by Graham Brack
Kuchař considered this briefly, but the confusion on his face demonstrated that he thought it inadvisable.
‘He may be with someone, sir.’
‘If he were, you would know about it, wouldn’t you? Or do people drop down from the roof in the window-cleaners’ cradle and enter via the window?’
‘I’ve never heard of it, sir.’
‘Never mind, Kuchař. Just poke your head in and let the Director know I have obeyed his command.’
The Director offered his hand, invited Slonský to sit, and listened to a summary of the cases.
‘The confiscated money doesn’t come to us, but I’ll make some calls. I don’t doubt that we’ll find a way of doing it for the young woman. Now, Slonský, the reason I wanted to speak to you has nothing to do with this case, welcome though your report is.’
‘I feared as much, sir.’
‘Captain Lukas is returning part-time next week, and will — if all goes well — return to us full-time in the New Year. However, it is still his intention to retire next year. That may change, because he need not make a final decision until three months before he leaves. Either way, it’s time you put in for your permanent captaincy.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Yes? You mean yes without an argument?’
‘Yes, sir. If I’ve learned anything in the last few weeks it’s that I don’t want to have to answer to Dvorník or Doležal.’
‘Who would? Doležal is an excellent officer but it’s probably time that he went off and excelled somewhere else.’
‘My sentiments exactly, sir.’
‘Good. So all I need from you is the completed form, which by a happy coincidence I happen to have here.’
He passed it to Slonský, who was struck by an unusual feature of the form.
‘This form I have to complete is completed, sir.’
‘Yes. I thought it would save you time. More importantly, if it never leaves this office it won’t get mislaid, will it? Just be a good chap and sign your name at the bottom.’
Grigar was tense. Even a poor student of body language could see that he was deeply uneasy, but Slonský had asked for the meeting and Grigar could hardly refuse given that he had asked to be kept informed of progress.
‘You know Officers Navrátil and Peiperová, I think?’ said Slonský.
Grigar nodded a curt greeting to each.
‘Do you think we could ask Lieutenant Erben to take some notes for us?’ Slonský asked.
‘Is that necessary? If notes are needed, let your people take them.’
‘If that’s how you want it, all well and good. The first thing to tell you is that we have Mr Brown in custody for the murder of Officer Hrdlička.’
‘That’s good. Has he confessed?’
‘No, but I’m working on it. He’s been trained to withstand interrogation but I enjoy a challenge. In any event, we’ve got his boots.’
‘His boots?’
‘Novák identified some features of his boots that left distinctive footmarks in the snow. Something to do with American toes being bigger than ours, and a split in the sole tread that he can match, I think. Anyway, he was fairly convinced that it was an American make of boot, size 43, which didn’t necessarily mean an American suspect, of course, but now that we have retrieved the boots, we can probably get a conviction based on the forensic evidence. We’ve got a knife that matches the murder weapon too.’
‘You’re the murder expert. If you think it would stick, I’m happy with that.’
‘Whereas you’re the expert on organised crime. When you get my report, you’ll see there’s a couple of interesting points on the running of this department. Hrdlička plainly didn’t trust someone here.’
‘That’s obvious. He stopped sending in full reports and wouldn’t tell me why.’
‘No, because he didn’t know who was leaking information to the very people you were trying to catch. And, so far as we know, he died without ever finding out. I, on the other hand, know who the naughty policeman is.’
Grigar’s uneasiness level rose to critical. He leaned forward and looked Slonský directly in the eye. ‘Tell me.’
‘All in good time. Somebody intercepted the messages from Opava and saw that no action was taken, while also ensuring that Opava didn’t take any because it was all in hand here. There are a limited number of people who could achieve that. And then there’s the intercepted radio message telling one of your men to follow Navrátil.’
‘When was that?’ stammered Grigar.
‘On the day that the holdall was lobbed on an unmarked police car and Navrátil was unjustly arrested as a peeping tom; which we don’t talk about, by the way, because it was a completely unfounded but highly convenient allegation.’
‘Why would anyone follow Navrátil?’
‘To find out what he knows, I suppose, although he’s such a helpful and transparent soul that he’d probably tell you if you just asked. But the other reason is that the officer was told you wanted him to do it.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, and I know you didn’t. But only one person could give the impression that you did.’
‘Lieutenant Erben.’
‘Got it in one. He panicked that Navrátil would discover his involvement somehow, so he had him followed and told the officer in question that you had ordered it. And Erben intercepted the faxes about the vandalism at Opava. Shall we invite him to come in?’
Grigar strode to the door and flung it open, but Erben was not to be found.
‘He’s gone.’
‘I thought he might. After all, he has ears, and we didn’t keep our voices down. But then you don’t need to speak very loud when someone has their ear pressed against the door. I could see his feet blocking the light from the corridor under your door.’
Grigar grabbed his coat. ‘He can’t have got far. Come on!’
They all followed him down the stairs and towards the front door.
‘If you’re looking for Lieutenant Erben,’ said Mucha, ‘he’s sitting in cell six. He unaccountably fell as he crossed the foyer. About five times, I think. Sergeant Salzer attempted to pick him up but he fell out of Salzer’s hands a couple of times. That accounts for the shiner and the bruise on his cheek.’
‘You knew?’ said Grigar.
‘I didn’t have perfect proof,’ said Slonský, ‘but giving him a chance to run seemed to me to be one way of sealing the deal. I couldn’t immediately see why they’d decided to bribe Erben, so I sent for his service record. His mother’s maiden name was Nejedlá. Nejedlý is his uncle. That’s why the Bosnians kept on an incompetent like Nejedlý as the middle man. He had the link to the police, and if they had upset him, he could have shopped them all. He’d have ended up nailed to a wall, of course, but he could have done it. And the prospect of retribution means that if he had any sense he’d shop them without giving them any warning that he was going to do it. It was interesting that when he was arrested Nejedlý said nothing about any family connection with the police, but Erben turned up at the desk wanting to see him. Fortunately the duty officers refused, because Sergeant Mucha had made it very clear that Nejedlý was not at home to visitors.’
Grigar removed his hat and rapped his knuckles on the counter top as he collected himself.
‘I think we’d better go and speak to soon-to-be ex-lieutenant Erben. You might want to come too, Slonský, in case he slips out of my grasp and repeatedly bangs his face on the floor.’
‘You think that’s likely?’
‘I think it’s a racing certainty.’
Erben did not enjoy the next half-hour. If there is one thing an honest policeman truly detests it is a dishonest one, especially one who provides information that gets a colleague killed. Slonský formally charged him with being an accessory to murder and he did indeed fall over several times while being questioned by Grigar. Anyone wishing to increase their vocabulary of colloquial Czech could have learned quite a bit by listening to the interview.
>
Peiperová buttoned her coat and sat on the corner of Slonský’s desk. ‘Ready to go home?’
‘Should we wait for Lieutenant Slonský to tell us to go, do you think?’
‘He may be a while. I was going to suggest a hot wine somewhere but this office is more private.’
‘Not here, Kristýna. He may walk in at any moment.’
‘I meant for a chat. We need to talk.’
Navrátil hated that expression. It usually meant that trouble was on its way, especially when women used it. Was she about to break off their relationship?
‘The thing is, I’ve been offered a job.’
‘A job? Don’t you like the police?’
‘It’s with the police, Jan. The Director of Criminal Police wants a personal assistant and he’s asked for me. We need to talk about whether I take it. I like working here, but it would look really good on my CV and it’s only for a year.’
‘I see,’ murmured Navrátil. ‘Have you made your mind up?’
‘Of course I haven’t, otherwise I wouldn’t be asking you what you think.’
‘I don’t know what I think. At least it’s still in the same building.’
‘And it’s regular hours. Mum and Dad would be pleased to know I’m not going to get killed or kidnapped again.’
‘So would I,’ Navrátil agreed, ‘but on the other hand we’re a good team. And if Lukas doesn’t come back Slonský might get promoted and then we’ll get assigned to someone else, which probably means we’d be separated anyway.’
‘Is that an argument for or against?’
‘It’s not one or the other, just a statement of fact. I don’t know what I think, but based on Lieutenant Slonský’s theory that beer helps the brain, let’s go to the bar down the road and talk about it there.’
Slonský sat at his desk with the lights off and watched the snow gently falling. It had been an eventful year, with a new assistant, a second new assistant and an acting captaincy. And if Lukas was retiring then 2007 was set fair to be eventful too. It crossed Slonský’s mind that he had not dealt terribly well with the Věra issue, because she was still coming round to feed him, do some sewing for him and generally ignoring the fact that they had been separated for nearly forty years. He was determined to avoid complications, but somehow his resolution was lacking when it came to ending the whole sorry mess. Besides which, she still had some of his curtains.
He collected his hat and scarf and wearily trudged downstairs. Discovering a corrupt policeman always depressed him like this, but never to the point of considering retirement. It was hard to think of any circumstances that would promote so drastic a move.
He nudged the door open and found himself in the foyer. Sergeant Mucha glanced up and nodded cheerily. Good old Mucha! Slonský had an unaccountable feeling that all was well with the world so long as Mucha was at the front desk.
‘You’re not thinking of retiring, are you?’ he asked.
‘All the time,’ said Mucha. ‘Then I remember that my wife’s sister is staying with us and somehow the feeling wears off.’
‘The world is changing, old friend. It’s the end of an era.’
‘What is?’
‘Lukas is retiring in the summer, but it’s highly confidential so keep it to yourself.’
‘Confidential like don’t tell me about it, or just ordinary confidential?’
‘Confidential like you didn’t hear it from me.’
‘Are you going for his job?’
Slonský looked miserable.
‘It’s me, Dvorník or Doležal.’
‘The answer is yes, then. You’d be a fool not to. We don’t want a department run by a homicidal gun fiend or a teetotal stamp collector.’
‘You’ve heard that rumour too?’
‘Heard it? I started it.’
Slonský managed a smile. ‘Beer when you finish?’
‘Why not? Just the one though, because I’ll get into trouble if I’m late home to eat.’
‘I’m not really hungry,’ said Slonský. ‘I may just be able to force down a sausage.’
‘It’s what you live for,’ said Mucha. ‘Solving crime and the odd sausage.’
‘Is there anything else in life?’ asked Slonský, and walked out into the snow.
A NOTE TO THE READER
Dear Reader,
Thank you! You have generously given your time to read about Josef Slonský and his colleagues. How much time depends, of course, upon your reading speed, but whatever it was I hope you feel it was time well spent.
The first story is set in 2006 because it was then that my wife and I first went to Prague. I had an idea in my head, but it was only when we went to an ice-hockey game that we walked the route that Bear walks on the first page, and the action became set in Prague. I sat down to write one Saturday morning, and on the cinema screen in my brain where I see the scenes a battered old car pulled up and Slonský climbed out. All I had to do was describe him.
Slonský lived the first half of his life under Communism and he recalls what he was told to do then. He knows his hands are dirty, and he assumes that is true for all people of his age. That explains the difficulty he has in showing respect. He is coming towards the end of his career and dreads retirement, so his boss has a small hold over him. If he wants to stay on – and he does – he has to accept a trainee. Navrátil, young, intelligent, moral, earnest and devout, equally sprang fully-formed onto the page.
Other characters then began showing up and doing whatever they thought fit, and I had to try to keep up with them. They have their quirks, whether it’s Klinger’s obsession with order or Mucha’s avoidance of his sister-in-law’s visits by judicious arrangement of the duty roster that he has never admitted to his wife he prepares. Plainly these are fictional people and they do not represent or reflect on the police in Prague. Maybe that’s a shame, because if I were murdered in Prague I’d be comforted to know Slonský was on the case.
He is slovenly, cynical, humorous and cunning. He likes beer, sausages and pastries. He is good company. He can tell a story. Above all, he is Czech, and proud of it, and I hope my portraits of him demonstrate my affection for Slonský and his people.
The second story came about when I read an account of a trial of a man who was alleged to have been a concentration camp guard. The witnesses were, perforce, very elderly, and it seemed to me that there was a dilemma here; they were entitled to justice for their suffering, but increasing age and the passage of time meant that the chances of a successful conviction were declining. It seemed to me that, to a greater or lesser extent, this must be true of all cold cases. There will come a point at which a conviction just is not possible.
This led to the idea of a crime committed under the old regime being investigated many years later. The previous book was set in 2006, so that established a time for this one; going back thirty years would make all the witnesses sufficiently elderly.
As for Edvard Holoubek, he came into my mind when I was watching a documentary about Erich Honecker, the former leader of East Germany. Their shared initials are either coincidental or some deep subconscious thing I cannot explain. In my mind’s eye, Holoubek had the look of a Honecker in his old age.
In reality, the dividing line between the police and the army in Communist Czechoslovakia was not as clear as I describe here. They formed a state internal security service and people could move between them. However, many of the staff saw themselves as either police or army and spoke about them in that way. I will also admit to having simplified the system of ranks of police officers.
The final story in this collection was fuelled by a juxtaposition of two news items. One concerned the Bosnian police and their difficulties in dealing with organised crime given that the gangs had some very serious weaponry, and the other was a report of an elderly couple who had failed to recover their former home because the law on this did not cover cases where they had been displaced before the Communists came to power. However, it was Polan
d that supplied one of the key elements because it was in Kraków that we saw some wonderful living statues, including one dressed as a knight. You don’t need to be Slonský to detect how I melded those together in this story.
If you have enjoyed this novel I’d be really grateful if you would leave a review on Amazon and Goodreads. I love to hear from readers, so please keep in touch through Facebook or Twitter, or leave a message on my website.
Všechno nejlepší!
Graham Brack
Published by Sapere Books.
11 Bank Chambers, Hornsey, London, N8 7NN,
United Kingdom
saperebooks.com
Copyright © Graham Brack, 2019
Graham Brack has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events, other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales are purely coincidental.