by Graham Brack
Slonský judged that the moment was right to strike. ‘Besides, sir, I have a better idea. When I take over, we’ll need a senior lieutenant. I thought perhaps this was a good opportunity to let Doležal spread his wings a bit. He’s been here a long time and I think perhaps he needs somewhere other than Prague to develop his skills fully.’
Slonský resisted the considerable temptation to add “if any” after “skills”.
‘Do you know, Slonský, I think you’ve got something there. We’ll never find out what Doležal can do so long as he has one of us to shelter behind. I’ll go and have a word with him right now.’
‘You’re in a good mood, sir,’ Peiperová exclaimed when she returned to the office.
‘And well I might be, lass. Doležal is being posted to Holice as their temporary criminal lieutenant.’
Navrátil immediately spotted a potential flaw in Slonský’s plan. ‘Won’t he expect to take over the explosion case, sir?’
‘Eh?’
‘As the local ranking criminal policeman, sir, won’t he think it’s his case?’
‘But we’ve already started it, Navrátil.’
‘It’s not as if we’ve made much progress, sir.’
‘Well, lad, he doesn’t start till Monday, so it’s up to us to make lots of progress before then, isn’t it?’
Slonský left the office to meet Valentin and found him glugging a mouthful of water.
‘Honestly, it’s not bad when you get used to it,’ he said.
‘Like banging your head on a wall is okay when you stop,’ said Slonský.
‘I can have a drink at the weekend.’
‘Roll on the weekend, then.’
‘Amen to that, brother.’
‘Valentin, do you know anyone who knows about military stuff?’
‘Military? Well, we both did national service.’
‘Yes, but I was thinking more technical.’
Valentin scratched his chin. ‘I might. Our defence correspondent was a bright lad.’
‘Was?’
‘He left last year to go and work for a think-tank.’
‘Is he discreet?’
‘Goes with the job. You can’t get people to talk to you if you’re known to blab.’
‘You do.’
‘Ah, but only to you. Otherwise I’m the soul of discretion.’
‘Can you fix up a meeting?’
‘How soon?’
‘Soon as you like. I’ve got a puzzle and I can’t make any progress till someone gives me a steer.’
Valentin fished a phone from his pocket and began searching his contacts.
‘How long have you had that?’ Slonský asked.
‘This? A couple of years, I suppose.’
‘I’ve never seen it before.’
‘It’s a work phone. When I meet you I’m off duty.’
‘You’ve never given me your number,’ Slonský complained.
‘You’ve never asked.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t, would I, if I didn’t know you had one. How was I meant to know?’
‘You’re a detective,’ Valentin answered. ‘You should have detected it.’
Valentin’s man Kohoutek was free, intrigued, and quite close at hand, so within the hour he was sitting opposite them sipping a half-litre of beer. He was in his mid-thirties, possessed of woolly chocolate brown hair that merged into a woolly brown beard, and severe black-rimmed glasses of a type that Slonský thought had gone out of fashion in the sixties.
He lifted the photograph of the vehicle tracks up to the light, used his thumb to measure off some distances and looked remarkably excited for a man who was looking at a picture of a muddy field.
‘Holice, did you say?’
‘That’s right,’ agreed Slonský.
‘Where the explosion was?’
‘I didn’t mention any explosion.’
‘I know you didn’t. But I’m asking.’
‘Not far away.’
‘Do you know what caused the explosion?’
Slonský hesitated. ‘Why do you ask?’
Kohoutek checked the table was dry before putting the photograph down carefully.
‘Because people with experience of metal detectors are unlikely to set off anything big enough to kill four of them, so the story in the press is bull.’
‘Between us?’
Kohoutek nodded.
‘The likely explanation is that the four men were tied up, placed in a circle, and someone exploded a grenade between them.’
‘Dear God!’ exclaimed Valentin.
Kohoutek simply nodded a few times. ‘That figures. Have you got the fragments of grenade?’
‘The technicians are looking at them.’
Kohoutek rocked back in his chair, removed his glasses and gave them a slow polish before carefully replacing them on his nose. ‘I have a story to tell you but I can’t vouch for any of it. I first heard it many years ago but I never believed it until now. Has either of you heard of the Ghost Battery?’
‘You mean like white sheets and woo-woo-woo?’ asked Slonský.
‘That would be the derivation, but they were allegedly very real. In 1968 the rest of the Warsaw Pact invaded our country. The Czechoslovak Army was ordered by Prague not to resist, and to lay down all their weapons. According to the story, the Heavy Artillery Regiment at Pardubice got those orders like everyone else, but the commander decided that if he did that the country would be utterly defenceless. On the other hand if he openly rebelled the immense Warsaw Pact army could soon deal with him. So the colonel — a man called Bosák — detached one self-propelled gun and a team of four men and told them to take it away and hide it somewhere.’
‘Hide a gun? I’ve seen them — they’re huge. How could you hide one of those?’
‘That’s why I didn’t believe it. But bear with me a minute till I finish the story. Bosák could do this because a Soviet armoured division had a fixed complement of men and guns, but they knew that their Warsaw Pact allies quite often varied this, so when the Heavy Artillery Regiment was stood down by the Soviets they were not at all suspicious when they counted the materiel and personnel.’
‘I can buy that,’ agreed Slonský. ‘It’s such a daft idea I don’t think I’d be suspicious either.’
‘The four men were told to lose their uniforms and slip back into civilian life, and Bosák removed them from regimental records, at least so far as he could.’ Kohoutek took a slurp from his beer and ruffled his hair before continuing. ‘I interviewed Bosák just before he died, and he wouldn’t confirm or deny the story. There have been hints from one or two of his subordinates, but nothing concrete to follow up. So I worked through the regimental records trying to find out who the four crew men must have been, but I couldn’t — they were in too much of a mess. I suppose that was suspicious in itself, because normally army records are near perfect. Anyway, I had no idea whether the story was true or not, or where that missing gun had got to, if indeed it ever existed.’ Kohoutek picked up the photograph. ‘But now I know, Lieutenant, because I’m looking at a set of self-propelled gun tracks.’
Lukas was concerned to hear the latest turn of events. ‘I’m concerned, Slonský,’ he said. ‘Very concerned. Aren’t you concerned?’
‘Of course, sir. We don’t want ordinary citizens driving around the country with a thumping big piece of artillery, do we?’
‘That’s exactly why I’m concerned,’ Lukas explained.
‘But why, sir?’
‘Isn’t it obvious, man? Think of the damage they could do…’
‘Sorry, sir, you misunderstand me. I meant to ask why anyone would keep a forty year old military antique. And if the murders are related to the presence of the hardware, why would they kill to keep it secret?’
‘Presumably they have ammunition?’
‘According to Dr Kohoutek, there was ammunition stored when the gun was hidden.’
‘But won’t it have deteriorated?’
&nbs
p; ‘That depends on how it was stored, sir, but we know they won’t have left it sitting around in the open, so it may well be in good condition.’
‘What about the vehicle itself, Slonský?’
‘Kohoutek says it’s quite simple mechanically. Someone who had time to familiarize themselves with it could keep it going until they needed spare parts. His guess is that to save wear and tear they probably just turned the engine over now and again and rolled it back and forth to check the brakes haven’t seized. If it’s in a barn or hangar it may never have needed to go outside.’
‘So why was it outside now?’
‘I don’t know, sir. It’s yet another thing I’ll have to find out.’
Peiperová had been despatched to track down Mrs Valachová, the owner of the field. She had an address that Navrátil had found from the public records, but Mrs Valachová was out. Enquiry at the small grocery brought forth the suggestion that Irina Valachová was probably either having a chat with her friend who ran the dressmaking business or cleaning the church. Peiperová tried the church first, and found a tiny woman sitting on the steps in front of the altar as she polished the candlesticks.
‘Mrs Valachová?’
‘Miss.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘It’s Miss Valachová. I’m not married.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. From what my friends tell me I haven’t missed much. But then perhaps you’re married and know otherwise?’
‘No, I’m not. At least not yet. I’m Officer Peiperová from the police in Prague.’
Miss Valachová inspected the proffered identification. ‘I’ve been to Prague,’ she announced. ‘We went to the ballet. Some of my friends organised it for my sixtieth birthday. It was wonderful.’
‘It must have been,’ agreed Peiperová.
‘4th October, 1975,’ added the old lady.
‘You’re ninety-one?’
‘Don’t tell everyone! I like to keep a bit of mystery about myself. Is this about the explosion?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Well, don’t just stand there, girl. Sit beside me and grab a cloth. There’s a lot of brass to polish.’
Peiperová rolled back her sleeves and did as she was told.
‘Not too much polish, mind. You only have to rub it off again when it’s done its work.’
‘Like this?’
‘That’s good. Put a bit of elbow in it, dear, and it’ll come up nicely. Now, what did you want to know?’
‘You’ve owned the field a long time.’
‘Since father died. That would be 1942. I was his only child — well, only surviving one. I gather I had a sister but I never knew her. So everything came to me when he passed away.’
‘If you don’t mind my asking, what constitutes “everything”?’
‘Oh, not much. A couple of fields. The old mill. A few shops here and there.’
‘And you were — what — twenty-seven? The boys must have been swarming round.’
‘They were. But I saw through them, don’t you worry! The ones who hadn’t given me the time of day before didn’t get the time of day from me after. There was one lad though. His father leased the mill, and he’d always had a soft spot for me. He looked out for me when we were little. I’m under no illusions, I’m no beauty; never was. But he was a kind man.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘The Germans shot him. There was no reason. They rounded up half a dozen men and shot them as a reprisal.’ The old lady paused in her polishing. ‘I couldn’t marry anyone else after that.’ There was a moment of quiet before she resumed her buffing. ‘Anyway, the riches didn’t last long. The Communists grabbed it all. Mind, when they were turfed out I made sure I got as much back as I could. The priest, bless him — not Father Karel, the one before, Father Dominik — did all the paperwork for me. And I promised if I got it back I’d look after the church till I couldn’t do it any longer. So here I am.’
‘So who was renting the field?’
‘Which one are we talking about? The one with the slope or the one by the stream?’
‘The one with the stream. It slopes gently down to the road.’
‘Ah, nobody told me that. Well, that one isn’t rented to anyone at the moment. It used to be rented by a man who kept a bull there. He had two, you see, and it doesn’t do to keep them in the same field when there are cows about. But he sold the bull at the spring market, so he didn’t need the field this year.’
‘And nobody else wanted it?’
‘Times are hard around here. There’s plenty who would have liked it, but they couldn’t afford to pay for it, and I can’t afford to give it away for nothing or nobody will pay their rents for the other fields. Anyway, it does it good to rest for a year now and then.’
‘Do you ever go there?’
‘It’s a fair walk, dear. I doubt I’ve been past in the last ten years or so.’
Peiperová struggled to take this in. ‘So if someone was camping in your field without your permission, you wouldn’t know?’
‘Not unless somebody told me. But the neighbours are good and they keep an eye open for that sort of thing.’
‘Which particular neighbours would those be?’
‘Did you see a house on the other side of the road about two hundred metres towards the village?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, it isn’t them. It’s the ones next door.’
‘Could I have their names?’
‘Jeníček, Jiří and Lenka. Of course, when the bull was there we didn’t have to worry too much about campers. And his droppings were great for the field.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘You’re doing a good job there,’ said Miss Valachová. ‘Got time for another candlestick?’
‘One more,’ Peiperová replied, ‘then I must get back to work.’
Chapter 5
Slonský liked to be the first to arrive in the morning. It guaranteed him some peace and quiet, and allowed him to get some work done before he was interrupted by people wanting things from him.
This habit had been subjected to a degree of challenge in the past fifteen months by Navrátil, who thought it a clear duty to arrive when his boss did. Fortunately, he knew by now to speak only when spoken to for the first quarter of an hour or so. Peiperová was rarely late, but neither did she aim to be early.
It ought not to be thought that Slonský was a curmudgeon who disliked human interaction. He just wanted to determine how much of it there was and with whom it took place. It was not at all uncommon for him to loiter at the front desk for a while if Sergeant Mucha was on duty so that they could exchange gossip and gross calumnies about their colleagues.
Thus it was that Slonský was warned off a potential encounter.
‘Doležal is looking for you,’ Mucha muttered.
‘Did he have a mallet and stake in his hands?’
‘No. Actually, he seemed happy.’
‘Happy? Doležal?’
‘I know. It was creepy. Completely out of character.’
‘Did he say where he was going to lie in wait?’
‘He was going to his office. He said he’d try to catch you in yours.’
‘I wonder what he wants.’
‘You could try asking him,’ suggested Mucha.
‘Yes, but then I’d have to talk to him.’
‘Isn’t today his last day before he goes on loan to Pardubice?’ Mucha asked.
‘I suppose it will be.’
‘Well, he probably wants to hand over any unfinished cases.’
‘He shouldn’t have any unfinished cases. He’s not due there until Monday and he has a whole weekend before then.’
‘He’ll be packing up to move house.’
This took Slonský by surprise. The idea that people might need more than an afternoon to collect their worldly goods together was entirely novel and illustrated how little Slonský had allowed his life to be measur
ed in possessions. This did not, however, indicate a zen-like clutter-free existence; Slonský’s flat was simply furnished but irremediably untidy, or at least it had been until Věra had slipped back into his life with her manic obsession about washing plates between uses and laundering net curtains even when you didn’t want to see out of the windows.
‘Move house?’
‘He can’t commute to Pardubice every morning, can he? He’ll have been lent a police flat for the duration.’
Holice was too small to warrant a criminal police presence of its own, so there was a small team at Pardubice which covered the region. Sedlák had been based there but had responsibility for a cluster of small towns and villages. Now Doležal would be leading the team temporarily — or, if Slonský could swing it, permanently.
‘I hope it’s a nice flat,’ Slonský said. ‘Maybe then he won’t want to come back.’
‘It’s a temporary posting. He’d have to be persuaded to apply for the permanent one.’
‘I’ll work my charm on him. And if that doesn’t work perhaps we can all move and not tell him where we’ve gone.’
‘That would work,’ agreed Mucha. ‘It might stop all these members of the public strolling in and giving us work to do too.’
‘I’m surprised we haven’t thought of it before. Well, I can’t stand here gabbing to you all day. I have subordinates upstairs to avoid.’
In this he failed dismally, because Doležal was sitting in front of his desk looking unreasonably content with life.
‘Good morning!’ he announced brightly.
‘If you’re going to be cheerful you can push off and annoy someone else,’ Slonský replied.
‘I just wanted to say I know you put a word in for me — Captain Lukas told me — and I’m very grateful.’
‘Think nothing of it,’ Slonský answered. ‘As soon as I heard they needed a temporary lieutenant you came straight to mind.’
‘I know you’ve already got the Holice enquiry under way,’ replied Doležal, ‘so I thought it might be convenient to brief me here before I go.’
‘It’s my case,’ Slonský growled, exhibiting all the bonhomie of a bear whose friends have spotted that he has found a picnic basket.