Pharqraut’s description of profession of this woman – one got the feeling that his friend was tempted to call the deceased with the apt word “powder-proprietor”, but the official style that inspector was forced to adhere to did not allow him to introduce such words into his speech.
“The saleswoman was found dead in her apartment, her body was discovered by her own aunt, who came to her to give her some book telling about ancient Greek myths”.
“Cause of death?”, Schaeymoure asked dryly.
“This is a difficult question from a medical point of view”, the speaker sighed. “No signs of violence or visible injuries were found on the body of the deceased”.
“I guess it might be poison”, Maurice expressed his guess out loud.
“Do you think Penelope Conway committed suicide?”, it seemed that Pharqraut did not like this guess
“I haven’t seen this lady’s corpse, how can I know for sure?”, medic was hurt by the inspector’s words. “I’m just make assumptions”.
It was a little funny for Galbraith to watch how fatso, who had previously interrupted Pharqraut, now began to make excuses to the young inspector. He was involuntarily overcome with a feeling of pride for his friend.
“What was the woman wearing when her body was discovered?”, Schaeymoure suddenly asked a question.
This query confused Pharqraut, who began rummaging in his jacket pockets before answering. A second later he raised his head, and Galbraith noticed that his friend’s cheeks were covered with a faint blush of embarrassment.
“Well… The deceased was wearing a light white dress”, he stammered. “Cinched with satin ribbon”.
“What about shoes?”, mister chief inspector inexorably continued to asking.
“The saleswoman had alpargatas on her feet with ties around the ankle”, Pharqraut answered, looking down.
“As if the young man’s embarrassment brought satisfaction to Schaeymoure”, thought Galbraith, looking at the chief inspector, whose face expressed both interest and hidden gaiety.
