The Glass Mystery: Chapter 19 - Lake - The Moscow Diary

Art credit: http://kerriking.blogspot.com/2007/12/cantaloupe-slice-painting-for-12307.html

Chapter 19



I sat cross-legged in the wing backed chair next to the cold fireplace. In my lap, I held in one hand a slice of melon, in the other a knife. Carefully, I made a vertical slice to the interior edge of the rind, just where the succulent orange met the bitter green. I extracted the knife and started from the other side, creating a horizontal slice along the bottom until I met the edge of the vertical cut.

Propping one bite of melon on the flat side of the knife, I lifted it to my lips. Then it occurred to me.

Divide and conquer. One simple action, followed by a seemingly unrelated event coming from another direction could work as well against an opponent. I contemplated the little bite propped on the knife’s edge and then pulled it into my mouth, chewing methodically.
Alone, how easy it might be to question and gather information from an isolated individual. The problem was to choose the right one.

I ran the risk of isolating myself from others in the Embassy if I revealed too much or began to make accusations that I could not back up with fact or substantial theory. Going down that path, without preparation, would only lead to an execution of me, not him, not the guilty. Without overwhelming evidence I would be merely the whistle blower. That is never a position of strength. I must conceive another path to take. Yet at the same time, as I sat contemplating the slice of melon in my lap, I slipped outside myself and wondered why I pursued this. Why not leave it alone. There were certainly humane arguments in that favor. Her parents for one would rest easier if they could live with the randomness of an unknown assailant. There would be no guilt about their daughter’s choices, no unseemly details to confront.

What happened to Katerina? Had she fallen in love with Tom, if it was him, on the basis of some promise? And then when it became clear that his promise would not be kept, did he kill her? That seemed too extreme. It would have been easier for him to have her fired.

I needed to examine my motivations. Katerina had not been a close friends, she was the usual casual acquaintance found in every office, the glue that held the daily tasks together. So why should I care about her death. Surely I was mistaken with what I’d seen that night. Hadn’t it been dark? Hadn’t I been too far away to make a reliable identification? And even if I could identify both parities, did I really know the circumstances of their meeting?