“...Exactly half an hour after Katka’s call, I stood in front of the door of her apartment in anticipation of a hearty and tasty lunch (Katka was an excellent cook) and something “interesting,” as she put it. Only she was in no hurry to open the door for me. Pressing the bell button again, I thoughtfully lowered my hand to the doorknob. The door gave way under the pressure of a hand, and a terrible picture appeared before my eyes: a chandelier was burning brightly in the hallway, illuminating the cleanly washed floor on which Katka was lying. The handle of a knife stuck out almost in the very center of his chest. There was little blood, probably because the killer did not take out the knife, but left it in the body...”