"Very unlikely. But he was a Jew, and the Nazis were ready to believe anything about a Jew. As the story's come down to me, Otik Eisler went to the Nazi leaders and got a guarantee of safe passage out of Czechoslovakia, in return for the name of a family involved in the assassination. His brother's family."
"And the Nazis fell for it?"
"They went round that night and found Jakob's wife and younger daughter Rosa alone in the house. They arrested them and threatened to kill them -- if Jakob Eisler didn't give himself up, along with his daughter Hana."
Matt shook his head but said nothing. Hana and Rosa. Slowly he was filling in the blanks on the family tree. How could any man be put in such a terrible position? Jakob could sacrifice his wife and little Rosa, and keep Hana and himself safe. Or he could give himself up, and they would all be killed.
"He knew his wife and Rosa were already as good as dead, so he decided to stay in hiding with Hana," said Shelley Carpenter, pre-empting Matt's next question.
"But they all got caught," Zoé said. "What a terrible end for a family."
Shelley Carpenter looked a little more relaxed. "The Germans shot Jakob's wife and daughter, and the next morning they found Jakob hiding in his house. They shot him in the street without trial. They picked up Hana Eisler at the railway station and took her to a concentration camp. That's where she died a few days later."
"Terezín," Matt said.
Shelley Carpenter jumped. "How did you know that?" she demanded.
"I'm going to take a chance and level with you," he told her. "I've been asked to look into what happened to Hana Eisler."
"Well, now you know." Shelley Carpenter sounded exhausted. "She's dead. I don't suppose you'd care to tell me who asked you to find out?"
"It's confidential." He knew straightaway he'd made his reply sound too stuffy.
Shelley Carpenter closed her eyes. "It has to be the dean. I don't know why, but Edward Blake's determined to destroy me. I'm sure he fixed up your photo job so he could get me out of the country. He's also managed to get Martin Smith suspended. Blake's after something."
Matt noticed Zoé looking at him encouragingly. No, he wasn't going to say anything about Blake. To play this game to his advantage he had to change the subject. "So how did you end up teaching here at the Academy?"
"My family's always been nuts about classical music." Shelley Carpenter wiped the last drop of moisture from her cheek. "When my father died I wanted a job in Prague, teaching at the Helios Academy."
Matt said, "With your family connections you should have got in easily."
Shelley stirred her coffee slowly. "I tried. Problem is, you can only teach at the Prague Academy if you speak the lingo, and I hardly know a word of Czech." She shrugged. "Anyway, what my great-grandfather Otik did in 1942 is unforgivable."
"There is no way you can undo the past," Zoé opened her hands in an expression of resignation.
Shelley sighed. "You're right, honey. Whatever the rights and wrongs, the violin has ended up with me, and I intend to treasure it."
"Good for you, Shelley," Zoé added.
Matt decided to jump in. He needed to get the Vasek family tree right. "Could you help me fill in the blanks?" He opened his folder on Vasek Tesar. "Does this look sort of right to you?"
Shelley examined Matt's handwritten work and quickly filled in a few missing names and dates. After writing down Otik's dates and those of her grandfather, she stopped. "The rest is a bit personal," she said. "A lady doesn't like to give her date of birth away."
Matt picked up the sheet of paper. With a body like hers, Shelley didn't need to be coy about her age. "That's okay. I just wanted to be clear in my mind about where the two brothers fit into the jigsaw."
"Sure," said Shelley. "Not that I can see how it's gonna help."
He decided to take the opportunity to catch Shelley off guard. "I imagine all sorts of musical keepsakes must have been passed down from Vasek Tesar."
"Such as?" Shelley didn't sound exactly hostile but the tone of her question conveyed suspicion.
Matt tried to make it sound casual. "I was thinking of family diaries. Things like that. I've never heard any of Tesar's music, so I've no idea if it's any good or not."
Shelley Carpenter smiled. "There's a Russian expert who believes that Shostakovich was influenced by Bohemian music. You can hear bits of Dvorak in The Gadfly. So he's suggesting it could be Tesar who influenced Shostakovich in his dissonant pieces. At the moment there's a lot of speculation in the music world about Vasek Tesar. Not that any of his pieces have turned up in Shostakovich's personal effects."
"Shostakovich?" Matt remembered how Blake had seemed slightly taken aback at his mention of the Russian composer's name. Maybe Blake thought he and Zoé were knowledgeable about Bohemian music.
Shelley Carpenter nodded slowly. "This expert in Bohemian music claims that Slavnost českých venkovanů, the Harvest Festival from Smetana's Dreams, was clearly an inspiration to Shostakovich."
"But that's Smetana, not Tesar," Matt protested, admiring Shelley's brave attempt at Czech pronunciation.
"You have to follow the theory through," Shelley said, who seemed to have recovered from the heartfelt confession she'd just made. "This Russian professor believes Smetana was influenced by Vasek Tesar. From Smetana's annotations it's certainly clear that the Harvest Festival was a tribute to Tesar's music. So it looks like we have a chain: Tesar, Smetana and Shostakovich, although Smetana only flirted briefly with dissonant music. He probably remembered just how badly Tesar's music had gone down in Prague a few years earlier."
"I like Shostakovich, so why haven't I heard any Tesar?" Matt asked, deciding not to know anything about the music being lost. Shelley hadn't denied having any of it.
"Matt," Zoé said, "none of the music of Vasek Tesar has survived." She gave him the sort of look that conveyed much between two people who knew each other well, but was unlikely to be noticed by a stranger. She was definitely playing along to help.
"What, none of it?" he asked, feigning surprise.
"All trace of Tesar's music disappeared years ago," Shelley Carpenter explained. "But whatever it sounded like, it caused one helluva commotion in the Prague concert halls in the 1850s. Experts in Czech music reckon Vasek Tesar could have been the greatest Bohemian composer of all time. Greater than Dvorak or Smetana."
"So what went wrong?" Matt asked.
"Vasek Tesar received a terrific snub from the music critics for his progressive compositions. He hid it all away and became a sort of recluse. He occasionally wrote a Czech polka -- that sort of thing -- but he died in 1905, a bitter and disillusioned man. His wife Anna had died many years before, while she was still young."
"And Tesar hid his music away?" Matt tried to draw Shelley out. Maybe the music had never been given to Hana Eisler. "Come on, I can't believe your family hasn't got some of it tucked away."
Shelley Carpenter laughed a loud laugh. "If we did, I sure wouldn't be slumming it at the Helios Academy. I'd be famous, traveling the world, playing Vasek Tesar's music on Vasek Tesar's violin."
Matt decided to try another tack. "What did the principal say when you told her about your family background?"
"She called the dean into the room. Edward Blake claims to be an authority on Czech music. I'd say they were both extremely keen to have me on the staff."
He'd managed to steer the conversation round to Blake. "There's one thing I'm not happy about," he said. "You claim your affair with Martin Smith was a one-off. So how did Edward Blake know you'd be with him the other afternoon? Bit of a long shot, wasn't it? "
Shelley Carpenter's sighed. "I haven't been completely honest with you." She looked first at Zoé and then at Matt, then down at the floor. "It's been going on for a couple of weeks now." She looked up quickly. "To tell you the truth I'm disgusted with myself."
"And you've no intention of going back to Blake?" he asked.
Shelley Carpenter jumped to her feet. "Don't keep
saying that. Blake and I have never been lovers. I can't stand the man. Why can't you get that into your heads?" She ran from the room and reached the front door before Matt or Zoé could even get into the hallway.
She slammed it hard as she left.
"I think perhaps you did not deal with that very well," Zoé said as silence descended.
"It's exactly what I wanted."
"You wanted the front door to fall off the hinges?"
"She's upset, that's all."
"She was upset to have to tell you a family secret, and you made her carry on with the talking."
"I wanted Shelley to tell us the truth about the music manuscripts and about her affair with Blake."
Zoé frowned. "She does not know about the manuscripts, and I do not think she has been having an affair with Monsieur Blake."
"Exactly."
"So what deductions are you making, Chief Inspector?"
"Blake's a liar, the manuscripts are still up for grabs, and I'm going to Prague to find them."
"For Monsieur Blake?"
"I'll decide that after the séance." He picked up the family tree that Shelley had helped him complete. "Hana's mother was twenty years younger than Jakob. She was only thirty-one when she died. Maybe we can contact her as well as Hana. I'm going to get this into the computer before I go to bed."
Zoé started to straighten the cushions on the armchairs. "I was stupide to have suggested a séance in the first place. Non, there is to be no séance."
The Tesar Family Tree
Chapter Thirteen
MATT WOKE early, his mind filled with a dream where a young girl was trying to call out to him, but no sound came from her open mouth. She wore a black school blazer, with a brooch shaped like a butterfly pinned to the lapel. In her hand she waved some sheets of paper. As he went towards her, to see what was on the paper, she became hidden by a cloud of soot. When the soot cleared she was no longer there. He felt a chill run down his back -- and it wasn't only caused by the duvet which he'd accidentally kicked back on his side during the night.
The dream disturbed him. It was as though the girl had been desperately trying to speak but was unable to form the words. He got back under the duvet and switched his thoughts to the Helios Music Academy, running back over the events of the past couple of days. Shelley Carpenter seemed genuine enough -- a maiden wronged -- but maybe she played a leading role in amateur dramatics back in the States and knew how to put on a convincing show.
One thing was for sure: Shelley Carpenter's ownership of Vasek Tesar's violin, and Blake's offer of a job to find Tesar's music manuscripts in Prague, were connected The only person who seemed to come out of this well was Martin Smith. But now, as he gave it some thought, he realized that Smith's mother came from Prague. Prague was at the center of everything.
The alarm clock rang -- Zoé's idea in case they overslept again -- and stopped him coming to any firm conclusions. Then Zoé's hand reaching under the duvet made him forget about Vasek Tesar and the violin completely.
Once again he was nearly late for work.
*
KEN GAVE the impression of being much happier today, chatting about his plans to redecorate the office. It seemed that Ken had also spent a restless night, finally coming to the conclusion that the office carpet was overdue for replacement. He reckoned it had been there for the best part of twenty years, and asked Matt what color scheme he preferred.
"Save the money," was Matt's advice. "Buy some cheap rugs and put them over the holes."
Ken clapped his hands. "That's a brilliant idea, kiddo. Those holes are a safety hazard and I don't want anyone suing us. I know just the place to get a couple of mats. I'm going that way to see a client. I'll leave you to mind the shop, if that's all right with you."
"Anything I can do while you're out?" Business was slack and Matt couldn't think of anything, but it was just as well to ask. He'd feel guilty about doing another web search in the firm's time if he was meant to be working.
"You can tidy up the tea cupboard, but that's about it. All the files are up-to-date, as I'm sure you know."
Matt certainly did know. Ken had a thing about files. Every letter, every note relating to a case was meticulously recorded and stored for safekeeping. Maybe some of the really old files needed throwing away, but he wasn't prepared to take the responsibility. "Is it okay if I use the computer?"
"As long as you don't break it."
Matt rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. The person who could wreck a computer, almost terminally, was already going down the stairs. But at least it was good business for Mac the Hack who carried out repairs in the Internet Café. "Thanks," he called.
It took less than ten minutes to wipe out the cupboard with some damp paper towels and tidy up the crockery. Looking closely at the mugs Matt decided he should have asked Ken to get the new set while he was buying the rugs. It was embarrassing to offer clients tea or coffee in this odd assortment that had been collected over the years: mainly gifts from reps trying to sell surveillance equipment. But perhaps the names on some of the mugs impressed Ken's clients -- those who could read, anyway.
He went to the computer. The Terezín site with the record of Hana's death had a hyperlink to a Czech site that came up with something he couldn't make any sense of. Maybe he could give pages like this to Father Alban to pass on to Olga in the homeless shelter. She could translate them into English. He didn't doubt that Hana was dead, but unless he could come up with a contact in Prague, he might as well inform Blake that the job was a non-starter.
He was about to send the page to the printer when he heard the downstairs door open and heavy footsteps running up the stairs. Martin Smith, still in his black silky trousers but with a shirt that was now bright green rather than red, came into the outer office.
Matt called him through into Ken's office. He felt almost useful, talking to someone while sitting in the red captain's chair. And he didn't even have to worry about Ken coming out with insensitive ideas that were a failed attempt at humor. "What can I do for you?"
Smith looked around the office. "Is Ken Habgood here?"
Matt shook his head. "You've just missed him. Can I help?"
"I suppose so." Smith didn't sound very convinced. "I came to apologize. I've had time to think, and I can see that Ken Habgood was right. I can't blame him for what happened at the swimming pool. As an older woman, Miss Carpenter should have known better. To put it simply, she led me astray."
This wasn't how Shelley Carpenter said she saw it. Matt didn't say anything.
"I've been talking is over with my mother." Smith sighed deeply. "She's taken it surprisingly well. She says the spirits have told her I'm not to worry. They're sorting out my future." He looked at Matt. "What do you think?"
"What do I think?" Matt had a few thoughts, but decided not to share them. "If it helps, then, yes." It wasn't exactly profound, but the response seemed to meet with Martin Smith's approval.
"Will you pass on my apologies to Ken Habgood?" Smith asked.
"Of course I will." Matt wanted to find out more about how the man's mother operated. He tried to think of a way to put the question without raising suspicions in Smith's mind. He wasn't really up to anything too subtle this morning so he asked it directly. "Does your mother work for Czech clients as well as English?"
"Sometimes. Why?"
"Ken and I were talking about it yesterday, after you'd gone."
Smith came over to the desk. "Mother has the occasional Czech client who wants to contact one of their dead ancestors."
"Czechoslovakian?"
Smith nodded. "You're using the word Czechoslovakian correctly, because most of the dead lived in Czechoslovakia rather than the new Czech Republic."
Matt decided he didn't need a lesson in European history. "Does your mother hear the dead speaking in Czech or in English?"
"In their own language, naturally. Mother says she's the only Czech medium around. She can ask the questions in Czechoslo
vakian and understand the answers. She can even translate them into English if the client can't speak the language."
Matt tried his best to sound only vaguely interested. "So if we were doing a job for ... a Jewish family who'd left Czechoslovakia as refugees, perhaps sixty or seventy years ago, and they wanted to contact a relative who'd died in Prague. Could she help?"
"Why, do you have such a client?"
He wasn't going to be put on the spot. He'd probably already given away more than he should have done. "I couldn't possibly discuss the business of Habgood Securities."
Smith laughed easily. "Right, you're discussing a purely imaginary case. Let's suppose a Czech client comes through the door tomorrow morning and wants you to help. Would my mother be interested? Is that what you want to know?"
"Hypothetically, yes. The client, if we had one, might want the questions and answers kept confidential."
Smith felt in his back pocket and produced a business card. "You could assure your client that my mother goes into a trance and remembers absolutely nothing afterwards."
"Really?" The one thing holding him back from using Martin Smith's mother was the possibility of her having a big mouth. He didn't want anything to get back to Martin Smith, or Blake would be furious. Smith and Blake had become enemies since Shelley Carpenter had dropped her kit for both men -- assuming Blake and Shelley Carpenter had indeed been partners. Maybe he could do a bit of probing to get the truth once and for all. "Can you tell ... ?" No, he couldn't bring himself to ask who was making love to whom. Smith might blow a fuse and forbid all contact with his mother. He looked at the business card Smith had given him. Rose Smith, Medium. The address wasn't one of the smartest areas in town, but at least it was local. "There's no phone number," he said.
"Mother is adamant her clients communicate in writing."
"Yes?"
"She needs to meditate over the handwriting and get in touch with the client's guiding spirit before they meet."
It all sounded weird. "I could call round. Should the need ever arise, of course."
"It would be much better if you wrote -- should the need arise."
"I'll make sure the card gets put in our list of business contacts." Matt stood up. "I'll tell Ken Habgood you called." No, he had to be more open about the need to hold a séance. "Look, I can't possibly discuss the details, but we do have a Jewish client. She believes her family hid some valuable jewelry in Czechoslovakia during the war." The story seemed to fall out of his mouth easily, even though he was thinking it up as he spoke.
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