Part 2 · Chapter 4

Zossimov was a tall, kinda chunky guy with a puffy, pale, clean-shaven face and straight, light-blonde hair. He wore glasses and a huge gold ring on his finger. He was twenty-seven.

He had on a light grey, fashionable, loose coat, light summer pants, and everything about him was loose, trendy, and spotless; his shirts were perfect, his watch chain was massive.

He was slow and, like, super chill, but also trying really hard to seem casual; he was trying to hide how important he thought he was, but it was obvious. All his friends thought he was boring, but said he was good at his job.

"I’ve been to see you twice today, bro. He’s starting to come around," Razumihin said.

"I see, I see; and how is he feeling now, huh?" Zossimov asked Raskolnikov, watching him closely and settling onto the foot of the sofa as comfortably as possible.

"He’s still down," Razumihin went on.

"We just changed his sheets and he almost cried."

"That’s natural; you could have waited if he didn’t want it... His pulse is great. Still got a headache, right?"

"I’m good, I’m totally fine!" Raskolnikov declared, sounding annoyed.

He sat up on the sofa and looked at them with bright eyes, but then sank back onto the pillow and turned away to the wall. Zossimov watched him intently.

"Very good... Things are going well," he said lazily. "Has he eaten anything?"

They told him, and asked what he could have.

"He can have anything... soup, tea... mushrooms and cucumbers, of course, you shouldn't give him meat, and... but you already know that!"

Razumihin and he looked at each other.

"No medicine or anything. I’ll check on him again tomorrow. Maybe even today... but never mind..."

"Tomorrow evening, I’m taking him for a walk," Razumihin said. "We’re going to the Yusupov garden and then to the Crystal Palace."

"I wouldn’t bother him tomorrow at all, but I don’t know... maybe a little... we’ll see."

"Ugh, what a hassle! I’m having a housewarming tonight; it’s just down the street. Could he come? He could crash on the sofa. You coming?" Razumihin asked Zossimov. "Don’t forget, you promised."

"Okay, but a little later. What are you up to?"

"Oh, nothing - tea, vodka, herring. There’s gonna be pie... just our friends."

"And who are they?"

"All our neighbors, almost all new friends, except my old uncle, and he’s new too - he just got here in Petersburg yesterday to take care of some business. We only see each other like, every five years."

"... and what does he do?"

"He’s been stuck as a small-town postmaster his whole life; gets a little pension. He’s sixty-five - not worth talking about... But I like him. Porfiry Petrovitch, the head of the Investigation Department here... You know him."

"Tell me, is he related to you too?"

"A very distant one. But why are you scowling? Because you had a fight once, you still not coming?"

"I don’t care about him."

"Even better. Well, there will be some students, a teacher, a government clerk, a musician, an officer, and Zametov."

"Seriously, what could you or he" - Zossimov nodded at Raskolnikov - "possibly have in common with Zametov?"

"Oh, you’re so particular! Principles! You’re run by principles, like springs; you wouldn’t dare to think for yourself. If a guy’s a good dude, that’s the only principle I go by. Zametov is a really cool guy."

"Even though he takes bribes."

"Yeah, he does! So what? I don’t praise him for taking bribes," Razumihin cried, sounding a little too intense. "I’m just saying he’s a good guy in his own way! But if you judge everyone - are there many good ones left? I’m sure I wouldn’t be worth a baked onion myself... maybe with you thrown in."

"That’s too little; I’d give two for you."

"And I wouldn’t give you more than one. Seriously, no more jokes! Zametov’s just a kid. I could pull his hair, and you gotta guide him, not push him away. You’re not gonna fix anyone by shutting them down, especially a younger guy. You gotta be extra careful with a kid."

"Ugh, you guys are so behind the times! You don’t get it. You’re hurting yourselves dragging someone else down... But if you really want to know, we have something in common."

"Really wanna know what?"

"It’s all about a house painter... We’re getting him out of a mess! Though, honestly, there’s nothing to worry about now. It’s totally obvious. We’re just building up the pressure."

"A painter? What mess are you on about?"

"Seriously, haven’t I told you? I just told you the beginning - about the old pawnbroker lady getting murdered. Well, the painter’s involved..."

"Oh, I heard about that murder before, and it was pretty interesting... partly... for one reason... I read about it in the papers, too..."

"Lizaveta was murdered, too," Nastasya blurted out, suddenly talking to Raskolnikov.

She’s been standing by the door, listening the whole time.

"Lizaveta," murmured Raskolnikov, barely audible.

"Lizaveta, who sold used clothes. Didn’t you know her? She used to come here. She even mended a shirt for you."

Raskolnikov turned to the wall, picking at a clumsy, white flower with brown lines on its dirty, yellow paper. He started counting the petals, the scallops on the petals, and the lines on them. He felt like his arms and legs were dead weight. He didn't move, just stared at the flower.

"But what about the painter?" Zossimov interrupted Nastasya’s rambling, clearly annoyed.

She sighed and went quiet.

"He was accused of the murder," Razumihin went on, heatedly.

"Was there evidence against him?"

"Evidence, yeah! But it was fake evidence, and that’s what we have to prove. It was like they jumped on those guys, Koch and Pestryakov, in the first place. Seriously, how dumb was that? It makes you sick, even though it’s not our problem! Pestryakov might be coming tonight..."

"By the way, Rodya, you’ve heard about this already; it happened before you were sick, the day before you fainted at the police station while they were talking about it."

Zossimov looked at Raskolnikov curiously. He didn't move.

"But seriously, Razumihin, you’re a busybody!" Zossimov observed.

"Maybe I am, but we’re gonna get him off anyway," Razumihin shouted, slamming his fist on the table. "What’s really annoying isn’t that they’re lying - you can always forgive a lie - lying’s actually a good thing, because it leads to the truth - it’s that they lie and they believe their own lies..."

"I respect Porfiry, but... What tripped them up at first? The door was locked, and when they came back with the porter it was open. So, their logic was that Koch and Pestryakov were the killers!"

"But don’t freak out; they just held them for a bit, they couldn’t help it... And, by the way, I’ve met that guy Koch. He used to buy unredeemed stuff from the old woman, right?"

"Yeah, he’s a scammer. He buys up bad debts, too. It’s his thing. But enough about him! What gets me angry is their boring, stale, stuck-in-the-past routine... And this case could be the way to introduce a new approach. You can show from the psychological data alone how to track down the real guy."

"‘We have facts,’ they say. But facts aren’t everything - at least half the work is how you interpret them!"

"So, can you interpret them?"

"Anyway, you can’t stay quiet when you have a feeling, a real feeling, that you could be a help if only..."

"Eh! Do you know all the details of the case?"

"I’m waiting to hear about the painter."

"Oh, seriously! Okay, so here's the story. Like, early on the third day after the murder, when they were still keeping an eye on Koch and Pestryakov - though they were tracking every move and it was obvious - something totally unexpected popped up."

A farmer named Dushkin, who runs a bar across from the house, brought some gold earrings in a jewelry case to the police and started rambling.

‘The day before yesterday, just after eight o’clock’ - mark the date and the time! - ‘a house painter, Nikolay, who had been in to see me earlier that day, brought me this box of gold earrings and stones, and asked me to give him two rubles for them.

When I asked him where he got them, he said he found them in the street.’ I'm telling you, that's Dushkin's story. ‘I gave him a rouble’ - that’s one buck - ‘because I figured if he didn’t pawn it with me, he’d pawn it somewhere else.

It would all end up the same - he’d blow it on booze, so it was better it was with me. The longer you hide something, the quicker you’ll find it, and if anything turns up, if I hear any rumors, I’ll hand it over to the police.’

Of course, that’s total BS; he's a liar, I know Dushkin - he’s a pawnbroker and deals in stolen goods - and he didn’t rip off Nikolay over those thirty-ruble earrings just to give them to the police. He was just freaked out. But whatever, back to Dushkin’s story.

‘I’ve known this farmer, Nikolay Dementyev, since he was a kid; he’s from the same province and district of Zaraïsk, we’re both Ryazan guys. And though Nikolay isn’t a total drunk, he drinks, and I knew he was doing painting work at that house, with Dmitri, who’s from the same village, too.

As soon as he got the rouble, he cashed it, had a couple of drinks, took his change and went out. But I didn’t see Dmitri with him then. And the next day I heard that someone had murdered Alyona Ivanovna and her sister, Lizaveta Ivanovna, with an axe.

I knew them, and I immediately got suspicious about the earrings, because I knew the murdered woman loaned money based on collateral. I went to the house and started asking around without saying a word to anyone. First of all I asked, "Is Nikolay here?"

Dmitri told me that Nikolay had gone on a bender; he came home at daybreak drunk, stayed in the house for about ten minutes, and then left again. Dmitri hasn’t seen him since and is finishing the job alone. And their job is on the same staircase as the murder, on the second floor.

When I heard all that, I didn’t say a word - that’s Dushkin’s story - but I tried to find out what I could about the murder, and went home feeling super suspicious. And this morning at eight o’clock’ - that was the third day, get it?

- ‘I saw Nikolay coming in, not totally sober, but not hammered either - he could understand what was being said to him. He sat down on the bench and didn’t say a thing. There was only one stranger in the bar and a guy I knew passed out on a bench and our two boys.

"Have you seen Dmitri?" I asked. "No, I haven’t," he said.

"And you haven’t been here either?"

"Not since the day before yesterday," he said. "And where did you sleep last night?"

"In Peski, with the Kolomensky guys."

"And where did you get those earrings?" I asked. "I found them in the street," and the way he said it was a little off - he didn’t look at me.

"Did you hear what happened that very evening, at that very hour, on that same staircase?" I said. "No," he said, "I hadn’t heard," and all the while he was listening, his eyes were bugging out and he turned as white as a ghost.

I told him all about it and he grabbed his hat and started to bolt. I wanted to hold him back.

"Wait a sec, Nikolay," I said, "want a drink?"

"And I signaled to the boy to hold the door, and I came out from behind the bar; but he bolted out and down the street at a run. I haven’t seen him since. Then I knew it was him - it was his doing, as clear as day..."

"I should think so," said Zossimov.

"Wait! Hear me out. Of course, they searched high and low for Nikolay; they detained Dushkin and searched his place; Dmitri was arrested, too. The guys from Kolomna got turned inside out. And the day before yesterday, they grabbed Nikolay in a bar at the edge of town."

He’s taken off his silver cross and asked for cash for it. They gave it to him. A few minutes later, the woman went to the cowshed, and through a crack in the wall, she saw in the stable next door he’s made a noose out of his sash, stood on a block of wood, and was trying to put his neck in it.

The woman screamed her lungs out; people rushed in. ‘So, that’s what you’re up to! ‘Take me,’ he says, ‘to that police officer; I’ll confess everything. So, they took him to the station - that’s here - with a few cops. They started asking him questions: how old he is, ‘twenty-two,’ and all that.

When they asked, ‘When you were working with Dmitri, didn’t you see anyone on the stairs at a certain time?’ - he said, ‘Yeah, people probably went up and down, but I didn’t notice. ‘And didn’t you hear anything, any noise, and so on? ‘We didn’t hear anything special.’

‘And did you hear, Nikolay, that on the same day Widow So-and-so and her sister were murdered and robbed? ‘I never heard a thing about it. The first I heard was from Afanasy Pavlovitch the day before yesterday. ‘And where did you find the earrings? ‘I found them on the sidewalk.’

‘Why didn’t you go to work with Dmitri the other day? ‘Because I was drinking. ‘And where were you drinking? ‘Oh, just around. ‘Why did you run from Dushkin’s? ‘Because I was seriously freaked out. ‘What were you freaked out about? ‘That I’d be accused.’

"‘How could you be freaked out, if you felt innocent?’ Now, Zossimov, you might not believe me, but they actually asked him that, word for word. I know it for a fact, someone told me exactly that! What do you think?"

"Well, that’s the evidence, I guess."

"I’m not talking about the evidence right now, I’m talking about their perspective, about how they saw themselves. They kept grilling him, and he confessed: ‘I didn’t find it on the street, but in the apartment where I was painting with Dmitri. ‘And how was that?’"

‘Well, Dmitri and I were painting there all day, and we were just about to leave, and Dmitri grabbed a brush and painted my face. He took off and I chased after him.

I ran after him, yelling my lungs out, and at the bottom of the stairs I ran right into the porter and some guys - I don’t remember how many. And the porter yelled at me, and the other porter yelled, too, and the porter’s wife came out and yelled at us, too.

And a guy came into the entry with a lady, and he yelled at us, too, because Dmitri and I were lying right across the way. I grabbed Dmitri’s hair and knocked him down and started hitting him. And Dmitri grabbed me by the hair and started hitting me, too.

But we weren’t doing it because we were mad, but just messing around, for fun. And then Dmitri took off and ran into the street, and I ran after him, but I didn’t catch him, and went back to the apartment alone; I had to clean up my stuff.

"I started putting things together, expecting Dmitri to come, and there in the hallway, in the corner by the door, I stepped on the box. I saw it lying there wrapped up in paper. I took off the paper, saw some little hooks, undid them, and in the box were the earrings..."

"Behind the door? Lying behind the door? Behind the door?" Raskolnikov suddenly shouted, staring with a blank, terrified look at Razumihin, and he slowly sat up on the sofa, leaning on his hand.

"Yeah... why? What’s the matter? What’s wrong?"

Razumihin also got up from his seat.

"Nothing," Raskolnikov answered faintly, turning to the wall.

Everyone was silent for a while.

"He must have woken up from a dream," Razumihin said finally, looking at Zossimov for confirmation.

The latter shook his head slightly.

"So, what happened next?" Zossimov asked.

"What next? As soon as he saw the earrings, totally forgetting about Dmitri and everything else, he grabbed his cap and ran to Dushkin, and, as we know, got a rouble from him. He lied, saying he found them on the street, and went off to drink."

He keeps repeating his old story about the murder: ‘I know nothing about it, never heard of it until the day before yesterday. ‘And why didn’t you go to the police until now? ‘I was scared. ‘And why did you try to hang yourself? ‘From worry. ‘What worry? ‘That I’d be accused.’

"That’s the whole story. So, what do you think they figured out?"

"There’s nothing to figure out. It’s a clue, as much as there is one, a fact. You’re not going to have the painter walk free, are you?"

"Now they’re convinced he’s the killer. They have zero doubt."

"That’s crazy. You’re worked up. But what about the earrings? You have to admit, if earrings from the old woman’s box ended up in Nikolay’s hands on the very same day and hour, they had to get there somehow. That’s saying something."

"How did they get there? How did they get there? Razumihin cried. "You’re a doctor, your job is to study people, and you have more opportunities than anyone to understand human nature - how can you not see the character of the guy in the whole story?"

"Don’t you see right away that the answers he gave in the interrogation are the honest truth? They ended up in his hand exactly as he told us - he stepped on the box and picked them up."

"The honest truth! But didn’t he admit he lied at first?"

"Listen to me, listen carefully."

The doorman, Koch, Pestryakov, the other doorman, the doorman’s wife, the woman sitting in the doorman’s lodge, and Kryukov, who had just gotten out of a cab at that very moment and went inside with a woman on his arm - that’s eight or ten witnesses - they all agree that Nikolay had Dmitri on the ground, was lying on him, beating him, while Dmitri was hanging onto his hair, beating him too.

They were right across the street, blocking the way. People were yelling at them from all sides while they, ‘like kids’ (the witnesses’ exact words), were tripping over each other, squealing, fighting, and laughing with the goofiest faces, and, chasing each other like kids, they ran into the street.

Now pay attention. The bodies upstairs were warm, you know, warm when they found them!

If they, or Nikolay alone, had murdered them and broken open the boxes, or simply participated in the robbery, let me ask you one question: do their state of mind, their squeals and giggles and childish scuffling at the gate fit with axes, bloodshed, fiendish cunning, robbery?

They just killed them, not five or ten minutes before, because the bodies were still warm, and immediately, leaving the apartment open, knowing people would go there right away, tossing away their loot, they rolled around like kids, laughing and attracting everyone’s attention.

"And there are a dozen witnesses to swear to that!"

"Of course it’s weird! It’s impossible, actually, but..."

"Seriously, bro, no arguing."

And if those earrings were found in Nikolay’s hands the same day and hour the murder happened - even though he has an explanation for it, so it doesn’t really count against him - we have to consider the stuff that proves he’s innocent, especially since it’s facts that can’t be denied.

Do you really think, with how our legal system works, that they’re going to accept, or even be able to accept, this fact - which is basically impossible to explain - as solid proof that crushes the prosecution’s case? Nah, they won’t.

"They definitely won’t, because they found the jewelry box, and the guy tried to hang himself, ‘which he couldn’t have done if he wasn’t feeling guilty.’ That’s the thing, that’s what’s got me fired up, you gotta get this!"

"Okay, I see you’re buzzing! Hold up. I forgot to ask; what proof is there that the box belonged to the old woman?"

"That’s been proven," Razumihin said, looking annoyed and frowning. "Koch recognized the jewelry box and gave the name of the owner, who proved beyond a doubt that it was his."

"That’s not good. Now, another thing. Did anyone see Nikolay when Koch and Pestryakov were heading upstairs earlier, and is there any evidence about that?"

"Nobody saw him," Razumihin answered, looking frustrated. "That’s the worst part. Even Koch and Pestryakov didn’t notice them on their way up, even though, honestly, their testimony wasn't worth much."

"They said they saw the apartment was open, and figured someone was working in it, but they didn’t really pay attention and couldn’t remember if there were actually people working in it."

"Hm!... So the only evidence for the defense is that they were fighting and laughing. That’s a pretty strong argument, but... how do you explain the facts yourself?"

"How do I explain them? What is there to explain? It’s obvious. At least, the direction we need to look for an explanation is clear, and the jewelry box points to it. The real killer dropped those earrings. The killer was upstairs, locked in, when Koch and Pestryakov knocked on the door."

Koch, like an idiot, didn’t wait at the door; so the killer bolted out and ran down too; because he had no other way out. He hid from Koch, Pestryakov, and the doorman in the apartment when Nikolay and Dmitri had just run out of it.

He stayed there while the doorman and others were heading upstairs, waited until they were out of earshot, and then calmly headed downstairs at the exact minute when Dmitri and Nikolay ran out into the street and there was no one in the hallway; maybe he was seen, but nobody noticed.

"There are tons of people coming and going. He must have dropped the earrings out of his pocket when he stood behind the door, and didn’t even realize he dropped them, because he had other stuff on his mind. The jewelry box is solid proof that he was standing there... That’s how I explain it."

"Too clever! No, dude, you’re too clever. That’s wild."

"But, why, Just tell me why?"

"Why, because it all fits together too perfectly... it’s too dramatic."

"Uh-huh!" Razumihin was exclaiming, but at that moment the door opened and a stranger walked in, someone none of them had ever seen before.