The Josef Slonský Box Set

by Graham Brack

  ‘I’ll wash, you dry.’

  Mr Peiper looked on with a measure of concern. ‘You’re not gay, are you?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ replied Navrátil. ‘Just happy to earn my keep.’

  ‘Dad,’ protested Peiperová, ‘lots of men help in the kitchen these days. You could give mum a hand now and again.’

  ‘Best not,’ said her mother. ‘I’ve only got five plates.’

  The two policemen who had driven the van to Kladno had been a little surprised to be put on the train back to Prague immediately after arrival, but Slonský needed the van to transport the girls and he did not want the men to know where he was taking them. Peiperová was detailed to follow in the car while Slonský and Navrátil delivered the women to their new place of safety.

  If they were surprised to see where they had been taken, that was almost as much of a surprise to Lieutenant-Colonel Táborský, duty officer at the Boletice Military Reservation Office.

  ‘So, Captain Slonský, these are our new guests?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I’m very grateful to you for your co-operation.’

  ‘I’m not quite sure what we’ll do to keep them amused. There’s a sauna, of course, and a games room, but it probably isn’t a good idea if they use the sauna when the squaddies are there.’

  ‘No, sir. Some unarmed combat training wouldn’t come amiss, though. Some nasty types are after them.’

  ‘I’m sure we can arrange that. I’ll get the ranking woman officer to have a word with them about security. Don’t want them popping into town for a hairdo.’

  ‘Isn’t it twelve kilometres, sir?’

  ‘Yes, but they’re young, fit women.’

  ‘They are, sir, but just look at the heels they’re wearing.’

  Slonský had decided to do a bit of driving for a change. Having learned to drive behind the controls of a Czech army tank, his approach to lane discipline was lax to say the least, but the van handled in much the same way, and it was fun to watch Peiperová trying to anticipate his moves as she followed him along the road.

  ‘So, Navrátil, let’s recap. We know that Brukić was rounding up girls in Bosnia and that Nejedlý was shipping them to Prague where Savović found them work in the clubs and bars.’

  ‘Or on the streets.’

  ‘Perhaps. No hard proof of that yet. We also know that at least one girl killed herself after she discovered she was pregnant by one of the men who molested her. That death wasn’t registered so there is a body somewhere that we could do with finding.’

  ‘Sir, shouldn’t we start with Hrdlička? We’re assuming that because these guys are trafficking women that means they were also the ones who killed Hrdlička, and that doesn’t necessarily follow. I was talking to Spehar and he explained to me how you could send electrically generated noise into Hrdlička’s earpiece so you could see who was listening in, then they could kill him, but that all sounds a bit sophisticated for a bunch of Bosnians.’

  ‘What’s sophisticated about an alarm clock?’ said Slonský.

  ‘An alarm clock? What alarm clock?’

  ‘See, these technical types have to overcomplicate things. It could have happened as Spehar said, but all you have to do is put an alarm clock by the microphone, set it to go off in ten minutes, and slip outside to see what happens. One of those old-fashioned ones with a really loud bell would do nicely. You don’t need all this electronic jiggery-pokery. A cheap Chinese alarm clock does the job nicely. You know what a shock it is when one of those goes off by your bedside in the morning. Imagine having one inside your helmet. “The bells! The bells! They made me deaf, you know.”’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Do you know nothing? Charles Laughton? Quasimodo?’

  ‘Oh — the Hunchback of Notre Dame.’

  ‘That’s it. Went deaf because the bells were so loud. I bet that happened to Hrdlička. It’s a low-powered microphone so he’d have the volume turned up full. Even talking into the microphone close up could be uncomfortable. Imagine what an alarm clock at half a metre would sound like. He’d be so deaf he wouldn’t hear anyone sneaking up on him. I’m surprised it didn’t burst his ear-drum. In fact, give Novák a ring and ask if Hrdlička’s ears were damaged.’

  Lukas must be one of the few people I know who would put on a tie when he was on sick leave, thought Slonský.

  Mrs Lukasová brought a tray of coffee and placed it on the table between them.

  ‘Shall I pour, dear?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, please,’ Lukas replied. ‘Bending forward is still a mite tender,’ he explained to Slonský.

  ‘I should think it is, sir. That’s quite a scar you were showing me.’

  Mrs Lukasová lost her poise momentarily at the thought that her husband may have been exhibiting himself in public, however small the degree, but recovered and went off to make some other part of her house perfect.

  ‘She’s been wonderful,’ said Lukas admiringly. ‘I don’t know how I’d have coped without her. And you, of course,’ he added hurriedly.

  ‘I’m delighted to have been of assistance, however small,’ Slonský responded.

  ‘I hear Peiperová has helped you considerably,’ Lukas continued, with just a hint of an upward inflection in the remark as if a response were required.

  Slonský took a draught of coffee while he debated which of the possible responses he ought to give. ‘She is a bright girl, sir. She has introduced a number of efficiencies — though, of course, I’m sure you would have done so too.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ responded Lukas. ‘It’s all I can do to keep the top of the desk clear. How have you managed to cope with the workload and do your day job as well?’

  A sudden rush of honesty overcame Slonský. ‘I don’t do anything the first time they ask. A lot of them don’t ask again, so it can’t have been important. I’ve delegated much of the work to Peiperová, and the others don’t waste her time like they do yours because they know she can’t bend the rules like a real captain can, so she isn’t troubled with whingers and malingerers all day long.’

  ‘That’s not a very flattering description of your colleagues.’

  ‘It’s a very accurate one of Doležal who, no doubt, has had a grumble to you every visiting time.’

  It was Lukas’ turn to buy some time with a mouthful of coffee. ‘He may have mentioned one or two things.’

  ‘I bet he has. It would boost the morale of the department no end if you would let me post him to the Railway Police.’

  ‘He’s an experienced and diligent officer.’

  ‘And a miserable git.’

  ‘The two are not incompatible. And if all the miserable officers in the force were removed, we’d be very short of desk sergeants.’

  That’s true, thought Slonský. Even Mucha has his off-days.

  Mrs Lukasová appeared again, bearing a small saucer in which a collection of tablets rolled around.

  ‘You mustn’t forget these,’ she said, watching over her husband as he swallowed them obediently. Her duty done, she glided off to the kitchen once more, tracked by her husband’s admiring eyes.

  ‘A good wife is a great support to a man at times like these,’ Lukas said. ‘I’m sorry, that was tactless of me.’

  ‘No problem, sir. If I were married to your wife I’d feel the same way,’ Slonský replied gallantly.

  Navrátil and Peiperová had gone out looking for Suzana or Daniela. After half an hour or so they saw Daniela looking in the window of a shoe-shop. Peiperová marched boldly up to her and planted a kiss on her cheek in greeting. The dancer stepped back in shock and nervously looked round. ‘Someone may see you,’ she whispered.

  ‘We’re just two girls meeting by chance,’ Peiperová replied. ‘This is my boyfriend, Jan.’

  Navrátil shook hands formally. ‘You must be Daniela. Kristýna told me about you.’

  There was a further glance betraying alarm.

  ‘He works with me,’ Peiperová explains. ‘Have you got time for a coffee?�
��

  Daniela nodded hesitantly.

  They found a café and took seats inside.

  ‘We’re pleased to see you’re safe,’ said Peiperová. ‘We took a lot of girls to a place of safety this morning and I could take you there too if you wanted.’

  Daniela bit her lip. ‘Where is this place?’

  ‘It’s best if you don’t know, then your friends will stay safe.’

  Daniela understood. ‘I heard something last night. Bosnian men came to our club late at night to tell the bad man you showed me picture of that they had lost lots of girls. I thought perhaps they ran away. I didn’t know they were with you.’

  ‘Best if you don’t say anything. They know the police have them, but they’re hidden. They tried to get them back last night.’

  ‘I hear the man tell them to do this. He says they have to find girls or he will make the men into women.’

  ‘What a charming man,’ commented Navrátil.

  ‘Charming?’

  ‘He means not a nice man,’ Peiperová explained, scowling at Navrátil, who resolved to eat his cake and keep quiet. ‘If you want to go to the safe place, you need to pack your things and meet us.’

  ‘Where? When?’

  ‘How long will it take? An hour?’

  ‘I can be ready quickly. I don’t have many things to take. I find a bag.’

  ‘Across from the Purple Apple club there is a little road. We’ll wait at the end there with our car.’

  ‘Not police car?’

  ‘No, not a police car. It’s blue and Jan will be driving. When you get there I’ll be in the back and I’ll open the door for you.’

  Daniela became animated and left her coffee as she dashed off to prepare. Navrátil strolled to the door to watch over her as she ran to pack.

  ‘I wish I’d been able to get ahead of her. There was just a chance someone would be waiting for her,’ he said.

  ‘But there wasn’t,’ said Peiperová. ‘You worry too much. How long shall we give her?’

  ‘We don’t want to arrive too early and have to sit there in plain view. Let’s stay here twenty minutes and then drive round. Just time to eat your cake. I don’t want you reduced to skin and bones.’

  Even Slonský needed clean clothes sometimes. He decided this was a good time to collect his washing and leave it at the laundry where one of a selection of globular women was accustomed to wash and iron it for him. It was an extravagance in some ways, but it reduced the number of clothes he ruined when he did his own laundry, besides saving him a task he loathed. He dragged himself up the stairs to his flat — described by the letting agent as ‘bijou’ and by everyone else as ‘cramped’ — and paused on the half-landing to gather his breath before resuming his assault on the summit. He was more than a little surprised to see that someone had preceded him.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.

  ‘You said you would call, but you haven’t,’ his wife replied. ‘I thought you might have lost the number.’

  ‘I didn’t give you the address. I don’t give anyone my address.’

  Věra had sufficient grace to appear slightly sheepish. ‘Ah. I didn’t deliberately deceive them.’

  ‘Deceive whom?’

  ‘The young officers at the desk. They asked me to produce some identification and they jumped to the conclusion that I must be your sister.’

  ‘Sister? Why sister?’

  ‘Because my name is Slonská and you’ve told everyone you haven’t got a wife.’

  ‘And they gave you my address.’

  ‘No, they didn’t know it. But they rang someone in personnel who dug it out. Please don’t be cross with them, Josef.’

  ‘Cross? Cross? I won’t be cross. I’ll be furious.’

  ‘Is it such a big deal?’

  ‘You could have been a terrorist. Or a gangster’s moll out for revenge.’

  Věra indicated her outfit, beginning with sensible shoes and topped with a plain headscarf. ‘Do I look like a gangster’s moll?’

  ‘You could be in disguise.’

  ‘It’s a poor gangster who couldn’t get someone better-looking than me, Josef. Are we going to stand out on the landing all afternoon?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re going to do. I’m going to go into my flat and bundle up my laundry.’

  ‘I could do that.’

  ‘No, thank you. I’ve done it myself since you ran off with your poet, and I don’t plan to stop now.’

  Věra’s eyes glistened with tears. ‘I’m trying to be civilised. I don’t want anything from you, and I’ve conceded that I behaved badly and you’ve every right to be annoyed. Maybe you don’t want to speak to me again, but I wanted to hear that from your own lips. I wouldn’t forgive myself if you’d lost the number and I didn’t make one more attempt to get in touch.’

  Slonský sighed. ‘Come in. I don’t want the neighbours to hear any more than they already have.’

  He opened the door and ushered Věra inside. She managed to stifle a gasp as she surveyed his living quarters. Under the window there was a single bed, at the foot of which stood a plywood wardrobe. A small table and two chairs formed the dining area. The room seemed to consist of a clutch of alcoves with no doors, except for one which led to a shower and toilet. A television and armchair occupied the corner to her right, whilst directly in front of her was a tiny kitchen area. The general impression was of being inside a 1970’s time capsule.

  ‘Good heavens,’ she remarked. ‘The people you put away live in better conditions than this.’

  ‘Have you come to offer lifestyle advice or have a chat?’ Slonský growled.

  ‘I’m sorry. I just never thought…’ Her voice tailed off. She reached into her sleeve and dabbed her nose with a small handkerchief. It was a gesture Slonský suddenly recalled having seen many times before. When she faced him her eyes were laden with tears. ‘I feel so guilty,’ she said, before dissolving into sobs.

  She had not asked for it, and it felt awkward and a little silly, but Slonský found himself putting his hands loosely on her shoulders and patting her clumsily.

  Navrátil checked his watch.

  ‘She’ll come, I know she will,’ said Peiperová. ‘It’s only been ten minutes.’

  ‘I’m not doubting she’ll be here. I’m just wondering how long we can stay here in sight of the club.’

  ‘It had to be somewhere she would go anyway. If she was followed, they’d think she was going to work until the very last minute.’

  Navrátil nodded. If only he’d thought to ask which direction she would be coming from.

  Suddenly there was a thud on the car windscreen. Navrátil jumped in surprise, seeing a blue holdall lying there. ‘Get out!’ he yelled. ‘It may be a bomb.’

  Peiperová tugged at the door handle, but it would not open. Like many police cars, the back doors could not be opened from the inside. Navrátil had crouched on the pavement but now returned to open the door and pull Peiperová out. Cautiously they approached the bag. The zip was slightly open, so Navrátil gently eased it a little further. He could see that it was full of clothes. The uppermost garment was a bloodstained blouse, and on top of that lay Daniela’s passport.

  Slonský felt disgusted with himself. It was a moment of weakness brought on by Lukas’ fulsome tribute to his wife. He had managed for thirty years without a woman and he did not need one now, but somehow he had found himself pushed into the armchair while Věra removed her coat and boiled several kettles of hot water in succession.

  ‘I like it like this,’ he claimed. ‘I know where everything is.’

  ‘And it’ll still be there, but it’ll be clean. Put your feet up and let me get on,’ came the reply.

  A few swipes of her arm across the window led him to realise that Prague was not always foggy, as he had supposed, and before he knew what was happening the room was filled with light as she unhooked the curtains and bore them to the kitchen.

  ‘I’ll wash these,’
she announced, ‘but I think you’ll need new. There are museums who would welcome them.’

  ‘They’re only there to stop nosy people looking in. Now I’ll be plagued by peeping toms.’

  ‘You’re two floors up and, frankly, who would bother?’

  ‘You’ve got a sharp tongue, woman.’

  ‘I’ve needed one. It hasn’t been easy for me either.’

  ‘You chose…’ Slonský began, before being interrupted by the ringing of his mobile phone. He listened intently. ‘Calm down, girl! Where are you? Why are you there?’ His eyes flashed with anger. ‘You must have been careless. How did they discover what she was up to?’ The answer cannot have satisfied him, because he slapped his hand hard on the table. ‘Then how the hell did they know where your car would be? They must either have overheard you, or they got it out of the girl. You’re damn lucky they didn’t riddle you both with bullets. Now, get away from the car and I’ll send help. When you hear it, come out of your hiding place, but not before.’ He disconnected and grabbed his coat. ‘I’ve got to go out.’

  ‘I’m in the middle of this. I’ll let myself out when it’s done. Has something happened?’

  ‘Navrátil and Peiperová went to pick up a couple of witnesses. It looks like one of them has been beaten up — or worse. Bloody idiots!’

  ‘Then don’t stand there fuming,’ said his wife. ‘Go and help them.’

  Slonský stepped from the car and slammed the door. Flashing lights surrounded him as he looked around for his assistants, who separated themselves from a knot of uniformed officers to speak to him.

  ‘I take full responsibility…’ began Navratil.

  ‘Shut up. I’ll decide who takes responsibility, not you.’

  In other circumstances Peiperová would have been concerned about Slonský’s blood pressure. His face had passed from tomato to beetroot again and she had the strong impression that anything she said was going to make things worse, so she resolved not to say anything.

  ‘Cat got your tongue, miss? Aren’t you going to defend your useless lump of a boyfriend?’

  ‘Yes, sir. It was my plan.’