In those days, his friend suddenly dies a husband. Funeral troubles. Mourning. Shortly after the funeral, the widow recalls an important fact: shortly before the death of the head of the family, they bought several lottery tickets for Sportloto with her husband.
It was a common practice to rewrite ticket numbers just in case - it's not enough to read the table of winnings. And so the table is found, the wife checks the numbers, oh - a miracle - a win, a brand-new car 'Moskvich'. I had to look for a winning ticket-and nowhere else. And then it overshadows, because the husband always kept his tickets in the inner pocket of his outgoing suit. Yes, exactly the one in which he was buried.
For a very long time the widow sought permission for exhumation. After all, there were no visible grounds for the autopsy of the grave. But, as the family was influential, she still achieved her. The next day the grave was unearthed and the coffin was opened.
But, to the huge surprise of the body in the coffin was not.
They called the police. Indeed, there is a fact of desecration of the grave and kidnapping. Have started a criminal case. The investigation has bewilderment and only a clue, it is also the cause of all the fuss - a winning lottery ticket. In all savings banks sent requests: to identify and detain before the arrival of the operative group of a person with a winning ticket
On the same day, the Soviet citizen Udaltsov flew to the savings bank on the wings of luck. The cashier asked him to wait. The joy of Udaltsov was replaced by the deepest perplexity, when men in civilian clothes, waving red books in front of their noses, offered to go where they should.
Citizen Udaltsov explained that he found the ticket in his jacket pocket. A jacket, he bought at the nearest commission store. For those times, something like second-hand.
The widow's wife's jacket was identified. We checked the store. Udaltsov's testimony was confirmed. Then the militiamen began to find out who and when the thing was delivered to the store. Before computers were not, but accountability was always strict and accurate. Find out quickly. The suspect was a certain Ivan Ilyich Ivanovich Portko, fifty-six years old. The policemen at once decided that, Ivan Ilyich burdock: the jacket of a stranger in a commissary, and his pockets did not guess. Outwardly, Portco was indeed an unpretentious hard worker of low proletarian status.
Ivan Ilyich immediately admitted that he worked as a watchman in the city cemetery. It was there that the demon beguiled him. Funeral for him is a common thing, and he is not afraid of superstition - only his monetary flaw scares him. So he encroached on the deceased's clothes.
'Where's the body?' - asked the staff of the Soviet police in amazement.
'I do not remember, citizen chief.' Though I am an atheist, as our party teaches, but I dig a grave - I went out hard.
It was clear that Portco was darkening and decided, just in case, to attach a 'tail' to him, that is, an external observation. If everything is not so simple in this mysterious story, if Portco either hides something or someone, he will certainly warn the accomplice that the militia has come on the trail. Operative version put forward such: the watchman is in collusion with the director of the commission, he delivers to him things, he sells them and shares with the supplier.
But the watchman, exhausted during the interrogation and having received a written undertaking not to leave the house, hurried not to the commission shop. He wounded an antelope rushed out of the city and broke into a big house behind a high fence. The detectives immediately 'struck' the address. Aha. A certain Voroshilov, a military pensioner. What can be the connection of the retiree with the cemetery watchman? What is not related, it is understandable. Decided to observe.
In Voroshilov's yard there was a peculiar smell and there were many cells for some animals. It turned out, nutria. Soviet people were very fond of fur nutria caps and fur coats.
The culmination moment came when the owner came out into the yard with a large pelvis of meat. Next to him was Portco. Voroshilov, with great pride, fed the animal with food. Just at this moment, the guests jumped into the courtyard in uniform.
The policemen began to guess what they would find during the search, but they really did not want to believe their guess.
Voroshilov knew Portco from the youngest age. And when, at last, I decided to make money by growing nutria, I found and warmed a long-drunk friend of youth. He even bought some meat waste for a local meat factory, but most of the food was supplied by a watchman.
The destiny of the defendants of this case can only be surmised, for, for obvious reasons, the court was closed - it was a painful and vile atrocity for that time.
