by Lena Bourne
She enters the room and closes it right in my face. But not before I got a look at the man lying in a bed directly opposite the door, attached to many machines and monitors.
The doctor returns a couple of minutes later. “He’s in and out of consciousness. We’ll probably need to operate and we’re trying to stabilize him first. He’s awake now. I’ll give you five minutes.”
I have a couple of questions for her too, but speaking to him is more important.
The room smells of antiseptic, blood, bleach, and stainless steel, and oppressive, pervasive air of doom and gloom hangs in the air. The victim, Leskovar, isn’t the only occupant, but his bed is separated from the rest of the room by white curtains.
A thick, pristine white bandage covers his forehead, and his left shoulder and upper arm are similarly wrapped up. His breathing is wheezy and labored, and his eyelids flutter as he tries to fix them on me.
I briefly introduce myself in a loud voice, that echoes over the beeping of the machines measuring his vitals. “Do you know who did this to you, Mr. Leskovar?”
“Him,” he stutters. “He…sent…them.”
He’s having trouble forming words and keeping his eyes open. The line on the monitor measuring his heartbeat is dangerously erratic and completely out of rhythm.
“Who sent them?” I ask.
His eyes flutter a few times as his mouth moves soundlessly. Just as I’m about to repeat the question he says, “Juan. Save them. Find them. The girls. Anita…forgive me.”
He inhales sharply and loudly, then all the monitors he’s attached to start going crazy, beeping and flashing. He’s gasping for air and seizing on the bed, and before I even fully realize something bad is happening, I’m pushed aside by that extremely helpful nurse who is closely followed by several more, along with the doctor.
“He’s crashing,” the doctor says. “You, leave.”
She means me, so I back out of the room and let them work.
The beeping follows me into the hall and seems to get louder, not quieter as the door closes behind me.
About ten minutes later, all the noise stops. And another minute later, the doctor comes out.
Her hair is no longer in a neat ponytail, but standing up and away from her head as though electrified.
“We lost him,” she says. “He’s dead.”
I already knew that. “He was shot in the head and the arm, is that right?”
She looks at me with wild, red-rimmed eyes. “The bullet only grazed the side of his head, the other went right through his shoulder and didn’t hit anything major. I was sure we had time, and that an operation might not even be needed. It was his heart, you see, he had a bad case of arrhythmia. I didn’t think it was strong enough to withstand anesthesia. Plus he lost a lot of blood.”
I thank her, tell her someone will come to pick up his personal effects and leave the hospital.
Leskovar said, Anita, forgive me right before he crashed. We have our connection to her case. For better or worse.
4
Mark
The task force office, located in a modern black glass building not far from the bridge under which Anita was found, is vastly more welcoming now than it was when we started working here. The skeleton of the decor is still the same—glass, meta-legged desks and tables, black leather sofas and chairs, and dark blue accents on everything else, including the carpeting and the walls. Morbid and morgue-like, but all the members have now claimed an office and brought enough of themselves in to give the space some personality.
Mira, the office secretary, and true jack-of-all-trades, even found some very decorative paintings for the walls. Mostly fields of flowers, some still lifes, all in bright colors that do wonders to liven up the dark, monochrome space. Sure, we might be working on some very messed-up cases, but it doesn’t have to look like the bat cave. Those were her exact words right before she started putting up the paintings, I think. She’s not far off. The only windows in this main part of the office are along the narrow wall by Mira’s desk and they’re so tinted it always looks like it’s nighttime outside.
The huge, touch screen monitor that takes up almost an entire wall behind the large, glass-topped conference table in the main area of the office actually works now. It’s connected to all the computers, which in turn are connected to all the databases we have access to. The monitor is definitely my favorite part of the office. I’ve never been one for arranging photos and case materials on blackboards and tables but having everything at my fingertips up there whenever I want it is great.
None of the task force members are here yet, though I called them all on the way in. Mira popped out as soon as I entered, saying something about getting provisions if we’ll be working all day.
I make myself a cup of coffee, pouring it into one of the colorful cups depicting famous Slovenia landmarks in vivid watercolors that Eva got for us, and go to the monitor, calling up all we have on the Anita Rajić case. I look up some preliminary stuff on Leskovar too. That warms me up enough to look at the graphic photos of how Anita was found in their folder. The ones of her body are gruesome enough to make even the most hardened detectives sick, let alone me, since I never managed to get rid of a deep visceral reaction to such scenes. But I have learned to work past it.
Anita’s body was found under the northeast corner of the Dragon Bridge, which has a pretty cool sheet-copper dragon statues on each of the four pillars. The northeast corner can be seen through this office’s window, so I wander to it, to get a look. The one thing that’s immediately obvious is why this corner was chosen—it’s the only one that’s easily accessible by car. The other three access points are blocked off for cars by either ramps, bollards or plants in huge pots. Anita’s body was found by a street sweeper very early in the morning and her body must’ve been dumped sometime in the early hours of the morning, which makes sense, since the area in question is overlooked by several buildings. Given how steep the bank of the Ljubljanica River is here, I think it’s a safe bet they had meant for her body to fall in the river. But it got caught on the concrete edge of the bank.
A lot of obvious questions come to mind. Such as why was this spot picked, being almost right smack in the middle of the city? Or why didn’t they at least check that her body went into the river?
All these questions were also asked by the original investigating officers, but no answers were found. I wonder if we can find them now, eight years later. It’ll take some nimble detective work, I’m sure of that, given that our only hot lead right now is a dead mayor, former minister, and all-around VIP type guy.
By the time Mira returns with a large pink box of pastries that fill the room with their honey and sugar smell I pretty much know how I’m going to lead us into this case.
Simon comes in right behind Mira, closely followed by Dino, the Bosnian detective on the team, Slava, our forensics specialist, and Rok, the tech guy, who I assumed was already here, in his state-of-the-art office in the back. The last to arrive is Walter, our newest member. He’s an Austrian detective and he joined us two weeks ago. As always, his short blonde hair is immaculately coiffed and his eyes bright. Dino will doubtlessly poke fun at him for all that again today, as he’s been prone to doing. It doesn’t seem to faze Walter much though. He’s eager to work, but so far I haven’t been able to judge where his strengths are. He’ll get his chance to prove himself on this case though, I’m sure. It’ll be anything but straightforward.
They get their coffees and chitchat while eating the pastries, but after about five minutes of that, I call them to the table. I wasn’t expecting her, but Brina walks in just as I’m about to start the meeting.
She doesn’t even take off her jacket, just glides over to the table and takes her seat. She’s somewhere else in her mind. Probably Anita’s murder scene.
I stand up and take my position to the right of the screen so I can easily show them things if I need to.
“I’ll make this short,” I say. “We’re
taking on the Anita Rajić case. This morning’s murder of Mayor Leskovar is connected to it. And that’s also the best lead this case has seen in years.”
Brina looks at me with wide eyes and a very frozen-looking face. “He’s dead?”
I nod.
“And now you’re sure it’s connected to our case?” she asks before I can say anything else. “Did you find out something new? Because I didn’t. It was the stable worker who picked the back door lock. And not for the first time. He was apparently always forgetting his keys.”
The rest of them are just looking from me to Brina as she speaks, confusion plain on their faces.
“There’s a connection to our case,” I say. “I spoke to the male victim at the hospital. Briefly. Right before he died.”
“With him dead, we’ll have all eyes on us now,” Simon says with a sigh. “You sure it wasn’t just a husband and wife argument gone bad?”
His head is as immaculately shaved as ever, but his eyes look like he could use more sleep and some worry-free time. Like he told me on the phone, he’s handling the bureaucracy on all the cases we work on and he’s showing the wear and tear that is causing.
“I’m as sure as I can be before we find out more,” I say. “He told me a guy named Juan sent the people who killed him and his wife, asked me to find the girls, and begged forgiveness from Anita.”
Brina’s sharp inhale makes everyone turn to her.
“Our Anita?” she asks.
“That’s what we have to find out now, but I think so,” I say.
“We’ll start with a deep dive into Leskovar’s affairs,” I say, earning a loud groan from Simon.
“He’s our lead, and we’re going to follow it,” I say to forestall any kind of argument from him. “But I will say this. It’s almost guaranteed that this case is linked to an organized crime unit of some sort.”
“You don’t say, Boss,” Dino says in his characteristic sarcastic mocking tone. I’m used to it by now, we all are. Even Walter, I think, though he’s glaring at Dino right now and seems on the verge of springing to my defense. He’s been doing that to ingratiate himself with me, and I’m not a fan. For me, it’s hard enough getting used to commanding a team, since I always worked best alone and the last thing I want to worry about is team members trying to suck up to me.
“We’ll find what we find,” I say. “But we’ll get to the bottom of it, one way or another. What else did the stable worker tell you, Brina?”
“He got to the house at about six-thirty this morning, even though he was supposed to start at six,” she says. “He forgot his key, and since he didn’t want them to know he was late again, he picked the back door lock. He keeps his work clothes in there, apparently, and as soon as he entered he smelled fresh blood.”
“He knows the smell of blood?” Slava says. “That’s not likely.”
Brina shrugs. “His family runs a farm and he says he has assisted with the butchering since he was young. I’d say he knew what he was talking about. Anyway, he followed the smell, found the victims, and called an ambulance. He’s only nineteen years old and seemed very shaken up by the scene.”
“And he didn’t see anyone else at the house?” I ask.
“He noticed that Leskovar’s car was parked in front of the garage, and not in it, as it usually is, which seemed odd to him,” Brina says. “But other than that, everything seemed just like every other morning.”
“I hope Ida’s team took at least some pictures of the driveway before everything was trampled,” I say and Slava sits up in her chair.
“I should go there right away,” she says. “Ida’s efficient, but if she thinks everything originated in the house, she might not think to secure the outside.”
I nod. “Yes, do that. Are your two assistants here yet?”
After Simon was unable to get Ida onto the task force, Slava pulled some strings and brought in two of her former students. They should’ve been here last week.
“One of them is supposed to come in today,” she says. “I’ll take her with me.”
“Brina, you take them,” I say and she looks like she’ll argue so I add, “Maybe Ida’s found something new.”
“Fine,” she says and stands up. Simon looks after them as they leave the office, but looks at me sharply as soon as the door is closed.
“I didn’t want to get into this with Brina here, since she’s so invested in this case, but Leskovar was a very protected man,” he says. “And if part of that connection comes from the mafia, then we shouldn’t expect to make much headway in this case. If this wasn’t a murder/suicide, then it was a hit.”
What Simon is saying is so typical of bureaucrats who aren’t crime investigators.
“We’ll do our best,” I tell him. “It’s all we can do.”
Dino chuckles and even Walter cracks a smile. Simon nods and checks his phone, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I just basically told him to shut up.
I tell Rok to find everything he can on Leskovar, however obscure and set Dino the task of taking the first steps towards getting a general background on the mayor using the info Rok finds. Hopefully, they’ll find us a clear mafia connection by the end of the day.
“And you?” Dino asks. He’s never happy when I tell him to sit tight and do office work. But if we’re right, and this is mafia-related, then he’ll get to do plenty of groundwork on this case. His expertise is organized crime, after all.
“Walter and I are going to reconstruct the timeline that led up to this morning’s shooting,” I say and grab my coat off the back of my chair. “Starting with a visit to the mayor’s office, I think. We’ll meet back here tonight.”
Despite my zeal to dive right into this case, I nevertheless remember to call Eva and tell her what’s going on. She sounds distant, her voice toneless, but it always gets like that when she’s deep in writing, so I don’t think it means anything.
I promise to be back by eight so we can have dinner together, and she perks up at that. The pull to just drop everything and go back to her now, so we can have lunch together too, not just dinner, is still there. But it’s nowhere near as strong as it was this morning at the crime scene. There’s no point worrying about that. I know what it means and what it is. I forget other things in my life when I start a new case. And that’s probably never going to change, no matter how hard I work on finding a life/work balance.
The sun is breaking through the clouds in blindingly bright beams as Walter and I drive out of the city toward the mayor’s office in the town of Vrhnika. Almost as soon as we pass the city limits of Ljubljana the sun starts winning. There’s nothing like early spring to give you energy, but I think the nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach is from something else. It’s the simultaneous excitement of being on that precipice before I dive headlong into a new case, joined by anxiousness of how it’ll all turn out. For me and Eva. For my sanity. Even in the last couple of years while I still worked for the military it had taken me longer and longer to recover myself after working a case and this last one—the first one I wrapped up with the task force—was no different. Reconnecting with Eva in all ways imaginable helped a lot. More than the year-long retirement period I enjoyed before joining the task force did, I have to admit. While it was restful, it’s pretty clear now that rest wasn’t what I needed. I don’t want to turn into a basket case again. That’s my anxious worrying in a nutshell.
What if I’m truly not cut out for this anymore?
That’s another question, I’d rather not even try to answer.
I push all that out of my mind and ignore the caustic uneasiness it brought while I scan the preset radio stations for news of this morning’s events.
Walter hasn’t said a word since we got in the car, and I also don’t think he moved. He’s staring straight ahead, his eyes glowing in the bright sunlight. He put on way too much cologne this morning, the car reeks of it and I taste it in the back of my throat.
On all the news stations, the repor
ting is still very basic, only conveying the bare facts, but they’re all saying the police are holding a press conference at three PM. It’s noon now.
“I think that’s too early,” I say as I hear it for the third time in a row. “It means they’ve decided it’s a straightforward murder-suicide.”
Walter nods. “Do you think they’re already feeling some pressure from somewhere? Like the mafia?”
I shrug. “Could be. Anything is possible at this point.”
“If so, then the odds really are stacked against us,” he muses.
For some reason, it annoys me very much that he’s saying that. Much more than it should, given that I’m the one who brought it up in the first place.
“What kinds of cases did you work on in Vienna?” I ask. This is as good a time as any to get a better feel for the guy. I might be better when I work alone, but if I have to rely on a team, I should know where their strengths lie sooner rather than later.
“These kinds,” he says. “Full of dead ends and suspects you can’t touch.”
”That’s not how I work,” I tell him, maybe a little too sharply. “I don’t care how well-known or well-connected a suspect is. If he looks guilty, we’re going after him. No matter what. I hope that’s clear to you.”
He swallows so hard that I hear it even over the song playing on the radio. “Yes, of course. I didn’t mean to imply—“
“How old are you, Walter?” I ask as I take the highway exit at speed, I didn’t anticipate the sharp turn at the end that comes way too quickly and forces me to brake hard so we don’t spin out. Walter gasps in alarm, but by then we’re already on the bumpy country road leading into the town of Vrhnika.
“I just turned thirty-one last month,” Walter says.
“That’s too young to be so jaded,” I say in a softer, more conciliatory tone since that stunt with the exit shocked me right out of my weird annoyed mood. It’s not the kid’s fault and my speech this morning probably didn’t inspire a lot of confidence in my team.