tc.thebearandthedragon-第21部分

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ody　parts；　and　the　general　dishevelment　of　the　bodies　prevented　their　seeing　anything　like　a　bullet　or　knife　wound。　For　the　moment；　they　had　what　Americans　would　call　two　John　Does；　one　with　blond　or　light　brown　hair；　the　other　with　what　appeared　to　be　reddish　hair。　From　appearances；　they'd　been　in　the　water　for　three　or　four　days。　And　they'd　probably　died　together；　handcuffed　as　they　were；　unless　one　had　murdered　the　other　and　then　jumped　to　his　own　death；　in　which　case　one　or　both　might　have　been　homosexual；　the　more　cynical　of　the　two　detectives　thought。　The　beat　cop　was　told　to　write　up　the　proper　reporting　forms　at　his　station；　which；　the　militiaman　thought；　would　be　nice　and　warm。　There　was　nothing　like　finding　a　corpse　or　two　to　make　a　cold　day　colder　still。
　The　body…recovery　team　loaded　the　bags　into　their　van　for　the　drive　to　the　morgue。　The　bags　were　not　properly　sealed　because　of　the　handcuffs；　and　they　sat　side　by　side　on　the　floor　of　the　van；　perversely　like　the　hands　of　lovers　reaching　out　to　each　other　in　death。。。　as　they　had　in　life？　one　of　the　detectives　wondered　aloud　back　in　their　car。　His　partner　just　growled　at　that　one　and　continued　his　drive。
　It　was；　agreeably；　a　slow　day　in　the　St。　Petersburg　morgue。　The　senior　pathologist　on　duty；　Dr。　Aleksander　Koniev；　had　been　in　his　office　reading　a　medical　journal　and　well　bored　by　the　inactivity　of　the　morning；　when　the　call　came　in；　a　possible　double　homicide。　Those　were　always　interesting；　and　Koniev　was　a　devotee　of　murder　mysteries；　most　of　them　imported　from　Britain　and　America；　which　also　made　them　a　good　way　to　polish　up　his　language　skills。　He　was　waiting　in　the　autopsy　room　when　the　bodies　arrived；　were　transferred　to　gurneys　at　the　loading　ramp　and　rolled　together　into　his　room。　It　took　a　moment　to　see　why　the　two　gurneys　were　wheeled　side　by　side。
　〃So；〃　the　pathologist　asked　with　a　sardonic　grin；　〃were　they　killed　by　the　militia？〃
　〃Not　officially；〃　the　senior　detective　replied；　in　the　same　emotional　mode。　He　knew　Koniev。
　〃Very　well。〃　The　physician　switched　on　the　tape　recorder。　〃We　have　two　male　cadavers；　still　fully　dressed。　It　is　apparent　that　both　have　been　immersed　in　water　…　where　were　they　recovered？〃　he　asked；　looking　up　at　the　cops。　They　answered。　〃Immersed　in　fresh　water　in　the　Neva。　On　initial　visual　inspection；　I　would　estimate　three　to　four　days'　immersion　after　death。〃　His　gloved　hands　felt　around　one　head；　and　the　other。　〃Ah；〃　his　voice　said。　〃Both　victims　seem　to　have　been　shot。　Both　have　what　appear　to　be　bullet　holes　in　the　center　of　the　occipital　region　of　both　bodies。　Initial　impression　is　a　small…caliber　bullet　hole　in　both　victims。　We'll　check　that　later。　Yevgeniy；〃　he　said；　looking　up　again；　this　time　at　his　own　technician。　〃Remove　the　clothing　and　bag　it　for　later　inspection。
　〃Yes；　rade　Doctor。〃　The　technician　put　out　his　cigarette　and　came　forward　with　cutting　tools。
　〃Both　shot？〃　the　junior　detective　asked。
　〃In　the　same　place　in　both　heads；〃　Koniev　confirmed。　〃Oh；　they　were　handcuffed　after　death；　strangely　enough。　No　immediately　visible　bruising　on　either　wrist。　Why　do　it　afterwards？〃　the　pathologist　wondered。
　〃Keeps　the　bodies　together；〃　the　senior　detective　thought　aloud　…　but　why　might　that　be　important？　he　wondered　to　himself。　The　killer　or　killers　had　an　overly　developed　sense　of　neatness？　But　he'd　been　investigating　homicides　long　enough　to　know　that　you　couldn't　fully　explain　all　the　crimes　you　solved；　much　less　the　ones　you'd　newly　encountered。
　〃Well；　they　were　both　fit；〃　Koniev　said　next；　as　his　technician　got　the　last　of　their　clothes　off。　〃Hmm；　what's　that？〃　He　walked　over　and　saw　a　tattoo　on　the　left　biceps　of　the　blond　one；　then　turned　to　see　…　〃They　both　have　the　same　tattoo。〃
　The　senior　detective　came　over　to　see；　first　thinking　that　maybe　his　partner　had　been　right　and　there　was　a　sexual　element　to　this　case；　but　…
　〃Spetsnaz；　the　red　star　and　THUNDERbolt；　these　two　were　in　Afghanistan。　Anatoliy；　while　the　doctor　conducts　his　examination；　let's　go　through　their　clothing。〃
　This　they　did；　and　in　half　an　hour　determined　that　both　had　been　well　dressed　in　fairly　expensive　clothing；　but　in　both　cases　entirely　devoid　of　identification　of　any　kind。　That　was　hardly　unusual　in　a　situation　like　this；　but　cops；　like　everyone　else；　prefer　the　easy　to　the　hard。　No　wallet；　no　identity　papers；　not　a　banknote；　key　chain；　or　tie　tack。　Well；　they　could　trace　them　through　the　labels　on　the　clothes；　and　nobody　had　cut　their　fingertips　off；　and　so　they　could　also　use　fingerprints　to　identify　them。　Whoever　had　done　the　double　murder　had　been　clever　enough　to　deny　the　police　some　knowledge；　but　not　clever　enough　to　deny　them　everything。
　What　did　that　mean？　the　senior　detective　wondered。　The　best　way　to　prevent　a　murder　investigation　was　to　make　the　bodies　disappear。　Without　a　body　there　was　no　proof　of　death；　and　therefore；　no　murder　investigation；　just　a　missing　person　who　could　have　run　off　with　another　woman　or　man；　or　just　decided　to　go　someplace　to　start　life　anew。　And　disposing　of　a　body　was　not　all　that　difficult；　if　you　thought　about　it　a　little。　Fortunately；　most　killings　were；　if　not　exactly　impulse　crimes；　then　something　close　to　it；　and　most　killers　were　fools　who　would　later　seal　their　own　fates　by　talking　too　much。
　But　not　this　time。　Had　this　been　a　sexual　killing；　he　probably　would　have　heard　about　it　by　now。　Such　crimes　were　virtually　advertised　by　their　perpetrators　in　some　perverse　desire　to　assure　their　own　arrest　and　conviction；　because　no　one　who　mitted　that　kind　of　crime　seemed　able　to　keep　his　mouth　shut　about　anything。
　No；　this　double　killing　had　every　hallmark　of　professionalism。　Both　bodies　killed　in　the　same　way；　and　only　then　handcuffed　together。。。　probably　for　better　and/or　lengthier　concealment。　No　sign　of　a　struggle　on　either　body；　and　both　were　manifestly　fit；　trained；　dangerous　men。　They'd　been　taken　unawares；　and　that　usually　meant　someone　they　both　knew　and　trusted。　Why　criminals　trusted　anyone　in　their　munity　was　something　neither　detective　quite　understood。　〃Loyalty〃　was　a　word　they　could　scarcely　spell；　much　less　a　principle　to　which　any　of　them　adhered。。。　and　yet　criminals　gave　strange　lip…service　to　it。
　As　the　detectives　watched；　the　pathologist　drew　blood　from　both　bodies　for　later　toxicology　tests。　Perhaps　both　had　been　drugged　as　a　precursor　to　the　head　shots；　not　likely；　but　possible；　and　something　to　be　checked。　Scrapings　were　taken　from　all　twenty　fingernails；　and　those；　too；　would　probably　be　valueless。　Finally；　fingerprints　were　taken　so　that　proper　identification　could　be　made。　This　would　not　be　very　fast。　The　central　records　bureau　in　Moscow　was　notoriously　inefficient；　and　the　detectives　would　beat　their　own　local　bushes　in　the　hope　of　finding　out　who　these　two　cadavers　had　once　been。
　〃Yevgeniy；　these　are　not　men　of　whom　I　would　have　made　enemies　lightly。〃
　〃I　agree；　Anatoliy；〃　the　elder　of　the　two　said。　〃But　someone　either　did　not　fear　them　at　all。。。　or　feared　them　sufficiently　to　take　very　drastic　action。〃　The　truth　of　the　matter　was　that　both　men　were　accustomed　to　solving　easy　murders　where　the　killer　confessed　almost　at　once；　or　had　mitted　his　crime　in　front　of　numerous　witnesses。　This　one　would　challenge　their　abilities；　and　they　would　report　that　to　their　lieutenant；　in　the　hope　of　getting　additional　assets　assigned　to　the　case。
　As　they　watched；　photos　were　taken　of　the　faces；　but　those　faces　were　so　distorted　as　to　be　virtually　unrecognizable；　and　the　photos　would　then　be　essentially　useless　for　purposes　of　identification。　But　taking　them　prior　to　opening　the　skull　was　procedure；　and　Dr。　Koniev　did　everything　by　the　book。　The　detectives　stepped　outside　to　make　a　few　phone　calls　and　smoke　in　a　place　with　a　somewhat　more　palatable　ambience。　By　the　time　they　came　back；　both　bullets　were　in　plastic　containers；　and　Koniev　told　them　that　the　presumptive　cause　of　both　deaths　was　a　single　bullet　in　each　brain；　with　powder　tattooing　evident　on　both　scalps。　They'd　both　been　killed　at　short　range；　less　than　half　a　meter；　the　pathologist　told　them；　with　what　appeared　to　be　a　standard；　light　2。6…gram　bullet　fired　from　a　5。45…mm　PSM　police　pistol。　That　might　have　generated　a　snort；　since　this　was　the　standard…issue　police　side　arm；　but　quite　a　few　had　found　their　way　into　the　Russian　underworld。
　〃The　Americans　call　this　a　professional　job；〃　Yevgeniy　observed。
　〃Certainly　it　was　acplished　with　skill；〃　Anatoliy　agreed。　〃And　now；　first。。。〃
　〃First　we　find　out　who　these　unlucky　bastards　were。　Then；　who　the　hell　were　their　enemies。〃
　
　
　The　Chinese　food　in　China　wasn't　nearly　as　good　as　that　to　be　found　in　LA；　Nomuri　thought。　Probably　the　ingredients；　was　his　immediate　analysis。　If　the　People's　Republic　had　a　Food　and　Drug　Administration；　it　had　been　left　out　of　his　premission　briefing；　and　his　first　thought　on　entering　this　restaurant　was　that　he　didn't　want　to　check　the　kitchen　out。　Like　most　Beijing　restaurants；　this　one　was　a　small　mom…and…pop　operation；　operating　out　of　the　first　floor　of　what　was　in　essence　a　private　home；　and　serving　twenty　people　out　of　a　standard　Chinese　munist　home　kitchen　must　have　involved　considerable　acrobatics。　The　table　was　circular；　small；　and　eminently　cheap；　and　the　chair　was　unfortable；　but　for　all　that；　the　mere　fact　that　such　a　place　existed　was　testimony　to　fundamental　changes　in　the　political　leadership　of　this　country。
　But　the　mission　of　the　evening　sat　across　from　him。　Lian　Ming。　She　wore　the　standard　off…blue　boiler　suit　that　was　virtually　the　uniform　of　low　to　mid…level　bureaucrats　in　the　various　government　ministries。　Her　hair　was　cut　short；　almost　like　a　helmet。　The　fashion　industry　in　this　city　must　have　been　established　by　some　racist　son　of　a　bitch　who　loathed　the　Chinese　and　tried　his　level　best　to　make　them　as　unattractive　as　he　could。　He'd　yet　to　see　a　single　local　female　citizen　who　dressed　in　a　manner　that　anyone　could　call　attractive　except；　maybe；　for　some　imports　from　Hong　Kong。　Uniformity　was　a　problem　with　the　Orient；　the　utter　lack　of　variety；　unless　you　counted　the　foreigners　who　were　showing　up　in　ever…increasing　numbers；　but　they　stuck　out　like　roses　in　a　junkyard；　and　that　m