Fly Hunter: The Story of an Inquisitor - страница 43

– Have you gone mad, you fool? I'll disfigure you, you whore!

Gulshan fetched a small, almost toy-like pistol from the bedside table drawer, a nickel-plated Browning.

– I'll shoot you, you dog!

– Fool! – the frightened chauffeur recoiled from her. – What will Aman-Jalil say when they find me here naked? Think before you act.

And with that, clutching his clothes, Gulshan's stepfather slowly exited the bedroom. Despite her urge to pull the trigger into his bare back, she couldn't bring herself to do it. Killing someone for the first time is exceedingly difficult. At the threshold, her stepfather turned back.

– Keep silent, or I'll come up with something you'll never wash off in your life! – he threatened menacingly, spitting blood.

And he slipped out the door. It was then that Gulshan remembered her official husband had entered the bedroom earlier, saying something she couldn't recall, but regardless – he was a dangerous witness.

"Stepfather will stay silent," Gulshan thought. "But what's the point of protecting me? He'll betray me!"

And an idea dawned on her. A terrifying idea. Such ideas only arise from desperation or from twisted minds. Gulshan went to the study. She didn't quit her job not because she had nothing else to live on, but because she couldn't leave Aman-Jalil unattended. Besides, Aman-Jalil didn't insist on it; he needed a devoted person in such a responsible position as secretary…

From the closet, Gulshan took out last year's lists of executed prisoners, found the most suitable one, which included the surnames of her late husband's son's friends and acquaintances, meaning he could have heard of or known them. Diluting the ink with water to make the writing look faded and old, Gulshan added the surname, first name, and patronymic of her fake husband's son to the list. She carefully dried the entry on the hotplate. Now the forgery could only be detected with specialized equipment, more advanced than the human eye. And the old man's eyes were weak.

Having crafted such a deadly weapon, Gulshan returned home. She had grown so accustomed to considering this house her own that she forgot it belonged to someone else, or rather, it had belonged until recently, and essentially, she had stolen it.

The old man was praying when Gulshan entered his room.

– Can't you refrain from defiling my prayers for even a minute with your presence? – the old man snapped angrily at her. – I forbid you to enter my room.

– We need to talk.

The old man sneered at Gulshan.

– Afraid I'll tell Aman-Jalil how you're cheating on him? Maybe I will, maybe I won't! Depends on how you behave!

Gulshan smiled.

– Who will believe you, you old sot! You were also forbidden to enter my rooms.

– I was thinking of my son, my feet brought me here out of habit, after all, this used to be his room.

– Dreaming of a reunion?

– It's my only hope.

– You'll meet on the other side, you won't see each other here anymore.

– Liar, whore, – the old man turned pale. – Aman-Jalil promised me…

– Men promise all sorts of things, – Gulshan interrupted, laughing. – Look here! I found last year's lists, your son is in them. He's been dead for a long time.

And Gulshan tossed the lists onto the table in front of the old man. He put on his silver-framed glasses with trembling hands and slowly moved his lips as he read through the entire list again, marking familiar names: