by Graham Brack
‘Nobody directly opposite, so they probably weren’t going to be observed through the window.’
‘There was probably a hedge too, sir. Look at the cuttings and the stumps by the fence.’
‘Well spotted, lad. Which one of these is number twenty-six?’
They turned slightly right and walked up the road. Number twenty-six was the second house they passed.
‘I wonder why the folks at the first house didn’t seem bothered by the music. Anyway, Navrátil, this is where the man lived who found her.’
An elderly lady was putting a bag of rubbish in a bin at the back of the house. Slonský went forward to speak to her.
‘Good morning, madam. You wouldn’t be Mrs Kopecká, by any chance?’
‘Who’s asking?’
Slonský flashed his badge in mute response.
‘There’s no point showing me that, young man. I don’t have my glasses.’
‘Lieutenant Slonský, Criminal Police. And this is Officer Navrátil. We’re here about the murder of Jana Válková.’
‘You took your time getting here,’ the lady replied. ‘We rang in 1976.’
For once Slonský was lost for words, until an impish smile on her face told him she was teasing him.
‘Would you like some coffee? I’m about to make some for my husband anyway.’
‘Your husband? I didn’t think he’d still … didn’t think to ask about him.’
She led them into the back door.
‘He’s not been well,’ she whispered. ‘He can’t walk much and it gets him down. And he forgets things. He says I didn’t tell him, but I did. He just forgets things.’
The man in question was sitting in a winged armchair with his feet on a small stool. His ankles looked far too large for the rest of him, but Michal Kopecký had obviously been a lean, vigorous man. His hair still showed streaks of black within the silver, and he was neatly dressed in a checked shirt and navy trousers. He wore a padded waistcoat for warmth, beneath which his chest periodically heaved in an effort to fill his lungs.
‘These gentlemen are from the police,’ Mrs Kopecká explained.
‘What have you done?’ he asked. ‘Have they come to arrest you?’
‘Of course not,’ she told him. ‘They want to ask you about poor Jana Válková.’
Kopecký waved his hand dismissively.
‘That was months ago,’ he said. ‘And I thought they hanged someone for it.’
‘We did,’ said Slonský, ‘but I believe you said there were two of them. And we never found the other one.’
Kopecký’s eyes glowed for a moment.
‘That’s right. There were three dirty beer glasses. I remember now.’
‘Very good,’ Slonský nodded encouragingly. ‘Three beer glasses. Large ones, or small?’
‘Half-litre glasses. One had a handle but two didn’t. One had about two centimetres of beer left in the bottom.’
‘And where were they?’
‘In the kitchen.’
‘That’s the room straight in front of you when you come in the door.’
‘Yes.’
‘I know you’ve told us before, but I’d like to hear you tell the whole story if you can, Mr Kopecký. You were disturbed by the noise. When was this?’
‘It went on all evening. Válek and his wife went out about seven, and the music started around eight or half past. At least, that’s when we heard it, didn’t we?’
His wife was not there to agree or argue.
‘But your neighbour didn’t complain, although he was nearer?’
‘Old Hruška? He was deaf as a post. Of course, he was very old. Over eighty.’
‘You’re over eighty yourself, dear,’ said Mrs Kopecká, who had returned with a tray of coffee and a plate of buns which she carefully placed in front of Navrátil.
‘Am I? How old am I?’
‘Eighty-two, dear.’
‘Well I never.’ Kopecký shook his head in astonishment, and showed no sign of continuing with his account.
‘So you heard music about eight o’clock or shortly after. How long did you let it go on before you complained?’ asked Slonský.
‘Quite a while. You can’t tell young people things. But I thought if I spoke to Jana she would understand. She was a sensible girl.’
‘A very sensible girl,’ agreed Mrs Kopecká. ‘She used to come to me to practise her sewing. Her mother didn’t sew, you see.’
‘Not the sort of girl to keep bad company, then?’
‘Oh, no!’ said Mrs Kopecká. ‘She was a good girl. Of course, she was at that age when they want to show a bit of independence, and she was very aware that Daddy was somebody. I mean, that he had a position.’
‘We all did,’ sniffed Kopecký. ‘That’s how we got these villas. You had to have a certain position.’
‘What was your job, Mr Kopecký?’
‘I made newsreels.’
‘Don’t be modest, dear,’ said his wife. ‘These gentlemen need to know a bit more than that. My husband was responsible for making government information films. Not the political ones, of course. But he made a lot of civil defence films. That’s why he was such a good witness, that’s what the policeman said.’
‘I don’t suppose you remember that policeman’s name?’
‘No, sorry. It’s months ago now,’ Kopecký apologised. ‘Some kind of bird. Holoubek! That’s it — though he was too dark to be a real dove, I remember my wife saying. We laughed about that when he’d gone.’
Slonský was intrigued.
‘It’s Mr Holoubek who asked me to come to see you. He’s retired now, you see.’
‘Nice man. But it was odd that he came, because they’d already arrested that cat robber.’
‘Cat burglar, dear. They call them cat burglars,’ his wife interjected.
‘Do they? Well, that Slovak. But Holoubek kept saying to me “You’re sure there were two men?” And he asked me if I knew how the men came or went. Well, I told him I’d seen a car driving off very quickly with no lights on. I’d mentioned that when I called.’
‘I’m getting a bit confused, Mr Kopecký. On the night you called, Holoubek came to see you.’
‘No, Holoubek was here. I remember seeing him. He was walking around in front of the villa shouting a lot. He woke us up at two o’clock shouting at the policemen by the gate. He told them they were going to be sent to the tiniest station he could find in the Tatra mountains to see if they could learn some common sense. I remember that.’
Slonský suppressed a chuckle. He could imagine Holoubek saying that to some poor, witless officers.
‘But he didn’t speak to you?’
‘Not then. He sent some other officer to take a statement, then we heard nothing for a while. But about a week later another policeman turned up.’
‘Can you describe him?’
‘Middle-aged. Stocky. He kept his hat on so I didn’t see his colouring.’
‘In uniform?’
‘No. Overcoat and dark hat.’
‘He didn’t give his name?’
‘No. In those days the police didn’t. But he must have been police because a police car brought him. I saw it parked outside and the driver waited.’
‘So, when did you speak to Holoubek?’
‘Like I said, when they were just about to hang that cat robber. He said he had to get to the bottom of it quickly because they were going to hang that man and then they would never find out who the other one had been. But he said he didn’t think the Slovak had done the killing anyway, so there were two murderers out there still.’
Mrs Kopecká’s hand flew to her mouth in shock.
‘Michal! You never told me that.’
‘I didn’t want to worry you, dear. And I expect they’re safely under lock and key now, because I haven’t heard about any more killings around here since.’
If only that were true, thought Slonský. Maybe they just didn’t register. Shame Lukas didn’t have the
same problems with his memory.
‘Let’s go back to that evening when you found the bodies. Friday, sixteenth of July, 1976. It was the Friday night?’
‘Yes. Definitely Friday.’
‘And you were disturbed around half past eight. Holoubek tells me you were grumbling about it to your wife and she told you to go and sort it out.’
‘It wasn’t quite like that. I didn’t like to stop their fun, but it was getting on for bedtime, and you couldn’t sleep with that racket.’
‘So that was — what? Eleven-thirty? Midnight?’
‘Good heavens, no,’ said Mrs Kopecká. ‘Ten o’clock.’
‘Ten?’ asked Slonský, who could not remember ever going to bed at ten.
‘That’s right,’ said her husband. ‘Early to bed, early to rise. Once the sun goes down, you go to bed. When it gets up, so do you. Always lived that way. I can’t understand these people who lie in. They miss the best part of the day, don’t you think?’
‘Yes,’ agreed Slonský quickly, marking Kopecký down as a grade A nutter.
‘So a bit before ten I walked down the hill to their house to ask them to turn the music down. But as I got to the street I saw two lads run to a dark car and drive off at speed with no lights on.’
‘No lights on — so it was after dark?’
‘It hadn’t been dark long, or we’d have been in bed. But they should have put their lights on. Nobody would see a dark car in that light.’
‘So you carried on to the house?’
‘Well, the music still needed turning down. I got to the gate and I could see the door open, and I suddenly thought “What if they’ve been robbed and all that music was to cover the noise?” So I pushed the door wide open, waited in case anyone else made a run for it, then I went in. The door to my left was open and that’s where the music was coming from, but there was no-one in the room. The lights were on, and the furniture had been pushed back, I think, because there was a clear space in the middle of the floor. But what alarmed me was that the carpet was stained with fresh blood.’
‘A lot of blood?’
‘They say it always looks a lot, but I’d say there was at least a cupful, maybe more. The shape was like a crucifix. There were blotches of blood where her arms must have been, some more round her ankles, and some in the middle, by her … well, in the middle.’
‘Like she’d been sexually assaulted?’
‘I suppose so. I looked in the next doorway, which was the kitchen, but that looked in quite good order except for the three beer glasses. Then there was another door that turned out to be a closet, and the one beyond that was the bathroom. She was in there.’
‘I don’t want to distress you, but it would help if you could describe what you saw in detail.’
Kopecký closed his eyes and concentrated.
‘Pale blue tiles to my left. A tub straight in front going across the room with the taps at the right hand end. Her left arm was draped over the side of the bath and blood was dripping down the white side. You couldn’t see her, just the arm. I ran to see her. I don’t think she was quite dead. She didn’t respond, but she was very warm. I couldn’t take her pulse because her arms were slimy with blood and I didn’t know then that you could do it any other way. Her slacks and underwear had been pulled down and she was bleeding down there, and it looked like there were little punctures in her tummy and breast. One breast was exposed — her right one. There was a cross cut in her nipple. She was wearing a red and navy striped top and her hair was held together with a red band to make a ponytail. Her head was turned to her left and the right side of her face was bruised and covered with a smear of blood from just above her hairline, where there was a nasty bleeding gash. Her right arm had bled a lot and the curtain had been yanked down and wrapped around it. It was sodden with blood. There was a towel in her left armpit soaked with blood from a cut in her upper arm. Her feet were close together but you could see blood running down one foot from a cut over her ankle. And there was half a footprint.’
‘Half a footprint?’ Slonský did not recall that appearing anywhere in Holoubek’s notes.
‘The front part of a left boot. Some kind of shoe with a big tread pattern. Whoever wore it must have trodden in some blood and left the mark in the middle of the bathroom floor. There was a fainter mark by the door.’
‘This is really good, Mr Kopecký. You obviously have a good memory.’
‘Not now. I don’t remember names. But scenes — that’s what I did all my working life. It’s a silly thought, I know, but I remember thinking that if I’d posed the scene I’d have put her in the bath the other way round. Who sits at the plug end?’
‘Was there any water in the bath?’
‘No, none.’
‘And no knife?’
‘There was a small blood-stained knife on the floor at the end of the bath where her feet were. Just an ordinary kitchen knife like my wife uses to peel potatoes.’
‘But that can’t have done the damage you saw. You didn’t see another knife anywhere?’
‘No, not a sign of one.’
‘Let’s go back to the two lads. You didn’t see their faces?’
‘No. They were quite a distance away. The one who got in the front was broader. Not fat, just muscular. The one who got in the back was much slighter.’
‘Colouring?’
‘I couldn’t see in that light. And neither had much hair.’
‘Skinheads, I expect,’ Mrs Kopecká added.
‘So the chunky one was the driver?’
Kopecký looked up, his face creased in a deep frown.
‘No, they both got in the passenger side. I told the policeman that at the time. Someone else drove them.’
Slonský glanced at Navrátil, who looked as astonished as he was himself.
‘A third man?’ Slonský muttered.
Kopecký began humming. It took Slonský a little while to recognise the tune.
‘One of my favourite films,’ Kopecký explained. ‘Orson Welles. Paul Hörbiger. Hedwig Bleibtreu.’
Slonský interrupted before Kopecký decided to give them the whole cast.
‘So the car came to collect them, or it was there all the time?’
Kopecký stopped abruptly. ‘What car?’
‘The car the two men got into. Outside the Váleks’ house.’
‘When was this, old chap?’
‘You were telling us about the day you found Jana Válková.’
‘Ah, yes.’ There was a pause before Kopecký continued. ‘What was the question again?’
‘Was the car they got into outside all night?’
‘I can answer that,’ said Mrs Kopecká. ‘It can’t have been, because I took old Mr Hruška a bit of strudel. He had a sweet tooth, but once his wife died … anyway, there wasn’t a car outside then. That would be about eight o’clock.’
Slonský picked up his hat.
‘Thank you both. You’ve been very helpful. And thank you for the coffee. Navrátil, any further questions?’
Navrátil’s cheeks were puffed out with the last piece of bun he had hurriedly pushed into his mouth when he realised that they were leaving. He suspected that might have been why Slonský asked him the question, because he was rarely given any chance to ask a question of his own at interviews. He chewed fast and swallowed hard.
‘Do you know what happened to Mr and Mrs Válek?’
Mrs Kopecká looked apologetic.
‘I don’t know exactly where and when they went, I’m afraid. They stayed here for a few months, but Mrs Válková couldn’t face living in that house. They eventually managed to get a flat in Prague. Whether they’re still there, I don’t know. Of course, if he’s still alive, Mr Válek would be retired by now. They didn’t keep in touch.’
The detectives said goodbye and walked back to their car.
‘Damn!’ Slonský repeated several times.
‘What’s the matter, sir?’
‘If it happened now, Nav
rátil, it would be an open and shut case. We’d get DNA off the beer glasses, we’d have forensics on the footprints, there’d probably have been video surveillance tapes on an estate like this.’
‘Surely they could have done better with what they had, though, sir, even if it was thirty years ago?’
‘That’s what troubles me most, Navrátil. They could have done so much better. That’s what you get for putting a jumped-up circus ringmaster in charge. I could do with something to take away the taste of that coffee, lad. Pull up at the first place you see.’
‘There’s a burger bar at the airport, sir.’
‘Okay, Navrátil. Then pull up at the second place you see.’
Lukas quickly slipped on his best jacket and straightened his tie. It was important to set a good example to young officers. He could not recall meeting Peiperová before, and was therefore surprised when he discovered that she was quite a pretty girl, which Slonský had not mentioned, with long blonde hair bundled up into a knot of some kind at the back. She was also about as tall as Lukas, and she was in uniform.
Lukas stretched forward his hand in greeting, and was met with a formal salute, which he returned rather awkwardly and hurriedly.
‘Ah, yes. Jolly good. Stand easy, Officer Peiperová.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Look, we don’t go in for all that formality here. Except on formal occasions, of course, when we tend to be more … formal. Please sit down.’
Lukas introduced himself, described the criminal division to her, then invited Peiperová to tell him about herself.
‘Where shall I start, sir?’
‘Hm? Oh, birth, I think. I like to know all I can about the staff here.’
Peiperová launched into a description of her life and family, though Lukas was using the time to think about whom she could be attached to. It was, of course, asking too much of Slonský to babysit two young officers. On the other hand, he could not think of anyone else to whom to allocate her. With a start he realised that she had stopped speaking.
‘Excellent. First class. Well now, before we assign you permanently, I thought it would be best if you spent a few days with people you already know,’ he improvised. ‘I believe you’ve worked with Lieutenant Slonský and Officer Navrátil before.’