Field of Death

by Graham Brack

  Slonský could feel a rage surging inside him. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know that.’

  The door chimed as someone entered and the owner went off to attend to the new customer.

  ‘That’s horrible,’ Peiperová commented.

  ‘Yes, it is. The only good thing is that perhaps he was too confused to be frightened when they sat them down in a circle.’

  ‘We’ve got to find them, sir. This can’t go unpunished.’

  ‘No crime goes unpunished on my watch, Peiperová. This one least of all. Come on, drink up and we’ll go and see what we can find.’

  Slonský dialled a number on his mobile phone. ‘We’re in town,’ he said. ‘Have you got a few minutes?’

  ‘Where are you?’ asked Doležal.

  ‘Outside the café that Navrátil uses.’

  ‘I know the one. I can be there in twenty minutes.’

  ‘Don’t come here. Meet us near the cottages.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Slonský told Peiperová to start driving and gave her some approximate directions before dialling another number.

  ‘Klinger speaking.’

  ‘Slonský here. How are you getting on with tracking the money behind the Central Czech Shopping Plaza?’

  ‘Nothing I’d take to court yet, but the indications are that we’ll be doing some bear hunting.’

  ‘It’s Russian money?’

  ‘So my informants believe. There’s no point in asking the Russian police to confirm the names — someone will just tip them off — but I know at least two of them. They run some clubs in Prague.’

  ‘I take it these are not flower arranging clubs?’

  ‘Not unless flower arranging is considerably more lucrative than I’ve been led to believe.’

  ‘So how did Veselý get in touch with them?’

  ‘That remains to be discovered. We could, conceivably, question him, but I think that could be hazardous for him.’

  ‘It’ll certainly be hazardous if I discover he’s complicit in the murder of a boy with Down’s Syndrome.’

  ‘I didn’t know that. And I shall, on this occasion, volunteer to hold your jacket while you question him. But I meant that these Russians are not cuddly bears. If they’re up to something and they think that he may disclose their secrets his life expectancy could be substantially reduced.’

  ‘You’re probably right. Let’s leave him alone for a minute, then.’

  Doležal glanced around nervously as he climbed out of the car.

  ‘Expecting trouble?’ asked Slonský.

  ‘I don’t know who to trust here,’ Doležal answered.

  ‘Just like Prague, then. So help us to get our bearings.’

  Doležal ran a finger along the map. ‘That’s the line of the fence to our right. Behind the fence are the cottages I was talking about.’

  ‘Where the old lady lives who knows nothing about this. As well as the aunt of the woman who runs the café, who may, of course, be the same woman you’ve met. Why do I get a really bad feeling about all of this?’ Slonský asked.

  ‘But what does it have to do with the explosion, sir?’ Peiperová added. ‘That’s the crime we’re meant to be investigating.’

  ‘We don’t know that the mall project, misguided as it is, has anything illegal about it. And, if it has, we don’t know that there’s any connection at all to the killings,’ Doležal agreed.

  Slonský stood scratching his hip as he looked hard at the rusting fence. ‘The trouble is,’ he opined, ‘that when you’re faced with a foul stench you don’t bother about whether it’s one foul stench or two. You sort out what you can and then see if it smells any better.’

  ‘Meaning?’ Doležal replied.

  ‘Meaning that I don’t know what I’m talking about,’ Slonský answered. ‘By which I don’t mean that I’m talking rubbish, but that I don’t know enough to know whether I’m talking rubbish or not.’ He walked over and rattled the fence.

  ‘You don’t need to do that,’ Doležal told him. ‘It’s not there to keep us out, just to mark the boundary. You can walk round it.’

  ‘I know. But why is the boundary so important that they put up a fence? It’s only going to get in the way when they clear the site. Was anyone going to dispute their ownership?’

  ‘Maybe it’s about the bits they don’t own,’ suggested Peiperová. ‘Perhaps they don’t yet have the whole site.’

  Slonský became surprisingly animated. ‘Write that thought down somewhere! I think you’re on to something.’ He clambered through the undergrowth to the top of the short rise and looked across the site, before bounding back down to join them. ‘Their best chance of getting the parcels of land at a good price is if each seller doesn’t know they need them all, so I can understand why they’ve kept it as secret as they can. Veselý wants investors, so he has to talk about the scale of the thing, but to the locals it’s being kept firmly under wraps. The council has agreed the land deal but there hasn’t been anything I’ve found in the local press that would let people know it had happened, which is strange considering the number of articles, photos and interviews the council managed to milk out of getting funding for a new wing on the school. Of course, if you become aware that you own the last parcel of land they need your price for letting it go will go through the roof.’

  ‘Except that if it’s bear money they’d send some men to persuade you to sell,’ interrupted Doležal.

  ‘Is it possible the four men owned some land here that they wouldn’t sell so this is a warning to others?’ Peiperová chipped in.

  ‘The problem with the notion that it’s a secret message is that others have to know what the message means, or there’s no point in sending it,’ Slonský answered. ‘If I send you a couple of fish it’s just a supper unless you know it’s a warning that you’re going to be taking a swim in concrete flippers.’

  ‘Everyone is so damn secretive,’ complained Doležal. ‘It’s as if they’re all guilty of something. The police are making no effort to find out who killed these men, and they’re making no progress trying to find that gun. We gave them a good lead or two, so it makes you think they aren’t really trying.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Slonský. ‘The whole thing smells worse than my walking boots. Let’s hope Navrátil is getting somewhere.’

  Navrátil, at that precise moment, was getting a hazelnut pancake and a cappuccino. He had been giving some thought to what the café owner could have meant when she told him to watch out for the police. It cannot have been a warning about Doležal, because she had only just set eyes on him for the first time. It must have been about the police in general; and yet there were no signs that she was anything other than a respectable small businesswoman with no particular reason to be wary of his colleagues. So what was it about the local police that gave her cause for concern? What was it that he was doing that meant he needed to be careful? He was masquerading as a postgraduate student of politics, with rather right-wing views. What was there in that which might bring him some grief? Presumably the right-wing views, though he had said nothing untoward. So were the police on the look-out for right-wingers? Had there been some other incidents that had not been reported to Prague? Perhaps there was more to this than met the eye.

  Slonský had decided to detour to Pardubice to pay a courtesy call on Captain Vondra. Ostensibly its purpose was to brief Vondra on progress to date on a crime which had, after all, happened on his patch, but since Slonský did not trust Vondra and had no intention of sharing any useful information, the interview was rather stilted.

  ‘How is Lieutenant Doležal settling in?’ Slonský asked breezily.

  ‘Early days yet,’ Vondra responded.

  ‘He’s a good man.’

  ‘I’m sure he is.’

  ‘Diligent. Tenacious,’ Slonský added.

  ‘Good qualities in a policeman.’

  ‘Forgive me, but you sound guarded.’

  ‘No,’ Vondra replied. ‘It’
s just that he has two bosses and in my experience that rarely works well.’

  ‘Only for this investigation. Once we wrap this up he’s entirely yours,’ Slonský answered. ‘Think what would have happened if Sedlák had survived. You would have asked Prague for support and he would have been detached to work with me. No difference.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Vondra conceded. ‘Except that, of course, I would already know Sedlák.’

  ‘That’s true. I’d have been the one having to make up my mind about him. Have you made any headway on the search for the gun?’

  ‘Not really. The trouble is that on the evening of Liberation Day quite a few people who might have been witnesses were in no state to give a statement. We put out a story locally that we were keen to track down the driver of a military vehicle who might be a witness to an accident, so if anyone could give us details of any military vehicles that had been in the area they could ring in and we could track the driver down.’

  ‘Very enterprising. Did it work?’

  ‘You wouldn’t believe how many military vehicles there were driving around on Liberation Day,’ Vondra moaned. ‘But nobody mentioned a big gun.’

  Slonský was unsurprised. The attitude of many of his countrymen was that they did not want interference in their lives, so they would not interfere in others’, and if people want to drive around the country in self-propelled artillery then we should let them do so as long as they were not frightening pets.

  ‘Tell me,’ he asked as if changing the subject, ‘do you know Veselý well?’

  ‘The deputy mayor at Holice? Not well, but I know him a bit, obviously. He comes to some of our public safety meetings.’

  ‘What do you make of him?’

  ‘Well turned out. Always wearing a good suit and usually has a bit of a tan. Shakes a lot of hands and asks a few questions. But I’ll tell you one thing — it always seems to me that he’s representing Veselý rather than the people of Holice.’

  ‘You think he’s in politics for what he can get out of it?’ Slonský asked.

  ‘Aren’t they all? But him more than most, I’d say.’

  ‘And the mayor doesn’t mind?’

  ‘Nerad? He was on the make himself for years, if you ask me. But he doesn’t have the clout to deal with Veselý. I reckon that they’ve probably got a sort of arrangement.’

  ‘What sort of arrangement?’

  ‘I think Nerad tolerates Veselý so long as he can keep the title of mayor,’ Vondra explained. ‘And Veselý doesn’t want all the work and restrictions that come with being mayor so long as he can get the advantages. This way he goes to what he wants to go to and doesn’t have to eat a load of cheap chicken lunches. Being deputy suits him fine.’

  ‘So where do you think he’s getting the money for this development of his?’

  Vondra sighed deeply as if it were a stupid question. ‘There is no money. There will be no development. It’s just pie in the sky. Still, it keeps him off the streets, I suppose.’

  ‘You reckon?’

  ‘We’ve seen it before. He comes up with a plan, it doesn’t fly and he blames someone else. But while it’s being discussed, he’s in the news every day.’

  Slonský was unconvinced. ‘He seems to have spent plenty getting this one off the ground. Brochures, models, videos and fences. He’s even started clearing some of the ground.’

  ‘He’d need to do that to keep the investors interested. Who knows, one day he’ll get all the cash he needs and we’ll wake up to find we’ve got a bowling alley and a cinema.’ Vondra yawned expansively. ‘But I wouldn’t hold your breath,’ he added.

  Navrátil had been dozing gently on the warm bus back to Holice when he thought he saw Peiperová and Slonský driving in the opposite direction. It was a fleeting glimpse, and he might well have been dreaming if he had nodded off, but it occurred to him that they would not have come to visit him if there was any risk of compromising his cover, and in a little town like Holice where outsiders stuck out that risk would have been considerable.

  He changed his shirt and set out for the bar as usual. He was engaged in the arduous task of compiling a list of his friends and relatives who would expect an invitation to his wedding when he became aware that someone had taken the seat opposite. He found himself looking at a young man with dark hair, a pleasant smile and an effortlessly superior manner.

  ‘I’m sorry, I was engrossed in something else,’ Navrátil stammered.

  ‘So I could see. My friends tell me that you’re doing some amusing research.’

  Navrátil explained the purpose of his questionnaire and offered one to the newcomer.

  ‘Of course. Do you have a pen?’

  The young man began ticking boxes without, it seemed, much need to think about the answers. ‘I hear that your supervisor has been critical,’ he smiled.

  Navrátil was not aware that he had said that to anyone in town. Was it possible that this young man was connected to the intrusion in his room?

  ‘That’s right. He is fervently pro-EU. I take a different view.’

  ‘So do I, and there are many others who think as we do. Not that there is anything anti-Western about us, you understand. We merely worry that our special Czech heritage is being undervalued.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more,’ Navrátil replied.

  The young man held out his hand. ‘I’m sorry, I have the advantage of you, Mr Ondráček.’ Seeing the surprise on Navrátil’s face, he pointed to the battered thesis on the table top. ‘It’s on the front cover. I assume that is your thesis, and you’re not carrying someone else’s around.’

  Navrátil relaxed. ‘No, it is mine. I’d forgotten it was there.’

  ‘Better not lose it. A lot of work must have gone into that.’

  ‘I have a file copy back in Prague,’ Navrátil responded, hoping that it was true and that Poznar could produce another one if this folder were to go missing.

  ‘I’m David Nerad.’

  ‘Are you related to the mayor?’

  ‘My uncle. My father is his older brother.’

  ‘Does your uncle share your views?’

  David laughed. ‘My uncle has no views. That is why he is a successful politician here. He is very good at giving the impression that he agrees with whoever spoke to him last. But he loves this town, and he’ll oppose anything that might damage its future.’

  ‘You think the EU will damage it?’

  ‘Not particularly, though the idea that the West is the land of milk and honey means that our best young people are seduced away. They go to work in London and come back to tell their friends that they can earn more cleaning toilets in England than they can earn as a skilled worker here.’

  ‘Isn’t that true?’

  ‘It may be true, but the important thing is that you’re still cleaning toilets. Czechs have a more important role in the world than that.’

  Navrátil found himself saying agreeing.

  ‘Perhaps you might be interested in meeting a few like-minded people I know. We’re meeting on Saturday morning for a discussion. I’m sure they’d be fascinated to hear about your research, if you felt able to share a little?’

  ‘That would be good. Perhaps they’ll complete some of my questionnaires too.’

  ‘I’m sure they will,’ David Nerad smiled. ‘But they may give surprisingly unanimous views. Shall I meet you here at half past nine and then we’ll walk to the meeting room? It’s only a few steps.’

  ‘I’d be delighted,’ Navrátil answered.

  They shook hands, and Nerad wished him luck. Navrátil had a feeling that he had just made the contact he had been hoping for. Progress, at last! But now he had to read and learn “his” thesis so he could speak sensibly on the matter on Saturday morning.

  Chapter 12

  Navrátil sighed with disappointment. Now that he had to read the mocked-up thesis closely he realised that Poznar’s department had simply cut and pasted sections from a range of sources without any att
empt to smooth over the joins or remove incongruities. For example, on page twelve there was reference to the outcome of a meeting that was described on page thirty-five as something that had not yet happened. Two different men were described as the current Prime Minister. Admittedly Prime Ministers came and went with shocking regularity, but the Czech Republic had not yet thought of appointing them in pairs.

  He had asked for a copy of the thesis on a memory stick, largely because he thought it would be more convincing if he were seen to be working on one, so he plugged it into his laptop and begin editing the thesis to make it more presentable. It took him most of the next day but by the end of it he had a version which read much better. It was still plagiarized nonsense, but at least it was stylistically more polished plagiarized nonsense.

  He paced his room rehearsing some of the facts and figures and selected some quotes from a range of people that he thought might seem to be supporting his argument. An internet search produced some interviews with a number of unappealing individuals with frankly unpleasant views, but he felt he could adopt and adapt them to make them seem more acceptable to the mainstream, and a further search produced videos of some speeches that might inform his performance and improve his public speaking technique.

  No method actor ever prepared more thoroughly than Navrátil did for his role as Michal Ondráček.

  Slonský was bewildered. Such a thing had never happened to him before, and it was deeply, deeply disquieting.

  On his arrival in Prague he had dropped into the gym to check his weight and had discovered that he had already lost five kilos. Well, 4.6 if precision were called for, but that was nearer to five than four.

  Flushed with achievement, he had decided he could afford to reward himself with the mixed grill at a little basement restaurant he knew, the platter consisting of a substantial portion of every kind of edible animal and a mound of sauerkraut.

  And he could not eat it all.

  He paused to let some go down. He tried drinking half a litre of premium beer. Neither did the trick. There was no doubt about it. He was full.