Ordinary vitriol

     When old Mrs. Green disappeared, nobody was even a little surprised. After years of marriage, it had happened several times that she left her husband unexpectedly, only to return to him shortly afterward. Everyone wondered how Green could have put up with her for such a long time.
     This small, plain, unattractive woman made his life a living hell. He had to hand over his entire paycheck to her down to the last penny. She wouldn’t let him go out for a beer, let alone smoke. Yet she herself smoked like a factory chimney and had the most positive relationship with alcohol-one could say almost intimate.
    This Xanthippe made his life miserable every day. No one understood why he didn’t divorce her, which would have meant liberation from her tyranny. Green always answered such questions with a smile: “She’ll never change.”
     When the disappearance lasted more than three weeks, people started to find it odd. Old Mrs. Green always returned within a week at the latest. She simply ran out of money.
     Green reported the case to the police. A nationwide search was announced for the missing woman. Even television got involved. Green was summoned to the police station for questioning. Commissioner Doney took over the investigation.
     “Are you Allan Robin Green?” he asked without preamble.
     “Yes,” the man replied dryly.
     “We’ve summoned you regarding the disappearance of your wife. When did you last see her?”
     “It was the fifteenth of March.”
     “How can you be so sure?”
     “That day was payday. My wife never missed coming for the money. She would come to the factory to get it. And she didn’t show up at home that evening either. So I kept the money.”
     “Hmm,” said the investigator, “that’s interesting.”
     “What did you do on that particular day?”
     “In the morning at five I got up and made myself some tea. My wife was sleeping off some binge. Around half past five I left the house. I caught the train at three-quarters past, and went to work. I stayed there until three. I went straight home from work. But my wife was already gone.”
     “Where do you work?” asked the policeman.
     “At Hoot’s chemical factory.”
     “And what exactly do you do there?”
     “I work on the railway. My duty is to record all the rail cars that come into the plant.”
     “Alright, that’s all for today. If we need anything, we’ll call you. Goodbye for now.”
     The man nodded in farewell and left.
     The next day, the commissioner headed to the chemical plant. From afar, he could smell a strange odor-something between rotten eggs and burnt meat. At the gate, he showed his police badge to the guard, who examined it carefully and wrote his name in the visitors’ book.
     “I need to speak with Mr. Green,” said the commissioner.
     “Which one? We have five Greens working here.”
     The answer caught the policeman off guard.
     “You must mean the one whose wife ran off, right?” the guard prompted.
     “Yes, that’s the one I’m looking for.”
     “Go straight down this road, then turn right at the yellow building. You’ll see a small house. That’s where Green works.”
     The commissioner thanked him for the information and set off as directed. He reached a small, single-story building. Just then, a stout man of about fifty was coming out.
     “Hello, where can I find Mr. Green? I’m from the police. Commissioner Doney.”
     The man was unfazed.
     “He’s on the afternoon shift today, relieving me. He’ll be here after lunch.”
     Just then, a locomotive with tank cars passed by. The engineer tooted in greeting. The stout man responded with a casual wave, then wrote something in his notebook and closed his work diary.
     “If you want, you can wait for him at my place,” he invited the commissioner.
     “That’s kind of you, thank you very much.”
     “Don’t mention it.”
     The man went inside, and the policeman followed. He found himself in a small, pleasantly warm room. On the wall was a bulletin board decorated with photos of naked women.
     “We’ve spruced the place up a bit.”
     The policeman smiled knowingly.
     “Would you like some coffee?”
     “No, thank you. The doctor’s forbidden me coffee. I have high blood pressure.”
     “Ah, I see,” the man said understandingly.
     “What do those tank cars carry?”
     “Nothing. They’re empty,” explained the railwayman.
     “Empty?” the commissioner was surprised.
     “Yes, empty. I’ll explain how things work here. Where we were standing before, the wagons enter the factory. They stay here for a while. I then check them, inspect them, and record them in the diary. You saw that. Then I dispatch them. In the plant, they get filled and then leave the factory.”
     “By the same route they arrived?”
     “Yes, exactly. On exit, the tank cars are recorded again.”
     “I see,” the commissioner nodded.
     “Our factory is one of the largest enterprises in the world. It covers several dozen square kilometers.”
     “Can you tell me what gets loaded into those tanks, if it’s not secret?”
     “It varies. Mostly methanol, ammonia, ether, formamide, dyes, pesticides, organophosphates, and who knows what other junk. It’s pretty monotonous here. In this notebook, I have a precise schedule of monthly tank fillings.”
     “I didn’t know you had such a wide range.”
     “We do. Production is set to expand next year.”
     “How does the filling process work?”
     “Right now, it’s semi-automatic. We have machines connected to a computer. We just unscrew the lid on each tank, and that’s it. From August this year, the operation will be fully automatic, without human intervention.”
     “That’s amazing!”
     “Look! See those tanks with the blue stripe?”
     “The ones coming towards us now?”
     “Exactly. They’ll be filled with ammonia. In the afternoon, the locomotive brings empty tanks. That’s when the afternoon shift ends. They stay here until evening. In the meantime, we record their registration numbers. We have to loosen the metal lids, as I mentioned. We also need to check their previous contents.”
     “Why is that?” asked the commissioner.
     “Residues in the tank could cause an explosion if they come into contact with a different filling. Even though everything is recorded, mistakes can happen. That’s why we’re so careful. Just in case…”
     “That’s something! I had no idea what could happen.”
     “Commissioner, chemistry is a very interesting field! All sorts of things happen here.”
     “And what happens next?”
     The man cleared his throat.
     “Only late in the evening are the tanks filled, and early in the morning they leave the plant. That’s how it goes every day. The same cycle over and over.”
     “What do you think about the missing Mrs. Green?” the policeman suddenly asked.
    “I don’t know what to say. I’m surprised Green put up with that old firecracker for so long. I’d have strangled her the first day after the wedding. And Green is a big guy. If he gave her one good slap, that would be the end of her. But he’s such a good-natured guy. Well, more of a sucker. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s honest and conscientious. In all the time I’ve been here, I don’t remember him ever being late or oversleeping. Unlike his shrew of a wife. She was a vessel full of poison. The devil should take her. I wouldn’t be surprised if he finally snapped one day…”
     “What do you mean?”
     “Oh, nothing. Just a thought.”
     “And what about Mrs. Green?”
     “She used to come to see him at work regularly. Always on the fifteenth-that’s payday. You could set your calendar by her.”
     “That’s what Green said too. But how did she get in? She must have passed through the gate.”
     The man smiled conspiratorially.
     “Through the gate? Hardly. The guard wouldn’t let her past the barrier.”
     “So how?”
     “I’ll tell you, but you mustn’t breathe a word.”
     “My lips are sealed,” promised the commissioner.
     “Well, there’s a hole in the fence near our house. That’s how she always came in.”
     “And on the day she disappeared, was she here?”
     “No. I didn’t see her. I was leaving for home. Roby, that is, Mr. Green, was just starting his night shift.”
     The policeman listened silently.
     “I have to go outside again. No help for it. A new train is coming soon. The wagons are going to be loaded with DMSO.”
     “What’s that?”
     “Dimethylsulfoxide, an organic solvent.”
     “Can you tell me what was being loaded on the fifteenth?”
     The man looked into his tattered notebook.
     “I can tell you exactly. It’s the only day of the month when vitriol is transferred into the wagons. A very tricky chemical! If you dipped your hand in it, it would disappear completely. That chemical stuff would eat it away.”
     “So you say the fifteenth…” the commissioner muttered to himself.
     At that moment, a certain connection occurred to him…
 
 
Translated into English by artificial intelligence.