by Graham Brack
‘The question for me,’ Navrátil explained, ‘is whether we can find the microphone that this is tuned to. It’s presumably concealed somewhere and we need to know where.’
Hynek laughed. ‘Is that all?’
‘Yes. Can it be done?’
‘Child’s play.’
Hynek went to a steel cupboard and yanked the doors open. It looked like a teenager’s wardrobe inside. One shelf was far from being level and there was a guitar inside, together with an assortment of cardboard boxes, an ice-hockey stick, a basketball and a large number of cables with assorted coloured terminals on them. Hynek rummaged inside, dropped the basketball on the floor and finally found what he was looking for. He had a black plastic box with a rotating switch on the face. He clicked a rocker switch on the side. ‘Needs new batteries.’
A further excavation produced a small box of batteries from which he extracted two and inserted them in the gadget. This time when he flicked the switch the display panel lit up and a needle twitched across it.
‘We’re ready to rock and roll,’ he declared in English.
Spehar gave Navrátil a look that demonstrated confidence in Hynek’s abilities, if not in his use of language.
‘Now,’ Hynek continued, ‘put the earpiece in your ear. When you hear the tone, give me a thumbs up sign.’
He rotated the dial. Navrátil listened intently. At first he could hear only white noise or silence, but after a few moments the crackling gave way to a low hum and finally to a clear tone. He raised his thumb, and Hynek wrote down a number.
‘Same again, just to check. We’ll start from the other end of the spectrum.’
Again Navrátil lifted a thumb when he heard the tone.
‘Bang on,’ said Hynek. ‘We’ve got the wavelength. It’s going to be low power, so you’ll have to go to the murder scene and triangulate from there.’
‘Couldn’t you come?’ Navrátil asked innocently. Hynek reacted as if this were the maddest suggestion he had ever heard.
‘Me? Out there?’
Spehar intervened. ‘Hynek is too valuable here. I could come if you wanted.’
‘Yes, please,’ said Navrátil.
Mollified, Hynek searched the cupboard for another instrument. This one was almost circular and consisted mainly of a dial with a needle at the centre.
‘It looks like a compass,’ said Navrátil brightly.
‘It doesn’t look like a compass, it is a compass,’ Hynek told him. ‘We use it to determine directions.’
Despite a brief period of reflection, Navrátil could think of no alternative use, so he nodded, which allowed Hynek to move on to the next item of inventory.
‘Directional scanner.’
He handed this one to Spehar, as if it was far too valuable to give to anyone with Navrátil’s limited technical skills.
‘I’ve programmed it to the wavelength,’ he explained.
Spehar plucked an earpiece from one of the cardboard boxes and tucked it in his pocket.
‘We don’t want to be seen using this,’ he said, ‘especially in view of what happened to Hrdlička.’
A thought occurred to Navrátil. ‘If Hrdlička didn’t get his listening kit from you, where did it come from?’
Spehar and Hynek looked at each other and shrugged.
‘Not from us,’ said Spehar. ‘Can’t think where else he’d get it.’
Slonský rested his elbows on the desk and dropped his chin onto his cupped hands. ‘Which one?’ he asked.
Peiperová pointed to the face at the end of the top line.
‘That’s Brukić,’ said Slonský. ‘Navrátil knows something about him. He’s an associate of Savović.’
‘What does associate mean exactly?’
‘Well, someone who associates with someone else, Peiperová. It’s not difficult. And we’d heard he might be in Prague. So this is the man who brought the girls in. Have you got a date?’
‘Fifteen weeks and two days ago, sir.’
‘That isn’t a date, my girl, that’s a calculation. What actual date?’
They walked to the calendar on Lukas’ wall and counted back fifteen weeks and two days.
‘Get Navrátil to check with his mate in the Bosnian police about that date. They ought to know we’ve got an eye-witness who can place Brukić on that bus with her. Will she give a statement?’
‘I don’t know, sir. She’s very scared. She says Brukić can be frightening.’
‘So can I, Officer Peiperová, and don’t forget it.’
‘No, sir,’ Peiperová promised, though she did not believe him. ‘But if she is right, then Brukić and the mysterious Czech man drove a girl to kill herself.’
‘Yes,’ mused Slonský. ‘But illegal burial of a corpse isn’t going to put them away for long, if at all. Sex trafficking is a better bet for getting them behind bars. Can you find her again?’
‘They don’t let her have a phone, sir. I’ve given her my mobile phone number so she can call me from a callbox.’
‘Not on anything that says “Police”, I hope?’
‘Back of a card from a florist, sir.’
‘Good girl. Innocent enough if someone rifles her handbag.’ Slonský looked at his in-tray. It was depressing. ‘You’re an ambitious girl, aren’t you?’
‘Well, yes, I suppose,’ Peiperová conceded. ‘I want to see how far I can go. But I’ve got a lot to learn yet,’ she added hurriedly.
‘Of course you have. But I bet one day you’d like to be a captain, wouldn’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Go on, give it a try. Sit down, see what it feels like.’
‘I couldn’t, sir. That’s Captain Lukas’ place.’
‘He’s not here. It’s my seat now. Go on, you may not get the chance again. See if you like it.’
Peiperová felt torn. It was only a bit of fun, though, so she gave Slonský a conspiratorial grin, ran round the desk and sat down.
Slonský stood behind her and bent to speak into her ear. His tone was almost seductive. ‘Feels good, doesn’t it? I bet that feels … right, eh? You could make yourself at home there.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good!’ barked Slonský. ‘You’re Acting Acting Captain. I’ve got to get out and do some detecting. Those papers in the tray need dealing with. Check there are receipts pinned to all the forms and leave them on the left side of the desk for me to sign them off. They go upstairs to that woman with the mad-looking hair with the white streak. Anyone who wants leave can’t have it. We’re far too busy. Mark it “Refused” unless you think I should make an exception. Any requisitions that come in need an explanation, so collect the facts and I’ll give you a verbal answer. Any questions, Acting Acting Captain Peiperová?’
‘Just one, sir. Is there such a rank as Acting Acting Captain?’
‘There is now, lass,’ said Slonský, jamming his hat on his head and making for the door.
Chapter 6
Navrátil felt redundant. He perched on the low wall watching Spehar stroll up and down the road, occasionally sneaking a peek at the box in his hand.
‘Well?’ he asked after the fifth traverse.
‘You’re out of luck,’ Spehar replied. ‘I’ve tried walking on the other side in case it’s very low power, but I’m getting nothing. You’re sure Hrdlička was here?’
Navrátil stepped a few paces to his left, glanced up at the buildings opposite to check his bearings, and pointed at his feet. ‘This is where he was when he was killed.’
Spehar took one last look at the gadget he was holding. ‘Then we have to conclude that the microphone isn’t transmitting any longer.’
‘Flat battery?’
‘More likely it was found and destroyed.’
Navrátil had not expected this setback, but was determined to squeeze the maximum information from the exercise despite this turn of events. ‘Let’s work backwards. Presumably Hrdlička didn’t know that the microphone had been discovered, because he
would have known he’d been rumbled and might be in danger.’
‘If he can’t eavesdrop, there’s no reason to stay, is there?’ Spehar agreed.
‘So we deduce that it was still transmitting when he was killed. Now, can the person being listened to work out where the hearer is?’
‘No. Think of ripples in a pond when you lob a stone in. From any pair of places the pattern of ripples might tell you where the stone must be, but being where the stone is can’t tell you who is watching and where they are.’
Navrátil stood up and walked to the south a few steps. ‘But you can work out where the hearer can’t be, surely. If someone has one of those boxes you’ve got, he can wander around outside mapping where the signal can be detected. And if it’s as low powered as you think, that wouldn’t take him too far away.’
Spehar thought for a moment before answering. ‘We can’t be sure because we don’t know what the power was. But I’m guessing that one of these old things wouldn’t stretch across the river, so he’d know the listener must be on this bank. I suppose he could see who was here for a while and deduce that they must be the listener.’
‘But they couldn’t be sure. Anyway, Hrdlička had the helmet on, but he didn’t have the earpiece in his ear when he was killed.’
Spehar put his arm round Navrátil’s shoulder and led him away. ‘I don’t feel comfortable standing where someone was killed. It seems unnecessarily risky to me. Let’s get a coffee at the end of the bridge.’
They sat down with their coffees, and Spehar glanced around in case they were being overheard. ‘How cunning do you think these killers are?’ he asked.
‘We don’t know. But I thought they were just thugs and racketeers. I didn’t expect anything subtle from them.’
‘I can think of one thing they could do,’ Spehar continued, stirring his coffee as if it might aid his thoughts. ‘If they found the transmitter, they might discover the wavelength on which it was transmitting. It’s the same exercise as we did earlier, just in reverse — you put an earpiece in and scan till the transmitter can be heard. Then you line up a second transmitter set to the same wavelength, and you send a blast of noise over it. Perhaps an unpleasant squeal, or just a big bang. And you watch to see who jumps when they hear it.’
‘That would work,’ Navrátil agreed. ‘And the natural thing to do would do to yank the earpiece out of your ear before it deafened you.’
‘And the man who pulls the earpiece out is the one you kill. You’d need a few watchers in various places, but if you guess that the man who is listening is also watching, there are only so many places he can be.’
‘And since we know what he was watching, we know where people could be watching him from. It doesn’t help us much, though, does it? I’d hoped we’d find out where he put the microphone, and we’re no further forward.’
Valentin stared morosely into his beer. Somehow this grumpy persona seemed appropriate to his new role as the recently dismissed host of a late night radio phone-in programme.
During an earlier investigation, it had suited Slonský to feed a tame journalist some juicy snippets that would provoke a reaction, and Valentin, as an old friend in need of a scoop, had come to mind. This breathtaking story had elevated Valentin from hack to investigative journalist, as a result of which he had been offered some radio work. Admittedly it was at a time of day that ensured that those phoning in were either cranks or insomniacs, but after a few months even those had given up on him and the listening figures dropped so sharply that the show was cancelled. This had been a considerable blow to Valentin’s ego, which he had attempted to salve in the way he had always dealt with life’s sideswipes, by the application of alcohol. Unfortunately the loss of his radio programme carried with it a reduction in disposable income, which was why he was delighted to see Slonský, who could usually be relied upon to stand a drink or two.
‘You look like somebody peed in your pocket,’ said Slonský.
‘It feels that way,’ Valentin replied.
A waiter was hovering, having correctly divined that this could be a lucrative night for him if he cultivated this pair. Slonský dropped his hat on the bench beside him, unbuttoned his coat and let loose a long, slow sigh.
‘What will you have, sir?’
‘A coronary most likely,’ Slonský answered. ‘But until that happens, let’s have a couple of large glasses of our finest national export.’
The waiter listed the options, none of which appealed greatly. He even offered them one of those new beers flavoured with fruit juice, which made Valentin flinch. Suspecting that violence was imminent, Slonský gripped Valentin’s arm and told the waiter two of the first one he mentioned would be fine.
‘Fine?’ hissed Valentin. ‘How can you drink that stuff?’
‘I’m paying.’
‘Then it would be churlish of me to refuse your hospitality. But I worry for your palate.’
‘You’re becoming a grumpy old sod.’
‘Becoming? It’s my proudest boast. I complain a lot because there is a lot to complain about. Anyway, what was all that about a coronary?’
‘Lukas is in hospital.’
‘Lukas? What happened?’
‘Something inside him was on the verge of going pop so they’ve whipped it out. He’s putting a brave face on it but the Director says he may never return to work.’
‘Will anyone notice?’
‘I’ll notice, thank you,’ Slonský commented indignantly. ‘I’m Acting Captain until it all becomes clear. And if he doesn’t return I’m under pressure to apply to become Captain officially. I don’t fancy sitting at a desk shuffling paper all day.’
‘Then don’t apply. When they ask you, use that phrase I taught you.’
‘If I don’t apply, they’ll give it to Dvorník or Doležal.’
‘Dvorník? He hasn’t got time to fit it in between causing pregnancies. Which one is Doležal?’
‘Long streak of misery. Thinning hair and a hangdog look.’
‘Got him. Surely he isn’t the vibrant face of a modern constabulary?’
‘Doležal? His only function is to make everyone else look good. And he does that incredibly well.’
‘I assume this means you’re going to have to take the job or you’ll finish up working for a halfwit and turn into a bitter, twisted old man.’
‘It doesn’t seem to have done you any harm.’
‘I am one of a kind. It wouldn’t suit you. So how have you escaped? Shouldn’t you be filling in timesheets or something?’
‘I’ve left Peiperová in charge. She’s a good lass. Nothing will get past her.’
‘Maybe, but she’s only just left school. She doesn’t have your experience.’
‘Few have. That’s the problem. I’m getting old, Valentin. I’m decaying.’
‘Alcohol is a preservative,’ the journalist mused. ‘I learned that in biology all those years ago.’
‘Is that a hint?’
‘Well, this one seems to have evaporated while we were talking. Shall we have another?’
‘Silly question.’
Peiperová adjusted her position so her head nestled on Navrátil’s chest.
‘You’re what?’ said Navrátil.
A woman in the row in front turned to glare at them. Navrátil raised a hand in apology and acknowledgement.
‘You’re what?’ he whispered.
‘Acting Acting Captain.’
‘Is there such a rank?’
‘There must be. Apparently I am one.’
‘Well, of course I’m very pleased for you, but it’s a bit of a shock. I hesitate to raise the matter of seniority, but I’m an Academy graduate.’
‘Yes, but I’ve been an officer longer. I joined a few months before you.’
‘Is there any extra money?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Just extra work.’
‘Different work. By the way, I signed off your expenses.’
‘Th
at’s very good of you. I’m entitled.’
Peiperová sat up and regarded Navrátil keenly. ‘Are you put out?’
‘Me? What gives you that idea?’
‘The way you’re biting my head off.’
‘Ssh! I’m trying to watch a film here,’ complained the old woman in front.
‘Sorry,’ said Peiperová. ‘My boyfriend is being a spoilt brat.’
‘Aren’t they all, dear? You’ll learn.’
Valentin had ceased to be good company. More accurately, Valentin had ceased to be conscious, and was snoring while propped against the wall in the corner. There was no point in trying to get him a taxi, because no driver would accept him as a passenger. On the other hand, Slonský could hardly frogmarch him all the way home, even if he had been disposed to let him sleep on his floor. He could not think of anywhere else to take him. Finally, inspiration struck, and he made a phone call.
The squad car was commendably quick, and Valentin was taken away for a night in the cells. He would be highly upset when he woke up, but Slonský had told them not to charge him so he would be free to go when sober.
The car pulled away, and Slonský stood on the pavement looking at the navy blue sky with its twinkling silver stars, so readily visible in the clearness of a sharp November night. Lukas was sick, Valentin was miserable, he was miserable, the simple cog-driven world he inhabited was coming apart. His life was going to change, whether Lukas recovered or not. This captaincy question was not going to go away. Well, if there’s going to be change I’d better be in the driving seat for it, he thought. I must take control of my own destiny. He glanced at his watch. Too late to telephone tonight, but there was a call he must make in the morning. First thing. No, maybe not first thing. But sometime. Definitely sometime.
Chapter 7
The door to Lukas’ office was open. Peiperová was sitting at the desk, her head bowed as she tapped numbers into a calculator and made pencilled ticks on the expenses forms in front of her. Navrátil hesitated for a moment, but finally gritted his teeth and entered.
‘Yes?’ she said.
‘I just wanted to say I’ve been thinking about last night, and I realise I behaved badly.’