The Josef Slonský Box Set

by Graham Brack

  ‘Anything distinctive about the shoe?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  Novák explained what he believed he could see.

  ‘267 millimetres?’ said Slonský. ‘What’s that, then?’

  ‘Size 43. But the tread is characteristic. Of course, I can’t swear to the identification of the boot without a tread cast, but if you find the man and he’s wearing the boot, we’ve got him.’

  Slonský fell silent during the journey to the red brick building, and remained immobile when they arrived.

  ‘Are we getting out, sir?’

  ‘Hm? Oh, yes, I suppose. I’m just thinking a moment.’

  ‘I assumed we’d come to arrest the two Bosnians.’

  ‘We have, but they’ll be well away from here. Anyway, let’s go through the motions. Did you bring a gun?’

  ‘No, sir. I didn’t know I needed one.’

  ‘Good. You can go behind me, then.’

  There was no sign of either Savović or Brukić in the office. But, by the same token, there was no sign that they had hurriedly emptied it of anything of interest, so Slonský and Navrátil settled down to read the files.

  ‘Should we call the armed backup off, sir?’

  ‘Why? If those two come back it would be good to have some people with guns in our corner. I shouldn’t think they’ll be too pleased when they discover that we’ve been through their papers.’

  ‘Will they know, sir?’

  ‘Certainly they will, because whether we find anything or not I’m going to take a few sheets and leave them an official evidence receipt. Let them fret about what I’ve found, even if I haven’t.’

  ‘It’s just as well they’ve only been here three months, sir. Not too much to go through.’

  ‘And they’re not the sort of people to do a lot of corresponding. Record keeping isn’t their strong point. Mucha would be appalled.’

  They continued to rummage for about twenty minutes, until Navrátil came across a single sheet of paper.

  ‘It looks like a fax, sir.’

  ‘So it does. But why fax a map to a bunch of thugs in Bosnia?’

  ‘How do you know it wasn’t here, sir?’

  ‘The date on the fax, Navrátil. It’s dated April. But there are two features of this that interest me. I’ve seen this map before. And this fax was sent from a hotel in Opava.’

  Chapter 14

  ‘The hotel doesn’t have a record of who sent it, sir.’

  ‘But they know who stayed there, presumably?’ Slonský asked Navrátil.

  ‘Yes, sir, but none of the names I mentioned are listed in the register. They’re going to fax us copies of the relevant pages just in case.’

  ‘That’s something, I suppose.’

  ‘Shall we stand the armed squad down, sir?’

  ‘I suppose so. I didn’t expect them to be at the club anyway. They’ll be lying low, but they can’t do it for long without risking their empire being dismantled. As soon as word gets round the underworld that they’re in trouble, the sharks will move in and they’ll come back to find their staff have all left and their clubs have closed down.’

  ‘What happens now, sir?’

  ‘A beer and something to eat, I think.’

  ‘I meant with the investigation.’

  ‘That is connected with the investigation. I need to think hard, and beer helps.’

  ‘Sarajevo say they’ll send a couple of officers to escort the women back to Bosnia, sir.’

  ‘Just the twelve, lad. We need to keep two of them for court appearances. What’s Peiperová doing?’

  ‘She’s gone to meet the train with Daniela’s parents on it, sir. It was due in around five o’clock, then she was going to drive them to the hospital.’

  ‘That’s a tough assignment. I’m glad she’s doing it. She’s good at that sort of stuff.’

  Well, anyone’s better at it than you, thought Navrátil, but decided to keep the thought to himself.

  Slonský was very quiet as they ate. At one point he took out a tattered notebook and scribbled a couple of reminders to himself, but mainly he drank beer. Navrátil knew better than to try to match his consumption, and stopped after two small glasses. Slonský was then halfway down his fourth half-litre.

  ‘Early night needed, lad. Tomorrow is going to be a long day. But I think it’s going to be a really fruitful one.’

  ‘How were the parents?’ Slonský enquired the next morning.

  ‘Very low,’ replied Peiperová, ‘as you would expect, sir. I had a chat with them after the hospital visit and they felt a bit better knowing that at least Daniela was still alive, and the surgeon showed them some pictures of the ears he’s done in the past, so they felt a bit better by the time they got to the hotel.’

  ‘Are we footing the bill for that?’

  Peiperová coughed gently and looked a little embarrassed. ‘I think you may have approved the expense, sir.’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘In your absence, sir.’

  ‘Is there anything else I may have done in my absence, young lady?’

  ‘I don’t think so, sir.’

  ‘Nothing like signing anyone’s transfer to the remotest police station in Bohemia?’

  ‘I hope not, sir.’

  ‘Well, it’s not a big issue. Is Daniela being guarded in the hospital?’

  ‘Round the clock, sir.’

  ‘Good. Next to the bill for that a few days in a hotel will look like chickenfeed.’

  Peiperová had that tickle in her throat again. ‘I may have promised them a fortnight, sir.’

  Slonský said nothing for a few seconds, causing Peiperová to feel her palms moisten as she waited for the explosion. ‘It’s not worth their coming for less, I suppose,’ was all he said. ‘Now, I’ve got a job for you. I want you to ring the police in Opava to ask them a very simple question.’

  There was no need for a senior officer to go to Boletice to supervise the collection of twelve girls and the transporting of the other two to Prague but Slonský thought he ought to go to express his thanks to the Commanding Officer for agreeing to the plan so quickly. Since Slonský did not want to drive he decided to sit in the Bosnian minibus while Návratil and Peiperová drove in the car. The woman officer from Bosnia obviously fancied some female company, because she clung to Peiperová and finished up in the car too.

  Mucha and Slonský watched the car drive off.

  ‘Isn’t it amazing?’ said Mucha. ‘They don’t speak each other’s language but they’ve chatted non-stop.’

  ‘I pity Navrátil. He’s got hours of that ahead of him.’

  ‘I might ring him on his mobile just to give him a bit of moral support.’

  ‘That would be kind of you.’

  ‘Would it? I’d better not then. Don’t want people thinking I’ve gone soft in my old age.’

  ‘Don’t forget the little job I gave you.’

  ‘I won’t. By the time you get back I should have an answer for you, provided the details you have are accurate.’

  ‘Excellent. Well, my chariot awaits. Thank goodness it’s not insured for me to drive.’

  Just then Slonský had an enormous stroke of good fortune. A taxi pulled up outside and Captain Lukas alighted. He still looked rather delicate, but he was obviously delighted to walk through the doors of headquarters for the first time in weeks.

  ‘Do you have any plans for today, sir?’ said Slonský.

  ‘No, I just came to see old colleagues. Part of my recuperation, you know. Mustn’t overexert myself.’

  ‘That’s quite right, sir. How would you fancy a nice drive into the country?’

  Lukas spoke tolerable Russian, which Slonský had never really been able to get the hang of at school. If it had been a bit less like Czech he might have done better, but he would get the two languages mixed. After a shaky start Lukas and the Bosnian officer were engaged in sporadic conversation, so Slonský could sit back and think. At intervals Lukas would explain what
had just been said, and Slonský now understood much more about Bosnian gangs and the challenges of policing in a country which had experienced a recent war. Thank goodness most Czech criminals didn’t have rocket launchers and mobile artillery, he thought.

  Once they had left the city they were able to catch Navrátil up and the two vehicles proceeded in convoy to the camp. After elaborate security checks the party was taken to the command office where Slonský expressed his thanks to the officer of the day and together they loaded the girls onto the minibus.

  ‘These are all mine?’ Slonský asked. ‘I’d hate to think any of yours were trying to sneak out in disguise.’

  ‘If their disguise is as good as this, I wouldn’t mind,’ smiled the officer. ‘It’s been … interesting having them around. It certainly smartened the lads up. They’ve never taken such an interest in physical training. And the evenings haven’t been boring.’

  Slonský felt himself judder. ‘No hanky-panky, I hope?’

  ‘No, none of that. Just music, chatter, and a lot of table tennis.’ They shook hands, and as the officer walked away a thought occurred to him. ‘And I bet there isn’t an army unit anywhere in the country that knows more about hair extensions and pedicures.’

  Dumpy Anna was looking frazzled. Wisps of grey hair escaped from her white hat and her skin was glowing and red.

  ‘That was an experience,’ she said.

  ‘You wouldn’t think a dozen slim young things like that could eat so much,’ Slonský agreed. ‘Of course, I never had daughters, so I know next to nothing about young women.’ He surveyed the counter. ‘Is there anything left?’

  Anna wiped her hands on the towel slung from her belt.

  ‘Fancy some liver sausage? I’ve got a bit out the back. I could do you a sandwich.’

  Slonský was almost emotional. ‘You’d make a smashing wife for someone, Anna.’

  ‘I already have,’ she said. ‘Twice. The buggers both died on me.’

  Navrátil and Peiperová had headed off to the cinema for a night out. There was a new film out involving some American actors whose names were obviously expected to spark interest in Slonský, but of whom he had never heard. He settled down in his office with the notes Peiperová had left him, the faxes from the hotel in Opava, and the photocopies Mucha had made after his search through the records.

  Finally, it all made sense. He just needed a couple of additional snippets of information. The most important was where the suspects were, because he had no idea where to start looking, but there was little point in building a strong case if he had nobody standing in the dock.

  Wherever the chief suspect had disappeared to, there was one place he was sure to come back to — eventually.

  Unusually, Navrátil and Peiperová were watching the film. It included a scene in which a young woman was abducted, which started Navrátil’s mind running through the circumstances of Milena’s death. If she died at the hostel, there was nowhere to load her into a van except in the street outside. He and Slonský had been obliged to do the same when they arrested all the other girls. That meant the criminals had taken quite a chance, because they could have been spotted at any time taking a dead woman to a van. Perhaps they had been seen, but if so by whom? Presumably they did not understand what they were seeing and thought she was just ill.

  But then Navrátil reflected that there was a bigger puzzle. He had been working in Prague for nine months and living in the area for a long time, but if he had been asked to bury a body by moonlight he would be pushed to think of anywhere. There were plenty of places if you drove out of the city, although even then disturbed ground would probably be noticed.

  As they left the cinema, Navrátil was eager to test his hypothesis.

  ‘They won’t be there,’ said Peiperová. ‘The clubs are shut, remember?’

  ‘They still need guarding. And they probably opened to serve drinks even if there were few girls. Come on.’

  A Metro ride later they emerged near the Padlock club and approached the door. When the doorman saw Navrátil approaching he attempted to slip inside, but Navrátil ordered him to stand still.

  ‘No rough stuff, just a question,’ he said.

  ‘I told you all I know,’ said the doorman. ‘More than was good for me, likely as not.’

  ‘No, you didn’t,’ replied the young detective, ‘because we didn’t ask you one thing. When they buried Milena, they needed a local guide. You said you didn’t go, but there must have been a Czech there. Who was it?’

  The doorman lowered his eyes.

  ‘Come on, answer the question,’ said Peiperová, ‘or we’ll get it out of you a less friendly way.’

  ‘I don’t know his name,’ he said. ‘It was that older guy who brings the girls in.’

  Nejedlý was having an uncomfortable time in the cells. Slonský had reacted to Navrátil’s disclosure by going to the gym and borrowing an exercise bicycle. It was now installed in cell 7, to which Nejedlý had been conducted after he denied any involvement in the burial.

  ‘It’s not healthy for you being cooped up in that cell,’ said Slonský. ‘High time you had some exercise.’

  ‘I’m not one for exercise,’ Nejedlý responded. ‘Besides which, that bike doesn’t have a saddle.’

  ‘No, you’re wrong there,’ said Slonský. ‘It has a saddle, but it’s sitting on my desk. You won’t need it. We’re going to help you get on and then you’re going to sit nicely and pedal.’

  ‘That’s police brutality,’ Nejedlý complained.

  ‘How old are you?’ asked Slonský. ‘If you can think back twenty years this is soft stuff compared with what we did when I was trained. Believe me, I have a lot more tricks up my sleeve, and I’m prepared to use them one after the other until you tell me where Milena’s body is and who buried her with you.’

  ‘I didn’t play any part in the burying!’ Nejedlý pointed out. ‘I just directed them to a place. Two of the Bosnian goons did the burying.’

  ‘Descriptions would be nice. And directions to the spot where she lies, please.’

  ‘What’s in it for me?’ Nejedlý was foolish enough to ask.

  Slonský stood over Nejedlý and leaned in until their faces were almost touching.

  ‘Shall I go and get some coffees?’ offered Navrátil.

  ‘No need,’ said Slonský. ‘You can stay while I explain to Mr Nejedlý that if he is uncooperative I will personally see to it that when Savović and Brukić are captured they get to share a cell with him, and then I will explain to the Bosnian gentlemen how helpful Mr Nejedlý was in furnishing the evidence that will convict them. I may embellish it a bit so that they fully understand that it wouldn’t have happened without him.’

  ‘They’ll kill me,’ Nejedlý wailed.

  ‘I do hope so,’ said Slonský. ‘It would save us the time and trouble of a trial. And it would give us something extra to charge them with. A happy result all around, I’d say — but I can see why you might feel differently about it. Of course, they won’t have anything quick and clean to finish you off with like a knife, so it’ll probably mean strangling you with a knotted sheet or holding your head down the toilet till you drown. But I never doubt a hoodlum’s capacity for revenge. In my experience, once they’re riled they forget completely about the consequences, just so long as they can make someone pay for what they’ve done to them. It’s short-sighted of them, I know, but they don’t think about that.’

  Nejedlý shrank back in the chair and murmured something.

  ‘I didn’t hear that,’ said Slonský.

  ‘I said I can take you there. So long as it’s understood that I didn’t do the burying.’

  ‘Nothing is understood,’ Slonský responded, ‘until it’s proved. But we can go for a little drive and see what we find. Navrátil, see what time Sergeant Salzer is on duty. I think he would be particularly keen to come with us, and we’ll need an officer in the back of the car with Mr Nejedlý.’

  ‘He’s a nasty piece
of work,’ Nejedlý protested. ’He doesn’t like me.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Slonský said, ‘but if we have to wait until we find an officer who likes suspects before we drive them around, we’ll never get anywhere. I’m sure Sergeant Salzer will be completely professional in his duties. Besides, if anyone is going to give you a slap, I outrank him, so I should get the first go.’

  Navrátil conducted Nejedlý to the car by way of the toilets so that there was no risk of a puddle on the back seat, which seemed to concern Slonský considerably. Suitably handcuffed, Nejedlý found himself sitting next to Sergeant Salzer who, although not officially on duty until one o’clock, had been very willing to come in early when he heard the reason. Navrátil was driving, while Slonský sat in the front, but spent most of the journey turned round so that he could glare at Nejedlý.

  ‘Head south,’ said Nejedlý. ‘We’ve got to take the Brno road.’

  They drove in silence, punctuated only by the occasional direction from Nejedlý. Just past Újezd they turned off and drove along until they came to a wooded area.

  ‘Park here,’ Nejedlý ordered. ‘We have to walk a little way now.’

  Nejedlý led them down a track about thirty metres, and pointed to a small bank on their left. ‘We cut into the side there. The tree roots made it too hard to go downwards from the top of the slope.’

  ‘Very good. Sergeant Salzer will get the spade from the car, and then he’ll hold your jacket while you dig.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Naturally. You can’t expect us to do it.’

  ‘Why should I do it? I’m voluntarily co-operating with your enquiries. I’m not a prisoner.’

  ‘Good point. If you were a prisoner we wouldn’t be allowed to make you do it, but since you’re a volunteer we’ll say thank you for agreeing to do it. And Sergeant Salzer will be so grateful he might not hit you with the spade.’