The Best American Mystery Stories 2000 by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: detective
ISBN: 978-0-395-93917-8
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin
Published: 2000-06-01T21:00:00+00:00

Martin took his place on the hard plastic chair in the soundproof booth and opened his briefcase on the counter. The door was ajar in the corresponding booth on the other side of the thick Plexiglas, and he saw wavy shapes moving around in the big room over there like fish in a fishbowl. Finally a darkness blotted out the light. A huge man wearing the rough overalls of the D.C. Department of Corrections squeezed into the booth and with difficulty reached behind himself to close the door. Childishly drawn tattoos scrawled down the man’s arms to his wrists and up his neck to his chin.

For half a second Martin stared. The man filled the booth almost completely. He could have been a professional athlete except for his disturbing black eyes, which looked at once too intelligent and completely devoid of human sentiment, and his hands, which looked clumsy, pig-knuckled. His black hair, streaked with white, was cut close to his head; his thick sideburns were neatly trimmed into sharp points.

Martin heard the big man’s chair creak. He crossed his arms and sat back, waiting for Martin to say something. This behavior was surprising. Usually prisoners couldn’t wait to talk, to rush out with their story before he’d even introduced himself. Martin tapped his pencil nervously on the counter and glanced down at his yellow pad, the first page half covered with doodles. He never wrote anything important on the thing; it was a prop, an aide-memoire. Doodling was something like a vocation to him, one of his few genuine talents.

“You Alexei Sergeyevich Smerdnakov?” Martin asked finally.

The man nodded, expressionless.

“I don’t know if you realize it, but you’ve been charged with first-degree murder in the death of” — he checked his page of doodles — “Katerina Volovnaya. Since it has been determined that you are unable to provide representation, the District of Columbia has—”

“You going to get me out of here, asshole?” Smerdnakov smashed his fist down on his half of the counter, and Martin felt the vibration through the glass. “This place stinks like horse-shit!” Smerdnakov spoke English with a Russian accent tinged with Brooklyn. His eyebrows moved dramatically when he spoke.

“I’m afraid bail is going to be out of the question, considering the charges,” Martin said. “Also, your Russian background makes you a risk for flight”

Smerdnakov poked a thick finger against the glass. “I’m an American citizen,” he said angrily. “I demand right to liberty!”

“Being a citizen is not the point here,” Martin said. “You probably still have family in Russia. From the Districts point of view, you could decide to pay them a visit tomorrow. Then they’d never get you back for trial.”

Smerdnakov flashed an ugly smile. His teeth were white and square, with narrow gaps between them, the teeth of a giant, teeth made for crushing bones. When he breathed, the prison overalls stretched taut across his chest.

“I have no family in Russia,” he said. “I got no friends neither. I got friends in Brooklyn. I want to go back.

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