by Estelle Ryan
Colin smiled. “How long have you been in Düsseldorf?”
The levity in her expression disappeared. “I moved there after the article was written about my gender. The trolling became intolerable and Gareth became overbearing. He was in my flat every day, insisting that I move in with him, his wife and three children. God help me. I mean, I love the brats, but no. Just no.”
I turned back to face the front, lowered the visor and tilted it to be able to see Bree’s face. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Colin glanced again in the rear-view mirror. “Do you still publish under the name you used before?”
“Most definitely, yes. Those bastards might’ve dented me a bit, but I’m not going to give up my name or the pride I take in the quality of my work.”
Colin and Bree talked about the articles she’d written and her investigative processes. It was fascinating. She was fascinating. I listened quietly while looking at the tilled fields flanking the highway, small villages as far as the eye could see. We approached a forested area and I felt my muscles relax. Driving through such greenery was good for my mind.
The road curved to the left and a small village lay ahead of us.
“Ooh, that’s fairy-tale pretty.” Bree leaned forward until she was between the two front seats. I pushed myself against the passenger door and looked at the awe on her face. “Man, I so have to come back here to write something about this little place. I wonder what the history is.”
“It’s called the city of silver,” Colin said. “It was established in the twelfth century with the settlement of the Sedlec Abbey. In the thirteenth century Germans started mining the area for silver. It is believed that this wealth helped the Czech Kingdom boom.”
“Why does the Sedlec Abbey sound familiar?” Bree tapped her index finger on her lips. “Hmm.”
“Think harder.” Colin waited, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. He enjoyed Bree’s company.
“Blimey! It’s the skeleton skull place.”
“Well, I wouldn’t exactly phrase it like that.” His smile widened. “The small Roman Catholic chapel has incredible artistic as well as historic value. It’s the art that first drew me here. Underneath the chapel is the Ossuary, which they estimate contains the skeletons of between forty and seventy thousand people. The bones of these people have been used artistically to decorate and furnish the chapel. The enormous chandelier of bones alone is worth seeing. This chandelier has at least one of all two hundred and six bones in the human body. Then there are the garlands of skulls draping the vault. No, really. It’s an amazing place to visit.”
“Have you been there?” Bree asked me.
“No.” But after Colin’s enthusiastic description I might consider visiting something that was now thought to be morbid, but had once been considered artistic and beautiful. Karel Maslák’s cryptic descriptions now made sense. I wondered though why he hadn’t just given us the village’s name. It seemed he was a man who greatly enjoyed playing games.
We entered the village and Colin slowed down to follow Ivan’s SUV, turning right into a narrow street. The little I had seen so far of Kutná Hora reminded me of our visit to the historic artists’ village of Szentendre in Hungary. Our holiday there had been interrupted by a case that had been both interesting and horrifying.
Colin’s phone rang and he pressed the answer button on the steering wheel. “You’re on speaker, Millard.”
“Can that bloody paparazzo be trusted?”
Bree burst out laughing. “Huggable porcupine.”
“Doctor Face-reader?” His demand boomed through the interior.
“Paparazzo is male. Bree would be a paparazza, but she isn’t. She’s an investigative journalist.” I sighed when Bree snickered and Manny swore. “She has proven herself to be trustworthy, but within limits. I don’t know to what kind of trust you are referring.”
“Details of this case, missy.” It sounded like he was clenching his teeth.
I looked at Bree in the visor’s mirror. She stared back at me, her expression open to read, her smile genuine. “We can trust her.”
“Are you listening, Ms Reuben?”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
“Oh, hell. Another comedian.” Manny swore again. “Well, let me tell you this. If you even think about interfering in our investigation, doing or saying anything stupid, I’ll throw your arse in jail faster than you can say ‘porcupine’.”
Bree’s smile brightened for a second, then her expression sobered. She leaned forward to speak closer to the car’s mic. “I value the trust anyone puts in me. Whether it is my brother to babysit his children or a whistle-blower hoping I will keep his name out of my article so he can stay safe—hell, so he can stay alive—I will honour that trust. And something tells me that this case you guys are busy with might be up there with the most sensitive information I’ve ever worked with.” She paused. “I won’t betray your trust in me.”
“Hmm.” Manny cleared his throat. “Well, then. You stay put with Frey and Doc. Ivan, Daniel, myself and the big guy are going to the address we have for Hana Zonová. We’ll let you know as soon as we’ve cleared the property.”
“And hopefully have Ant squashed under our boots.” Vinnie’s chuckle came over the speakers. “See what I did there?”
“Put a sock in it and drive.” Manny said something else, but it was too muffled to hear. “Frey, find a place here to park and wait for my call.”
“Done.” Colin slowed down even more and parked in front of a sadly neglected building. Large chunks of plaster had fallen off its façade, revealing the raw brick underneath. On the top right corner of a building, a groove had been cut into the wall to accommodate a nest of cables running to the roof. I doubted this building had seen any maintenance in the last five decades.
“You guys seem really close.” Bree looked at my reflection in the visor mirror. “Closer than other teams I’ve seen.”
“We’re family,” Colin said. “Not the blood-related kind.”
“Yeah, I understand that kind of family. I’m lucky that I’m close to my mom, Tom and my brother. When that story broke, their support carried me through.” She smiled. “That and hugs from my brother’s three monsters.”
“Monsters?” I asked.
“Kids.” She frowned. “You take everything literally, don’t you?”
“Words have meaning. I interpret that meaning.” Trying to comprehend the legion of nuances possible in one sentence was exhausting and I’d been wrong on too many occasions.
“Do you feel different to normal people?”
“‘Normal’ is a word too broad and generally subjective to use. If I understand your question correctly, I don’t feel different than neurotypical people. I am different. This is my normal.”
“Yeah, I understand about having one’s own normal. My normal has not been easy to explain to people.”
“Why do you need to explain it?”
“Why indeed.” She paused when Colin’s phone rang.
He pressed the answer button. “On speaker, Vin.”
“It’s clear, dude. The old man wants you guys here in a jiffy.” He laughed when Manny said something in the background. “That overdose really gave him a hangover from hell. I didn’t think it was possible for him to be grumpier than he usually is. But... here we are.”
Colin started the SUV engine. Fifteen metres ahead of us was a park. We turned right into a narrow, cobblestone street. On our left, the park was green and appeared minimally maintained. It was nothing like the manicured parks close to our flat in Strasbourg. On our right were two-story houses, some as dilapidated as the one where we’d parked earlier.
A few houses were beautifully restored, cream- and peach-coloured paints making them look new. One house had flowerboxes in the windows—a bit early in the season, but I imagined it looked charming in summer with flowers flowing down to the pavement.
Colin drove towards the peach-coloured house at the end of the street. He tilted his head up to speak t
owards the SUV’s mic. “I see your car, Vin. Tell Millard we’ll be there in a minute.”
Ivan’s SUV and the rental car Vinnie and Manny used were in front of the park, three parking spaces next to them still open. Colin stopped next to the silver rental car.
“As much as I would love to go in with you, I will stay here.” Bree crossed her legs, settling deeper into the back seat. She looked at Colin. “But I really want to know all the details.”
“As much as we can tell you, as soon as we can.”
“Thanks.” She sighed heavily, her shoulders dropping. “Man, I’m starving. I should’ve brought that box of cupcakes. Hey, do you think they sell cupcakes here?”
Colin laughed as he shook his head and opened his door. We got out and joined Vinnie by the wooden front door. This was the only house on the street with wooden window frames. The ground-floor windows had burglar-proofing—something I had not noticed in the other houses.
Vinnie was leaning against the doorframe and lifted his chin towards Colin’s SUV. “She’s staying put?”
“Yeah.” Colin glanced at the vehicle. “I think she’s hoping to build more trust, to prove to us that we can allow her into this case.”
“Not going to bloody happen.” Manny stood in the hallway and waved us in. “We can worry about sharing information with a journalist later. Right now I need you, Doc.”
I nodded and walked with everyone to the back of the house. Even though the outside façade and wooden door and window frames blended well with the historical ambience of the village, the inside of this house could be any modern home in any city.
Rugs with abstract patterns were scattered on white glossy tiled floors. Recessed lighting, mirrors and modern art were well matched to the battleship-gray walls. We passed a room that had a large flat screen television against a wall. The room at the end of the hallway was the kitchen. The black and white floor tiles were matt, but the modern white kitchen units were as glossy as the tiles in the other rooms. All the appliances were top of the range.
A small round table stood in the centre of the room. Only when I saw a man sitting at the table did I realise that I had not yet seen a photo of Antonin Korn. He was shorter than average with a petite build. Francine would insist on describing his features as ‘not an oil painting’. His eyes were close-set, his nose wide and his cheeks ruddy. But his short, styled hair and designer clothes made him appear like a wealthy, well-groomed man.
The kitchen was crowded and I walked to stand next to the back door. An overfull travel bag rested on three large suitcases by the door. I leaned back against the kitchen counter and further studied the man who had a reputation of great self-confidence. There was no evidence of that right now. Only fear. Immense fear.
He clenched his trembling hands into fists, his breathing was shallow and I could see his racing pulse beating in his neck. He was pushing himself against the back of the chair and it appeared like he was trying to make himself look smaller by hunching over.
Manny sat down at the table with Antonin and Ivan joined Vinnie in the hallway, leaning against the opposite wall and looking into the kitchen.
“Is Hana okay? What did you do with her?” Antonin’s English was without accent, his voice high from stress. “I want to speak to her.”
“Hana is in her bedroom.” Manny slumped in the chair. “Why do you want to speak to her?”
“I want to make sure she understands how serious this is. She needs to go somewhere safe.” He glanced at the suitcases and his expression turned pleading. “You have to keep her safe. Her and my wife and children. I was going to take them away, but you can keep them safer. You have to.”
“That’s a lot to demand when you’re a criminal.”
“I’m not a criminal.” His slammed his fist on the table.
“No? Then explain why you have a business relationship with Vittorio Sordi, Mirek Havel and Jeroen Verhoeven.”
Antonin crossed his arms. “You’ve been in my office, my records.”
“Yes.” Manny didn’t say anything else. He waited quietly, one eyebrow raised.
It was easy to see Antonin adding the information to form a conclusion. A conclusion that caused him a series of emotions—fear, hope, relief, anger, regret. He swallowed, his shoulders sagging. “Shahab Hatami.”
“Yes?”
“That’s why you’re here.” The fear on his face intensified. “You know what he’s done, don’t you? You’re here to stop him. Please tell me you’re here to stop him spreading the poison. He’s got everything ready, you know. The way he was talking, this is going to be worse than Moscow. I tried to convince him not to kill innocent people. He completely lost it. He told me that he would do whatever he wanted and if I wanted to stay alive, I should stay out of his way. But I had a feeling he was going to come back for me. The moment I heard that Doctor Novotný had been found dead, I knew I was next. Shahab has never been one to leave loose ends lying around. No, sir.”
His eyes grew wide, his gaze frantic. “If you found me, that means that he will find me too. Oh, God. You have to keep me safe. Me and my family. And Hana. He’s going to kill us. He’s a psychopath. A madman. First he’s going to kill me, then he’s going to do whatever it is he’s planning with all the stuff he created. Oh, man. We’re all going to die.”
I was the only one who didn’t outwardly react to his rambling. Manny swore, Vinnie and Colin gasped and Ivan ran outside, his phone in his hand.
Manny turned to me. He inhaled, then frowned and looked at Ivan, who rushed back in. His eyes were stretched wide, his eyebrows high on his forehead, his jaw slack. Shock. I took a step back. Away from Ivan and whatever bad news he had.
“We have a problem.” Ivan glanced at Antonin. “Three hours ago, a man died in one of the five-star hotels on the riverbank. Preliminary tests are coming back as an opioid overdose, but the ME is worried. There’s something about this opioid.”
“It’s started. It’s Shahab’s poison. Oh, God. You have to keep me safe.” Antonin got up. “Hana! Oh, God, Shahab is going to kill us.”
Chapter THIRTEEN
“WE’VE TOLD GUESTS IT’S a gas leak.” Ivan looked towards the wide staircase in the centre of the hotel’s foyer. Dozens of people were coming down, some with their suitcases. I detected no panic, just looks of annoyance, confusion and curiosity.
“That is always the simplest and fastest way to get a large group of people to evacuate an area.” Daniel was standing with us next to the beautiful mahogany reception desk. Even though he was wearing jeans and a thick jacket, his posture was exactly the same as the specialised police officers calmly leading the guests outside.
“Have you heard from the hospital?” Colin asked Ivan.
“Yes.” Ivan had tried to calm Antonin down in gently spoken Czech, but Antonin had been hysterical. I’d recognised that level of debilitating panic. The state he’d been in had reminded me of my meltdowns. When Antonin had started crying and rocking in his chair, Manny had told Ivan to order an ambulance. “They’ve sedated Antonin and he’s sleeping.”
“If they’ve sedated him, he’ll most likely sleep until tomorrow morning.” Daniel shook his head. “I usually see such breakdowns only in traumatised children.”
“His fear was real.” It had affected me greatly. Even now, I was mentally listening to Mozart’s String Quartet No. 1 in G major to slow my breathing and heart rate.
“We’re here! We’re here!” Roxy rushed over from the front entrance and went on her toes to kiss Vinnie. “How can I help?”
Francine stopped next to Roxy and looked at me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m well.” Anxious and trying to process all the new information, but I was managing. For now.
Roxy took a step closer to me and stared at me, then nodded. “You’re good to go.”
I leaned away from her. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She smiled and moved back to Vinnie’s side. “Where’s Bree?”
“Her hotel
is three blocks away.” Colin nodded with his chin towards the street. “She said she was going to walk there and do some more research. And eat. She was hungry.”
“Good riddance.” Manny jerked when Francine slapped his shoulder. “I don’t trust that journalist.”
“Not yet, but you’ll come around.” Francine turned to Ivan. “What do we know about this death?”
“He wasn’t tortured like Shahab’s other victims.” That had been the first question Ivan had asked the first responders. “He had been exposed to some form of opioid, collapsed in his room and died there.”
“Is this the poison Antonin was talking about?” Vinnie asked.
Ivan raised both shoulders. “We need autopsy results to know that.”
“Who found him?” Francine asked.
“The hotel received a call from the victim’s business partner. The victim was supposed to be at a meeting, but didn’t show and wasn’t answering his phone. The partner managed to convince the hotel to check his room.”
Francine lifted her tablet. “What’s the victim’s name?”
“Jarda Zonyga.” Ivan looked at Francine tapping on her tablet, closed his eyes for a second and sighed. “I don’t know what you’re doing now, but I hope you’ll find more than we’ve done so far.”
“What do you know?” Manny asked.
“Zonyga was a partner in a toy company. My team is looking into him, but so far they tell me they can’t find a connection to Shahab.” He swiped his smartphone screen and held it out for us to see. A handsome man in his late thirties was smiling at the camera. “This is Zonyga. Too young to be dead.”
I studied Ivan’s expression. “You’re frustrated about something.”
“I am.” He looked at the last of the guests leaving the hotel. “It’s hard to do my job when my bosses are trying to prevent me from doing it.”
“The thing you don’t want to talk about.” Vinnie crossed his arms. “Dude, you might want to tell us soon.”
The regret on Ivan’s face was real. “If I do...” He shook his head. “I can’t.”