The Josef Slonský Box Set

by Graham Brack

  ‘And what does your bladder say?’

  ‘Good point. Perhaps we’ll just take a stroll along the river and cast an eye over that building Václav mentioned.’

  Slonský’s idea of a stroll proved to be slower than Navrátil could have imagined. They dawdled to look in shop windows, and Slonský spent some time in a cheap souvenir store behaving like a yokel on his first visit to Prague.

  ‘Sir, shouldn’t we be getting over there?’

  ‘Ten more minutes.’

  ‘Why, sir?’

  ‘Because, young Navrátil, seeing the building won’t help me much. I’ve seen it thousands of times. I want to see who is coming and going. Of course, we could strike lucky, but given that we don’t want to stand around for an age drawing attention to ourselves, we’re just going to amble up one side, go round the block, and then go along the river again, and the time when we’re likeliest to see someone is lunchtime, when no doubt at least some of the occupants will be heading out to put on a nosebag. Therefore, we want to arrive around lunchtime, and not at twenty to twelve. Ten minutes here, a gentle perambulation to the site, and a turn round the block should give us about half an hour of potential eyeballing of the men in the building.’

  ‘Should we ask the City Police if they know anything?’

  Slonský sighed. ‘I suppose we should. They won’t, of course, because they never do. Someone could snatch the statue of John Nepomuk off the Charles Bridge and it would be a fortnight before they noticed. Unless his dog was fouling the footpath at the same time, when they’d be on him like a shot, rubbing his nose in it.’

  As luck would have it, two of Prague’s police were taking an early lunch at a sausage stall as Slonský and Navrátil headed northwards. One was small, rotund, and had a cap that looked as if it belonged to a smaller man’s head. The other was a familiar face. It belonged to Officer Krob, who had assisted Slonský once before during a hit and run incident.

  Krob straightened himself and tried to look keen.

  ‘Good day, Officer Krob,’ began Slonský. ‘Do you come here often?’

  ‘The stall, or Prague?’ came the reply.

  ‘This part of Prague.’

  ‘I’ve been on this beat for a month or so, sir. Vácha here has been around much longer.’

  ‘Wonderful. Let me grab one of those sausages and then we can have a little chat. Navrátil, do the introductions.’

  They sat on a bench facing the river, all thoughts of arriving at the building around midday apparently banished from Slonský’s mind.

  ‘This is just a friendly chat between ourselves,’ Slonský explained. ‘Nothing formal. Nothing that needs mentioning to anyone.’

  Krob willingly agreed. Vácha seemed rather less convinced that such a promise was a good idea when he had not yet heard what was wanted of him, but nodded half-heartedly.

  ‘Behind me to my right there’s a large red building. We’re told a wanted criminal from Bosnia works out of there. Any idea what might be going on?’

  Vácha studied the building intently as if its inhabitants’ names were about to be displayed in neon on the roof, but turned back reluctantly when he realised that it would not be so.

  ‘We’ve seen Rudolf Smejkal there a couple of times,’ Krob offered.

  ‘Smejkal? Have you reported that?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Navrátil felt the need to interrupt. ‘Who is Smejkal?’

  ‘He’s what is politely termed a property developer. He buys old rundown buildings and stuffs them with tenants on the promise that he’ll do some improvements. The improvements take an age to happen, despite the readiness of banks to lend him money to do the work. He uses that money to buy another building, and the cycle repeats. If anyone gives him a hard time he sends a couple of plumbers and a carpenter around to smarten up the worst of the places, then he goes back to normal.’

  ‘So why would he be mixing with the Bosnian?’

  ‘I don’t know. Usually when Smejkal buddies up to people it’s because the banks have cut off his line of credit and he needs some capital from people who don’t want to have to explain where it came from. You see, lad, ill-gotten gains can be a real sod to invest. Banks ask awkward questions and everyone wants to know your business, so criminals may have money and no idea what they can do with it. Smejkal takes some of it off their hands. But Savović hasn’t been here long enough to build up a stash.’

  ‘He could have brought it with him.’

  ‘He could, but the Bosnian police didn’t mention it, and if they thought that was likely they’d have sent the fax to the fraud department. Since I haven’t seen a hyperexcited Klinger stalking the corridors or asking us what we know about it, I deduce our colleagues upstairs aren’t being informed.’

  ‘Is there anyone else in the building Smejkal could be meeting?’

  Slonský eyed his assistant and frowned. ‘A remarkably percipient question. By your standards, anyway. Krob? Vácha?’

  ‘Don’t know, sir,’ Krob replied.

  Slonský rose to his feet ponderously. ‘Fair enough. No reason why you should. Probably best if uniforms don’t go rooting around there. Come along, Navrátil. Let’s see who occupies those offices.’

  ‘Sir? Couldn’t it be dangerous for you?’

  ‘Indeed it could, lad. That’s why you’re going in.’

  They walked along the embankment, passing a woman disguised as a Greek goddess posing on a white plinth and a mediaeval knight with his sword drawn.

  ‘I’ve no idea how they stand still all day, especially in this weather,’ Slonský whispered.

  ‘I think they move when nobody’s watching, sir.’

  ‘God is always watching, lad, or so my grandmother used to tell me when I was up to something.’

  They crossed the road and walked past the front of the red brick building, turning at the corner and continuing along its side.

  ‘Right, Navrátil, in you go. I’m sure you’ll think of some story to find out who is in there. Meanwhile, I’m going to sit in the window of that bar opposite and strike up a conversation with any regular customer who may have a tale to tell.’

  Navrátil resisted the temptation to protest that the bar could not be described as opposite the building, since it was forty metres along the street and a patron sitting in the window would only see who came and went if they stood on the table with the transom window open and their head sticking out. He took out his notebook, entering the building apparently deep in thought and writing a note or two.

  A security desk was placed at the foot of the stairs where a doorkeeper sat with a large visitors’ book.

  ‘Seeing someone, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘Not necessary,’ said Navrátil. ‘Council environmental health department.’ He waved his tennis club membership card in a cursory way before shoving it back in his pocket. ‘We’ve had complaints that someone in this building has been putting their refuse out without closing it, with the result that rats from the river have been seen picking at it. That’s an offence under section 238 of the law on refuse, you know.’

  The doorkeeper looked pained. ‘Rats? Where?’

  ‘That’s a bit vague. The complaint just says in the doorway, so whether that’s this main doorway, or a side door, I’m not sure. Have you seen any evidence of rats?’

  ‘No, certainly not. This is a clean building. All our tenants are respectable.’

  ‘Perhaps I could have a list?’

  The doorkeeper photocopied his list of telephone numbers and gave it to Navrátil. ‘They’re all on there. It tells you which floor they’re on in the side headings, see?’

  ‘Thank you. Usually when this happens we find the culprits are foreigners who don’t know our waste disposal legislation like a Czech would. You don’t have any foreigners here, I suppose?’

  The doorkeeper looked around anxiously to check there was nobody in the lobby or coming down the stairs. ‘They’re all respectable, like I said. But there’s an Ame
rican gentleman on the third floor. He teaches English and writes for magazines. And there’s a man from Yugoslavia on the floor above this.’

  ‘Ah! Newly arrived?’

  ‘Three months or so.’

  Navrátil flicked over the pages of his notepad. ‘Well, that just about ties in with the first complaint. You don’t know his name?’

  The doorkeeper made a mark on Navrátil’s photocopy with his pen. ‘That’s him. Keeps himself to himself. Never gives me no trouble, pays his bills on time.’

  ‘These Yugoslavs often have noisy friends though. We get a lot of complaints about noise.’

  ‘No, nothing like that. All the visitors I’ve seen are Czechs. Of course, his driver is a Serb or Croat or something of the sort. And of course he doesn’t live here. I dare say he has his wild parties in his flat.’

  ‘I dare say. Well, thanks again. I’ll give him a ring sometime just to wrap it all up and explain about the rats.’

  Navrátil dashed out into the street, leaving the doorkeeper to wonder where he could buy a few traps and some environmentally-friendly rat poison.

  ‘Come along, lad, we can’t put it off any longer. We’re going to have to go back to the office and do some work.’

  ‘What about the other names on the list, sir?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, there must be a reason why Savović chose that particular office building. How did he hear that it was available? Did somebody introduce him? And what does he need an office for anyway?’

  Slonský rubbed his chin. ‘There are some good questions there, Navrátil. Tell you what: you get some good answers, and I’ll go back to the office and wait for them.’

  ‘Where shall I start, sir?’

  ‘Use your initiative, son. Or, putting it another way, I haven’t a clue. Why not start by finding out who the letting agents are? Where do they normally advertise vacancies? Perhaps your mate on the door can give you a hand.’

  ‘He thinks I’m an environmental health officer, sir. I can hardly go back asking about letting agents.’

  ‘Of course you can. Even environmental health officers need offices somewhere. Tell him you need to find a new office, or your girlfriend wants somewhere to keep all her whips and black leather. In short, lad, fib. Spin him a yarn.’

  Navrátil breathed deeply and pushed the door open. The doorkeeper glanced up and his face distorted in alarm.

  ‘Not more rats?’ he whispered.

  ‘No,’ said Navrátil. ‘You were kind enough to give me a list of occupants, but I didn’t ask if any rooms are empty.’

  ‘Empty?’

  ‘Yes. You see, rats prefer to sleep in places where they won’t be found by a human. I’ve been thinking, and if they’re anywhere in this building, they’d be in an empty flat or office.’

  The doorkeeper snatched a ring of keys and used one to lock the front door, hanging a sign behind its glass to tell callers that he would be back in ten minutes.

  ‘Third floor,’ he said, ‘but you’re going in first.’

  They mounted the stairs and the doorkeeper unlocked the suite and gingerly pushed the door open. Navrátil stepped inside. The room was completely empty.

  ‘No hiding places here, then.’ Navrátil commented. ‘I’d better just check that the skirting boards are sound.’

  ‘You do that,’ agreed the doorkeeper.

  ‘Where does the owner advertise these offices? I’m surprised a nice place like this is still empty. Maybe he’s using the wrong people.’

  ‘He uses a range of different folks.’

  ‘I suppose people do see the advertisements,’ Navrátil mused. ‘After all, the Yugoslav gentleman must have seen one.’

  ‘Ah, no, you’re wrong there,’ said the doorman. ‘He was introduced by the man on the floor above.’

  ‘The American writer?’

  ‘No, he’s on the top floor. The import-export company, they’re the ones. Mr Nejedlý knew him.’

  ‘It’s Mr Nejedlý that runs that company, is it?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘That’s very good of him, introducing a new tenant. Must be a kindly man.’

  The doorkeeper eloquently failed to agree. After a moment or two Navrátil sensed a chill entering the conversation.

  ‘You obviously don’t agree.’

  ‘It’s not my place to comment on the tenants, sir.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you in an awkward position, especially when you have to work with them every day.’

  ‘That’s all right, sir. Mr Nejedlý is a nice enough man himself. It’s the company he keeps that concerns me. They can be very impolite.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ Navrátil replied, even though he did not. ‘Well, I’m satisfied this suite is rat-free. I think we can safely conclude that the rats are outside. Perhaps you could just remind tenants to seal their bags properly when they put them out.’

  ‘I will. We don’t want rats around here.’

  Major Klinger, head of the fraud squad, was much more interested in Navrátil’s report.

  ‘Nejedlý. Yes, that rings a bell. That would be the Double Arrow Import Export Agency.’

  ‘That’s right,’ agreed Navrátil.

  ‘And what exactly do they import and export?’ Slonský asked.

  ‘Girls. Women for the bars and clubs, and probably for the streets. They’re also one of our biggest importers of plums, though I suspect jam-making isn’t nearly as lucrative.’

  ‘Where do they import these girls from, as if I couldn’t guess?’ continued the lieutenant.

  ‘Bosnia, Kosovo, the less affluent parts of the Balkans. I’m by no means an expert, but it isn’t easy to explain why you would route plums through Serbia, Romania and Hungary to enter the EU. On the other hand, that would be a very good route if you had a truckful of women. There are lots of places where you can sneak across the borders.’

  ‘So that could be our link with Savović,’ Navrátil interjected.

  ‘Who knows?’ Slonský replied. ‘The Bosnians haven’t told us why they want him, largely because we haven’t told them he’s here. That’s the next step. But that still doesn’t tell us why he would be meeting up with Smejkal.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t,’ agreed Klinger. ‘Smejkal has his finger in many pies, but this is not one of them so far as I know.’

  ‘And you would know, I suppose,’ Slonský teased.

  ‘Start from the working hypothesis that I know everything, and you won’t go far wrong,’ said Klinger. ‘Now, if you’ve finished cluttering up my office, I believe you have a telephone call to make to Sarajevo.’

  Slonský pushed Lukas’ door open and poked his head in.

  ‘Can you spare me a minute, sir?’

  ‘Of course. Take a seat.’

  Slonský summarised the day’s events while Lukas nodded in what he hoped looked like a sage manner. ‘I see. And what did the Bosnian police say?’

  ‘That’s the really puzzling bit. They want to find Savović, but they don’t have any evidence tying him to any crimes.’

  ‘That’s nonsense. What they mean is that they have evidence they don’t want to share. Do they want us to arrest him?’

  ‘On what charge? So far as I can make out they’re really pleased he’s left the country. They didn’t even want to send someone to talk to him.’

  Lukas spread his hands expansively. ‘Then we drop it. We’ve done what they asked. However much it piques our interest, we don’t have time or manpower spare to investigate people out of idle curiosity.’

  ‘That’s what I thought, sir. Until someone alleges a crime, I don’t see what we can do.’

  There was a sharp knock at the door. Navrátil entered without waiting for an invitation. ‘Sir, we’ve had a call. There’s been a murder.’

  ‘Where, lad?’

  ‘That’s the point, sir. It’s where we were earlier, down by the riverside. Someone has killed the mediaeval knight.’
/>   Chapter 3

  The knight was kneeling as if in prayer, his sword planted firmly in the ground before him and his head resting on the pommel at the end of the hilt. His arms had presumably been grasping the crossbar but now dangled in front of the sword. His position was so stable that he had not fallen to the ground, but remained kneeling in death.

  ‘He’d have to be stable to hold that position for so long. Where’s the wound, Novák?’

  The diminutive pathologist, Dr Vladimír Novák, blinked through his bottle-bottom glasses.

  ‘And good afternoon to you too, Lieutenant. He was stabbed at the back of the neck. A fine blade. It may have severed the spinal cord, or it might have pushed upwards into the medulla oblongata — the brain stem to you. I won’t know until I peel the skin back.’

  ‘Looks like it was pretty quick.’

  ‘He’d probably never know it happened. He’d die within moments.’

  ‘Time?’

  ‘About an hour ago, give or take. The place was swarming with people, Slonský. It’s incredible that nobody noticed someone walk up behind a praying knight and stab him in the nape of the neck.’

  ‘Could it be a flick-knife?’

  ‘Probably a triggered knife of some kind, with a very narrow blade. This isn’t easily done, Slonský. This is the sort of technique a Special Forces soldier would use.’

  Slonský turned to look for the Greek goddess who had been standing beside the knight at lunchtime. She was sitting on a bench crying and shivering.

  ‘You didn’t see anything?’ he asked her.

  ‘No, not a thing. When I’m in position, he’s slightly behind me. I can’t turn and look. I didn’t know anything about it until it came to five o’clock. We usually stop then for something to eat and to decide if it’s worth carrying on into the evening. I stepped off my pedestal and came to talk to him, and when he didn’t answer I lifted his head a little. I never dreamed he’d be dead.’

  ‘It must have been an awful shock for you. Can you tell me anything about him? His name would be a good start.’

  ‘Pavel. I don’t know his surname.’

  ‘Had he been coming to this patch for long?’