The publishing house Livebook published a book by Vyacheslav Kuritsyn “At the subway, at the Sokolis a nostalgic detective about Moscow in 1975. Moskvich Mag publishes a fragment in which police interrogate five old women who suspect that a maniac has appeared in their area.
Flew in, barely knocking, Senior Lieutenant Kravtsov. Disheveled, with a crazy look, the uniform jacket is buttoned on the wrong button, skewed.
– Comrade Major! Comrade Captain! Two more old ladies! Back to Dynamo!
Zhunev reacted unprintably.
“A noble harvest is reaping death this May among the representatives of the older generation of Muscovites,” Pokrovsky summarized.
“These two are intact,” breathed Kravtsov. The car is already waiting.
– I pass, – Zhunev raised his palms. – Take experts and go ahead.
Pokrovsky got up.
Kravtsov in Moscow was not yet perfectly oriented. He said that he was going to Dynamo again, but we drove on, and we drove through the Airport, turned off Leningradsky Prospekt already on the Sokol.
“The place is called Skeletons,” said Kravtsov. — I don’t know what it is.
Pokrovsky knew. In the depths of the Chapaevsky Park, there are ugly metal structures behind a wooden fence. It was a dismantled and not very assembled Nazi hangar, which was allegedly brought from defeated Germany by Vasily Stalin, the son of that Stalin. Not by himself, of course, but at his command, less noble people somehow brought this extravagant trophy here.
– Blimey! Kravtsov was sincerely surprised. — There are so many interesting things in Moscow!
Yes, I wonder how many railway platforms, whether there was engineering documentation for this thing, which did not allow the walls of the aviators’ gym to be slammed on it, as planned. It is curious to read an article with diagrams about this in Science and Life, but probably too much secret truth would have to be inserted into such an article.
The air in the park is fresh and even festive: for some it is grief and misfortune, while Pokrovsky, after his vacation, has energy and anticipation of interesting events.
Local policemen ask local residents not to crowd near the poplar. Nearby are frightened, but unharmed girlfriends-pensioners. The despondent major from the local branch speaks to them sternly, as if they were not the victims in front of him, but the suspects. Pokrovsky intervened and adjusted a comradely tone.
Both friends were nurses in both the Finnish and the Great Patriotic War. Fresh bright medals gleamed on their chests. Two weeks ago, millions of citizens of the USSR – everyone who fought or worked in the rear – were awarded a medal on the thirtieth anniversary of the Victory. The participants in the war for the last ten years, since Victory Day became a day off, put on awards at the beginning of May, but not all participants: someone could be embarrassed that there were too many or, conversely, few awards. And this new medal, democratic, dedicated to a specific date, was appropriate to wear separately, and these days it sparkled on many, many jackets and jackets.
One of the nurses came to visit another from Voronezh. We were returning late yesterday from Viktorenko Street – this is at the Airport, a fifteen-minute walk – to Chapaevsky Lane. We stayed with our third front-line friend, with whom a big trouble happened that day. I wiped the window between the kitchen and the bathroom, fell off the stool, many severe bruises.
“He’ll be lying down for a month, bruises are straight, wow, I can’t,” said the one whom Pokrovsky numbered to himself as old woman number four.
We’re going home, it’s already late, it’s dark. Past the frames, the passage is straight. And from there, – the fifth old woman extended her hand towards the frames, and the fourth old woman simultaneously extended her hand there, it turned out a little theatrical.
– It whistled, so immediately and it is not clear where.
“At first I didn’t think at all! A little bit even as a shell whistles …
Confused, anxious. They survived wars, collectivization, industrialization, and here … Here, however, they also survived.
Pokrovsky asked which of the old women was closer to the frames. It turned out that Voronezh.
Why didn’t you contact the police right away? the local major asked sternly.
– So … barely escaped. And it was too late.
“We’ll get home faster…” and old woman number five suddenly switched to a whisper. – And what, really, comrade policeman, a maniac of old women in our area …
She didn’t agree on what she was doing.
“Come on, come on,” the major frowned. — What did you hear? Rumors, you know, it’s not good to dissolve.
“They said that a woman’s head was smashed at Grazhdanskaya, and another was stabbed to death at Baku.
“Baku” is a new cinema that has been erected nearby. Pokrovsky had not yet seen him.
“An exaggeration,” said Pokrovsky.
It is curious how cleverly reliable information is intertwined with false information. Or does he not know? No, if someone had been stabbed at “Baku” too, Zhunev, of course, would have told Pokrovsky about it.
“I didn’t believe the rumors,” said the Muscovite nurse. – And yesterday I remembered!
– And I remembered that you told me that you have such a thing going on here …
Both, it means, remembered, but they did not remind each other. The thought asks, and the person pushes it back … or not back, where “back” … Drives it away, on the contrary, like an unnecessary insect
In the morning, with a fresh mind, they began to discuss the night incident, and here the rumors had to be revived in memory. We thought about going to the police. For starters, we all went to the same friend: yesterday they promised her Voronezh candies, a second box: one was opened yesterday, the victim liked the candies so much that the Moscow friend decided to give up her box – the guest also brought her – the patient to give in. And they brought a record with military songs. A friend was still sleeping, a relative guards her, they didn’t wake her up, they left sweets and a record. On the way back, without saying a word, we went to that place.
If the projectile was fired, where did it go! And they saw that in the bifurcated old poplar, a five-hundred-gram weight from a store scale was stuck, just driving between the trunks.
This is where the police were called.
– Not good, citizens! the Major frowned. – Almost more than half a day you delayed the information.
– It was necessary right away, it was necessary, but we are like this …
And Antonina is always in her thoughts, bruise her, you should have seen.
“I dreamed about her,” another pensioner, number five, suddenly said. And then she refuted herself. No, I didn’t dream! It was I who did not sleep, I myself remembered. When they entered Rummelsburg… Do you remember?
– How many there were, cities.
– Where Antonina released the canary.
— I remember!
From the inconsistent story, it turned out that after the liberation of Rummelsburg, previously unknown to Pokrovsky, in April 1945, the nurses were quartered in the house that had previously been occupied by a German officer, so cultured that he kept a canary in a cage. And Antonina released this canary out of the window from the fullness of feelings. It’s like liberated too. And I didn’t realize that a canary would die on the street. And then, according to old woman number five, she remembered this for many years, and cursed herself, and felt sorry for this unfortunate canary.
And old woman number five took it and started crying at this place, even the gloomy major grunted:
– You already this … This is when it was!
Indeed, it was thirty years ago, the canary would not have lived.
Any conflicts lately, ill-wishers? No, nothing like that. The neighbors are wonderful, there were no conflicts with hooligans.
A well-groomed woman of about forty, in a red dress, flew up, rushed to old woman number five.
– Mommy, mommy! Why don’t you call! The neighbors called me!
– I, Olechka, didn’t want to … You’re at work …
“Mom, are you all right?” – Olga began to quickly rotate her mother around the axis, like a mannequin, then turned to her friend. – And you?
And without waiting for an answer, she attacked the policemen.
— Where are you looking? Can’t protect war veterans from a maniac?
Pokrovsky wanted to joke that this was a heavenly invisible policeman and protected, pulled the villain in time by the sleeve. But he didn’t joke. The pensioners, along with their active daughter, were sent home. The affected tree was photographed and studied, the weight was pulled out.
– Where do they get such weights? Pokrovsky asked his colleagues. Are they available for free sale?
“Goods for Trade” is like a shop, – said Kravtsov.
– It’s a melee weapon. I put it in a string bag and went to thresh,” said Pokrovsky. “Look, there are signs here… Are these on all weights?”
There were indeed signs on the lead insert in the weight. Letter K, letters GE, Roman two, Arabic seven and two.
“I’ll find out,” said Kravtsov.