The Cleansing Flames Read Online Free PDF Page A

along his spine, spreading out across his lower back. The smell from the body was unusually foul and fetid. Porfiry felt like he was diving into the heart of a rotting swamp.
    The Easter fair in Admiralty Square was in full swing. Porfiry could hear the clash of competing barrel organs, and the roar of the crowd. The sounds were close enough to be distracting.
    ‘According to Ptitsyn ,’ Virginsky enunciated the name distastefully, almost spitting it out, ‘no means of identification were found on the body.’ Virginsky looked down at the corpse with a recriminatory glance, as if he held the dead man to blame for this oversight.
    Sergeant Ptitsyn clicked his heels in confirmation. The young policeman had been recently promoted to this rank, and, evidently, transferred to the Admiralty District Police Bureau, which was how he came to be on the scene. He seemed to have grown in confidence with his new position, though he gave the impression of being as eager to please as ever. He was still capable of showing due deference to his superiors.
    Porfiry squinted into a blasted hole in the side of the man’s head. ‘It appears that he was shot. In the head. Therefore it is reasonable to assume that he was dead before he entered the water.’
    ‘Of course, we will need a medical examination to confirm that,’ Virginsky reminded his superior.
    ‘That goes without saying, Pavel Pavlovich,’ agreed Porfiry, without removing his eye from the side of the man’s head. ‘Which is why I did not trouble myself to say it.’
    ‘He must have been there all winter,’ said Ptitsyn. ‘Beneath the ice.’ His tone was pitying. He narrowed his eyes compassionately.
    ‘It surely made no difference to him,’ said Virginsky. ‘He was dead, after all.’
    The young police officer’s brows dipped reproachfully.
    Virginsky was unrepentant. ‘At least he is well preserved.’
    Porfiry Petrovich straightened himself up with a grunt. He held a hand out to Virginsky to steady him as he got to his feet. The lumbar pains stayed with him. In fact, they had been with him for months now, settling themselves in over the winter. He had hoped that the warmer weather would see them off. But they gave no indication of going anywhere.
    Porfiry was long past the age when he welcomed each new spring with unequivocal enthusiasm. Granted it was the return of life to the natural world. Rivers began to flow again. Trembling buds forced their way through the dwindling layers of snow to bask in the warmth of the waxing sun. According to conventional wisdom, the sap was rising in the boughs. But the truth was, Porfiry no longer believed in this rising sap. For him personally, each new spring marked only the passing of another year, and consequently the shortening of his remaining portion. And now it seemed he could not even count on it to dispel his aches and pains. The long winters, that in his youth had seemed to be endless, went by in the blink of an eye. He looked back on the winter just gone as he looked back on every moment of his life so far, with a pang of nostalgia.
    He kept his eyes fixed on the man at his feet, as if he found the sight consoling. ‘I want a photograph taken. We will publicise the man’s face.’
    ‘Strange-looking fellow,’ adjudged Virginsky. ‘The white on his face, at his cheeks . . . he doesn’t look quite human. More like a doll, or a mannequin.’
    ‘Adipocere,’ said Porfiry.
    ‘What?’
    ‘Adipocere. Or grave wax. It occurs in bodies that are exposed to moisture. The fatty tissues convert to . . . well, basically, soap. The medical examiner may be able to calculate how long he has been in there based on the degree of conversion.’
    ‘But it makes identification difficult.’
    ‘Yes. However, there may be enough of the original form of his face remaining to prompt someone into coming forward. You will notice that in the areas that have not converted, the skin is disfigured by severe pockmarking. Furthermore,