"Who is it?"
Klein was preoccupied with the original owner's mysterious suicide and the unknown dangers he might have encountered when he heard the sudden knock on the door. He instinctively opened a drawer, took out the revolver, and asked warily.
There was a two-second silence outside the door, followed by a slightly shrill voice in an Akhova accent:
"It's me, Mountbatten, Beach Mountbatten."
The voice paused, then added,
"Police."
Beach Mountbatten… As the name entered his ears, Klein immediately thought of its owner.
He was one of the police officers responsible for the neighborhood where the apartment was located, a rough, savage man who loved to use his fists. Perhaps only someone like him could keep those drunkards, thieves, part-time thieves, and hooligans in check.
And his
