by Lena Bourne
I called Mark right before turning in, but didn’t elaborate much on what I’ve found out, since I felt like someone was listening. I’m pretty sure that was just because of the tragic story Renata told me in that eerie, dark field. I’m sure Fata understands some Slovenian, since the older generations usually can, but I don’t think Renata does.
A car door slamming shut outside woke me now, after I’d just barely gotten to sleep. I open my eyes and look out the window that’s right by the sofa. A car is parked in the narrow, short driveway in front of the house and a man is standing next to it. A few moments later, I hear the front door of the house click closed and Renata walks up to him. She’s wearing her white cardigan and it catches all of what little light there is. It’s still very dark outside, but I think dawn must be near.
They hug and kiss, and then Renata says something right by his ear. It causes the man to pull away and glare at her as he grips her upper arms.
“You did what?” he asks. He has a booming voice, so I can hear him quite clearly, but I can’t quite hear what she says in reply. Just that she does.
“Out of the question,” the man says. “You shouldn’t have said anything.”
Renata says something else and this time I’m pretty sure I heard Anita’s name and a book being mentioned.
The man just shakes his head curtly and opens his car door. She grabs his arm to stop him from leaving, but he yanks it out of her grasp, gets in the car, and drives off. She just stands there in the dust his departure kicked up with her shoulders slumped for a couple of minutes. It’s such a sad sight for some reason. Heartbreaking even. Until he comes back, stops at the side of the road, and leans across the passenger seat to open the door for her.
He has a head full of messy dark hair, gaunt cheeks, and a long, narrow nose. His deep-set eyes look piercing even in the faint light from the inside of the car and from far away. Renata jogs over to the car and gets in, then they drive away fast.
I’m pretty sure I just saw Rado. And he didn’t sound very happy that I’m here asking questions. At least that’s how my mind connected what little I overheard of their conversation. But it’s also very possible I’m putting it together all wrong and making it mean what I want it to mean, as it’s often the case when overhearing just bits of a conversation.
I lie back down, pull the blanket up to my chin, making sure the top sheet is between it and my skin, and close my eyes. Dawn is breaking outside, and for some reason, even after a sleepless night, I could always fall asleep soundly once the sky outside starts growing lighter. Today will be no exception.
Mark
I couldn’t sleep well, like I knew I wouldn’t, and for the very reason, I knew I wouldn’t, which is ridiculous. Less than six months ago I was perfectly content living in my cottage alone for the rest of my days. Clearly I wasn’t though. Eva coming back into my life showed me that pretty quickly.
So here I am, driving back to the office with the morning sun rising and blinding me in the process. I have a small overnight bag, packed to bursting in the trunk. Another ridiculous thing. But there’s a lot to still go over in this case, and a lot of people to speak to. Losing three hours on the road going from Ljubljana to my cottage and back every day seems a waste. Especially since I think we need to strike while the iron is hot in this case. And I’m almost certain Leskovar’s death has made it hot enough for striking.
The office is dark and empty, and cold like it always is in the mornings. That’s because of all the metal, glass, and leather in the decor and furniture, but I’ve grown kind of fond of the sterile coolness of it. It removes pointless distractions and leaves more room to think.
I start by leafing through the background info Rok has compiled and printed off for me. It includes both the work and home addresses of the Derganec brothers. One of them, Ivan, is a lawyer in Ljubljana and he seems to have handled every single legal thing Leskovar has ever been involved in. Including his divorce from his first wife and the purchase of his new house in Vrhnika.
The other brother, Vasko, has quite a few jobs at the moment. He’s on the advisory board of the gas company Leskovar headed for a while, but he also has his own company, which seems to be mainly construction-related. He’s also a member of a parliamentary board for the conservation of forests and seems to also find time to teach management at one of the private universities in Ljubljana. A very busy guy.
I’m not at all surprised when Brina joins me at the office at just before seven AM. Her eyes aren’t as red-rimmed as they were yesterday, and there’s a bit more color in her cheeks so I’m guessing she slept. Good.
“I think we should start with Vasko,” I say, pushing the sheet with his information to her. “Rattle him, give him some time to call his brother, and then go see the brother. Ivan seems to handle all their legal matters.”
“Good thinking,” she says. “If Vasko has something to hide, he’ll definitely call his brother. And we’ll know it if he’s already waiting for our visit.”
I nod. ”Then we hit up the ex-wife again, ask her some more pointed questions.”
She walks into the kitchen to pour herself a cup of coffee, not adding any sugar or milk to it before returning to the table. I’ve had two cups already, so I refuse when she offers to bring me one too.
“And at one point today, I want to speak to Ida and see if she’s been able to find anything to go on,” I add. “I think Leskovar’s death opened a window into this case, but it’s closing swiftly.”
“I’ve been thinking the same thing,” she says. “And Simon and I were able to reach an understanding last night after you all left. He’s worried about the fallout of this investigation, but he’s agreed to stop getting in our way, and that we’ll figure all that out once it’s all done.”
My phone rings and I reach for it, already moving away from the table towards my office, telling Brina that I should take this. I was sure it was Eva, but it’s Ida’s name on the screen. Another one who has trouble keeping her private and work lives separate, it seems. Are we all like that?
“Yes, Ida?” I say, stopping and turning to head back to the table.
“I found that black book of names you asked me for,” she says breathlessly. “It was in the safe at Leskovar’s house. The same place he most likely kept his gun.”
“Good. And?” I ask.
“And nothing,” she says. “It’s just a bunch of women’s names and dates. No addresses, no phone numbers.”
“That’s not what the daughter said,” I say, running my hand through my hair. I’m so sick of all these promising leads turning to dead ends before they even get started. “Could there be another black book somewhere?”
“Not that I found,” she says a little snappishly. “And I think I’ve gone over everything now.”
“Did you get any sleep?” I ask, not even sure why I’m interested.
“Some, but I’ve had to work fast,” she says. “They want me to wrap it up now that the case is closed. But I’ll keep working until they order me to stop.”
“You’ve found nothing to indicate the wife didn’t shoot him though?” I ask.
“Everything still points mostly to that,” she says and sighs. “I was thinking I’d come to your office this evening and we can go over everything.”
“That’s great,” I say. “And I’ll speak to Simon, see what he can do about giving the task force full access to the evidence. If he can manage it, then maybe we don’t have to worry about getting shut down.”
“If he can,” she says, sounding skeptical.
“And please email me the names from the little black book,” I say. “I’ll have our tech guy start looking for the women that go with those names.”
“Done,” she says and then we say our goodbyes. I hang up, turning to Brina.
“So it’s just a bunch of names?” she says in a defeated sort of voice. “We really don’t have much to go on, do we?”
“As long as Rok can track down at least one of those
women, we’ll have something,” I say sounding more certain than I am.
“And what we do have is people to interview,” I add, walking to the door and grabbing my coat off the hanger next to it. “I’ve always preferred speaking to the people involved over waiting for crime scene techs to deliver a clue. You can call me old-fashioned if you want, but if you talk to enough people enough times, eventually the guilty ones will slip up. It’s just human nature.”
She grins, gets up and grabs her coat. “Let’s hope they slip up sooner rather than later. Given the early hour, I think we can still surprise Vasko at home, in his pajamas.”
I grin too and hold the door open for her. If I’m perfectly honest, I think we have one shot at the Derganec brothers, or the ex-wife for that matter. Once they clam up they’ll surround themselves with walls that we might need months or even years to breach. Those walls are probably what kept the Anita Rajić case from getting solved and the reason why it’s a cold case.
But I’ve never let walls like that stop me.
The drive to Vasko Derganec’s house luckily took us out of the city center and in the opposite direction than the morning rush hour traffic coming into Ljubljana. His house is located in a small neighborhood surrounded by trees and rolling hills at the edge of Ljubljana. The house itself is a large, sprawling thing, sitting on a slight rise in the land, and constructed of white dry wall, glass, and light-colored wood panels, as far as I can tell. I’m not a huge fan of modern architecture, but I can’t deny that the simple lines and large windows do make these houses very airy and spacious.
The blooming greenery surrounding the house is reflected perfectly in the large wall of windows as we roll up to the house. I’m hoping the lack of cars in the driveway means they’re all in the garage and not that the residents of the house have already left for work.
I park a little off to the side of the large, two-sided wooden door. Perfect, little white pebbles cover the driveway, crunching under our shoes as Brina and I walk up to the house. The doorbell echoes like a gong inside the house. The thing with these modern houses is that the walls are so thin you can hear everything going on inside, so I clearly hear a loud man’s voice asking who it could possibly be at this hour. A few moments later, a woman comes to the door. Shiny, jet black hair frames her face in neat waves, and she’s wearing so much makeup, I’d guess she still hadn’t taken it off after some late party last night. She’s wearing a nightgown and a silk kimono over it.
“Yes, who are you?” she asks with some sort of heavy accent. I’m guessing she’s about my age, maybe even younger, but all the makeup and the work she’s clearly had done on her nose and lips make her look closer to fifty.
I show her my badge and introduce myself and Brina. “Could we speak to Mr. Derganec, please?”
She gulps and opens the door wider, nodding her head. “Come on in.”
“Who is it, Lola?” a man’s voice sounds from somewhere to the left of us, right before a grey-haired man appears in the arched doorway leading from the hall to the living area. He’s got chin-length grey hair and a bushy mustache, both neatly styled and trimmed, and he’s wearing a royal blue robe with golden accents over cream silk pajamas. The effect is so gaudy it would make even the poshest English Lord jealous.
“Who are you?” he asks us.
I repeat the introductions and tell him we have a few questions about Leskovar. The shock in his eyes is there for just a moment. In the next, he’s welcoming, telling us to come into the living room and asking his wife to bring us some coffee.
“Terrible business about Anton,” he says as he invites us to take a seat on the surprisingly comfortable, minimalistic white leather sofa. “I never saw it coming. None of us did. What can I do for you?”
He’s all friendliness and charm, but the serious tone in which he asked that last question betrays that he’s faking those first two.
“You’ve known Mr. Leskovar very well for practically all his life, haven’t you?” I ask.
He nods. “It’s no secret. We’ve known each other since kindergarten.”
“And you’ve worked with him in one capacity or another for most of your professional career?” I add. It’s not really a question, but I frame it as such.
He chuckles. “Yes, and even before then. We were very good friends. I’m sorry he’s gone. He’ll be missed...” Yet he’s very ready with smiles.
His wife Lola brings our coffees, balanced atop a shiny silver platter. She has some trouble setting it down on the low, glass coffee table, so Vasko stands and takes it from her hands. A thoughtful and considerate guy. Or is he just trying to appear that way? He strikes me as the type of guy who’s always completely aware of how he comes across to others. And that he has a very clear idea of how he wishes to be perceived.
He serves us the coffees off the silver platter and finishes off by laying the matching silver milk jug and sugar bowl in the center of the table. The sugar is in cubes and there’s a tiny silver spoon jammed among them.
“We’re investigating the murder of Anita Rajić,” I say, just as he’s using that tiny spoon to bring a cube of sugar to his cup. He bumps the spoon against the side of the cup and the cube falls off, tumbling over the table and leaving tiny crystals of sugar in its wake.
“Who?” he says in a tone of utter bewilderment. It’s so obvious, I know it’s fake.
“Anita Rajić,” I say. “Her mutilated body was found under the Dragon Bridge eight years ago.”
The wife gasps, but Vasko shakes his head. “I’m sorry, it doesn’t ring any bells.”
The murder was all over the news, so it should ring some bells, but that’s not where I’m planning on taking this conversation.
“The last thing Mr. Leskovar said before he died, was, “Anita, forgive me”,” I say and watch his face very closely for a reaction. I’m not disappointed.
He winces and starts stirring the sugar into his coffee much too violently.
“I think he was talking about the Anita whose murder we’re investigating. And since you’re one of the people who were by his side practically his whole life, I was hoping you could tell me more about that.”
He inhales loudly through his nose, leans back, puts his hands out, palms up, and shakes his head. “I have no idea what to tell you. I don’t know any Anitas, and I have no idea why he would be apologizing to her.”
“We think she’s one of the girls you and he kept at that apartment building his ex-wife owns,” I say.
He was pale to begin with, but now he turns the color of milk.
“What are you talking about? What apartment building?” he asks. “Are you insane?”
He sounds panicked and not outraged though. It’s a small difference, but I’ve heard both enough times in my career, and I can spot the difference.
“The apartment building in Vrhnika, which belongs to Leskovar’s ex-wife,” I explain calmly. “You have been seen entering and leaving it many times over the last two decades. As have many young women.”
His wife is looking at him with fear in her eyes and I’m fairly certain he’d rather she wasn’t doing that.
He smiles a tight smile and shakes his head. “You have the wrong man, that’s all I can say. I don’t know anything about any of this.”
His hand is shaking as he brings his cup to his mouth to take a sip of coffee.
I let the silence drag. Eventually, he chuckles again and sets his cup down on the glass table. The ding it makes against the glass echoes in the room.
“Is there anything else you wanted to ask me?” he says.
Brina gasps like she’s about to say something, but I forestall it by standing.
“That’s all for now,” I say. “But we will be back as soon as we have more proof. It’s a shame you’ve chosen to lie to us today.”
I let the veiled threat hang for a couple of moments, before Brina and I take our leave. Apart from flinching slightly when I uttered it, he doesn’t react at all. His eyes are still
friendly as he bids us goodbye. Meaning he’s definitely completely in control of his facial expressions. But I know he’s scared, his rapid, slightly wheezy breathing and tight face betray that.
The wife walks us to the door, while Vasko just leans back on the sofa, looking out the huge windows blankly.
“That’s some cage rattling,” Brina says as soon as we’re in the car.
“And his reaction now will tell us how deeply he’s involved,” I say and start the car. “I suggest we find a quiet spot to park and see what he does next.”
I do just that, finding an empty parking spot at the foot of the hill atop which his house stands. Hopefully, he’ll fly out of the house to handle the situation soon and not just make a few calls. Either way, until we get a good lead or preferably proof, our job from here on out just got harder. But at least things will start moving now.
We didn’t have a long wait before Vasko Derganec came speeding down the long driveway leading up to his house in his cream BMW. He didn’t much care about speed limits or pedestrian cross walks, as he made his way across town to his brother’s law office located in the city center, in the street adjacent to Ljubljana’s main courthouse.
Once there, he disappeared into the parking garage, and I didn’t follow him inside. Instead, I parked in front of the 17th-century townhouse inside which the brother’s law office is. About ten minutes later, Derganec and Leskovar’s ex-wife came striding past my car, her heels clicking against the pavement loudly. Neither of them noticed us, but despite the windows rolled up, I could still smell her strong, oriental perfume.
“Emergency meeting, it seems,” Brina says, her voice full of sarcastic excitement.
“It does,” I say. “Good.”
“What do we do? Should we just go in now and surprise them all at the same time?” she asks and it sounds like that’s exactly what she wants to do. I’m considering the pros and cons of that approach when my phone starts ringing.