by Lena Bourne
The secretary, Margareta, is the one typing furiously and she doesn’t stop until I’m right by her desk. Only after I clear my throat and bid her good morning does she look up. Her eyes are sharp so I’m in no way convinced that I surprised her.
“The commandant is a busy man,” she informs me when I ask to see him. “Perhaps you’d like to see one of the other officers.”
She points at the closed doors on her left-hand side, across from where the commandant’s office is.
“I’d like to speak to him,” I say and she opens her mouth to, doubtlessly, argue, but before she can, his office door opens and he sticks his head out.
“It’s fine, Margareta,” he says. “I’ll see her.”
I walk towards him and shake his hand before preceding him into his office.
“I’ll be brief,” I say and don’t sit down when he indicates I should. “Renata Tahić, the woman I’m staying with, hasn’t been home in two nights. I’m afraid something might have happened to her.”
He inhales sharply and sits down in his chair with a groan.
“The same Renata who was missing for four years at one point?” he asks. “Fata’s granddaughter?”
“Yes,” I say, not liking his tone at all.
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t react with panic to her disappearing for a day,” he says in a sharp, condescending tone. “Is there anything else you wanted to speak to me about?”
“This is the most urgent thing,” I snap back.
“I will decide what is urgent,” he says.
“Then, would you accompany me to Rado Kopanja’s farm?” I ask. “I have reason to believe he is involved in Esma’s disappearance and possibly Anita’s death. A strong reason.”
He leans forward in his seat, a mocking half-smile on his lips. “Oh, do you now? Well, excuse me for never finding any proof of that. He was a suspect, as was his brother, and they were both cleared. We spoke to them many times, I can assure you but found no evidence that they were guilty of anything. I won’t just go knocking on his door with questions just because you had an idea.”
“It’s more than just an idea,” I say. “I spoke to his cousin and what she told me strongly indicates that he knows more than he’s telling.”
“His cousin Marina?” he asks and I nod.
“Well, if she had anything to say she would’ve told me too, I’d say. I spoke to her several times,” he says.
I’m having trouble drawing a full breath. “So what, you’ll just do nothing?”
He leans back again, interlacing his fingers on his belly. “I will do what I can, as I have always done. You’re free to go speak to Rado. As for Renata, when Fata thinks the girl is in danger, she’ll come to see me. She always does. And Renata is never in danger. She’s just wayward and wild. Like Esma and Anita were. There’s nothing I can do about it. Their fathers should have, or their brothers, but they were all deadbeats.”
The calm, condescending way he’s speaking is making my blood boil. But by the time he finally shuts up, I know I’ll get nowhere with him.
“You’re making a mistake,” I tell him and stride out of the office, resisting the urge to slam the door behind me like some pissed-off teenager.
Outside, Tarik greets me with a grin that I find even more infuriating than the commandant’s reaction.
“He sent you packing?” he asks. “I know the feeling. So what’s next?”
“Next I go search for Renata on my own,” I snap.
“I’ll come with you,” he says and I shake my head.
“No,” I say. “Sorry to be blunt, but I don’t trust you. How about you go into the police station and agree to tear down that floor in the basement of your family home?”
“Why would I do that?” he yells, causing more than a few people in the square to turn and gawk.
“To show you’ve got nothing to hide,” I snap back.
“I don’t have anything to hide!” he yells.
“And even if you have to tear down the floor or wall to prove it, that shouldn’t be a problem, since you keep the electricity on in the house. No need for a hammer, you can use heavy machinery.”
He was going to yell something back, but then his face twists in surprise instead. “I what?”
“Keep the electricity and probably water on too in your childhood home,” I say. “It should be easy to prove you’re not hiding anything there.”
We’re causing a scene and he seems to become aware of it. On the whole, he looks deranged in his anger, nothing like the composed, well put together man he came across as yesterday.
“You know what, screw you,” he says. “I knew I shouldn’t have expected much from you and your investigation.”
He put a mocking twist on the last words and then he spits on the ground and strides away from me across the square.
People are still staring at me as I just stand there, breathing hard, and my face hot. I have no idea what the hell just happened. Or what to do next.
I could go back to the house and beg Fata to go to the police station. I could get a taxi and go to Rado’s farm. I could call Mark and tell him I failed and ask him what I should do next. But I’m still a little hurt over his reaction last night.
Rado is the likeliest suspect. That wedding dress in Esma’s room, the way he takes care of the house, the way he won’t talk about any of it. Which means Renata is in danger. Which means I need police back-up when I go look for him. Which means getting Fata to speak to the commandant.
The people around me have decided that the show is over, though more than a few stare me down as I pass them. I exit the square along the narrow pathway Marina took us down yesterday, simply to get away from the stares and the chattering as fast as I can.
It’s dark and smells of old stone and damp because hardly any daylight reaches down here. I hear someone hurrying behind me, the soles of their shoes hissing as they rub against the rough, pebbly ground. They’re drawing closer at a fast pace and I can already hear their fast, labored, slightly wheezy breathing. Probably a jogger. The passage is barely wide enough for two people to meet, so I’ll have to squeeze myself against the wall to make room for him or her to pass.
I turn back to look how close they are and the next thing I know, a hand grabs a fistful of my hair at the same instant as something hard and jabs me in the back, up near the kidneys.
“I have a gun on you,” a man’s voice whispers harshly. “Don’t turn. Keep walking.”
If he was going to shoot me, he could do it right there in the passage. No windows overlook it, we’re roughly in the middle of it and we’re alone. I hope he’s not doing it because he doesn’t actually want to kill me. But that’s probably just wishful thinking. He’s killed at least twice before now. Probably more.
23
Mark
While I strongly considered going back to the cottage for the night, I decided asking Dino to spend the night there too would’ve been too weird. I might be perfectly OK to sleep where I drop, but he probably has a life outside of work and likely enjoys sleeping in his bed.
So in the end, I rented a room in a hotel he recommended and went to sleep the moment my head touched the pillow. I’m getting too old to keep going on no sleep and almost no food, as was proven by the fact that I slept right through the alarm I set and didn’t wake until the maid tried to come in to clean at ten AM.
By then I already had missed calls from Brina, Ida, and Dino, which I slept right through. Despite none of the missed calls being from Eva I called her first but got no answer.
Next, I took a shower, changed, and checked out of the hotel, determined that I would go back home tonight, no matter what.
Ida called to inform me they found a bloody fingerprint on one of the kitchen cabinets at yesterday’s scene of the shooting, but haven’t been able to match it against the victims since the doctors are refusing to allow them access.
Brina informed me that the NPB traced Vasko’s phone to his apartment in Ljublja
na where they also found his car keys. The car was parked in the underground garage and it appeared that Vasko had packed a bag before disappearing.
Dino called and told me that the scene of Anita’s brother’s accident was a construction site at the edge of the city and that the project was in part funded by Leskovar and Vasko Derganec.
“We have to find him as soon as possible,” Dino says. “I suggest we go see the wife again. She must know where he goes when he doesn’t want to be found.”
“If he’s still alive to be found,” I say then tell him I’ll pick him up at the office so we can do as he suggested.
I call Eva again hoping to tell her she was right about Esma being the root cause of all these crimes.
“I got a call from my informants just now,” Dino informs me as he gets in the car. “Regarding Rado Kopanja and his ties to the mafia.”
I look at him sharply. “Does he still work for them?”
He shakes his head. “Not for many years. He was involved in something a few years ago. Came back completely unhinged apparently. So when he walked away, they let him. The guy said he’d meet us to answer questions.”
“Let’s go now,” I say and he nods, dials a number, and sets it up.
The guy agrees to meet us in a small café not far from the office. It’s one of those generic places in a plaza created by four identical, low apartment buildings all entirely unremarkable. As is the café.
The guy is overweight though I suspect a lot of his bulk is muscle. But he does have a double chin covered with black stubble. He’s wearing sweat pants and just a t-shirt, white socks and black, plastic slip-ons. He looks entirely unremarkable too. Except for his dark eyes, which are alive and full of a burning fire.
“I don’t usually talk to cops,” he says as we sit down at his table. The chairs are wrought iron, spindly and unforgivingly hard. “But seeing as you’re investigating the murder of one of our own, and a pretty young woman at that, I’ll make an exception.
He waves the waitress over, and I order an espresso, as does Dino.
“So you worked with Rado Kopanja, if I understand correctly,” I ask.
He nods. “Yes, when we were both young men. We were drivers, smuggled cigarettes and alcohol. His brother helped sometimes.”
“Nothing more serious than that?” I ask.
“Maybe guns too,” he says with a wry grin. “We didn’t ask questions just did what we were told in those days. Never humans though. I considered him a friend back then.”
The way he emphasizes that just begs my next question, “But then something changed. What was it?”
He looks at me sharply, appreciatively even as he nods, but doesn’t say anything until the waitress sets the cup in front of me and leaves again. We’re alone in the café otherwise.
“One night, years ago he came ringing my doorbell in the middle of the night. He was pale and shaking and his nails were caked with blood. He asked if he could spend the night and I let him, although my wife was very spooked by the way he was acting.”
“And how was that?” Dino asks.
“Wouldn’t say anything,” the guy says. “Just sat there on the sofa all night staring at the wall. It creeped me out too, to be honest.”
“And when was this?” I ask.
He leans over the table to get closer to me. “That’s just it, isn’t it? It was right around the time that poor girl was found, the one whose killer you’re searching for. I didn’t put two and two together until Dino here started asking his questions, but then I remember. I think Rado killed her. And I think it broke him. He was never the same afterward.”
I’m trying to breathe, but I can’t. I can’t even speak. I grab my phone, stand up and call Eva again. She’s still not answering and I’m not seeing right anymore. I rarely get panic attacks anymore and this one could be the worst one yet.
“What’s wrong with him?” I hear the guy ask Dino, but I ignore him.
“Eva’s not answering her phone,” I manage to say.
Dino looks mostly confused, a little uncomfortable maybe, but he doesn’t say anything nor gets up.
“I have to go to her,” I say and toss a few coins on the table to pay for the coffee I didn’t touch, then head for the car.
I hear Dino telling the guy something behind me.
“I’m sure she’s fine, Mark,” Dino tells me as he jogs up to the car.
“She was planning on speaking to Rado this morning and she’s not answering her phone now,” I say.
“Well, given your loud conversation last night, Boss…” he says and chuckles.
I shake my head. “The last time I thought something like that, she almost died.”
That wipes the grin right off his face.
“Yeah, alright,” he says. “Let’s go get her.”
I almost tell him I can go alone, but before I can he adds, “You’ll need me. I have connections there and they’re wary of strangers.”
He’s right so I don’t argue. Besides, I could use the backup. Unless we’re already too late.
Eva
The initial shock of getting grabbed in the street and having a gun shoved in my back gives way to adrenaline pumping in my veins, making me feel invincible before we even reach the end of the passage. He’s breathing hard behind me, but each time I try to turn to see who it is, he pulls on my hair hard and jams the gun into my back, hissing, “Walk!”
I try to break away once we’re a few meters from the exit to the street, but despite his hard, slightly wheezy breathing he’s ready for it, and strong enough to slam me against the wall, my head hitting the stone with a jarring, cracking thump.
The world has a fuzzy, liquid quality to it, and stars are still exploding in front of my eyes as he stops by a parked car, opens the door and half shoves, half prods me inside.
Only as he squeezes himself in after me to get behind the wheel can I turn and look who it is. Not Rado or Tarik, but I already knew that. Not anyone I recognize, though he looks familiar from somewhere. TV maybe, or the newspaper.
I scramble for the passenger side door, my bag and my coat caught on something, the adrenaline that was so helpfully filling me with strength before a distant memory behind the pain in my head. Something warm is running down the side of my face. Blood I’m sure.
When he sees I’m trying to escape he hits me in the side of the head, turning the world black for a few moments.
No, longer, than a few moments.
When I can see again, we’re driving fast down an empty, narrow country road.
“Who are you?” I ask making him shake since he was so focused on staring straight at the road.
He’s in his fifties, with short, light brown hair cut in a trendy way that looks much better on younger men and just makes him look older. I’m sure he’s had work done on the wrinkles that should be around his light brown eyes but aren’t. The nails on his long slim fingers are manicured.
He’s not answering my question. In fact, he’s acting like I’m not sitting next to him at all.
Talk to your abductor. Show them you’re a human being. It might save your life. Those words were spoken by a psychiatrist I saw once and they’re loud in my head. I have every intention of fighting this guy off the first chance I get. I had training in that too, and I should be able to take on a man who is well past his prime, no matter how much he’s trying to look like a young man.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask. “And why?”
The gun is nowhere in sight. Maybe he doesn’t even have one.
“Stop talking,” he says quietly in perfect Slovene, with no trace of a foreign accent at all.
“Please answer me,” I say. It’s good to be polite to your abductor too. Apparently.
I suppose it’s just good sense, since you don’t want them to hurt you unnecessarily. He’s already hurt me, and my head is throbbing in pain, almost unbearably when I move it or try to think. But at least my vision has come back.
“Where are w
e going?”
We’ve left the town behind and even though he ignores my question, I get my answer as he veers off the main road onto a gravel one so full of potholes I’m getting tossed up and down. A line of thick trees is at the end of the road, and even though I remember all the instructions to keep a clear head if abducted, I’m panicking so hard I can’t breathe.
He means to kill me in the woods. Of course. That way my body will never be found.
But just as my panic reaches fever pitch and I’m about to open the door and jump out, come what may, an old house with part of the roof sagging and nearly caved in comes into view. One side of the house is old, the facade greenish-black, but the other side looks like it has recently been renovated, and has a new bright orange roof and a pearly white facade. An old rusted tractor with a punctured tire is parked off to the side of the front yard behind the trees, and next to it is a heap of old farming equipment, rusted even worse.
“What is this place?” I ask the man once he parks in front of the house.
He looks past me as he produces his gun again—a black, semi-automatic pistol that looks like a toy—and opens his door. He keeps the gun trained on me and orders me to climb out after him. I wonder what would happen if I made a run for it into the trees.
I’d probably die just like I feared I would. It’s not a forest of trees that I could get lost in, it’s just a straight line of them, and all around the land is bare. I have no idea where I am. My only chance is overpowering this man.
He’s only half a head taller than me but looks like he works out and his grip is like a vice as he grabs my arm and pulls me out of the car since I’m moving too slowly for him.
“Rado!” he yells. “Rado come out here! I have a job for you to do!
I should’ve known. This is the Kopanja farm. And Rado is a bad guy just like I suspected. If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck… Could Renata already be dead?
That thought fills me with a worse fear than the one for my own life. Does that mean I’m thinking clearly or the exact opposite?