Murder on the Cathedral Express (The Ralph Chalmers Mysteries Book 9)

by P. J. Thurbin

“I stayed there years ago. I don’t expect it’s changed much. It’s only 300 metres from the Castle and our room overlooks the Vltava River.”

  The hotel lived up to Ralph’s expectations. Their suite had a small balcony and the snow had drifted up against the French windows that perfectly framed the view across the city.

  “Wow Ralph. I’m impressed. You can do all the bookings from now on,” she laughed.

  They decided to have dinner in the hotel’s art deco dining room. There were sufficient diners to keep the waiters occupied. Ralph hated it when the waiters hovered around and waited for you to put your fork down or move a glass so that they could rush over and make a fuss. A pianist played what Katie called light classical romantic mood music. If Peter had been there he would be climbing up the wall by now, Ralph mused. For Peter, the piano had been invented to play nothing but serious classics.

  “What’s the plan for tomorrow?” Katie asked as she tapped the caramelized crust of her crème Brule.

  “I thought maybe we’d just stroll across the Charles bridge and have a look around the town after breakfast. I’ve arranged to see this Dvosnich chap at his offices at noon, but we can meet up somewhere after for lunch. There’re supposed to be a lot of little café’s around Wenceslas Square in the old town. You know, where they held those demonstrations during the Velvet Revolution here. What do you think?”

  “That sounds good. I want to see the Jewish Ghetto sometime while we’re here, too, Ralph. If not tomorrow, then at least before we leave Prague.”

  “Oh, and that girl I told you about who’s on the England Cross Country Team, Emma. She told me that there’s a sports shop in the town centre that has these fantastic leather coats. And you wanted one of those all-weather riding coats. They may have something like that as well. Anyhow, there’s plenty to do. After my meeting with Dvosnich, we’ll have the weekend clear. Okay?”

  “Now where have I heard that before,” Katie said as she rolled her eyes.

  ***

  They decided to catch the Metro to town since they were a bit short on time. The Marostranka station was just a minute or two from the hotel and it took them right to the centre of town. Katie gave Ralph a hug as he hailed a cab and showed the driver the address that Janice had typed out onto a card. The office block was further out of town than Ralph had expected, and as he paid the fare he wondered how he would find his way back to the centre.

  There were only a few people feeling their way cautiously along the snow covered pavements. The traffic had left deep frozen ruts in the road which made crossing a bit hazardous.

  The offices looked all but deserted. It suddenly struck Ralph that he must be mad. Here he was standing outside some awful industrial complex in freezing weather just so he could talk to a complete stranger who might, for all he knew, be some sort of criminal. Still, he was here now so he might as well carry through with it. He decided to treat it as any other job. And as soon as he finished it he could revert to being a tourist. He turned up the collar of his coat and started to negotiate the icy ruts in front of Building number 3. Not the most salubrious address, he thought wryly, but here goes.

  As he looked around, he noticed the Russian influence. It was obvious that functionality had been paramount. Aesthetics had played little part in their choice of design. What colour existed was thanks to the graffiti artists, but they had done little to liven the place up. The phrase concrete jungle came to mind

  He pushed open an iron door that had the name Jenisis on an ice covered plaque. There was no bell so he made his way up the concrete stairway littered with cigarette ends permeated by what he hoped was disinfectant but which he imagined was more likely urine. Halfway up the time switch that controlled the dim light on the stairway went off. As he felt his way up, a bright shaft of light startled him as the door of what he assumed was Jenisis Head Offices opened.

  “Professor Chalmers. I was expecting you. Jenchic Dvosnich.”

  A surprisingly alert and athletic looking man who looked to be in his mid-thirties grabbed him by the hand.

  “Come in. You’re probably not used to our winters here; cold outside, but warm once you are inside. It’s like meeting a stranger and then finding out that you have found a new friend.” He laughed as he helped Ralph off with his coat and pointed to a well-worn leather armchair in front of a desk which, even by Ralph’s standards, was a mess. He couldn’t help but notice the massive ashtray full of butts, three or four dirty coffee mugs and stacks of papers that appeared ready to topple onto the floor. A few already had. It was not what Ralph had expected of a company that dealt in software systems. Jenchic Dvosnich did not look like the sort of person who would be engaged in industrial espionage or be behind the break-in at James Riggs’ flat in New Cross.

  “Some coffee? We Czechs like it strong and drink too much of it for our health. Perhaps some Schnapps? Just to warm you up.”

  Ralph said the coffee would be fine. He was uncertain how to begin. He was the one who had asked for the meeting. Jenchic would expect him to explain what he had wanted to speak with him about. Perhaps he expected Ralph to offer some sort of proposition to do with the Moving Images System. But before Ralph could fully organise his thoughts, his host ploughed straight in. Ralph put it down to the exuberance of youth. Twenty years ago I must have been just the same, he mused.

  “So, Professor, you want to find out a bit about Jenisis and our interest in the Moving Images System that Mr Leon Riggs and Webber in Berlin and your University colleagues have been developing?”

  It was certainly a direct approach, and it took Ralph a bit by surprise. He had expected to have to work slowly around to asking those questions. He had taken a liking to Jenchic, and as he sipped the steaming coffee, he started to relax. He decided to be open.

  “That’s right. I’ve spoken to Herman Muller and to Mr Riggs, and they tell me that your company is interested in becoming a part of the Moving Images business they’re involved in. Muller said that you’re interested in either becoming a partner or in setting up some sort of licensing agreement.” Ralph felt a surge of energy as he was suddenly transformed back to the days when he was paid to engage in these sorts of negotiations. Years of teaching where his role was to encourage students to learn for themselves meant putting his ego on hold. He suppressed a nagging voice in his mind that told him that he was too old for this sort of thing. He focused on the problem at hand.

  “Well I’m sorry to disappoint you, Professor. Webber GmbH are in the photo-imaging business And Mr Leon Riggs is, if I’m not mistaken, in the business of buying and selling fine art. And your University is, if I may take the liberty, stuck somewhere in between.” Jenchic smiled at his own invention. “We, on the other hand, design and develop business systems. Our target markets are the large import and export firms. Our clients are mainly in China, Japan, and India.” Jenchic sat back and appeared to be waiting for a response.

  “Are you saying that Riggs and Muller have got it all wrong?” It sounded a bit rude, but Ralph had to be sure that he had understood. What Jenchic had said was at complete variance with the theory he had been building about industrial espionage. If Jenchic was telling the truth, then the notion that Jenisis had bribed the two judges to vote to prevent Riggs winning the Turner Prize as a way of enabling them to buy the system at a knockdown price was looking less plausible by the minute. And from where he sat, Jenchic seemed the last person he could imagine arranging to have the two judges killed in order to silence them. But one thing puzzled him. If Jenisis really had no interest in becoming involved in the Project, then how did they just happen to know so much about it? Ralph decided to take a risk.

  “When I spoke with Leon Riggs he was considering whether he should approach the police with his suspicions that your firm were behind a robbery at his son’s apartment in London. His computers and the work he was doing on patent applications were stolen.”

  Jenchic took a packet of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and slowly took one out an
d reached for his lighter. He hesitated. The flame flickered and went out. Ralph could have sworn that his hand shook as he took a breath and slowly exhaled.

  “This is very unfortunate. There are no witnesses and I know libel is a nasty word, but Leon Riggs is treading on dangerous ground.”

  “That be as it may, it’s what he told me. And to be perfectly honest, it does cast doubt on whether your story about not being interested in the Project is genuine,” Ralph said as he stood up. He realised that the stakes were now as high as they would go. It was up to his host to decide the next move.

  “Well we seem to have reached an impasse here, Professor Chalmers. You obviously have your view about our involvement. I presume that you have not talked to any officials about any of this?”

  “If you mean the police, then the answer is not yet. But I am involved in a murder enquiry into the deaths of two judges who were part of the Turner Prize panel last December. And it’s my duty to pass on what I have learned today to the British police when I return to London.”

  Jenchic stood up. “I’ll get your coat, Professor, and I wish you a pleasant journey home.” He stubbed his cigarette out in the brimming ashtray. “I’m sorry our little visit could not have ended on a more pleasant note. By the way, where are you staying, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “The Alchemist over by the Castle.”

  “Very nice. A short stroll over Charles Bridge. All the tourists like to look at the statues and the river is very pretty when it’s frozen over.”

  Ralph was a bit thrown by the sudden change of tone. It was as though the heavy confrontation that had just transpired had never happened.

  “Can I call a cab for you?”

  Ralph just wanted to get out in the fresh air and escape from what he recognised as a serious cat and mouse game. He said that he had arranged a car to collect him. He had no intentions of putting himself in a more vulnerable position than he was already. He retraced his steps down the stone steps and once more found himself out on the snowy street. He walked to the corner and saw one of the peripatetic orange trams that he remembered from his last visit. He had bought a book of tickets at the hotel desk, just in case. He clipped his ticket in the machine and stood swaying as the tram clunked and clanked its way towards the city. He called Katie on his mobile and she directed him to a small outside café where he found her sitting under one of those umbrella style gas heaters. He noticed that she had a box on a chair at the side. She stood up and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

  “You were right. They had those coats we talked about, so I bought one. It was just a little over half of what I would have paid at home. It’ll be perfect for Devon when I go riding. But you look bushed. Did you get him to confess?” She laughed.

  “Just about. Another couple of vodkas and he would have told me everything.”

  “No seriously, Ralph. Did you find anything out?”

  “Not anything specific. But at least now I know that he’s involved in some way. I’m just not sure how deep. I don’t think he killed those two judges, but I wouldn’t be too surprised if they were involved in the robbery at Riggs’ flat.”

  “So what will you do now?”

  “When we get back, I’ll have a word with Inspector Linham. Now I’ve spoken to Dvosnich, I need to close the loop.”

  “So does this mean we can start our weekend?”

  “Why not? The sun’s out and we’re here. Let’s order some lunch first, then I’ll tell you what I’ve planned for us for tonight.”

  “Sounds good to me. But you sure know how to keep a girl on tenterhooks, Ralph Chalmers.”

  ***

  That evening they went to a concert of Czech classical music at the Lobkowicz Palace at Prague Castle. After an evening of Dvorak and a chance to lose themselves in music that entertained and enchanted, they walked back towards their hotel. The snow had stopped and it was a crystal clear night. The lights of the city twinkled far below across the Vltava River.

  “Ralph, why don’t we stop off at one of those little shops we passed and get some food for a picnic?”

  “I don’t fancy having a picnic in this freezing weather,” Ralph said.

  “No, not an outdoor picnic. I meant to take back to our room. I’m a bit maxed out on fine dining and I thought it would be nice to just get some ham and local cheese with some of that fresh bread you like. And maybe a small pot of caviar. There’s a row of small shops down towards the Charles Bridge. We could even really splash out and get a small bottle of champagne. They’re bound to have some plates and glasses at the hotel that they’d let us borrow.”

  “But you never drink,” Ralph reminded her. “Besides, they’ll think we’ve lost our minds.”

  “It’ll be one of my five glasses of celebratory champagne a year. After all, we missed the ones at Christmas and New Years’ this time. What do you think?”

  “They’ll think we’re crazy,” said Ralph.

  “It’s never stopped us doing what we wanted to before,” Katie laughed.

  They walked down the castle steps and found the shops still open. As they made their way back up towards the hotel, three menacing figures emerged from behind a stone wall. Ralph sensed the danger and shouted to Katie.

  “Run for the hotel!”

  He swung the bag and ducked as the tallest of the three aimed a blow. He managed to tackle one of the others who was trying to grab Katie. She hit her attacker with the bottle of champagne and he went down. She swung back and connected with his pal. Ralph kicked out as he saw one of them raising his arm holding what looked like an iron bar. Then there was a shout as two youths emerged from an alleyway and ran towards them. Their assailants ran off, dragging the man that Katie had felled with the champagne bottle.

  “Friends of yours, Ralph?” Gasped Katie as she tried to pick up their shopping which was strewn in the snow.

  “You okay?”

  “Nothing bruised but my dignity. We should have got all of them.” She leant against him as they stood there trying to catch their breath.

  “Are you alright, sir?” He recognised a strong English accent.

  “Yes, thanks to you two chaps.”

  “Did they get your wallet or anything?” Asked a tall blond lad as he helped pick up their shopping. Handing the champagne to Katie.

  “No, fortunately not. They probably thought they knew us and were out to settle an old score.” Ralph realised that he was babbling on, but he was more shaken up than he would have liked to admit. It wasn’t every night you got attacked by ruddy thugs. “You chaps on holiday?”

  “Not exactly. We’re on our gap year from Warwick University.”

  “Small world. Well thanks again for helping, and I hope the rest of your travels work out a bit less frenetic,” said Ralph. They all laughed.

  Back at the hotel they checked to make sure there were no broken bones and not too many bruises. After they had both taken a long indulgent shower and put on the white towelling dressing gowns provided by the hotel, they sat down in front of the French windows and enjoyed their alfresco meal.

  “Who do you think they were, Ralph? It seems a bit odd that they would pick on us. We don’t look like the wealthy set.”

  “Could have been like I said. Some family feud or someone trying to frighten his wife’s lover off.”

  “You just made that up. That’s not what you think at all.”

  “Well, I’m not that creative on an empty stomach. Pass the ham and some of that caviar, if you haven’t licked the pot clean already.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Katie said as she scraped the last teaspoon from the glass container and handed it to Ralph. “But you go ahead and finish off the rest of that champagne. Half a glass is about my limit.”

  What Ralph actually thought was that Jenchic Dvosnich had had something to do with their unwelcome assailants. Perhaps he had wanted to frighten him off, or worse. Now he thought about it, Jenchic had asked him where he was staying and there was no
reason why he should have been in the slightest way interested. They had just had a damn row. No it was all starting to fit. He would have to think carefully how he approached Inspector Linham with all of this.

  “Do you think the Spa is open this late, Ralph? I could do with a massage and a spell in the steam room.”

  ***

  Sunday brought a break in the weather. The warm sun quickly melted the snow. It was a temporary respite. They strolled around the town before they caught their cab to the airport for their flight home to London. The trauma of the previous night was forgotten as they turned their minds back to work. At Heathrow Katie took the Piccadilly tube to town and Ralph grabbed a taxi back to his apartment in Surbiton. He telephoned as soon as he got in to make sure she had arrived back at her mews house in Chelsea all in one piece and Katie thanked him for a fantastic weekend.

  Ralph wondered if they had heard the last of Jenisis and Jenchic Dvosnich. He had his doubts.

  _______________________

  Chapter 8

  A brief email from HR informing him that Professor Barnes had accepted an early retirement package came as no surprise. That meant that his visit to Leon Riggs and the ruckus in Prague had been a waste of time. It would be a while before the row with Granger would blow over, but at least Gregg Barnes must be pleased that things had been resolved. Ralph sat back and looked at a pile of assignments that he had to mark by Wednesday. This week looked like it was going to be a tough one. Lectures every morning and tutorials in the afternoon. Then ‘Reading Week’ which was designed to give students a break from lectures and time for private study. The reality was that staff and students had a holiday. Many of the staff went skiing or drove down to Spain or Portugal to tidy up their vacation homes for the coming spring break.

  Ralph had seen a conference advertised at Cambridge where the theme was: English History and Art - Exploring the Tension between Classical and Interpretive Paradigms used to explain and define art in an historical context. It had caught his attention as he had just finished reading Brian Sewell’s commentary in the London Evening Standard, on Damien Hirst’s exhibition at the Tate Modern. Hirst had won the Turner Prize in 1995, and Sewell’s article reminded him of how controversial James Riggs work must seem to the establishment. Hirst’s Shark in Formaldehyde, his matrix of coloured dots that now sold for millions, or his latest exhibition: butterflies in an airless glass case that fluttered to the ground as they died. All designed to be controversial, but less likely than James Riggs’ exhibit to attract enemies.