A guilty plea.” websites without cvv

Kuzemko Vladimir Valerianovich.

SOME NUANCES OF OPERATIVE ART. From the notes of the district opera.

Part One. Violence. Part two. Agents. Part three. Witnesses. Part four. Suspects. Part five. The turnout. Part six.

[DATENCODE]I’M IN A C A S P O W E R .

1. IF HE CONFESSES, HE GOES TO JAIL…

No matter how much the perestroika press ridiculed the words of Vyshinsky: “Confession is the queen of evidence!”, but in today’s practice it is so. In a number of cases the situation is as follows: if the “client” confesses to his guilt, begins to cooperate with the investigation, demonstrates the whole process of the crime on film, specifies the places where he hid the crime weapon and the booty, or names the persons to whom he sold it, and he goes to jail. If he doesn’t confess, because there’s no serious evidence, he’ll have to go free. In other words, if there is already a criminal case, it is up to us, the operatives and the investigator, to convince the person to go to jail. As you understand, it is not easy to do, because, strange as it may seem, no one wants to be deprived of their will…

You say, “Well, look for evidence!” Well, that’s the point, in some cases there isn’t and can’t be… Don’t you get it?… Then here is a concrete example for illustration…

In the evening, in front of the arch at 34 Grimm Brothers Street, a man in a jacket and sneakers stopped the 17-year-old Smithlitskaya hurrying home, and, pressing the rough steel of a blade to her delicate throat, demanded to give him the most expensive… No, it was not her unsullied conscience that he had in mind, nor her maiden honour, nor the passport of a full citizen of her Fatherland, but something else entirely – he roughly took a gold ring from her finger, and removed the small gold earrings from her ears. Why he did not rape the young beauty – I can not guess, but I think he hurt her strong by it. And when the busty-ass girl rushed to the police station with a complaint against the robber, the motive of her complaint against the scoundrel, who avoided the banging, was distinctly perceptible, if not in her words, then in her intonation … (I assume that the villain has decided this way to humiliate her once again, saying: I do not care about you, so I will not even fuck you!

They love young, pretty, and criminally offended girls in the police department. On the contrary, we hastily brought and put on the table in front of her several albums with photos of former prisoners living in our district, and – oh joy! Among other faces, faces and faces she was able to identify one as belonging to her offender – it was Petrenko Ernest Nikolaevich, 28, who in his middle-aged years had already made two trips to the “zone” for “grievous bodily harm” and “robbery”. The eagles, the operas of Ernest Nikolaevich (colloquially nicknamed “Girya”), grabbed him by the gills at the address of his roommate, Verka Tarasova, nicknamed “Columbine”, and dragged him to the victim’s room. “It’s him, all right! I recognized him!” happily pointed her finger at the victim, naively believing that her words alone would be enough to have the bandit sentenced to eternal imprisonment, with his genitals sawed off with a blunt hacksaw. But alas, to her and to our chagrin Smithlicka’s words are only her words, to which citizen Petrenko countered with his own, no less convincing: “I don’t know this nipple, I’ve never robbed her, and in general I gave up my criminal past long ago… The fact that I don’t work anywhere is only temporary; tomorrow I was going to go to the housing maintenance department and get a job as a janitor…”

There were no witnesses to incriminate Girya and corroborate the victim, the “steel blade” she described was not found during the search, he had probably already sold the gold at the market to some “unidentified person”, and when asked: “What were you doing at the time of the crime?” Giria answered calmly and forcefully: “I was at home, I was making Columbine a cuckoo!”, no doubt about it…

If we look at the Code of Criminal Procedure, the absence of evidence of a suspect’s guilt is the strongest proof of his innocence, it is an axiom. So according to all the rules and instructions, if within 3 days citizen Petrenko himself does not state under the protocol: “It was I who committed this shameful act, raising my hand on the safety and personal property of a defenseless girl, and therefore I strongly demand to punish me to the fullest extent of our most humane laws, taking into account the previous convictions I have!If he is a “guilty man”, he should be set free, with apologies, a shrug of the leg, and an obliging goodbye to the door… And if Smithlicka, with her firm bust, keeps insisting on identifying him, she could be mistaken or she could be lying… She lost her hand in cards, gave it to some Casanova, or trustingly gave it to gypsies in the street, and didn’t dare to confess it to her parents, so she made up a version about “robbery”.And the photogenic face of Ernest Nikolayevich in the album for the role of a thug appealed to her most of all, so she “identified” him… This is – from the point of view of the law.

We, the opera, from our point of view clearly saw that he, Girya, had stolen the gold from the girl, and we have to put him in jail, he’s a rotten little man… If the next “gop” he could easily slash his throat with a knife, so that nobody would be able to identify him…

And that dead body would be on our police conscience!

It’s easy to judge someone from the outside until you find yourself in the same situation and see it from the inside. “It’s better to let ten guilty men out than to convict one innocent man in vain!” you’ve probably heard that many times, right? Well, I would have signed my hand to this story if I hadn’t known that those “ten guilty ones” released from prison would go on stealing, robbing, raping and killing those very “innocent” people, in the name of protecting their interests. So the real question is this: either I will throw behind the bars, in addition to the ten real criminals, one honest person, or several dozen of those very honest people will be robbed, looted, raped and murdered by the scum I have released for “lack of evidence”… Your choice?

I will be told, “punishment should be given to ALL who are guilty, but – in strict accordance with the law!” Sounds convincing, but it is exactly “sounds”. Behind these beautiful words is weakness of laws and, often, powerlessness of their defenders. We cannot, simply cannot punish not only “all” criminals (this is an unattainable ideal for any country), but at least punish a large enough share of criminals, from the society’s point of view, without violating one or another of our laws and norms of morality every day and everywhere… I emphasize I am referring only to those cases when the operative is absolutely convinced (if not by 100%, then at least by 98%) in the guilt of his “client”, but is unable to prove it by legal and highly moral means, and in this case there is no choice: either to neutralise the bandit by any means, including anti-legal and immoral ones, or to silently allow him to continue depriving people of their property, health and life…

…So, I have three days, 72 hours to induce Giroux to “confess” and “turn himself in.”

2. WORK WITH THE YOUNG.

It would not have been difficult to work with Petrenko if he had been a “pioneer,” a trustingly naive young man with no experience with cops. I would have smiled broadly at him as a brother-in-law and opened wide my hospitable soul to him, and then he would have seen the heart that was beating in my chest, the heart that loved Girou, which knew no falsehood and could not lie…

So I would tell him, and he would almost believe me, but with a touch of uncertainty about my rightness, which he would utter in a thin baritone, bleeding snot and tears of pity for himself, priceless: “But my cellmate, Pasha Medvedev, says differently… Don’t confess to anything… They say that only for theft, if it is the first and the stolen goods are returned, they can give you a suspended sentence, and for armed robbery you will get at least four years if you confess… And if you don’t confess, you might get out of the article somehow…”

My indignation knows no bounds. “He told you shit like that?! ” I would ask him derisively, laughing loudly at Pasha Medvedev who had stuck his nose into his own business (Pashka would have turned green with horror on hearing what my laughter meant to him personally). And then I would prove to Gira that the law is like a weather vane, which way we and the investigator will turn it, the wind will blow, it is clear, what other doubts there could be…? Sign the “confession” and walk free with a clear conscience… Maybe not from tomorrow morning, but the day after the trial – for sure!

And still he wouldn’t want to put his signature on my papers for fear of a catch… He’s sneaky himself, and he expects a trick from others, the bastard!..! But I am not obtrusive… I would go away for a couple of hours (“I’ll go and get some cigarettes, and you talk to my colleague!”)…

…After seeing a couple of sex addicts and having had time to get a glass of beer and taranka at the beer house around the corner, I would return to my office. My colleague, steaming like he’d been in a sauna, with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to the elbow and a feeling of accomplishment, would have been pleased to see me: “Oh, finally! It’s time for my lunch…” And would run away, having whispered that I owe him a bottle… Well, we’ll see what he has managed to achieve…

I look at Ernest Nikolaevich lurking on the stool… Why is the kid’s eyes so bulging these days? I asked him what happened and then, frightened by the lowing of his voice and looking back at the door, he excitedly told me the incredible and unheard of thing: he had been tortured in the Criminal Investigation Department! Yes, yes, in a very real way, like in fascist movies, and even more painfully… And not once, not twice, but many-many times… For two hours of my absence Ernestik received such nasty things that even I do not understand how he survived it, my poor man … I am aghast and groaning, from the eyes touched by my sympathy poor man drips suspiciously on my chest, I wipe away his tears with a dustpan taken from a trash bin, and actively solidarity with his angry thirst for retribution. The behaviour of my colleague seems to me unheard of and unforgivably cruel. But then I remember that last week the bandits captured and brutally abused my colleague’s children, wife and mother-in-law… Here he is, apparently enraged by the atrocities of criminality, and he overdid it…!

And in general, I carefully develop the topic further, not only angels serve in the police, not all of them are well-bred gentlemen like me, there are cadres and more dull… And in order to be able to defend Ernest Nikolayevich from their ill-manneredness and intemperance in future (too many of my colleagues have had their families uprooted by bandits, Ernest Nikolayevich will still have an opportunity to communicate personally with my criminals eager to take revenge), he must help me, prove with all his behavior: “I’m a good man, there’s no need to beat me brutally, I’ll tell everything myself!”

And I helpfully put my breast under the cheek of the simpleton who was bursting with joy, and I put a ballpoint pen in his hand, and he signs the report I had long ago prepared with incriminating confessions, at the same time telling me where the knife and the loot were… And he goes to “the zone” if not for all “six with a trailer”, then at least for four full years of isolation from all the pleasures of free life… This is how fools usually raise their first term from the floor because of their youth and yellow-hairedness. If he had had the strength of character, if he had been able to resist all persuasions, he would have been free in three days…

3. WORK WITH AN EXPERIENCED…

But I repeat, our Girya is a twisted scientist, he knows all the moves and exits, he knows the cops’ tricks firsthand… Prison has taught him three truths: don’t believe, don’t be afraid, don’t ask!.. Girya knows perfectly well how important it is to be able to keep silent and how unshakable his position is until he gets entangled in the “confession” and hangs the “confession” around his neck like a poodle stone… It is difficult to break horns like that…

…But – you can! Even the most hardened recidivist is just an ordinary person, often not too clever, and even necessarily not too clever, who is more intelligent – they teach in universities, they write sensible books, at the very least they preside in banks, and not engage in street gopop… It is possible to r e v e r a t i o n , though it is difficult… But it is possible, and necessary…

I have a lot of advantages. He is alone, and there are many of us, restless and industrious operatives, we are awake and tireless, and after the forcer is waiting for our wife and a hearty dinner… While he is exhausted by endless interrogations, after which a smelly cell awaits him, and he will not be given anything to eat for three days (they do not have to give him food in the cell!) He’s totally dependent on me, and for a time I get all sorts of power over him and can do a great deal for him, but I get nothing from him. Finally, he’s fighting only for his own selfish interests, so that he can continue to drink vodka, fuck women, and rob passersby, while I defend the common good and justice. Society does not want to see Giroux go unpunished, and I do what society wants, and push Giroux with every means at my disposal… (At the same time, I should clarify that my colleagues are scouring the area, trying to find witnesses and buyers of the crime, and the knife described by the victim, with possible fingerprints, which would be enough to put Giru on trial for possession of edged weapons, even if he manages to get away from the robbery itself. But nothing… nothing!)

And here the bandit sits on the stool in front of me, the clock on the wall is ticking, counting down the 72 hours allowed by the law, I pull one by one all the threads leading to Gira, tracing his reactions, the play of his facial muscles and gesticulation features, I let through my mind every word he uttered, every thought I guessed, every look, every breath, every sneeze…

His task is to resist, to hold on to his ironclad: “I don’t know anything, I haven’t done anything, you can’t prove anything!” Mine is to get him off balance, to stimulate him to act, to try to somehow maneuver and clarify his position; at that, sooner or later he will make a mistake, and then he is mine! But not before…

…I must put him away, I must do it! There’s a certain animal strength and fearlessness of a cornered wolf in him, he’s really dangerous, and from the fight with me, if he could win it, he would come out even more dangerous and confident in his own invulnerability…

As an experienced fighter, I start with moral pressure.

“Asshole, bastard, fucking trench coat, faggot, faggot, bitch, what did you do?! Who did you put your hand on a little girl, almost half a child?! The whole district office is outraged! You idiot, did you really think you could get away with this?! We’re going to kill you all over, you’re going to bleed to death, you rotten, toothless pussy, you’re dead, you understand me, bitch?!”

And so on for two hours, until my voice is hoarse. With the obligatory slaps, slaps, light and not-so-light slaps, so the words always sound more convincing…

But he does not respond to my insults, my inquisitiveness just makes him crinkle, and when I ask him questions he answers monotonously the same thing: “I do not know… I did not do it… you cannot prove it…”

Girya does not sympathise with my efforts in his own favour and is not going to let the defender I have picked up for him come within pistol-shot distance of him, because he realises he’d have to really try hard not to go to prison with that lawyer… He does not need one at all in his unassailable position: “I don’t know… I didn’t take part… you can’t prove it!

And again from kindly I become angry, without counting I slap, overpoweringly drip on psyche… By the way I remembered that Smitlitskaya was not variedly fucked by Girey in all notches and hollows, I press inquisitively: “Listen, aren’t you impotent by any chance?! Maybe you’re only getting it up for 9-year-old girls these days… Ha-ha-ha! How do you satisfy Verka, your lover, with your tongue? She’s filthy, isn’t it disgusting? We should whisper to the guys in your cell, what a licker you are, ha-ha-ha-ha!… “And so on, in the same vein, with the same intonations, and the same kind of mumbling in his face… Girija was supposed to get angry, yell at me, or better yet, punch me in the face, tear my clothes slightly… But he didn’t, the bastard wasn’t indignant, he wasn’t shouting, he wasn’t tearing my jacket that had been torn up in fights with crime, he was muttering like a man in a rut: “I don’t know anything… I wasn’t involved in anything… you can’t prove anything!..» The only thing he allowed himself was a couple of wolfish looks in my direction, saying, “I understand, it’s my job… But why are you trying so hard?!”

.

At this stage of our communication I began to think about the question: should I not subject citizen Petrenko to the cruelest and most brutal torture…? Many will wonder: “He’s still thinking! “They beat the soul out of the interrogated for mere suspicion, but here it’s God forbid!” But it’s not that simple.

This is if you break Giroux by torture and make him cooperate with the investigation. But he won’t break, he’s not that kind of man. He’s been beaten many times in the past without any effect, so what should I expect from him now? On the contrary, we should not torture him for real, he is quite capable of drawing a “confession”, he will allegedly start “confessing”, I will believe him, I will relax, and he will tell everything in general terms when playing it back, cheat somewhere else, and it will come out in court with some very unpleasant comments for me… Every obscurity in the case will be portrayed by Girya in court as a result of my malicious falsification of case materials, and if he gets into the stream of some campaign “for the purity of the police ranks”, he will be exposed as a “werewolf in uniform” (me, that is), and in gratitude he will be released right in the courtroom… No, we must break Girya thoroughly and fundamentally, with a full guarantee that he will not make any tricks in the future… And this cannot be achieved by beating him!

And I continue to stare at the prisoner, pale with anticipation of his future suffering. Inwardly he is ready for the pain, waiting for it, another argument for not torturing him, but for thinking…

Two days of my 72 hours allowed by law have already passed, I haven’t achieved anything, and why…? I thought it was bad, that’s it! I should make an operative combination, and not a simple one, but with an ingenuity, with a twist, so that my stroke would sting me in the most sacred place, so that Girya would be firmly on my hook…

/DATAENCODE

I’m beginning to vaguely wish Columbine had been pregnant with Giri when she was eight or nine months old. Then it’s easy, then I’m on a roll. They would have put her on a chair opposite her flatmate and started to poke her lightly in the belly with a cudgel… Not me, for God’s sake! I wouldn’t lay a hand on a pregnant woman for any price… There’ll be others, they can handle such a simple case…! The soft but insistent tremors of my helpers would gurgle in her belly, they would become more and more violent, the poor woman would scream in pain and fear, Girya, handcuffed to a chair, would shriek violently, the unborn child would scream in her belly with terror, and I would watch them in sad detachment, remembering to remind them every minute how one can break it all easily: “Confess!… “Tell me… Sign…” (If he had thought to retract his words the next day, the procedure could be repeated all over again)… Wouldn’t Daddy’s heart waver, wouldn’t he understand that all his so-called “benefits” from silence weren’t worth one tear of his innocent child’s tears? He will… No matter how brave and evil you are, when they torture your unborn child you sign everything, and you confess in everything, no matter how strong you are… The instinct of self-preservation is strong, and the instinct of reproduction is a hundred times stronger!

But Columbine is not pregnant, that’s the trick, and in general she is a hollow woman… According to operative data (one of the sexpots slept with her some time ago) she had an illness in her childhood, and since then she cannot give birth… A pity!.. Beating her in front of his own eyes was like slapping himself, he had half a district full of people like her…

Giri’s parents are dead now… No sisters or brothers, I think… Wait – wait… what do you mean no… There is a brother, an older one!.. I rustle with papers and find the necessary one… Exactly, there is a brother Petrenko Fedor Nikolaevich, 52 years old, widower, he lives in that place, works as a carpenter in housing administration, he is characterized positively at his workplace and place of residence, he does not drink or smoke, let alone drugs, no data about the female sex, but his wife was, died two years ago, so he is not a pervert… He loves him. He’s been taking care of him since childhood… When he was in jail both times, he regularly sent him parcels and even visited him… That’s it!.. The moment of truth is near, very near to me…

I sent Giryu back to his cell (“Sit a bit longer, my dear, and think it over, and if you don’t start shooting up, you’ll be in trouble…”), while I myself began to prepare a combination…

.

4.

That same evening the doorbell rang at the door of Fyodor Petrenko’s modest bachelor abode – unobtrusively and begrudgingly, as a well-mannered person should do. He opened (there was no door chain, he did not ask “Who is it?”, the weirdo…) and saw his district officer at the threshold, and together with him – me and two other citizens with faces of freshly minted s i n j a k e s . “A passport control check! the policeman cheerfully informed me. I know and respect you, Nikolaich, but you know the service! And Fyodor Nikolayevich was happy – he was lonely, any guest was a gift from fate, you did not know how to welcome him, an invaluable guest… He let us into his house, he was naive… He knew nothing of life, his mind was not excessive, he had never had much contact with the police before… Father, you mustn’t be so naïve at your age. Evil reigns in the world, and those who haven’t learned how to defend themselves against it are doomed…

The furnishings at the address are modest, “a la – proletarian mid-70s”, that is, the furniture was bought back then, and had time to wear out… Carpets, crystal, gold, foreign currency, and other extravagances obviously have not slept here, but it is neat, cozy by bachelor standards. On the wall, there is a photo of an ugly woman in a self-made “mourning” frame, and a single shabby chair in the corner… I settle there and the policeman sits down on a chair (he spent the day there, happy to give his tiring legs a rest!), and the stiff-eyed citizens are left at the threshold, their business is small, they are still sitting…

[Fyodor Nikolayevich didn’t know what to offer us, timidly offered tea with croutons (surely there is nothing else tasty in the house), it would be nice to have some tea, but time waits, “sorry, we can’t – duty! It seemed ok, without any torn pages and smudged stamps or crooked photo… But he did not hurry to return the passport, he held it in his hands and asked some minor questions, and smiling, sincerely, homely, almost family-like… It was then that I, forgotten by everyone and casting glances around, suddenly exclaimed: “Oh, what’s that?” And – quickly pulled out from – under the chair lying there a bag with a substance resembling a narcotic. I hold it up to my nose, sniff it like a piece of ham, I say to the people around me: “I think it’s cannabis…” My lower jaw fell off in utter amazement and fell to the floor with a deafening thud. The policeman sniffs too, and though his nose is stuffy as a result of a chronic runny nose – authoritatively confirms: “Yes, it seems… that’s it…!”. And the citizens at the threshold do not say anything, but keep their eyes open, they are “witnesses”…

.

“Wait, what cannabis? Half an hour ago I swept the room and there was nothing under the chair!” with his hands pulling his jaw back to its original position, with the pathetic smile of a man caught in years of cannibalism tried to explain something to us, vaguely hoping that it was a joke…a funny police prank! Now we’ll say that we were joking, and we’ll all laugh together…

But we’re not in the mood for practical jokes. The dangerous bandit Girya must go to jail… The policeman kept lulling his master’s vigilance with soothing mutterings: “Come on, Nikolaich, come on… I understand that it was an accident… Let’s go to the police station and sort it all out there…”, while he was already scribbling on a protocol: “On the 12th of this month at this address in the presence of witnesses we confiscated…”. The witnesses were entering their signatures and data from the passports they happened to have with them into the protocol, and Fyodor Nikolayevich’s feeble attempts to evade promptly proceeding to the police station were cut short gently but firmly; a UAZ vehicle was already waiting for us in the yard outside the door (because of the importance of the operation the head of the threat ordered it be given to me), so we were leaving…

… Forty minutes later in my cramped office I was already hovering over Fyodor Nikolayevich, huddled on a stool, frightened and shrieking with a beastly face: “Tell me, you pussy, where did the drugs come from?! Who are the suppliers?! Addresses, addresses, names of couriers – answer me, you anal pistol, or I’ll get angry…!” He mumbles something indistinctly, then I painfully slap his ears with my hands, jab my finger in his eye, smash my fist under his ribs… He cries out, mumbling a pathetic excuse, but why should I need it…? I’m not listening… My goal is to bring him to the right condition, he must look like a man at the bottom of despair, and to look like that you have to become…

A person born in our country has all chances to grow old and die without realizing that he is nothing here, a shmako-dog nobody wants, they will trample him at any moment and there is nobody to call for help… And if it happens otherwise, and suddenly this fatal reality emerges how to live with it and whether you should live at all, knowing that you are a worm under the feet of the strong… When your whole life the cheerful and deceitful propaganda calls you the master of the country and the officials – your servants, and then one day or one evening you are dragged into the office of one of your “servants”, and he “master” at first flogs you and then sends you to rot innocently in a prison cell… Scary!.. They, tortured by me, mature to the idea that I am a fierce beast, but even this is an illusion… The truth is scarier. If they knew how to behave, if they had money and connections, they could expose me and punish me, but what is the use? Am I to blame?! Are my superiors or my superiors’ superiors to blame? No, everyone is guilty, from top to bottom, all of us, each and every one of us…! Including this “crystal honest”… Wasn’t he silent when he should have been shouting at the top of his voice… Isn’t it his indifferent passivity that sanctifies the evil that many others have done? I have not made this world as it is, I have not invented its wolfish laws, and not me to change them … If you do not want to be done this way change your life, and change with it. No one should do THAT, only then you can be calm for yourself…

…And let pain and horror splash in your pupils, father, I’m sorry, it’s necessary… It’s your own fault. You’ve lived honestly, but you haven’t lived honestly enough, you have to pay for everything in the end, so you pay…

…After a smoke break at the window, I go back to Petrenko and start the next run: “How is it that you don’t know where the drugs came from?! You don’t mean to say we planted it on you, bitch?! Oh, you don’t want to… Thanks a lot… Motherfucker!… Here… Here… Here… Bastard! “Fucking crooked, tell the truth before I kill you like a mammoth!” And I shove, I shove in his face the protocol of seizure of cannabis at his address, as they say, the fact is obvious, I didn’t make it up, the drugs came from somewhere in the apartment of citizen Petrenko F.N…! Either let the bitch convincingly explain their origin, or – the investigation, “stand up, the court is coming!”, a harsh sentence, and the convoy leading him away to grief and dishonour… That’s what I believe, and I could convince him of my rightness, but I cannot tell him the truth, the game rules require conspiracy, so I get a little angry at his moans and tears, why burden my nervous system?! It’s hard enough for me without his moaning…

Through his pained sobbing comes “I… don’t understand… where they came from…” He doesn’t understand, you see… He’s a jerk…

…Half an hour later, when the stool was no longer a respectable member of society, but a hunched, quietly moaning lump of pain and despair, Giru was brought into the office. My task: he must see his older brother and be able to have a few words with him to comprehend the situation, but their communication must not be long, lest he should have time to advise or suggest something to his brother…

“Fedya, you!” ahhed Girya on the threshold, unable to believe his eyes. At the sight of the native face Fyodor Nikolayevich’s hope awakened, he rushed to him with a joyful howl, hugged and clung to him, swearing tearfully that he had not kept any drugs at home, and himself could not understand where they had come from… “The drugs were seized under the protocol…? In front of witnesses?!” quickly interrogated the wizened Giria, and the brother nodded, not understanding the significance of this circumstance. He was immediately led away by the convoy, I instructed him to put him in a cell with not the most violent ones, he played his part and there was no need to torture him unnecessarily …

“Take him to the third cell!” I shout demonstratively. (In fact, they take him to the second cell). Girya flinched: “But there are only tuberculosis patients in there!” I shook my hands: “So what?! And the other cells are overcrowded…” Picture!

I’m skipping a bit here for the sake of brevity. About, for example, how an enraged Girya tried to punch me in the face, and as a result he got it in the jaw… And then, handcuffed to a stool, he swore at me so masterly that I wanted to write down some of his expressions and then quote them at friendly parties with my colleagues…

…But after a couple of hours we switched from shouting and swearing to a smooth, businesslike tone of the high negotiating parties. I’m not an enemy of Gira, I really need it, but it’s just that in this situation his place is in prison, and he understands it himself, nothing personal…

…My terms: Girya gives an “admission of guilt” and goes to jail for 6 years (there’s no way the court can give less, given his criminal record), and I immediately release his brother “clean”. If Gira refused, they would immediately release him because of “lack of evidence”, while his brother would be sent to a pre-trial detention facility and await trial, which could take place in three months or six months or a year… (With a laugh I told Gira how one small gangster I “closed” had been waiting in jail for three whole years!) In court, with a competent defense, the drug possession case will most likely fall apart, and Fyodor Petrenko will be released, but in what condition, that is the question…? A year in a cell among the dregs of society… AIDS carriers, tuberculosis patients, syphilitics… among other beasts willing to abuse a defenseless man… Not a little… and even a lot for the psyche of the elder Petrenko!.. He will never recover, a year in prison will crush him for the rest of his life…

… Gira has nowhere to go!… His brother’s the only thing he’s got. If he goes to prison again (sooner or later, it’s inevitable!), who’ll send him the gear?!

And Girya surrendered. He signed a confession about Smithlicka: “I robbed… Weapon there… I sold the gold to someone…”

…I MADE IT.

And while I was writing down his testimony, Girya was looking at me with a bad squint… His eyes were very keen… Oh, I don’t care!.. I don’t need to be afraid of criminal scum. It’s too much of an honour. I’m a cop, and my cause is just, while he’s a bandit, a bastard, a bastard, to crush them like lice, how many good people he’s saved!… In fact, he set his brother up… “Brother of a recidivist” is neither honourable nor safe…

…And when Girya is released in six years (if he is released!), he will think not about revenge, but about where he can get money for medicine to improve his health damaged by imprisonment…

.

“When will my brother be released?” asked Girya, rising from his stool. Well done for reminding me, I’d forgotten all about Fyodor Nikolayevich… “Immediately!” I answered with a light heart. (It’s dangerous to lie here, he would find out after a while anyway…). And Giroux was taken away.

Having admired the bandit’s testimony so hard, I ordered Petrenko senior to be brought in. A few minutes later he was brought into the office. We haven’t seen each other for three hours, but he’s changed. He shook like a leaf, trembled at the slightest rustle… His eyes were anxiously searching for any escape… The hunted figure had a doom look… Only 180 minutes in the worst of our cells and what an effect!.. What if it had been 15 days of in-cell treatment in the TDF? What if it had been five years in the “zone”? …

“So, you son of a bitch…” I started with a menacing look, but immediately I got up (wrong situation, wrong tone!), ran out from the table, hurried to him with outstretched hand to shake hands in a friendly way. He recoiled, clearly fearing that I would hit him in the eyes again, but I manage to catch his hand, shake it firmly, joyfully exclaiming: “Well, Fyodor Nikolayevich, we’ve got it all figured out, and it turns out that you’re innocent…”

“I’m innocent?!” he jumped on the spot in surprise, and stared at me as if he had slaughtered a thousand people before, and now he was told that they had just all been resurrected! …..

I willingly confirm: “Not guilty, not at all!… We submitted the substance found in your possession for examination, and the expert has just concluded that the bag does not contain a drug at all, but just… harmless dried grass… You were detained by mistake, dear Fyodor Nikolayevich! In this regard, on behalf of myself and the management, I want to offer you our sincere apologies!.. Forgive us, we won’t do it again…” and with this life-affirming promise I shook his hand firmly.

“But where did I get it from?” he almost sobbed out. “Probably hooligans threw it out the window!” I suggested smilingly…

He smiled faintly, suspecting me of another trick. Now I’m going to stop being nice, and I’m going to hit him in the kidneys with my truncheon, I’m going to punch him in the solar plexus, right now…… But I wouldn’t dream of it…

Let the ringing-voiced journalists who don’t want to know the real life accuse the cops of anything, but we ourselves understand that in the final analysis we try to do this so that such decent people will have fewer chances in life to run into any kind of evil… It is their interests we defend, it is their peace we fight for… And sometimes we have to insult them inadvertently in the interest of the cause, so forgive us, dear ones!.. We cannot do otherwise…

“What about the protocol?” still couldn’t believe his happiness, Fyodor Nikolayevich. I silently took out the ill-fated protocol from the folder lying on the table, defiantly tore it into a thousand little pieces, tossed it up. The bits of paper, swirling, fell to the floor, followed by Petrenko’s bewildered gaze. (The papers had played their part and were no longer needed. This was not to say that I had not made sure, in case Girya, thinking of replaying the game, would give a shout, I had stuffed two cartridges from a TT pistol in the upholstery of the chair in Fyodor Nikolayevich’s apartment. If necessary, during the next search they will be “found” in front of witnesses, we draw up “ammunition possession”, and throw Petrenko Sr. into pre-trial detention under this article of the Criminal Code…)

“So I can… leave…?” still doesn’t understand my guest. I nod happily. Thank you for taking the time to visit us, you are always welcome if you want to come again…

.

How easy it is to make our man happy… Arrest him for nothing, mock him in every way, abuse him, let him feel the depth of your powerlessness and grief, and then – report with joy that a small misunderstanding has occurred and he can roll on all four!

And they also say that our people are wise… Yeah… I can see their wisdom just sprouting out of every crevice…

I assured Fyodor Nikolayevich that he was absolutely and unconditionally free, he could go home, go to work, or fly abroad (if he could find the money for a plane ticket)… His face came alive, he suddenly started laughing loudly, joking around, shook my hand (the same hand I had shaken his), invited me to visit, “if you happen to be passing by…”.”I am not offended, let … this is not familiarity, just a nervous discharge need man … Even praises me for something, funny story from his life, I chuckled politely, imperceptibly (but so that he noticed), looking at the clock. He nods, he understands everything, my time is priceless and belongs to the state. Not all the bandits have been caught yet, and not all the decent but confused people have been beaten up yet, how many giant cases are piling up on my starlet shoulders…

Hesitating, he asked quietly: “Ah – the brother…? What about him…? Will they let him go?” I assured him that I would deal with my brother carefully and objectively – a little later, by tonight or tomorrow morning… “We have dealt with you, as you see… And he will be all right!

He is satisfied, and again at the peak of bliss, at the parting he even tried to hug and kiss me. But here I am on my guard, fleetingly dodging the touching hickeys… I don’t know what kind of disease he has managed to catch in the cell during these hours… I don’t need to catch it from him yet…

We shook hands again, and finally he was leaving. I watched him at the window, as in a couple of minutes he walked out of the ROVD building, escorted, as a sign of respect, by the officer on duty himself. Fyodor Nikolayevich shook his hand and was honored with a pat on the back, then quickly walked away. When I followed him, I could see him looking over his shoulder, for sure he was afraid that now a gang of musclemen with truncheons would run out of the police station and follow him, shouting: “Stop! You’ve been released by mistake!” And he walks, visibly looping, consciously or unconsciously, but – preventing some imaginary sniper from aiming at his back, should he dare to aim at him now.

And as hardened as I am in battles with crime, my heart is painfully clenched too… Inadvertently bruised a good man!..

… Oh, Dad, you shouldn’t do that… We’re not the Gestapo, we’re the police…

… We don’t put honest people in jail…

5. AT ALL COSTS…

This is how we break, how we bend the force that opposes us. Some of them this way, others that way… No one can predict in advance where exactly this type will break. Some of them would withstand the hardest things, and then from trifles bang and crack with a crash…

I remember a case like this… We once caught a “janitor” breaking windows and breaking into apartments… We charged him with three “native” thefts and started “loading” him up further, so that he could take on five more, but he refused: “What the hell do I need someone else’s stuff?! He was 22 years old, and he had already served 7 years, since he was 14… Daddy was a drunkard, no mother, he didn’t need his older sister, but he also had a younger sister that he loved and looked after since childhood, she was 11… I began to ‘stress’ him out at the interrogation. Like, if you are not going to arrest me now, we are going to raid your house (yet another raid!), and this time we will raid and take away all the children’s belongings, including the little sister’s favourite toys, and even hers. We shall keep her in the police station till evening, we shall torture her with questions, we shall yell at her… At this age she does not need to be tormented for hours by malicious cops…

.

“You have no right!” he shouts. And I’m pushing the Code of Criminal Procedure: “Yes, we do!… I can lock her up in the police station for up to three days… We won’t beat her because she is too young, but will she have a good time in the cell?”

.

He yelled at me, I yelled at him, but he didn’t get away from me, and he took on three “left” thefts… Already a victory!.. I could have charged him more, but I understand that the SIZO’s operatives also need to fulfill their disclosure plan, so let them have something left over…

In short, because of a little snotty girl, because of such a trifle man against his will did according to ours, and otherwise we could beat him until he was blue in the face out of a bare principle, and he would not agree with us by any means…

.

That’s it – and with everyone. Find the vulnerability, and hit it first, skillfully, precisely, in the right force for this particular case.

…What I’m afraid of is making a mistake. I’ll get a “confession” from a totally innocent man, and I’ll put him in jail. Because when your gut says, “He’s the one,” and you press him, sooner or later you cross the line, after which you can’t back down. Either he admits his guilt and goes to trial and into the ‘zone’, or he does not confess, I am forced to release him and immediately he files complaints to all the authorities, and the bosses freak out and give me up in a flash, ‘abuse of power’, ‘forgery of criminal cases’… ‘The zone’ is for me! But if, without stopping, I will press all imaginable and unimaginable ways, sooner or later almost ANYONE will confess, and when you competently furnish a confession from all sides with evidence, it is impossible to escape from it… Then I am saved, and an innocent person will rot in prison…

…We are professionals. In an environment where our work can only be done badly, we are obliged to do it exceptionally well. Sometimes the target of our special methods is chosen incorrectly, but we cannot give an answer to . If you have been caught, you have to go all the way. Either he is a criminal, or I am, I don’t want to go to jail… Therefore, he is the criminal…

…There are far fewer serious blunders in police work than one might think at first glance, but they do happen…

Last year there was such a thing in the neighboring “territory”… Two drug addict brothers were stabbed to death in their apartment by unknown persons. It’s clear who was suspected in the first place by the same drug addicts, presumably good friends of the brothers.

We detained a guy and a girl from among those who regularly shouted at that address, and began to investigate them. There was not much evidence, in fact there wasn’t any at all. One agent whispered to his handler that: “I think it’s them,” but the whisper is not true…

.

The suspects’ identities were inspiring. The kid was twice convicted, and on “strong” articles for robbery and extortion. Who wouldn’t kill someone like that? Plus, he was in a fight with his bros… They got him by proxy, beat him up, and he confessed. But when they brought him to the prosecutor for authorization of arrest, he was flatly refused: “I didn’t kill him, I testified under duress!” So the prosecutor didn’t sanction it, he said, “Something doesn’t add up!” Again we talked to the boy, and again the prosecutor rejected it… This happened three times!..

The chick did not confess to anything at all, because they did not dare to beat her (“young… pretty… and the murdered ones are such scum that you should thank the one who finished them off!”); words alone would not make her stop, she was not of that kind… Her character was rocky, she would not let herself be hurt. She got hooked on needles, and she stole dough from suckers, but she had her own pride, and some meaningful goals in life… Could such a person kill? Run! She had a twin sister, who was a complete scum, the kind that could only be kicked out of the yard and sent to a crematorium with her firewood… Her sister stole her boyfriend’s Adidas sweatpants and would not admit her crimes. Then she tied the twin with a rope to “Moskvich” neighbor, and as she gave the highway at sixty kilometers! So judge, what kind of dude and dude were those two … Our guys were 98% sure: they killed the brothers!.. But there was still 2% doubt: the kid was stubbornly rebuffing, and there was no convincing evidence against him, which was alarming…

6.

Everyone has the right to make a mistake, and the professional solidarity of operatives is manifested in the fact that we help each other to disguise the consequences of our punctures, safely hiding the ends in water…

.

Recently, for example, the guys from the neighboring department almost got into trouble. Such a hullabaloo happened there… A young lad came to our town from the village, he had just finished his demobilization. He settled in the flat of a girl he knew, got a job as a security guard in a firm, began to prepare for admission to university, whether agricultural or construction… Was it love with the girl, or so – a tender and ardent friendship, but he had it, and a roof over his head, and free breakfast and dinner… But one evening he proposed her once again to rock the bunk with merry debauchery, and she refused: he insisted, she got angry, the quarrel flared up, at some stage she called him a moron or a pig, a city girl has something to say to a hot country boy!.. He was offended and raped her, and not just like that, but also with perversions that he had never used before… And she was offended!.. Ran to the police an hour later and said that she had just been raped by so-and-so… The guy was already on duty at his firm, our guys came to see him at work and offered to “come in for a minute”. He, being a disciplined guard, did not want to go anywhere, but without waiting for his agreement they grabbed him by the arms and dragged him to the police station. There he acted brazenly too, spitting at the cops, shouting: “I demand a lawyer immediately!”, in general he was showing off…

If he had behaved like a human being, he would have got over it, but they beat him with rubber sticks for two hours without stopping, they got tired… The typical thing: he became like a silk, no lawyer was needed, he confessed to everything, signed everything, and only asked, shaking his whole body: “Please don’t hit me anymore! Why should we hit him if he’s already broken…? We weren’t going to…

Well, during the interrogation our guys saw a small bruise on his shoulder, like a hickey mark, and decided to take him to the forensic expert, let him record traces of resistance on the part of the rape victim, one more piece of evidence for the court…. I was assigned to escort him, those cops were driven to another criminal corpse, and I was relatively free…

[He brought me to the expert, an experienced man, who always draws in his papers what the police need… He started examining the boy, and I was sitting on a chair at the threshold, flipping through a newspaper. I hear the doctor calling me: “Can I talk to you for a minute?” I walked up to the prisoner stripped down to his underwear, the expert showed me his body, I looked… Holy shit!… What kind of hickeys, what kind of “resistance from the victim”… There were stains all over the body: purple-red on the lower back, above the kidneys, and blue-black on the calves of the legs…! The opera’s been doing a lot of damage with their little sticks. Yeah… hot and inexperienced young people…

The expert took me into the next room, closed the door tightly, and said: “Of course, I’m sorry, but I can’t hide this, I have no right… He can hire a qualified lawyer, who will demand an independent expertise, and then not only you, but me too, will be brought to court…”. I turned pale, understanding his righteousness, but I decided to put a firm end to the panic. I said: “Wait here, I’ll talk to him!” I went to the asshole, who had no idea how many cool kids could burn because of him, the jerk, I asked him severely: “How did you get the bruises on your body?” He was surprised: “How come…? “Yours just now…” I kicked him hard in the windpipe, he pissed himself, and I corrected him: “It wasn’t ‘just now’, it was yesterday. “You were beaten up in the street by complete strangers… Do you get it, or should I say it again?” and with a Freddy Krueger look on his face. “Oh, no need to repeat it, I got it, I’ll say it!” he waved his hands in fright. I called an expert, and he wrote down on the report “traces of beatings inflicted yesterday in the street, according to the subject, by unknown persons”, and took the boy back to the police station. They did a little more work on him, (“Why didn’t you tell me you had such sensitive skin, you bastard?! Here’s for that!”), and with some anxious doubts in his soul, he was handed over to the investigator.

They were worried about the lawyer: what if the boy’s parents would pay and hire an experienced professional? But luckily his relatives didn’t have any money for a paid lawyer… Those who are provided by our state as free defence attorneys are only good for a sanitation service, they come to your cell and say: “You are accused of this and that, you can get from so much to so much…”, and that’s it!.. “What am I supposed to do?” asks the victim of his vices and the woes of the social structure, who doesn’t know the law. “Do what you want, do what you want…”

such a woeful advocate will throw up his hands.

And they gave that kid a pretty big sentence in the end. Had he had a smart lawyer and a qualified refusal to convict him (which requires great strength of character in prison conditions), no court would have convicted him… In fact the only proof of guilt was his confession and the testimony of the victim. Moreover, he would have easily thrown all the officers who questioned him onto the prison wards! Our superiors wouldn’t have forgiven such a gross miscarriage of duty. In such delicate matters as torture of civilians (and the guy was not a bandit or a drug addict), you should never be caught in the act…

.

But lucky us…

The story of a criminal investigator who wished to remain nameless was recorded by Vladimir Kuzemko.

P.S. Thanks to Supah for the link to the article.

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