by Graham Brack
Slonský returned his hat to his head. His voice carried a definite tone of sadness as he told her what she already feared.
‘Your husband could spend a long time in prison, Mrs Bandová. Maybe he didn’t personally strangle Miss Gruberová, but it could well be that he ordered it to be done.’
‘Both those thoughts had occurred to me, Lieutenant. Neither is pleasant.’
‘What will you do?’
‘I have no idea. He’s my husband. I took a vow and I always intended to keep it. I can’t give up at the first little difficulty.’
Slonský raised his hat, bade her a good evening, and walked back to the car with a heavy tread. After he took his seat, he remained for a few moments staring into the darkness in silence before motioning to Navrátil to start the engine.
‘A remarkable woman, that. He doesn’t deserve her.’
‘You’ve given up on the idea that she might have organised it, then?’
‘I never really thought it, but we had to take it into account. Did you see the family photographs on the side table?’
‘No, sir. You were in the way.’
‘Nice kids. Two of them. Unfortunately the boy looks like his father, but we all have our cross to bear. Put your foot down, lad, I could do with a beer or two.’
‘Were you ever married, sir?’
Slonský turned in his seat to inspect Navrátil closely.
‘Now what made you ask that?’
‘Sorry, sir. Just curiosity. I’ve never heard anyone mention a wife but you talked to Mrs Bandová as if you knew a bit about marriage.’
‘I talk to Novák about steeplechasing but I’m not a horse, Navrátil.’
‘No, sir. Sorry, sir.’
‘Yes, as it happens I was married, Navrátil. In my salad days, when I was green. Not long after I joined the police, I married a girl called Věra. Tall, blonde, bit of a catch if I do say so myself. We met at some Party function or other.’
‘Love at first sight?’
‘No, I don’t really know what brought us together. Probably the local Party Secretary telling us both we should be thinking about getting married, so doing it with each other seemed the most labour-saving arrangement. He believed it was every Czech’s duty to produce two little Czechs to keep the country populated.’
‘Children?’
‘No, puppies. Of course, children! We didn’t get that far, though. A combination of shift work for me, a bit of grief about the Prague Spring and the fact that she found some leather-jacketed poet who persuaded her that getting shafted on a rug was an authentic piece of romance. She packed her bags and I was left on my own.’
‘The Prague Spring, sir?’
‘Surely you’ve heard of it, Navrátil. Or don’t they teach you about our nation’s history at school these days?’
‘Yes, I’ve heard of it, sir. But I didn’t understand why it interfered in your marriage.’
Slonský sighed.
‘Pull in over there, lad, and let’s have a sausage at that bar.’
Slonský took a large bite and chewed rhythmically.
‘I wonder what domestic animal this is made from? Hand me the pickles, son.’
Navrátil sipped his beer, feeling a little shamefaced that he had asked the question in the first place. It was really none of his business, and he had no idea whether there was still an open wound in Slonský’s heart, though it was very hard to think of Slonský as a man with tender feelings. It was rather like considering that a hippopotamus might enjoy ballet.
‘How old were you when the Communists were turfed out, Navrátil?’
‘Five or six, sir.’
‘I thought so. It was grim, Navrátil. Grim, joyless, frightening, stifling, monochrome, all the things you’ll have heard and more. I joined the police in 1967 as a young man. They didn’t have the academy in those days, so I went in as a humble cadet. I must have been a bit younger than you are now. They gave me a uniform, proper boots for the first time in my life, a gun — and a fairly healthy wage by the standards of the day — in exchange for which I was expected to defend the motherland against capitalist aggressors, Yankee imperialism and old women crossing the road in the wrong place. Aren’t you thirsty?’
‘Just taking my time, sir. Don’t let me stop you.’
‘Don’t worry, you won’t.’
He waved to attract the waiter.
‘Give the cat another diuretic and fill this up. So, Navrátil, our great nation was choking itself slowly, and then along came Dubček.’
‘I remember him.’
‘You remember him as an old man. He was impressive then, but as a party leader he was electrifying. For the first time we had someone who seemed to understand what a damn awful life lots of us led, and we believed he could change it. We had newspapers that told the truth. Some of them even contained some news other than tractor output figures and the various meetings of the bigwigs. We heard that not everything in our Socialist utopia was going exactly to plan. People managed to get on the television to say that the roads were full of potholes and they’d been waiting five years for a motorbike. It may not seem much to you, Navrátil, but it was a big deal to us. It was during the Prague Spring that I got married. It seemed like a time for new starts. Then we discovered the Russians were cheesed off about it all.’
‘They invaded, didn’t they?’
‘No, lad, they were invited in to restore law and order and provide fraternal support to the Czech workers. Or some such claptrap. Yes, they invaded. Dubček was carted off and we got Husák. Two Slovaks, note, but one of them wasn’t bad despite that. Husák didn’t hold with all this freedom. Steadily he wound the clock back and repression was restored, and who do you think got the job of doing the repressing?’
‘The Army?’
‘Husák wasn’t sure that they could be trusted, at least not alone. And he wasn’t sure we could be either. But by getting the police and army to do it together and report on each other’s performance, he kept us both in check. And that’s when Věra started giving me a hard time. She said I was betraying the Spring movement and I ought to resign. I didn’t think resignation was an option, unless you enjoy a stay in Pankrác. It seemed that everything that happened was a direct consequence of my inadequacies. When Jan Palach burned himself to death at the top of Wenceslas Square, I got the blame. She said it was people like me who drove him to it. As it happened, I was over the river and didn’t even hear about it until she told me. I sometimes used to wonder if I had been there, would I have put the flames out to save his life, or let him burn so he could complete his sacrifice?’
‘Would you?’
‘I still don’t know, and if I don’t know now, I never will. It’s been nearly forty years, and it seems like only weeks ago. When I finished work the next day I walked up to the top of the square. There were workmen scrubbing the ground to remove the charring. He hadn’t died yet, but the doctors couldn’t save him. I don’t know how hard they tried. Alive, he was just a student, but dead, he spoke for all of us. I stood where he had burned and then — I don’t know what came over me — I saluted.’
Slonský swilled his glass around and inspected the eddies in his drink.
‘Policemen weren’t too popular in Prague just then. You’d get barged in the trams and people would accidentally stamp on your feet. Someone spat on my back when I was on the beat. But when I brought my arm down to my side one of the workmen clapped his hand on my shoulder and muttered “You’re all right, son”. No praise I’ve ever had has meant as much to me as that.’
They sat for a while in silence. Navrátil felt that he should let the other man speak first.
‘I think I’ve had enough, Navrátil. Let’s go home.’
Chapter 12
Slonský was sitting at his desk in the morning, shuffling sheets of paper and drawing lines connecting phrases on them, when Navrátil approached him with an outstretched hand containing a paper towel.
‘What’s that?’
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‘I had a parcel when I got home. My mum’s been baking. Try one.’
Slonský peered into the towel. There was a small strudel.
‘I can’t take your last pastry.’
‘I’ve got a tinful.’
‘Oh, well, in that case, thank you very much!’
Slonský took a bite and rolled it over his tongue.
‘Your mum’s not a bad pastrycook, Navrátil. You’ll have a hard time finding a girl who can cook like that.’
‘They’re out there, sir. My generation’s not that different to yours.’
‘No, I don’t suppose it is. We all think the younger generation is going to hell in a handcart. You will when you’re my age. Listen to me, I sound like my dad.’
‘Was he like you, then?’
‘Depends what you mean by “like me”. He had a heartbeat and testicles, but that’s about it for resemblance, so far as I can remember. Now, to work, son! Last night I had a brainwave. Perhaps the Minister’s car would have some traces of Irina’s dead body in it, so I got forensics onto it first thing.’
‘And?’
‘I don’t know yet. They don’t seem to start till eight. The snag is, we know the live Irina was in the car, so I’m not sure if they’re clever enough to distinguish material from the dead Irina. It may just prove what we already know, but it’s worth a try. Now, what are you going to do today?’
‘Whatever you tell me to, sir.’
‘No, lad, no clues! I want you to tell me what you think you should be doing.’
Navrátil had not expected an initiative test, and was momentarily nonplussed.
‘Well, if the Minister did it, or caused it to be done, then he might have been spotted leaving.’
‘Nobody owned up to that the other night. Waste of time doing more of the same.’
‘Then we need to shake his alibi. See if we can get him rattled by making him repeat his story over and over to see if he forgets something.’
‘Worth a try. But he’s a politician, Navrátil. Telling the same lie repeatedly is something he can do with his eyes shut. We need to up the stress levels a bit. Why don’t you ask Mucha for his mobile phone, then meet me in cell eight.’
‘Eight? Who’s in eight?’
‘No-one yet. But there will be.’
‘You can use my phone if you want, sir.’
‘Thanks, Navrátil, but yours is a bit modern for me. Mucha has a particularly fine old phone.’
Navrátil was getting used to some unusual requests, but this one was a little more than normally abnormal.
Nevertheless, he did as he was asked and around half an hour later he bore a satchel into the corridor leading to the cells, and found cell eight at the far end on the left.
Slonský was washing some towels in a large bucket.
‘Ah, there you are. Plonk it by the table there.’
Slonský spread a wet towel on the floor and stood an old metal-framed chair on it. Taking his handcuffs from his pocket, he attached one end to the chair and left the other dangling.
‘Now, lad, be a little angel and tell Mucha we’re ready.’
Ready for what, thought Navrátil as he walked back to the desk. The mind boggled.
‘The Lieutenant says he’s ready,’ Navrátil announced. ‘What for?’
Mucha shook his head and smiled.
‘He’s a naughty boy sometimes. You’ve got to hand it to him, life around Slonský is never dull.’
Navrátil returned to the cell and waited. Plainly nobody was going to tell him anything.
After a few minutes the door was pushed open and Banda walked in. He was naked apart from a large red towel.
As soon as he saw Slonský he turned on his heel and tried to leave, but Mucha blocked the doorway and pushed the ex-Minister into the room.
‘Take a seat,’ said Slonský. ‘Cuff him to the chair, Sergeant — right hand only, he’ll need his left hand. He’s left-handed, you see.’
‘What are you doing?’ squealed Banda. ‘What’s going on? You said I was going to take a shower.’
Slonský reached into his trouser pocket and unfolded a piece of paper.
‘Brno, last March. Remember?’
He began reading from the press cutting.
‘“We must not forget the rights of victims. We cannot allow excessively liberal ideas of human rights to prevent our bringing criminals to justice. I will expect the police to be vigorous in pursuing, arresting and questioning suspects.” I found that very inspiring. It sets a tone, doesn’t it? One of your best speeches, if I may say so.’
‘You didn’t bring me here to ask for my autograph.’
‘Only on a statement. Anyway, you and I are going to have a little chat.’
Slonský opened the satchel and extracted a brown bakelite box which he flipped open. He lifted out a telephone handset and put it on the table.
‘We won’t be needing that,’ he said.
There was a roll of flex in the box, consisting of red and black wires twisted together. He unwound a few inches and attached the ends to the terminals on the hand-cranked generator of the field telephone.
‘I’ll do the business end, Navrátil. All I need you to do is to crank that handle a couple of times. It doesn’t need much.’
Navrátil looked doubtful but did as he was asked. Slonský held the tips of the wires a couple of centimetres apart and appeared satisfied as a spark leaped between them.
‘You just can’t beat old-time Czech engineering, Navrátil. Can’t have been used for twenty years and still starts on the button. Watch and learn, lad. It’s very important to earth the wires before the next bit, or someone could get a nasty shock.’
He wrapped one wire round the metal handcuff and stood poised with the other.
‘Now, where does this go?’
Banda tried to pull his arm out of the handcuffs.
‘This is outrageous. I am not going to confess under duress. You know it won’t be admitted in court.’
‘I just want the truth,’ said Slonský. ‘Court can wait. Once we know what happened, we can find the evidence. Of course, back in the good old days, we’d just manufacture evidence if it helped us get a conviction. This takes you back, doesn’t it, Mucha? I didn’t think we’d see our old friend again. Think of all the sterling service this little chap has done over the years.’
He smiled at Banda.
‘If this terminal could talk he could reel off a list of celebrity genitals you wouldn’t believe.’
Banda tried to get to his feet but the handcuffs hindered him and his bare feet slipped as the wet towel slithered beneath him. Mucha grasped him firmly round the shoulders and pushed him down onto the chair.
‘No, don’t!’
The ex-Minister was wild-eyed with fear. Navrátil stepped forward to intervene but as he moved he saw Slonský frowning at him.
‘Did you arrange to have Irina Gruberová killed?’
‘No! Why would I? We were having fun together.’
‘So why pay her off? A parting gift?’
‘I promised her a car. I kept my promise. I never intended her any harm.’
‘So if you didn’t kill her, who did?’
‘How should I know? It wasn’t me! You have to believe me.’
Slonský grasped Banda’s chin and forced him to look into his eyes.
‘You’re wrong there. I don’t have to believe you. I can believe what I want.’
Banda struggled but Mucha had him in a tight grip.
Despite squirming and throwing his upper body from side to side, Banda could not escape, and presently began to weep.
‘Don’t do this! I behaved badly, but I’m not a murderer. I ought to have cared more when she died, but I couldn’t let you see how I felt. She was a sweet girl, and I would never have harmed her, I swear.’
Slonský nodded, and Mucha took a step back.
The prisoner continued to sob, and wiped his nose and eyes on a dry towel that Mucha gave him.<
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‘Take him to the showers, Sergeant, and let him tidy himself up.’
Mucha steered Banda through the door, while Slonský picked up the wet towel and the field telephone and walked off down the corridor, Navrátil chasing him as he went.
‘What were you doing there, sir? You can’t do that to a suspect!’
‘I just have. Worked, didn’t it? Just like it always did in the past. If that wasn’t the truth, I don’t know what is.’
‘He could report you.’
‘What for? Helping him prove his innocence? I don’t think so.’
‘You threatened and humiliated him.’
‘I don’t know if he would have got that much of a shock, because I’ve never actually needed to do that. Just showing them the kit is enough. In medieval times the day before you tortured somebody you showed him the tools of the trade, then you left him to think. I wouldn’t have given him a shock. But he had to believe I might do it. I was taking a chance because he might be stubborn enough to call my bluff, but you have to give it a try, don’t you?’
‘I don’t believe what I’ve just seen,’ Navrátil muttered. ‘You terrorised him.’
‘Don’t come over all bleeding heart with me, lad,’ snarled Slonský. ‘I’ve got one aim, to find Irina Gruberová’s killer, and that’s what I’ll do, whatever it takes. She deserves that. And, by the way, I wasn’t the one who was turning the crank handle.’
He shoved the swing doors open and disappeared from view, leaving Navrátil standing in the corridor, confused and just a little bit frightened himself.
Slonský and Navrátil waited patiently as Lukas digested the information they had just imparted.
‘You think he’s innocent after all? I can’t see the Prime Minister being too happy that he sacked a minister who turns out not to be guilty.’
‘Everyone is guilty, sir,’ offered Slonský. ‘They may not be guilty of what they’re charged with, but everyone has done something.’
‘Cynical, and hardly reassuring,’ Lukas observed.
‘But true, sir.’
‘You may be right, but I’m not sure that it will comfort the Prime Minister.’