The Josef Slonský Box Set

by Graham Brack

  ‘So Hrdlička died quickly?’ Slonský enquired.

  ‘I can’t say it was instantaneous, but his vital functions would have been disrupted severely. He would have been paralysed from the wound down, and he would have had difficulty in breathing because he wouldn’t be able to fill his lungs. I think there’s good evidence that the shock killed him but I’ve sent some blood samples off for analysis to confirm the point. His blood pressure would have fallen calamitously and I suspect he lost consciousness in moments and died very quickly. It’s the same effect as a judicial hanging, just achieved another way.’

  ‘Thank heaven for small mercies,’ Lukas said, though it was difficult to hear him due to the muffling caused by the handkerchief in front of his mouth.

  Slonský was thinking hard. ‘But Hrdlička was a trained police officer. He’d done surveillance work for a long time. How did they kill him in broad daylight without any sign of a struggle?’

  Novák beamed. ‘Ah! A good question, and I may have an answer.’

  ‘May have?’

  ‘I can’t prove it myself, but I may be able to do so with the aid of a willing volunteer. Not you, Slonský, I need to talk to you.’

  Slonský turned to look at Lukas.

  ‘Not Captain Lukas either,’ said Novák. ‘His head is too big.’

  ‘That’ll be due to the brains,’ Slonský opined gravely.

  ‘No doubt. Is young Navrátil about?’

  ‘I’ll fetch him.’

  In this case, “fetch” meant that Slonský went to the door and shouted down the corridor. ‘Navrátil! Come here and get murdered!’

  Novák opened the carrier bag and produced a knight’s helmet.

  ‘Is that the one Hrdlička was wearing?’ asked Navrátil.

  ‘Don’t be squeamish, lad,’ Slonský answered. ‘None of us is a homicidal maniac. You’ll be quite safe.’

  Novák handed it to Navrátil. ‘Put it on and kneel with your back to us.’

  Navrátil did so.

  ‘You can pray if you want,’ Slonský suggested. ‘May as well use the time profitably.’

  Novák produced a flat wooden stick. ‘This tongue depressor will stand in for the murder weapon. Don’t want to risk an accident, do we?’

  Slonský rapped on the helmet with his knuckles, making it ring. ‘You’re all right, we’re not going to use a real knife,’ he bellowed.

  Navrátil nodded an acknowledgement.

  Novák pushed Navrátil’s head gently forward.

  ‘When he is upright, the cuff at the back of the helmet protects his neck. It wouldn’t have been much use in the olden days if it hadn’t. It’s only when he tips his head forward in prayer that the murderer can stab him in the back of the neck under the helmet. Stabbing upwards at an angle — like this! — is only possible in the praying position.’

  ‘But why didn’t Hrdlička hear the assassin sneak up?’

  ‘Because the assassin is a trained killer. Because he’s on a busy road with plenty of traffic noise. And because Navrátil can’t hear us very well with the helmet on, can you, Navrátil?’

  There was no response, proving the point.

  ‘I never liked the slimy little weed anyway,’ said Slonský.

  ‘Hrdlička?’

  ‘No, Navrátil. And his girlfriend has spots and a lop-sided bottom. No, you’re right, he can’t hear us.’

  Lukas was frowning. ‘But Hrdlička’s face was painted silver. Why bother if he was going to wear a helmet?’

  Slonský wheeled round at speed. ‘He didn’t! When we saw him at lunchtime he wasn’t wearing the helmet.’

  Novák was smirking. ‘Very observant, Slonský.’

  He leaned forward and lifted the helmet from Navrátil’s head, allowing the young detective to rub his neck.

  ‘That’s heavy,’ he remarked. ‘You wouldn’t want to wear it for long.’

  ‘No,’ agreed Novák, ‘you wouldn’t.’

  ‘So why did he?’ asked Slonský. ‘And your face tells me you know.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Novák, ‘but I can guess and you can check.’

  He inverted the helmet and pulled back the padding that cushioned the inside around the temples. With a flick of a thumb he brought a small white object the size of a kidney bean into view.

  ‘An earpiece?’ said Navrátil.

  ‘A wireless one. He was listening in to something when he was killed. That’s why he didn’t hear anyone sneak up on him; he was concentrating on the scratchy sound of a hidden microphone somewhere. The question for you is where that microphone is.’

  ‘Maybe Grigar knows.’

  ‘I doubt it, Slonský,’ said Lukas, ‘or he’d have mentioned it. The prime suspect would be the person they’re listening to.’

  ‘So can we find out when he put the helmet on? Navrátil, that’s your first job. Ask that goddess if she knows when he fetched his helmet. Any ideas, Novák?’

  ‘Found at five, dead around four.’

  ‘So the next question is what provoked him to put the helmet on. Did he put it on at the same time of day every day, or did he see something that prompted him? That’s your next job, lad.’

  Slonský inspected the large map of Prague on the wall in front of Lukas’ desk.

  ‘If Hrdlička is watching the buildings opposite, then how could a murderer sneak out and get round behind him? Visibility is too good. He’d have to go quite a way up or down the river.’

  Navrátil traced a route on the map. ‘He could have set off in the opposite direction and taken the Metro over the river before walking back.’

  ‘He could also have climbed up to the roof, strung a big piece of elastic between the chimneys and catapulted himself to the other side, which is just as likely. How long would it take him to do what you’ve suggested? Twenty minutes? How would he know Hrdlička would keep the helmet on that long?’

  ‘But if Hrdlička is watching the boss, and the boss sends a man out to do the actual killing while he keeps talking, Hrdlička would concentrate on the wrong man.’

  ‘That would work,’ Novák agreed.

  ‘Detectives detect,’ Slonský growled. ‘Pathologists … path. Well, whatever they do it isn’t detecting. But the lad may have something. If they know they’re being watched, the accomplice could slip out at any time of day and wait for a mobile phone call to tell him when to strike. That complicates things.’

  ‘So someone in that red brick building could see that they were being watched and had someone outside to do their dirty work, sir?’ Navrátil enquired.

  ‘Not so fast. That’s the likeliest explanation, but don’t forget that anyone on that side of the road could have thought that they were being watched. If Hrdlička was careless, he could have raised suspicions in anyone with a guilty conscience. And you mustn’t forget the person who has admitted being right there at the time of death.’

  ‘Who, sir?’

  ‘The goddess, Navrátil.’

  ‘Sir! She can’t be the murderer. She was so shaken by it all.’

  ‘She’s hardly going to show her icy coldness to you, is she, lad? She could be acting. Women do, you know. You’ll find out soon enough. She could have stepped off the pedestal, and Hrdlička wouldn’t have suspected a thing. She fetches a knitting needle, drives it into his neck and then calmly steps back on her pedestal and waits an hour or so to start wailing. Easiest thing in the world to arrange.’

  ‘Knitting needle?’ murmured Novák. ‘Could be.’

  ‘She didn’t have a knitting needle on her when Peiperová brought her here to make a statement, sir.’

  ‘Of course not. There’s a damn great river just behind her. She takes the needle out and heaves it into the water. Not much point in getting divers in, though. It’s too big a search area and the current may have carried it downstream by now.’

  ‘Surely someone would notice a woman dressed as a Greek goddess chucking a blood-stained knitting needle into the Vltava, sir.’

&nb
sp; ‘Navrátil, there are people in this city who wouldn’t notice if King Kong scaled St Vitus’ cathedral and swotted planes out of the sky. There are others who wouldn’t tell us even if they saw the whole thing. I wouldn’t mind betting…’

  There was a dull thud behind them. To Slonský’s surprise, Captain Lukas had disappeared from sight, as had his chair. It was Navrátil who first surmised that the reason might be that it had tipped over, and ran behind the desk to find Lukas lying on his side.

  ‘Sir? Can you hear me, sir?’

  Lukas grimaced but did not speak. His skin was clammy and the colour of an unripe grapefruit, and his fist was clenched in front of his chest.

  Slonský realised that he would have to take command.

  ‘Novák, do something!’ he bellowed.

  ‘Me? Why me?’

  ‘Because you’re a doctor.’

  ‘Send for an ambulance, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Navrátil, tell Mucha to get an ambulance. Now, Novák, surely they taught you something at medical school?’

  ‘It was a long time ago, Slonský. I don’t deal with living patients nowadays.’

  ‘Well, we could bump him off if it makes you happier, but there’ll be a hell of a stink when the Doctors’ Union hears about it.’

  ‘This is no time for sarcasm, Slonský.’

  ‘This is no time for hair-splitting, Novák. Do something!’

  ‘Just shut up, Slonský, while I try to think. Is there any pain?’

  ‘Any pain? He’s bent double, man!’

  ‘Well, where is the pain, Captain?’

  Lukas gritted his teeth and took a deep breath. He banged his clenched fist against his breastbone.

  ‘Is it your heart?’

  ‘You’re not meant to ask the bloody patient. You’re supposed to know if it’s his heart.’

  ‘Slonský, you’re not helping. How can I think with you yelling at me? Lukas, can you breathe properly?’

  Lukas nodded.

  ‘Is there any other pain?’

  Lukas nodded again. He pointed over his shoulder.

  ‘In your shoulder? Your right shoulder?’

  ‘Behind … my … shoulder.’

  Slonský leaned across. ‘There’s nothing sticking out,’ he declared.

  ‘I didn’t think there would be,’ Novak hissed. ‘Help me get him on his back so I can examine his chest.’

  As they rolled Lukas over he had a loud attack of flatulence.

  ‘You’ll feel better after that,’ Slonský said.

  Novák gently probed Lukas’s trunk and was rewarded with a groan when he pressed near the liver.

  ‘Of course! Cholecystitis.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Inflammation of the gall bladder. Has he been unwell lately?’

  ‘He’s been sick a lot. Queasy sick — you know — chucking up.’

  ‘Has he seen a doctor?’

  ‘He’s looking at you now and a fat lot of good it’s doing him. Shouldn’t you take it out or something? Have you got your scalpel?’

  ‘Slonský, I haven’t done surgery in years.’

  ‘You carve some poor so-and-so up every day of your life.’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t have to put the bits back in the right place afterwards. My patients are past caring about that. It’s best if we wait for the ambulance. I’ll check his vital signs. Why don’t you go and find a bowl in case he vomits?’

  Navrátil reappeared at the door. ‘Ambulance is on its way, sir.’

  ‘Good lad. Now, fetch a bowl for the captain in case he’s sick.’

  ‘Anything else, sir?’

  ‘Yes. I left half my sandwich on my desk. If you’ve got a spare hand…’

  It defied any common sense, but Slonský stood to attention while he telephoned the Director of the Criminal Police to tell him what had happened to Lukas. The Director listened calmly, asked what investigations Lukas was overseeing, then suggested that everyone went home and got a good night’s sleep.

  ‘Can you carry on as normal?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good. Let’s see how it looks in the morning. I’ll ring the hospital and then we’ll see what’s what.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  ‘In Lukas’ absence, you can cover for him. No need to panic for a day or two, but we’ll have to deal with his paperwork somehow.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  ‘Have you told his wife?’

  Slonský groaned inwardly. He knew there was something he should have done. ‘I’m on it now, sir.’

  ‘Good man. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.’

  Slonský put the phone down. ‘We’ll have to tell Mrs Lukasová,’ he announced.

  ‘I rang her while you were putting him in the ambulance,’ Peiperová responded. ‘Navrátil has borrowed a car to take her to the hospital. If you don’t need me, sir, I said I’d sit with their daughters until she gets back.’

  Slonský sighed. He would never get the hang of this touchy-feely stuff.

  Chapter 5

  Lukas was slowly sinking into a pile of pillows. To Slonský’s unpractised eye, he looked no better than before the operation, but the doctors assured him that he was making good progress.

  ‘Just in the nick of time, then, sir,’ Slonský said cheerfully.

  ‘So I understand.’

  ‘Within an ace of rupture.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Could have been really nasty.’

  ‘Yes. Could we change…’

  ‘Just as well Dr Novák was there. Though he didn’t actually do anything. But it must have been a comfort.’

  ‘Yes. At least he could tell the paramedics what was wrong.’

  ‘They were a bit flummoxed by the knight’s helmet, sir, but once I’d explained he was a pathologist they seemed to think it was par for the course.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. Are you feeling like eating yet, sir?’

  ‘Er — no, Slonský. Not in the least.’

  ‘The Director was very good, sir. Sharp man. Always liked him.’

  ‘Yes, he is. He was good enough to ring this morning and leave a message for me.’

  ‘A personal message. Very thoughtful, sir.’

  ‘I’m going to be laid up for six weeks or more, so I need to make some arrangements to keep the department ticking over smoothly.’

  In other circumstances Slonský might have disputed this use of the word “keep”; “start” seemed more appropriate, but this seemed to be neither the time nor the place.

  ‘You’re the ranking lieutenant, Slonský, so you’re going to be acting captain.’

  ‘I’m not sure…’

  ‘It’s not negotiable, Slonský. It was you, Doležal or Dvorník, and I refuse to leave my department in the hands of Dvorník.’

  ‘He’d be good on the firearms training, sir. We’d all get plenty of time on the range.’

  ‘Precisely why he isn’t ready … yet. And Doležal is not really a team player.’

  You can say that again, thought Slonský. Doležal would have shut the office door and not come out for weeks on end.

  ‘That leaves you. And to tell you the truth, Josef, you’re ready for this. I worry that you’ll miss your chance. It’s high time you put in for a captain’s job. This will be good experience for you. Handy on your CV.’

  Slonský did not want to aggravate a sick man by arguing. He just crossed his fingers out of sight to show that he did not agree.

  ‘Don’t worry, sir. Everything will be fine when you come back.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it. I’ll feel much happier knowing you’re filling my shoes for now.’

  ‘You’re very kind, sir.’

  ‘Now, get your notebook ready. The expenses forms have to be signed off after you’ve checked all the receipts are attached, then they go up to the third floor…’

  Slonský was sitting at his new desk. He would much rather have been at his old desk, b
ut the telephone lines could not be moved for at least two weeks, and then only if the Director signed some form TP one hundred and something. The Director had issued a memorandum to everyone explaining the temporary arrangement and adding that since Acting Captain Slonský was still an active detective, he would not be wearing uniform. Everyone was asked to do all they could to make his posting successful.

  Anna in the canteen had been surprised to see him and immediately curtseyed.

  ‘Cut it out,’ he barked. ‘Coffee and the stodgiest pastry you’ve got.’

  Anna busied herself pouring his coffee. ‘You know you can ring down and we’ll bring this up to you,’ she said.

  ‘Yes. And I don’t want that. I’ll come down like I always have.’

  ‘No, you haven’t,’ she said. ‘Sometimes you send Navrátil. Or that pretty girl with the long blonde hair.’

  ‘And I still will. Sometimes. But I’m not going to let my promotion get in the way of coming down here to see you, Anna.’

  Anna paused in mid-pour and wondered if she was blushing. ‘I’ll send someone up to get that cup you stole the other day,’ she said.

  Navrátil had finally managed to find someone at police headquarters in Sarajevo who spoke English, which allowed them to communicate to some degree. It meant that the telephone call was quite long, but since he would now be explaining that to Acting Captain Slonský rather than Captain Lukas, he felt relatively comfortable. Whatever his faults, Slonský was not a penny-pincher.

  Armed with his hard-won information, Navrátil knocked tentatively on the door to Lukas’ office and was rewarded with a simple instruction, forcefully expressed.

  ‘It’s me, sir — Navrátil,’ he replied.

  ‘Ah — come on in, lad. I hope you don’t want a day off, maternity leave, a pension booklet or anything like that.’

  ‘I’ve come to talk about crime, sir.’

  ‘That’s good. Crime is the very thing we’re meant to be doing something about. I like criminals. They don’t waste my time asking about bicycle parking chits. Well, take a seat and tell me all about it.’