by Graham Brack
Peiperová’s face betrayed her thoughts.
‘It’s all right, Peiperová. Navrátil was the essence of sobriety. I was with them myself.’
Peiperová relaxed.
‘Sober, assuming Navrátil went straight home, that is. Now, young lass, we have to find Holoubek’s flat, get the key, and search it. Navrátil has his own list of jobs but will doubtless want to come and play with us later.’
‘Do we have any leads, sir?’
‘No, Peiperová, because this is not a dog-walking club. You’ve been watching too many detective shows on television. In real life you have to go out and find your own leads, because nobody gives them to you. We know the tram stop he normally gets off at, so we can assume it’s easier to get to that one than any other. We also, thanks to the little woman shaped like an outdoor privy that you found, know which direction he walked in after he left the tram. But our best clue is that he was a policeman, and therefore probably drew a policeman’s pension, which, pitiful as it is, is still enough to keep his old body and soul together. Until they were separated by a dark blue Volkswagen Multivan.’
‘Were there any clues in the van, sir?’
‘A very good question, Peiperová, and one I shall be pursuing with Novák when he sobers up. In the meantime, here’s a telephone number. Do you have a mobile phone?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. Then let’s exchange numbers. I’ll get you a police issue mobile as soon as Captain Lukas signs it off. The police pensions office won’t be open yet, so you can call in a little while. When you get the address off them, give me a call. We’ll see if the local council have a name for the landlord.’
‘Couldn’t he own it himself, sir?’
‘Peiperová, where’s your sense of history? When Holoubek was earning, private property was a no-no in the Czech Republic, remember? And when it became possible to buy flats again, I doubt if anyone would give a mortgage to a retired man living on a pension.’ Slonský shook his head sadly. ‘How soon they forget,’ he murmured.
Whatever he was about to say to Peiperová, he was interrupted by the sound of his telephone ringing.
‘Slonský,’ he answered.
‘Bastard,’ said the caller before hanging up.
Slonský replaced the receiver carefully.
‘Sounds like Novák has made it to his office,’ he said.
Peiperová had departed, and Slonský had managed to catch Lukas as the latter was hanging his coat up.
‘All going well?’ he asked.
‘Not really,’ replied Slonský. ‘An old man has been run over deliberately, perhaps because he was trying to reopen a dodgy police enquiry from thirty years ago, the van that did it has gone up in smoke, a second death from the past appears to be very suspicious though the police didn’t think so at the time, perhaps because they did it, I’m baby-sitting two officers with a combined age of about eighteen who keep looking at each other like rabbits, and Novák is abusing me down the phone because he lost count of his drinks last night. Apart from that, everything’s fine.’
‘Good, good,’ said Lukas. ‘I can’t do much about Peiperová, but she’s a bright girl and no doubt she’ll be a considerable help to you.’
‘Actually, she already is,’ agreed Slonský, ‘and she’d be even more help if she had a mobile phone so I can find her.’
Lukas opened his drawer and signed a chit.
‘I can trust you to fill in the details, I hope?’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘But I’ve taken the precaution of specifying a single mobile phone in case you were planning to take a market stall this weekend.’
‘Very wise of you, sir. My police salary doesn’t go very far.’
‘Join the club. And you don’t even have daughters.’
‘Yes, sir. How are … they?’ asked Slonský, who had utterly forgotten their names.
‘Both well, thank you. Eva has completed her teacher training now, and Eliška is studying the viola at the conservatory. Of course, neither has an income, so they both depend on their poor father.’
‘It’s just as well you’re a captain, then, sir. On a lieutenant’s salary, one of them would starve.’
‘I was a lieutenant once, Slonský. You can manage if you’re prudent.’
There was a gentle rap on the half-open door, and Navrátil poked his face into the office.
‘Just letting you know I’ve delivered Dr Novák, sir, so I’m here now.’
‘Well, why are you here, Navrátil? Aren’t you supposed to be finding Vaněček’s grave and his personnel record?’ asked Slonský.
‘Yes, sir. I’ll set off now.’
‘Just a minute, Navrátil,’ Lukas exclaimed.
‘Sir?’
‘I just wanted to congratulate you on those burglary statistics. A first class piece of work. Of course, it bore out my contention that things are getting better in the face of some ill-informed comments from local politicians, but it’s good to have hard facts to back up one’s argument. Well done, young man.’
Navrátil blushed, which Lukas interpreted as embarrassment at being praised, rather than sheepish acknowledgement of the fact that they were the fruit of his imagination, as Slonský was quick to remind him obliquely.
‘Yes, well done, Navrátil. I don’t know how he did it so quickly, sir.’
‘A keen head for figures, no doubt,’ chuckled Lukas. ‘We’d better watch you closely, Navrátil. If you’re this good with statistics Klinger will have another try to seduce you into joining the fraud squad.’
Navrátil forced a smile as he left. Klinger had, indeed, made a previous attempt to persuade Navrátil to join him upstairs, but the young detective, while flattered to be asked, found Klinger’s obsession with order and detail too wearing to contemplate working there. Klinger was a man who folded sheets of paper precisely in half with the care of an origami adept before shredding them, and Navrátil found that just a little spooky. Well, quite a bit spooky actually.
‘Did you know an officer called Vaněček, sir?’ Slonský asked.
‘I didn’t really know him. Knew of him, of course. Came to a sticky end.’
‘Allegedly impaled on his garden fence, sir.’
Lukas winced.
‘I meant his career, actually. I didn’t know about his death.’
‘The snag with the police report from 1979 is that he apparently died on a fence that wasn’t there.’
‘Some mistake, surely.’
‘A fairly elaborate mistake, if you ask me. We’ll try to retrieve the file, if it still exists. I’ll add that to Navrátil’s list. What do you know about the incident that led to his dismissal, sir?’
Lukas paused to collect his thoughts before speaking.
‘He had been having a bit of difficulty with the StB for some time. Vaněček had his deficiencies as a policeman, but he was quite clear that we couldn’t do our jobs if the security forces didn’t keep us informed. He had complained a couple of times that Tripka was too much in the StB’s pocket. That was Colonel Tripka’s father, of course.’
‘And Major Tripka, as he then was, was the StB liaison officer for the police.’
‘That’s right. But that’s the point. He was supposed to be “for the police”; our man in their camp. There were suspicions that he was more like their man in our camp. Anyway, there was a crime reported by a hotel. I think a guest’s briefcase had been forced open and important papers taken. Vaněček launched an inquiry, only for Tripka to announce that the case had been opened during an StB raid. Vaněček was livid. He complained to his superiors that his men had wasted valuable time, and — more to the point — the guest was a foreigner who would go home with a poor impression of the Czech police if they didn’t make a real effort to restore his property. The interior ministry ordered the StB to return the papers so that Vaněček could give them back to the foreigner, but Vaněček was instructed to say that they had been stolen by an opportunist who didn’t speak E
nglish and didn’t realise what he’d taken. I remember that case quite well, because I was one of the policemen who had to interview all the hotel staff. I wasn’t around when the StB got their own back, but none of us was in any doubt that that was exactly what they had done. It was several months later, and they claimed that Vaněček had fouled up one of their operations. He was removed and forced to retire.’
‘According to his ex-neighbour, who was also a policeman, Vaněček refused to go quietly and that’s why the StB came back for him a few months after retirement.’
Lukas said nothing for a few moments, and Slonský had no intention of filling the silence, believing that there may be more to tell.
‘If he did,’ said Lukas, ‘he was stupid. The StB wouldn’t let him tell his story. The snag is that we don’t really know what that story was — or do we? Are you keeping something up your sleeve?’
‘No, I’m not. I genuinely don’t know what to think. Even if Vaněček was hard done by, I don’t see why he needed to be eliminated. They could have ignored him. Unless, of course, he had hard evidence. But if he did, I don’t know what it could be or where he kept it. I’ll bet the StB took that house at Zdiby to pieces looking for it.’
‘So where do you start?’
‘My head tells me to start with Holoubek. He’s the most recent one by thirty years, and we’ve got forensics to help. But my heart says it all starts with Válková. She’s the innocent one in all this. You can argue that Vaněček brought it on himself, and that Holoubek did the same by trying to reopen the case.’
‘He was ninety years old, for goodness’ sake, Slonský. Whatever he knew, he didn’t deserve to end his days under a truck.’
Slonský smacked his fist into his cupped hand.
‘No, you’re right, sir. He didn’t. No-one does.’
Lukas rose from his seat and walked round to perch on the corner of the desk.
‘I would back you to find the killer of Jana Válková if anyone can. You’re an obstinate, insubordinate, disorganised nuisance and the bane of my life much of the time, but you’re also the best detective I’ve got. Now, get your chin up and tell me how you’re going to do it. Who is doing what?’
‘Novák is doing the forensics. Peiperová is looking for Holoubek’s flat so we can search it. Mucha is trying to find the original file on the Válková killing. I’ll ask him to try to find Vaněček’s too. Navrátil is hunting out Vaněček’s grave and his personnel record.’
‘Why his grave?’
Slonský shrugged. ‘It helps me.’
‘Fair enough. It sounds like a good plan. But I need hardly remind you to be careful. Someone who would kill a ninety-year-old won’t baulk at further violence.’
‘You needn’t worry about me, sir.’
‘I wasn’t. I was reminding you to worry about Navrátil and Peiperová.’
‘Oh. I do, sir, I do.’
When Slonský set out to join Peiperová he found Mucha at the front desk hanging his coat up.
‘Got something for you.’
‘Two plane tickets to Jamaica? The keys to a new BMW?’
‘Better than that.’
Mucha offered a dog-eared dusky red folder. A paper label gummed to the top right hand corner described its contents.
‘I can’t read this here. Let’s go to my office.’
Slonský could hardly contain his excitement and bounded up the stairs in pairs, while Mucha ran along behind, vainly trying to get his second boot off. The first was behind the front desk.
‘Now, what have we here?’
Mucha pointed to the first page.
‘List of contents.’
Slonský leafed through the sheets, skimming each briefly before moving on. After a few moments he paused, frowned, and began again. Without commenting he unlocked his desk drawer and took Holoubek’s folder out, reading from each of the folders in turn.
‘This is odd. Holoubek has copies of pages that aren’t here.’
‘Do you know when he made them?’
‘Shortly after the sentence was passed. Do you know the file history?’
‘Yes, I checked that while I was up at records. The file was taken into permanent store on 8th September, 1976.’
‘That’s less than eight weeks after the crime. The investigation and trial whizzed along.’
‘It’s the day after Bartoš was executed. See the last page for a copy of the warrant.’
‘Has it been taken out since?’
‘Who knows? We’ve got records since 1990, and it hasn’t left the building, though that doesn’t preclude someone consulting it at the library desk. But here’s an odd thing. Count the pages.’
Slonský hurried to obey.
‘Fifty-three.’
‘Now look at the 1990 cataloguing docket on the front.’
‘“Number of pages: fifty-nine.” Someone’s had six since 1990.’
‘Apparently without taking it out, and right under the eyes of the library staff.’
Slonský pushed the files to one side so he could get his feet on the corner of the desk.
‘Curiouser and curiouser. The only people who could go to records and get their hands on this file are police officers. If anyone took six pages out, it has to be a police officer. But why?’
‘I was sort of hoping you’d want to know who.’
‘Well, who and why, I suppose. Find out why and we’ll know who.’
‘Find out who and you might know why.’
‘I’ll have to read this closely and see if I can work out where the pages have been taken from.’
‘I found one. The account of the first interview with Bartoš in prison is missing page five. The pages are numbered in the bottom corner.’
Slonský checked for himself.
‘Not only that, old friend, this front page is either a ringer or there was a fib in the original papers. This is described as the first police interview with Bartoš, but it says it took place in Prague, whereas we know that Bartoš was first interviewed in the remand prison in Olomouc. And that interview isn’t here at all. How did you get this?’
‘I tried the truth. Honesty is always the best policy, my old mother used to tell me.’
‘I’m surprised you’ve got on in this police force, with an attitude like that.’
‘It’s obviously held me back, because I’m just a sergeant and you’re a mighty lieutenant.’
‘I think that has more to do with your legendary refusal to apply for promotions.’
‘I applied while I was getting them,’ Mucha objected. ‘It’s just that once they turned me down I didn’t want to face that disappointment again by reapplying.’
‘Three of the pages Holoubek copied aren’t here. Then we know page five of the prison interview is missing. So that leaves two more we don’t know about. Not yet, anyway.’
‘Why not just take the whole file?’
‘You’re checked for files when you leave, aren’t you? It wouldn’t have been easy to get a whole folder out. Besides, if it was missing altogether it might have provoked comment one day. With the incriminating pages removed, it’s less of a threat, and there’s just a chance we’d flick through it, not notice the editing and put it back.’
‘Bit daft leaving the label on the front, then.’
‘Who would count the pages?’ asked Slonský.
‘Well, me for a start,’ replied Mucha. ‘And Klinger would.’
‘That’s true,’ admitted Slonský. ‘Klinger would count them, line them up and straighten the edges. But we knew it had been edited because we had pages that weren’t here and should have been. Our murderer doesn’t know what Holoubek gave us.’
‘Then why kill Holoubek?’
‘Ah, good point. Though he might kill Holoubek because he feared Holoubek knew more than he actually did. The truth is unimportant. It’s what the murderer thought Holoubek knew that caused his actions.’
Mucha picked up his boot.
‘Too deep
for me. I’m going back to vegetate at the front desk.’
‘So we’ve signed this out for use in an investigation?’
‘I said you needed it because the case was being reviewed for reopening.’
‘That’s good. So I can keep it as long as I need.’
‘Yes. But even if I hadn’t said that, you would have kept it as long you wanted anyway, wouldn’t you?’
Left alone, Slonský concentrated on the file Mucha had brought him. Naturally indolent, Slonský rarely exerted himself, but these were precisely the circumstances that triggered his fastest work. Within a few minutes he had compared the watermarks in the paper and concluded that page one of the Bartoš interview report had been retyped after the other pages. The paper was old, but it was made by a different factory. That was not quite conclusive, because he knew that officers like himself might grab fresh paper from other people’s shelves in a hurry, which might be a different batch, but it was a hint that someone might have removed something of importance. There was nothing in the file to indicate that Bartoš had ever been in prison in Olomouc, but then Slonský realised belatedly that he only had Holoubek’s word that he had been there, so he made a note to get Navrátil to check that too. A few sums led him to conclude that Bartoš might yet have family living somewhere. His mother would be in her early eighties, if not older, but it would be worth tracking her down if she were still alive. He allocated that job to Peiperová, then decided that Navrátil would do it better. On the other hand, Peiperová had to start somewhere.
No sooner had he thought of her again than his telephone rang and he found that she was calling him.
‘I wondered when you expected to get here, sir.’
‘Where is here?’
‘Holoubek’s flat, sir.’
‘When you tell me where it is, Peiperová,’ Slonský replied testily.
‘I left a message on your answerphone about an hour ago, sir.’
‘I don’t have an answerphone.’
‘Yes, you do, sir. Is there a little red light flashing at the top of your phone?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s to tell you I’ve left you a message.’
‘The flaw in this plan, Peiperová, is that I have no idea how to retrieve it.’