by D K Bohlman
‘Yep? Need me yet?’
‘Sad to say, yes, probably. But first I’m going to scan some papers and send them over for you to read and try to make sense of. Let me know what you think?’
‘OK. Well, it’ll be tomorrow. I have to get an essay in tonight. But I’ll start reading your scans straight after that. OK?’
‘Sure. Look out for them.’
‘I will. By the way, your D.C. mate’s protection seems to have evaporated.’
Calum straightened his back. ‘What? Why?’
‘I called him, he said there was a lot of staff leave coming up and a few big events … couldn’t spare the guy who’d been watching me anymore.’
Calum rubbed his chin and pressed his eyes closed.
‘OK. OK. I guess you’d better come over here then, at least I’ll be able to keep an eye on you. Get a cheap flight, let me know when you’re arriving and I’ll get a room sorted for you.’
‘Sure Calum, if you’re OK with that. That’s great, thanks. I’ll text the flight number.’
Calum just knew she was grinning and punching the air.
Watching Aliz’s eyes
____________________________
Calum decided he would visit Aliz Gal personally at the Hotel Cristal. He wanted to observe her eyes and body language when he asked some difficult questions.
He made no appointment and just walked into the lobby. Aliz wasn’t at reception so he asked the girl at the desk if he could speak with the manageress.
She went to find her and returned with Aliz at her back. Aliz introduced herself and whisked him through into the back office.
‘Coffee?’
‘No thanks. I hope I won’t take up much of your time, Mrs Gal.’
‘Miss.’
Calum rolled his eyes without moving them.
‘Sorry.’
He composed himself. ‘I just wanted to go over the things we talked about on the phone the other day.’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘OK. But I don’t think I can tell you anything else really.’
She looked at the floor then back up, making a point of holding his gaze.
‘Well, I do have a further question or two. Simply put … I rang the taxi firm you said Sarah had used following the meeting with Mr Kovacs. They said they have no record of it.’
He let that sink in, determined to say nothing more until she answered.
Calum noticed her breathing quicken slightly before she answered. Her eyes darted sideways, then back again.
‘I can’t understand that,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘They must have made a mess of the records, you know what taxi drivers are like, maybe just forgot.’
Some classic physical lying signals there. Especially the rapid sideways eye movements. ‘Mmm, maybe … but they record bookings and journey starts and ends at the switch, and it’s computerised. The car doesn't get dispatched without it. So it’s a bit odd that it’s missing. If it got dispatched, that is.’
She shifted her eyes left. He’d noticed she was left-handed when she picked up a pen and started playing with it, twisting it around her fingers. Another leak of her lying. If she was going to lie, it might be difficult to get much further right now. Maybe better to retreat and observe her from a distance.
She returned her gaze to him. ‘Well, that’s a mystery then.’
‘It seems so. Maybe I need to ask them to recheck. Anyway, the other thing I wanted to understand was … why was Sarah seeing Mr Kovacs … do you know?’
The old woman hesitated before she spoke again.
‘No. I have no idea. I am … I mean was Mr Kovacs’s manageress. I was not party to his personal life. Well, not so much anyway.’
‘Umm, OK. Look then, I suppose there’s not much else. Let me know if you can shed any more light on the taxi mystery, though? Here’s my card … I’m staying at the Grand Danubius, please call me if you remember anything?’
She nodded frostily. He got up and left, knowing not to expect a call anytime soon.
*
Jenna’s flight got in that evening and Calum met her in the small bar for a drink once she’d settled herself in her room. They sat cradling glasses of white wine.
‘Actually, Jen, I feel a bit lost out here. It’s a different culture, different language … and this Arrow Cross thing is bound up with a dirty past. Not the sort of thing anyone really wants to talk about. It’s hard to get an opening or a handle on anything.’
‘That’s where I come in, Calum-o!’
He smiled. In an avuncular sort of way.
‘How exactly, though?’ He wasn’t expecting anything concrete from her quite just yet.
‘I read the papers you sent over last night. Interesting. I didn’t realise this all happened in the war in Budapest. Not that I would. But you can imagine how someone might get touchy if Sarah was prodding around in old war wounds?’
He dipped his head. ‘Yes, you can. I can. That’s what it felt like when I visited Aliz Gal.’ He filled her in on the details of his interview with Gal earlier in the day.
‘So, you think she’s hiding something?’
‘Hiding? Don’t know about that. But I think she’s lying about the taxi. So there’s something not right.’
‘And how do we find out what that is?’
Calum looked at her askance and laughed. ‘Well, that’s easy, Watson.’
‘How?’
‘Haven’t a bloody clue, that’s how.’
Jenna feigned throwing her wine at him. Enough to make him flinch.
‘Well, have you got any bright ideas?’
Jenna pondered for a moment. ‘So you say this Marton guy lived in the hotel?’
Calum knew her next sentence would bring something interesting into play.
‘Maybe we need to look inside his room or rooms. Find what we can. Don’t you think?’
Calum leant back on the low sofa and screwed his face into a tight smile. ‘Really? And since I can hardly go poking my nose around in the hotel now I’ve made myself known to the manager, who would do that?’
He still hadn’t learnt that with Jenna, asking rhetorical questions didn’t always give him the outcome he really wanted.
‘That’s right. Me.’
‘Err, I don’t like that idea. First, you don’t speak Hungarian, second, we don’t know where his rooms are. Third, we don’t have a way of getting into his rooms. How do we solve all that? Plus, it isn’t your job. You do research.’
That really made her mad. Being mad was good for the brain, though. It made it process faster. At least that’s how hers seemed to work.
‘It’s simple. Here’s how.’
Ten minutes later, after Calum had finished picking holes in her plan, he decided it was good enough to go with.
‘OK. I’ll start looking for a hotel cleaner to approach first thing tomorrow. When I visited Aliz I noticed a couple of them arriving in uniform, so they shouldn’t be hard to spot. So let’s finish this wine now, eh? Then I've got an appointment with a pork pie. I’m getting fed up with schnitzel already.’
‘Checked your cholesterol lately, boss?’
‘Shut up and drink your wine.’
He was happy being her boss again. Not so pleased to be reminded about his cholesterol levels. He did need to watch them, she was right, family history and all that.
‘Anyway, what’s going on with Gregor? I heard you two were talking again?’
‘Heard the same about you and Cassie.’
Jenna looked like she instantly regretted saying that. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t pry. Gregor and I have talked yeah. After the funeral and everything. But that’s about it. Nothing’s changed really. I don’t know if it will or not. Anyway …’
‘No, that’s OK. Obviously, Cassie and I had things to sort out. That’s it really. Well, hope you and Gregor fix things … don’t forget, now you’ve moved to Inverness, I still have to see his unhappy mug in Plockton most days. He needs something to cheer him up!’
She smiled. ‘Not sure I can help. We’ll see. Can we get another bottle? Nice stuff that.’
Calum sighed but signalled the waitress over. ‘Another bottle of this wine for my drunkard friend here.’
Jenna managed a direct hit on Calum’s nose with a couple of peanuts.
‘If the wine wasn’t so good I’d leave you to your bad humour right now. As it is, I guess I’ll have to suffer in vino.’
He laughed aloud. He realised he’d needed it. They trudged up the stairs an hour later, much the worse the wear for the alcohol.
‘Night, boss,’ she slurred as she clicked through into her room.
2 WEEKS EARLIER
Burton sees an opportunity
____________________________
For some reason, the only regular newspaper the prisoners in Barlinnie jail could get at the moment was the Evening Times. Not the best read as far as Alan Burton was concerned, but anything was better than staring into space or having to converse with the less intelligent of the prison population. He grabbed it just before another of the inmates pounced on it.
‘I was gonna read the sports there, buddy.’
‘I’ll make sure you’re next, mate. No worries.’
His competitor glowered at him, then thought better of a confrontation and retreated to the TV corner at the other end of the lino-floored recreation area.
Burton sat down on a hard chair, nothing more comfortable left.
The day’s headlines didn’t catch his attention so he turned past the first couple of pages and started to catch up with the Scottish news.
Riddled throughout those pages were reports of various crimes and minor misdemeanours. It was a game he played with himself, trying to match these wrongdoings with his known criminal network. Sometimes he recognised the type of crime, other times he was just plain guessing. The style of the reporting these days, though, meant the sort of detail that would really help him wasn’t there. Occasionally a follow-up report of a trial outcome proved him right. It made him feel connected with the outside world. A bit more alive.
The university researcher from Inverness who’d gone missing in Budapest, though, that wasn’t likely to be one of his associates or anyone known to him. That was a foreign job, for sure. Hard to say what made someone disappear … could be a number of things. Petty theft gone wrong. A date that had soured. Not one for him to work out. He passed on.
The next felony reported was a car-jacking and valuables grab. Now that one … that one could be the work of a number of people he knew. As well as the up-comers, of course … there were always a few young lads who fancied themselves as pros. Some would succeed. But this one … he’d take a bet on Gaz Worth. Gaz was an old hand, he’d been done for it once to his knowledge. He was the kind of guy who didn't know when to stop doing something that had probably run out of track for him. He made a mental note to check on the outcome of that one.
He worked his shoulders around, relaxing them and letting them drop. He was enjoying this and leafed through the next couple of pages, searching for his next case. A good, clean murder would be just perfect.
It amused him to see a case reported over time when he just knew who had done it and yet the police were making no headway into solving it. He remembered one just like that and dropped his head back, had a little internal giggle to himself. To his irritation, Neuman and Strick entered his thoughts once more, just as he was getting nice and relaxed. It was like an insect bite, itching every now and then when you thought you were over it. Now it was needling him again. The investigator, his assistant, the banes of his life.
His mind dawdled around the word investigator for no good reason for a moment … until he made the connection with his earlier read. The brain doodling had spawned an idea. The more he thought about it, it became a really neat idea. A way to take some revenge, away from the home spotlight. It could prove to be the balm to his itch.
Aliz is overwhelmed
____________________________
As far as Aliz knew, she was the only person who knew about all the things that Marton and Alfred had done. Well, of course, a handful of their old colleagues did in 1945. But they were dead now. All of them. And she was determined to keep the secret. Otherwise, both men would be under potential threat of discovery … and the judicial bodies didn't seem to care about peoples’ ages when dealing out justice for these sorts of crimes. It was all about ensuring the murky deeds of war were seen to be abhorred without exception. Not that it mattered to poor Marton now, but then there was the link to herself through the party … and Katalin. Katalin might be aware Aliz had been involved in hiding her, she couldn't be sure.
No, it was all too much: she needed this to remain a secret forever. She wondered what she could do about Mr Neuman. She thought about it for a long time. The answer to her question was staring her in the face, though.
Peter Kovacs would be coming to see her soon. He’d been left a note by his father, telling him about Katalin and asking him to resolve her future.
From the tone of their discussion when he rang her this morning, he wasn’t decided. But it was clear he was thinking only of himself, not Katalin. She knew he wasn’t the most moral of people … and that might be an understatement. His involvement in a new, underground Arrow Cross wasn't without an element of thuggery … and she knew he had the contacts to leverage the criminal fraternity. Maybe he’d be interested in determining the future of Mr Calum Neuman too.
She returned her attention to the lunch she’d had one of the kitchen staff bring in. Some cold chicken and pickles. She forked a piece of chicken and chewed slowly. As she relaxed, she turned back to the city newspaper and settled down for a break from the office tedium.
Ten minutes later, she sat bolt upright. At her age, the obituary column was something she read. There was always a friend that might be close to a column inch or two. Today it wasn’t a friend, though. It was Alfred Nemeth. She looked at the date. The day after Marton died. One hell of a coincidence. Or was it? Her brain went into overdrive and she started to tremble.
She knew Marton had left something with Alfred for Peter to retrieve when his father died. But Peter didn't say much about it when he rang this morning, just that he’d been to the solicitor and he now knew about Katalin. All the pieces of information assembled in her mind in the space of five seconds. Peter must have had something to do with his death.
She scanned the rest of the paper. Sure enough, there it was. Inside the front page.
“Jeweller’s death investigated - police treating as murder.”
‘Oh my God.’
She blew her cheeks out and most of her mouthful of chicken.
Her mind scrambled through the implications. Peter might be a murderer. On the other hand, there was now one person less who knew about the war-time deceit. What’s more, if he was the culprit, it underlined his credentials to deal with Neuman. But where would the killing end? Katalin had done nothing, other than ask a few ill-timed questions eight years ago. And as for the other girl … she hadn’t actually found out anything, had she? Had Peter killed Alfred just because he had learned about Katalin? It seemed hard to believe.
She started talking to herself. And her father.
‘This is just too hard. Dad, if you were here … what would you do? How much is a life worth? My reputation? My freedom? What if it’s actually three lives in the end?’
Her father couldn’t hear his daughter anymore. He would have been glad.
‘I think you would want to protect me, wouldn’t you? But would you forgive me if I protected myself?’
Aliz’s long-dead dad would be even more relieved he didn’t have to answer. Human emotions had never been his strength. When Aliz was small she was always strong-willed but showed a sensitive side that he could never empathise with. He admired her for it somehow, though. Aliz had eventually grown up from being a tough, spirited tomboy into a fiercely determined woman, never more so than when protecting the legacy of Arrow
Cross. He would know that trait would be the one to prevail now.
Aliz knew it too. She decided to leave Peter to his own devices.
The trouble was … there was another girl in there now. One who was actively being searched for. And the lie about the taxi taking her back to her own hotel hadn’t washed with Calum Neuman, she knew that. She hadn’t had the nerve to mention the new girl to Peter. And the truth was, maybe it would be better for herself if she pretended she didn't know anything else.
JANUARY 1945
A cold night
____________________________
The winter had been harsh in Budapest. Piles of dirty snow lined the streets and the Danube carried a steady stream of slush along its banks. The air held a constant freezing damp and every day seemed to bring dark skies. They underlined the mood of the city. It was gripped in terror.
Arrow Cross thugs were running riot in the streets, aiding the dying remnants of Nazi influence. Germany was losing the war, that was clear. Everyone knew the Russians were advancing on the city. But for now, there was no other choice for Ferenc Szalasi and his party, but to cling to power. As the outcome of the war became inevitable, their actions became more extreme. Desperate talons clawing at survival.
The Arrow Cross gangs had become erratically violent. In theory, they were helping control and guard the Jewish ghetto in District VII. But the most deluded ones just wanted revenge. Revenge for their failures. Revenge on the Jews who were surviving the war and would be saved by the Russians. Some groups went hunting in the early hours of the morning, surprising people in their beds.
And, mostly, those little packs of men were very, very young. Barely men at all, except for the experiences they’d endured.
Marton Kovacs and Alfred Nemeth were part of one group that night.
Their target had been singled out during the day by Marton. A butcher. A man that Marton had actually known. He had never liked him. When his father used to send him to the butcher’s shop for bags of meat scraps, he always got given the fatty ones and was scolded by his father for not paying attention and asking for better meat. He never understood why his father didn’t go himself. Laziness probably.