A Negotiable Instrument

Chapter Seven - Sunday

'Come in if you're coming, and shut the bloody door!' roared Sergeant Panin. 'It's windy enough to blow the trousers off the devil himself.'

The senior patrolman gestured in irritation to one of his junior colleagues to do as Panin suggested.

'That's better. Now where was I?' Panin asked as he turned back to the two clerks who stood in front of his desk. 'Oh yes! So the young lady in question says to her intended, after we are married I will share with you all your troubles and problems. But, light of my life, he replies, I don't have any troubles or problems. Yes, she says, but we are not married yet, are we?' Pleased at his own wit, Panin beamed at the two clerks. The two clerks did their duty, laughing neither too much nor too little. Satisfied, Panin dismissed the clerks with a wave of his hand and turned his attention to the newcomers.

'What can I do for you at this late hour?' Panin asked, looking at each man in turn.

'We have a prisoner for you, Sergeant,' the senior patrolman answered and gestured towards the short stocky man who was handcuffed to the other patrolman.

'Yes, I can see that. Why don't you start by telling me why you think it has anything to do with me?'

'We were ordered to transfer the prisoner to you from headquarters, Sergeant,' the senior patrolman said with a look of confusion.

'You were, were you? What's his name, and what's he being held for?' Panin asked, enjoying the other man's obvious discomfort.

'Stangl, Lothar Stangl. He's being held on a possible murder charge, Sergeant. He's German.'

'German, eh? Well, he must be guilty then, mustn't he? Cunning bastards, those Germans. You never can trust them.'

'Yes, Sergeant. I mean, I don't know, Sergeant. We were just ordered to transfer him to the Isaac Place station house.'

'Mind you, this one looks about as cunning as a sardine,' Panin went on, giving Stangl a disappointed look. 'So where's your paperwork, Patrolman? I haven't got all night.'

The senior patrolman gestured to one of his subordinates. After much scrabbling around in the pockets of his greatcoat the patrolman passed a sheaf of crumpled documents to Panin.

'Now why didn't you just give me these in the first place?' Panin asked. 'Would have saved us all a lot of time, wouldn't it?'

'Yes, Sergeant,' the senior patrolman said, his confused look turned to one of irritation.

'So, Lothar Stangl it is. Been expecting him,' Panin said as he checked through the paperwork. 'Ah! He's mixed up in the funny money investigation. That makes him one of the fruits of my own labours, so to speak. Telephones, whatever did we do without them, eh? Never mind,' he added as the three patrolmen stared at him in incomprehension.

'No, Sergeant. Just as you say,' the senior patrolman said.

'German or not, he doesn't look like he's going to give anything away, even if you whittled a spike on his head, now does he? I suppose you had better bring him through so we can get him tucked up for the night.'

* * *

'Would you like more tea, Madam?' Olga asked when she had finished clearing away the discarded plates and bowls. Tursunov's oladyi, small buttermilk pancakes served with sour cream and jam, and the thick creamy kasha he had shared with Maxim, had been picked clean. The dark, heavy rye bread and fruit that had been set for Galina had barely been touched.

'No, thank you, Olga,' Galina answered.

'Sir? Would you like another cup of tea? Sir?' Olga repeated, her plain round face impassive.