Karolina Wronski sat rigid in the small interrogation room, arms crossed, waiting for someone to explain her presence at the Resovian Police Department. She assumed it concerned Martha's suicide. One of the girls from AlChemie had rung an hour earlier with the news. Martha had left a note confessing to stealing Agnes Gott's pension money and murdering her when Agnes discovered the fraud. Dominique Moran must have known, too — after all, she had been the company accountant before retiring — and so Martha had silenced her as well. The police had initially suspected Oliver, but he was in custody when Martha died, and the note cleared him. That was a relief. Still, the publicity would damage the company, and his release would do nothing to repair their fractured marriage.
The door opened. Inspector Wojcik entered first, followed by his young sergeant. Wojcik took the chair directly opposite her. Farnicki sat in the corner by the door, ice pack pressed to his swollen nose. This was Karolina's second encounter with Wojcik, though he seemed far less appealing now. His angular features looked harsher, his grey eyes colder, sunken deeper in their sockets. Compared with Oliver, Wojcik was ugly.
"We're pleased to inform you that your husband is no longer a suspect," Wojcik said dryly.
"Your sergeant already told me when he collected me. Of course, Oliver couldn't have killed those two poor women. He had no reason."
"But you did."
"Excuse me?"
"Don't pretend you don't understand, Mrs Wronski. Your husband couldn't have killed three women. You did."
"What the hell are you talking about? Three women? Is that why I'm here?"
Wojcik studied her in silence. He admired her composure and acting ability, yet he knew she was insane. And dangerous.
"Yes. Your plan was to make us believe there were only two murders, both committed by the same person: Martha Glushko. Initially you intended only Agnes Gott's death. But things spiralled. Martha's supposed suicide was a last-minute improvisation. Unfortunately for you, it failed."
"Inspector Wojcik, are you out of your mind? I won't let you speak to me like this, treating me as some mastermind villain. And I won't say another word without my lawyer."
"That's fine. You don't need to speak. Just listen."
Wojcik crossed his arms and leaned back.
"It began twenty years ago, when a young, beautiful Agnes Gott joined your husband's company. Your marriage was already rocky — long before Agnes. Mr Wronski told us about your jealousy. I believe you had grounds to suspect him of infidelity. A woman doesn't come to physical blows with her husband unless she has real cause."
Karolina said nothing, but Wojcik saw the nerve had been struck.
"Your violent rows continued as women came and went. Oliver always returned home, promising it was the last time. But Agnes was different. He fell in love— genuinely, as much as a man like him can. No amount of punching stopped him seeing her. Your jealousy wasn't fear of losing a loved one; it was possessiveness. You couldn't bear another woman taking what was yours. That's when you began threatening to harm Agnes. It terrified Oliver — he knew how brutal you could be. Fearing for her safety or police involvement, he ended it."
"Where did you get all this?" Karolina asked, unable to stay silent.
"Call them assumptions if you like, Mrs Wronski. But watching a man recount events from decades ago reveals a great deal — often more in what remains unsaid. Read between the lines. But I digress."
Karolina sniffed indignantly.
"The break-up wasn't enough. Oliver still saw Agnes at work. That's when your friend Martha Glushko stepped in. You ordered her to make Agnes's life unbearable until she quit. Which she did."
"I ordered Martha?" Karolina laughed, amused. "Really, Inspector, I'm beginning to think you have a personal grudge against me. Though I can't imagine why."
"My mistake was not considering you at all — until recently. A keyword kept recurring, drawing my attention once I knew where to look. But more on that later. Agnes's resignation didn't end it. Soon after leaving Almain Chemie, she contacted Oliver again. This time your threats were useless: Agnes threatened the company. She had fallen ill working there and had every right to compensation. Oliver wasn't entirely heartless. He accepted responsibility for his mistress's illness and insisted on paying her a lifetime pension — despite angering you, Martha, the board, everyone. He nearly lost control of the company but held on. The amount was decent — equivalent to her salary at Almain Chemie, rising over time. Agnes should have had no financial worries. You made sure she did."
"I'm curious how I supposedly managed that. Let me remind you: Martha confessed in her suicide note to stealing the money. But I suppose that's not good enough for you. Well, check my accounts. Trace every transfer for twenty years. Find one cent I took from Agnes. I dare you."
"No need. I take your word. The money didn't go to your account. Martha diverted three-quarters of Agnes's pension to her own secret account; we have proof. You have plenty of money yourself — you weren't after financial gain. Martha, however, was eager to execute your plan. Yes, stealing the pension was your idea."
Karolina raised an eyebrow sarcastically.
"I believe you suggested the fraud to Martha because she wouldn't have dared alone. I've met her. People like Martha don't breathe without approval from their superior — let alone steal from the company. But when the boss's wife said it was safe and promised to cover for her, Martha agreed gladly. For twenty years she lived off that money while Agnes barely survived. You didn't care then. You don't care now."
Wojcik paused, hoping the gravity might pierce her composure. It didn't.
"Now, fast-forward twenty years. Oliver visited Agnes in the Old Town. They argued. He called her spendthrift for struggling on her pension. Agnes threw him out, but his words made her think. She realised she wasn't receiving the full amount. That's when she wrote her first letter to Martha, demanding records of every transaction from the start. We found it in the black folder on Martha's passenger seat. Here."
Wojcik slid a handwritten letter across the table in a plastic sleeve. Karolina glanced at it indifferently and met his gaze again.
"Martha ignored that first letter, but a month later Agnes sent another — this time threatening to go to the police if Martha didn't meet her demands. Here's the second one," Wojcik said, sliding another sheet across the table.
"That letter, too, was found in the black filing folder where Martha kept all the directives she had received from head office in Almain. As I've explained, those documents prove she transferred three-quarters of Agnes's benefits each month into a secret account she had opened in her own name twenty years ago."
"You would think that evidence alone would be enough to convict Martha as the killer," Karolina said coolly. "She was desperate to keep the fraud hidden — so she murdered Agnes, then Dominique, who as the old accountant probably knew all about those transfers. And when the noose tightened, she took her own life. So why treat me as a suspect?"
"That's a plausible theory," Wojcik replied. "But here's what really happened. After those letters arrived, Martha felt cornered. She turned to the one person who had first suggested the fraud: you, Miss Wronski.
"At first you dismissed her panic — after all, the account was in her name; the transfers were her doing. You were safe. But then you began to wonder: how had Agnes found out? Only two people knew the scheme — you and Martha. Someone else must have tipped her off. It didn't take long to realise that someone was your husband.
"You discovered he had visited Agnes. You were furious. Once again, Agnes Gott was trying to steal your man — and the fact that she knew about the transfers suggested Oliver cared enough to tell her. That was when you decided to silence her for good. And you would frame Martha if the police ever came sniffing.
"You pretended to be worried about Agnes suspecting the fraud. You even suggested intimidating her into dropping it. I doubt Martha would have agreed to murder. Greedy, yes — murderous, no. So, she supplied the strychnine and later the cyanide, believing you would use it on Agnes's cats. You knew Agnes shared her food with them; you had been inside the flat."
Karolina leant forward, eyes narrowing. "And how exactly did I get in, Inspector? Don't tell me Agnes handed me a key."
"For someone as fit as you, it was simple enough. Climb the tree, drop onto the balcony. She always left the door open for the cats."
"How inconvenient," Karolina hissed, "that you have no witnesses to your wild fantasy."
"You're right — I have no eyewitness. But you had been inside that flat, and the only way in was the balcony. You could have slipped in at night when the street was empty, or any time Liberation Street was deserted. First you tried strychnine — Martha could only spare a small amount without it being missed. When that failed, you asked for more. This time she got you cyanide. And this time you succeeded.
"You assumed no one would bother investigating a lonely old woman with too many cats. A neighbour, fed up with the smell and the mess, might have poisoned the food by mistake — things like that happen. Secluded life, no family, no traces. Your crime was almost perfect. Almost. Except for me."
"You?" Karolina gave a low, mocking laugh that seemed to rise from her gut. "Oh yes — the brilliant sleuth, the tireless champion of justice!"
"Hardly. I'm the fool here. Agnes came to me for help, and I brushed her off. I mocked her, dismissed her fears — just as you would expect from a jaded copper who couldn't be bothered with a poor old woman and her dead cats. If I had listened that first time, I would have found you sooner. Agnes would still be alive. To some extent, I'm responsible for her death — and for Dominique Moran's, too.
"If not for that small item in the local paper, you would never have killed Miss Moran. At first, we thought she had recognised your husband — the mystery man who looked like a film star and visited Agnes weeks before she died. We even suspected Oliver after we learned Dominique had rung your number that day. But it wasn't him who answered. It was you."
"She didn't die just for recognising Oliver," Wojcik continued. "She let slip something dangerous. She knew about the fraud — and probably about the affair between Agnes and your husband. She had no idea how much danger she was in when she dropped that hint. If she had spoken to us, we would have seen your motive for killing Agnes. So, you silenced her."
"Ridiculous," Karolina sneered. "Though I must admit, it's rather thrilling. My life in your imagination is far more exciting than reality."
"Whether you killed Dominique or not, the investigation would have led us to AlChemie anyway," Wojcik pressed on, ignoring her sarcasm. "As long as Martha stayed silent, you were safe. She was already on edge when we first interviewed her — Dominique had rung that morning to say she knew what Martha had done with Agnes's money. When we told Martha about the poisoning, she immediately connected it to the cyanide she had given you. But Dominique's murder shocked her most. 'Why Dominique?' she kept asking.
"You explained it to her after we left. We know she rang you from the office phone. After that call, you realised she was a liability — a ticking bomb. So, you eliminated her, too. Your mistake was acting so soon after we detained your husband.
"Oliver drew our attention to the benefits question — initially I thought it was just a clumsy deflection. But I had Sergeant Farnicki check the transfers. He was surprised when Miss Glushko asked to speak to him privately. She had something vital to tell us. Unfortunately, he arrived too late."
Wojcik paused, watching for any crack in Karolina's composure. She remained perfectly still.
"Farnicki found Martha in her car in the locked garage, engine running. Dead. On the passenger seat lay a suicide note — and the black folder with all the documents proving the fraud."
Karolina spread her arms in mock surprise. "Well! Who could have predicted this convoluted little tale would end so neatly? I was hoping you would unmask me as some diabolical mastermind. Instead, Martha confesses to everything in a typed note, backed by bank records. How disappointing, Inspector. Where's your irrefutable proof of my guilt? Oh, that's right — you have none. Just another woman's confession. Perhaps you should stop wasting my time and do your job. I'll forget this ever happened — and I won't file a complaint. Yet."
"How did you know the note was typed, not handwritten?" Wojcik asked quietly.
"An educated guess," Karolina replied, holding his gaze. "People don't write letters by hand these days."
"Throughout this investigation, one word kept recurring — in different mouths, different contexts. Like AlChemie, it appeared just often enough to matter. The word that unmasked you was cycling."
"Cycling?" Karolina threw her head back and laughed —a sharp, clucking sound. "Really?"
"Yes. You won't deny you're a keen cyclist, I hope. When we found Dominique, there were bicycle tracks in the mud outside. We wondered who had left them. Her nurse drove a car; her friends walked. Then your husband mentioned your hobbies — including cycling. I checked with your club chairman. Your group rode near Greenwood the day Dominique died. You're one of Resovia's strongest riders — strong enough to slip away, kill her, and rejoin the peloton without anyone noticing."
"And Martha? You knew she was about to crack. She planned to confess — to point the finger at you for Agnes and Dominique. You were waiting in her house when she got home. People intending suicide don't make appointments with detectives or fill the kettle. You knocked her out, dragged her to the car, staged the scene. Your timing, your fitness — you beat us to her twice."
"Bravo, Inspector!" Karolina clapped slowly. "A splendid performance. But it's time I went home — and you prepared your defence. My lawyer will sue you and your department into oblivion. For these accusations you need real evidence. And you have nothing."
"That's not entirely true, Miss Wronski. We have your fingerprints — on the keyboard of Martha's computer. The one you used to type the suicide note."
"Rubbish! I was wearing gloves!" Karolina snapped.
Wojcik smiled faintly. "Were you?"
Her face flushed crimson. Rage glittered in her eyes; for a moment it seemed she might lunge across the table.
At that instant, her lawyer burst in, flustered, talking over everyone, reminding Wojcik that his client had the right to remain silent and didn't have to tell him anything.
"She already has, sir," Wojcik murmured and left the room, followed by Farnicki. The lawyer didn't hear.