by Graham Brack
Adamec chewed on a toothpick he had found in a pocket. ‘Do you remember a case up here about five years back? Man who sawed his wife’s head off so her body would fit in a trunk?’
Slonský pushed his hat higher on his forehead. What was the man rambling about? ‘Yes. Little weedy fellow who got fed up with her talking while he was trying to read.’
‘That’s the one. We nailed him because he bought the saw at a hardware store and the shopkeeper remembered him. Then we proved the saw was used to lop her head off.’
‘Yes, but we couldn’t prove he’d killed her. He admitted it was his saw, but said he had nothing to do with the killing or the decapitation.’
‘Where we went wrong,’ mused Adamec, ‘was that we tried to prove he had bought the saw in order to cut her head off. We were trying to prove he’d planned the whole thing. Whereas, as he subsequently admitted when he was locked in the loony-bin, there was no planning at all. He just flipped and grabbed the nearest thing to hand, which happened to be a distinctive saw.’
Slonský sighed deeply. ‘If there was a point to this walk through history it has escaped me, Adamec.’
‘Just that the lover might have hidden the payments if he planned the murder, but if it was an impulse he may not have realised that he left a smoking gun.’
Slonský showed an unexpected burst of energy in bounding to his feet.
‘Adamec, if it wasn’t one of the most disgusting ideas I’ve ever had, I’d kiss you! I’ll get Navrátil onto it right now.’ He took out his telephone and searched for Navrátil’s number. ‘Damn! I don’t have his number. Never mind, I’ll call the office and get someone to tell him. While I’m doing that, think harder! We have to find that girl’s flat.’
Lukas listened carefully to Navrátil before shaking his head solemnly. ‘It’s out of the question. How could I possibly get permission to examine a Minister’s bank account?’
‘You could ask him, sir. After all, he voluntarily gave us his DNA sample.’
‘Ah. Not quite. But I take the point. After all, if he is innocent, why would he object? And as our Minister he has to set an example, after all. But I’d better have a word with my superiors, Navrátil. Tell Slonský I’ll speak to the Director of the Criminal Police about it.’
Navrátil coughed gently.
‘Was there something else, Navrátil?’
‘Lieutenant Slonský is concerned that if the Minister is alerted to our interest in him, he may destroy vital evidence.’
‘Surely not! He is, after all, the Minister of the Interior, Navrátil. His job is to ensure the efficiency of the police, and destroying evidence would hardly achieve that.’
‘No, sir. But he may be more worried about going to jail for the rest of his life.’
Lukas gaped as if the possibility of the Minister’s guilt had just occurred to him.
‘I can’t imagine a minister in our government killing a young woman in such a vile manner. What is the world coming to?’
‘Surely in the old days ministers did far worse, sir.’
‘But that was under the old regime — ill-educated men who had no moral fibre, not elected politicians. The Minister is a university graduate, Navrátil. He holds a doctorate.’
‘If there is the least chance that he may be guilty, sir, we can’t be seen to be going easy on him just because he is our boss.’
‘Of course not. Quite improper. Must be seen to be … without fear or favour.’
‘So I can ask for a disclosure warrant, sir?’
‘Can we do it discreetly?’
‘Any judge will do, sir. I’ll find one who’ll keep it to himself. If you’ll just sign the application here, sir.’
Lukas held the paper for some time with all the trepidation of a constitutional monarch asked to sign a death warrant.
‘I’ll take it with me, Navrátil, and get the Director to sign it.’
Navrátil knew Slonský had returned by the colourful language emanating from the office. ‘They should pension off some of these old sergeants. Adamec must be eighty if he’s a day.’
‘He isn’t retired yet, sir.’
‘Mentally, I mean. Not a clue about his own patch. No idea where her flat could be. And the man is a walking photograph album. If I see another picture of his nauseatingly cherub-cheeked offspring —’
‘Captain Lukas wants you, sir.’
‘Me? Why?’
‘He wants you to go with him to see the Director to get a warrant to examine the Minister’s bank account.’
‘Do we know who the Minister banks with?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Then getting a warrant may be a bit problematic, lad. We won’t know what to do with it if we get one.’
‘Isn’t that always true?’
‘Normally, Navrátil, we just ring round asking if the banks know Mr X of such and such an address. Sooner or later we strike lucky. It’s a bit more difficult asking banks if a minister is a client.’
Slonský examined the floor in thought before marching out of the room.
‘Come, Navrátil! We’re going to see if we can find Klinger.’
Klinger was a slick-haired man in a dark suit and crisp white shirt who inhabited a nondescript office on the floor above.
‘Why is it that visits from you always involve skulduggery, Slonský?’
‘It’s a gift. Can you do it or not?’
‘I’m not sure. I’ll have to make a couple of calls.’
‘Fine. We’ll wait.’
‘The kind of calls I don’t want people listening in on.’
‘Fine. We’ll wait outside.’
Slonský and Navrátil closed the door behind them. It soon opened again, as Klinger poked his head out. ‘Outside and far away, where you can’t listen in,’ he insisted.
‘You know your trouble, Klinger. A lack of trust.’
‘Maybe that’s why I’m a fraud officer,’ Klinger replied, and watched as they made their way to the next doorway.
‘Another couple of doors, please,’ said Klinger.
‘It’s rubbing off on you, Klinger. You’re developing an untrusting mentality. I could be very hurt.’
‘Do you want the details or don’t you?’
Slonský pushed Navrátil ahead of him. ‘Don’t dawdle, Navrátil. Do as the nice man says.’
Klinger emerged a few minutes later with a scrap of paper. ‘I can’t say it’s his only bank account, but it’s the one his salary gets paid into.’
‘How did you get this?’
‘Never mind.’
‘No, I’m impressed! It can’t be easy to get details off a government payroll department.’
‘It is if you tell them you think he’s been underpaid. Now hop off before someone sees you talking to me.’
‘I owe you one, Klinger.’
‘You owe me about eighteen, actually. But who’s counting?’
‘I was beginning to think you weren’t coming, Slonský,’ said Lukas.
‘Tied up looking for the girl’s flat, sir.’
‘The Director is waiting for us.’
‘Very good of him to work late for us, I’m sure.’
‘Slonský, it’s only four o’clock. He’s hardly working late.’
‘If you say so, sir.’
They were greeted by the Director’s secretary and invited to sit down while she told him they were there.
‘You could have smartened yourself up a bit, Slonský. It is the Director we’re seeing.’
Slonský inspected himself carefully. ‘I did. I never claimed to be a male model.’
‘When did you last polish those shoes?’
Slonský furrowed his brow. ‘When did the Berlin Wall come down?’
Lukas was deeply shocked. You could tell because his mouth fell open and he moved it like a landed catfish gasping for air.
‘Joke, sir.’
‘No laughing matter, Slonský.’
‘No, sir. Anyway, I must have cleaned them at l
east twice since then.’
The secretary reappeared and held the door open. They entered, Lukas leading the way, and found the Director advancing towards them with his hand extended in greeting.
‘Lukas. Slonský, isn’t it? Sit, please.’
‘Thank you, sir. You know why I asked to see you?’
‘Yes, Lukas. Bad business. But if there are suspicions they must be investigated. Explain to me why you think a discovery warrant is needed.’
‘The murder victim was last seen in the company of the Minister, sir.’
‘And he admits they met?’
‘Yes, sir. He left her at ten o’clock, he says, and forensic evidence suggests she died within two hours.’
‘During which time someone had her,’ interjected Slonský.
Lukas cringed with embarrassment.
‘That’s suggestive,’ agreed the Director.
‘That’s what I thought,’ said Slonský, ‘but Captain Lukas is a stickler for doing things by the book and quite rightly said we needed more. The question is, who paid the rent on her flat in Strahov?’
‘Nice area?’
‘We haven’t found it yet. But since nobody has missed her, we assume she didn’t share.’
‘Or he killed the flatmate too,’ suggested the Director.
Lukas looked from one to the other as if watching a tennis rally.
‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ admitted Slonský. ‘That’ll be why you’re a Director and I’m just a humble footsoldier.’
‘Anyway, sir,’ Lukas continued, ‘we want to know if he has been paying for the flat, since he says he doesn’t know where she lived. If we find he has, then it casts doubt on his story.’
‘DNA,’ the Director muttered. ‘If they made love, can we match the DNA?’
‘We’ve got a sample from the girl, and the Minister gave us a sample of his.’
‘Very public-spirited of him. Presumably he didn’t know he was under suspicion. Did he waive his right to have a lawyer present?’
‘Not exactly,’ Lukas stammered.
‘He didn’t need one,’ Slonský explained. ‘He’s a lawyer himself. He can be his own lawyer.’
‘I’m not sure the court will go along with that when the time comes, Lieutenant.’
‘He didn’t object, sir. In fact, when I asked he said “Of course”, didn’t he, Captain?’
‘Yes, I believe he did.’
‘You were present?’ the Director asked. ‘That’s all right, then.’
Lukas was unsure why his presence made it all right, and equally unsure whether he wanted to admit to having been there, but the Director’s mind had raced ahead.
‘The DNA will take a day or two. So we need to see the Minister’s bank account to see if he has been paying for the flat?’
‘That’s it, sir,’ agreed Slonský.
‘Have you got the bank’s details?’
Slonský offered Klinger’s piece of paper.
‘This looks a bit clandestine,’ said the Director.
‘Properly obtained, I’m sure,’ Lukas interjected in a tone that indicated that he was actually very unsure of it.
‘From the Minister’s office, sir. His staff were sure he would want to assist us in every way.’
The Director smiled slightly.
‘Very commendable. It makes things much easier for us, doesn’t it? Nice when suspects co-operate.’
‘Isn’t it?’ agreed Slonský, now certain that he had been rumbled.
The Director took the application and signed it with a flourish.
‘I’ve amended it slightly. It now covers that bank account and any others the Minister may happen to have with the same bank, Captain.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ chorused Slonský and Lukas.
‘You don’t need a judge’s countersignature. I’ve certified that for reasons of operational urgency we need to move quickly. I’ll notify the appropriate people that it’s been done.’
‘What a nice man!’ Slonský said. ‘Very helpful. Easy to see how he got where he is.’
‘Quite. Slonský, where did you really get that account number?’
‘We already had it, sir.’
‘Really?’
‘Of course, it would be quite improper of me to divulge if any enquiry of a financial nature were under way elsewhere in the police, sir.’
‘Of course. And I wouldn’t need to know that.’
‘Nor should you, sir. It might colour your thinking about him if you thought he might not have paid all his taxes.’
‘Slonský! Don’t tell me any more! I insist you keep the details to yourself and don’t talk about it to me again.’
‘As you wish, sir,’ said Slonský, and allowed himself a roguish smirk.
Navrátil was feeling very proud of himself. He had a map of Prague on the desk and was busy putting pins into it.
‘Amusing yourself, Navrátil?’
‘I may be on to something, sir.’
‘Say on, young prince. I am all ears.’
‘Well, sir, they didn’t recognise her at the internet café, but there must be a reason why she gave that number.’
‘Except she didn’t. I bet the Minister gave us that one to lead us into a dead end. He rang her mobile. If she’d gone to the café often enough to pick up casual messages, they’d have known her there.’
Navrátil was slightly upset that Slonský had already travelled along this line of thought, which he had believed was entirely original.
‘Cheer up, lad. That’s a map of Strahov and those pins aren’t internet places, so give me the rest.’
‘They’re places where you can buy milk, sir.’
‘Milk?’
‘Everyone needs milk, sir. Almost everyone, to be more exact. But if you live on your own you just pick it up when you need it. So I thought Miss Gruberová must buy milk somewhere near her flat. And after a few tries, I struck lucky.’
‘Well done, lad!’
‘This one here, sir. The old woman recognised the photo.’
Slonský blanched.
‘You didn’t show her the picture with the Minister?’
‘Not all of it, sir. I made a copy of half of it. She only saw the victim.’
‘Thank heavens for that. And?’
‘She said she didn’t recognise the drawing in the newspapers because the eyes were wrong.’
‘Wrong? You mean she had three or something?’
‘No, sir. You can see what she meant from the photo. Miss Gruberová had hooded eyelids. The woman says she always looked half asleep.’
‘If she was up all night getting bonked by the Minister she probably was. But pray continue.’
‘She doesn’t know exactly where the victim lived, but she says it can’t be far away because she sometimes came to the shop without a coat.’
Slonský beamed with delight.
‘You are destined for high things, son. When you are Director of Police, remember old Slonský gave you your first break and see if you can’t bump the pensions up a bit. But why the other pins?’
‘I wanted to see where she would have to live if that shop was the nearest to her flat. There are shops here and here, so the best bet looks like somewhere in these four streets.’
‘Right. Ring Strahov and get Adamec to meet us. I don’t care if he’s finished his shift. Tell him we’re going to do door-to-door along those streets and we could do with any spare men he can find. It’s going to be a long evening, so I’m off to the canteen to get us some sausages and coffee. And because you’ve been good, you get a pastry too, young man.’
Chapter 6
Adamec had found three young policemen who stood in the cold night air blowing on their hands.
‘Are they old enough to be out at this hour?’ Slonský asked.
Adamec looked them over carefully. ‘It’s us,’ he concluded. ‘We’re getting older. They say you know you’re getting old when the policemen look young.’
‘Fair enoug
h. Gather round, lads! Now, Navrátil has a photo and a drawing for each of you. I want you to share these streets here and knock on everyone’s door. We’re trying to find the murder victim’s flat.’
A hand was raised tentatively.
‘Yes?’
‘Sir, if she’s the victim she won’t answer.’
Slonský resisted the very real temptation to kick a police officer.
‘Quite right, lad, she won’t. So make a note in your little black book that there was no-one in. If someone answers, ask them if they know the woman in the pictures and where she lived. If you get an address, call your loving Sergeant, and he’ll tell me.’
Navrátil and the three policemen trudged off through the snow, leaving Adamec and Slonský on the main road.
‘What do we do now?’ asked Adamec.
‘No point standing out here,’ replied Slonský. ‘Let’s find a nice warm bar and wait for a call.’
It was not too long in coming. A woman identified the victim as her upstairs neighbour, and correctly named her as Irina Something-or-other.
‘Good enough for me, Navrátil,’ announced Slonský. ‘Anyone have a key?’
‘She gave me the landlord’s number, but there’s no reply.’
‘Adamec?’
‘I’ll get a locksmith. There’s one we use.’
‘There, that’s what comes of keeping your brain warm. You lads go and warm up. Not you, Navrátil. I need you here with me. You should have thought of that before you made yourself indispensable.’
‘Am I indispensable, then?’
‘For the moment. But don’t puff yourself up. I’m fickle like that. We’re going to talk to the near neighbours. I want to know if any of them saw anything on Monday night, especially a car arriving around ten or leaving a bit later.’
‘We didn’t ask the Minister what kind of car he has, sir.’
‘I asked his secretary. He has a beige Mercedes.’
When the locksmith arrived it took him only a few minutes to dismantle the lock and allow entry. The Scene of Crime team were quickly in action, dusting and measuring, while Slonský stood in each doorway in turn, silently inspecting the room and committing the layout to memory.
‘Tidy place,’ he pronounced. ‘Some nice stuff.’