Lying and Dying

by Graham Brack

  ‘Everyone is guilty, sir,’ offered Slonský. ‘They may not be guilty of what they’re charged with, but everyone has done something.’

  ‘Cynical, and hardly reassuring,’ Lukas observed.

  ‘But true, sir.’

  ‘You may be right, but I’m not sure that it will comfort the Prime Minister.’

  ‘If we’re asked, sir, the reason for the Minister’s dismissal is surely that he failed to co-operate with our enquiries, thereby failing to meet the ethical requirements of his office.’

  ‘That’s very literate of you, Slonský. I’ll just make a note for future reference.’

  ‘On top of that, he’s a lying little adulterer who didn’t give a fig for his adoring girlfriend.’

  ‘I won’t make a note of that, Slonský.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  ‘So when are we going to release him?’

  ‘Do we have to? He’s stopped demanding his freedom. And he might not want to face the press. Besides which, the public may want us to arrest someone else if we let him go. All in all, it’s probably better if we keep him banged up for a while.’

  ‘There are limits, Slonský. If his lawyer kicks up it’ll probably be only a day before he has to be set free.’

  ‘I think we could probably still get a conviction with the evidence we have, sir. The fact that my private intuition tells me he probably didn’t do it is irrelevant.’

  Lukas cleared his throat noisily.

  ‘Was that a meaningful harrumph, sir?’

  ‘I think,’ Lukas mused, ‘that we might not yet discover the Minister’s innocence and we could reasonably continue to think of him as the prime suspect.’

  ‘Definitely, sir. He must be our prime suspect, because he’s our only suspect.’

  Slonský beamed benignly.

  ‘There are times,’ Lukas opined, ‘when I think you may be the nearest thing we have to a Good Policeman Švejk, Slonský. Insubordinate, in an innocent, non-threatening sort of way.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘But where do we go now? If not Banda, then who?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know, sir.’

  Navrátil was surprised to find that Slonský stopped only briefly at the office to collect his hat and coat before marching purposefully out into the street.

  ‘Where are we going, sir?’

  ‘To do some research, Navrátil. We need an environment suitable for deep thinking and reflection, free from distractions. And here it is.’

  ‘A bar?’

  ‘Beer, sausages, comfortable chairs — what more could we want? I need to think hard. Be a good lad and amuse yourself while I get my brain oiled.’

  ‘There must be something more useful I can do.’

  ‘No doubt. And when you think of it, do it. Just don’t ask me for suggestions.’

  With which, Slonský pushed the door open and was swallowed into the darkness, leaving Navrátil standing with his hands in his pockets and his mouth half open.

  Navrátil had an idea. It was a peculiar idea, and he could not quite see where it would lead, but he had nothing else to offer, so he grabbed his file and marched upstairs to see if Klinger was free.

  Klinger listened carefully to Navrátil’s questions. They showed an uncommon degree of shrewdness, he thought. Someday Navrátil may have a future in the fraud department, provided Slonský did not ruin him with his addiction to beer, sausages and untidy mental habits.

  As for Navrátil, he returned to the office with a sense that he had an expert’s backing for the bizarre theory that he was beginning to form. He was no wiser about where it was leading, but in a landscape with no signposts, the smallest marker is a handy thing to have.

  As it happened, Navrátil was crestfallen to discover that Slonský had independently arrived at the same odd notion.

  ‘You think someone is out to frame Banda?’

  ‘I can’t see how else to explain it all,’ Navrátil replied.

  Slonský perched his feet on the desk.

  ‘You’re probably right, but it leaves us having to think of a perpetrator and a motive. I agree that he is being framed, but I can’t think who would do it and why.’

  ‘Someone who wants his job?’

  ‘Another corrupt minister? Two, in the same government? Surely not! Navrátil, you’ll get a reputation for cynicism. Still, it would be good fun to tell the Prime Minister he’s got to sack another minister. Wouldn’t do much for team spirit, banging one minister up for trying to frame another one.’

  ‘But you understand the point I was making, sir?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Navrátil. You did well. The Minister said what he said about the cash withdrawal, and it’s a key bit of evidence. I just can’t see who it points at.’

  There was a critical story in the evening newspaper, claiming that Banda was unlikely to be charged and that the police were no nearer finding an alternative suspect.

  ‘This is appalling!’ Lukas protested. ‘It undermines all we’re trying to do.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ agreed Slonský. ‘It’s true, too.’

  ‘That is quite beside the point! This is speculation of the worst kind. We must answer it with action, Slonský. We must ram these words down the journalist’s throat. I cannot imagine what he thought he was doing.’

  Navrátil had not had the opportunity to read the article, but studied it as they walked back to their office.

  ‘Doesn’t this make your blood boil, sir?’

  ‘You get used to it, Navrátil.’

  ‘But where did they get this from? There’s only you, me and maybe Mucha who could have known this.’

  ‘As Captain Lukas said, it’s speculation of the worst kind. Pure guesswork.’

  ‘Who is this journalist anyway? Valentin?’

  ‘Come along, lad. I’ve got to meet someone in the Old Town. You can come too.’

  The meeting was, predictably, in a bar. The bar was, equally predictably, not particularly select in either its setting or its clientele. A scruffy middle-aged man sat in a corner trying to complete a puzzle in a scrunched-up newspaper, inexpertly folded. To Navrátil’s surprise, Slonský bought three beers and placed one of them in front of the man.

  ‘This, Navrátil, is Mr Valentin.’

  Valentin nodded a greeting.

  ‘Job suit you?’ he asked.

  ‘Very good. I especially liked the bit about muddled leadership of the investigation and whether the involvement of a minister had led to higher ranks becoming involved who no longer had day-to-day experience of murder inquiries.’

  ‘That’s word for word. You must actually have read it.’

  ‘You mean in the paper, or when I helped you write it?’

  ‘You disparage my talents, sir. I demand satisfaction! I have a reputation as a sozzled hack to maintain.’

  ‘And you’re doing it very well.’

  Valentin pointed at Navrátil.

  ‘Is he all there?’

  ‘You mean that vacant expression? Yes, the brain works very well. He’s a good lad, is Navrátil. One day I shall hang up my handcuffs and he’ll slide effortlessly into my place, you mark my words. Navrátil, cultivate this old hack and you’ll have a valuable ally. I take it that gormless look indicates that you’re surprised by this turn of events?’

  ‘You could say that, sir, yes.’

  ‘Then let me admit you to my innermost thought processes while I can still remember what they are. How did we first link the murder to the Minister?’

  ‘Someone sent us a photograph.’

  ‘Exactly. Someone out there wanted us to know what was going on, and gave us the evidence to pin the crime on Dr Banda. Now, it seems to me to be a reasonable supposition that our penfriend wanted Banda fingered for the crime. It seemed plausible that if we let him or her know that Banda wasn’t going to be fingered, he might send us a bit more evidence.’

  ‘So this is a trick to get the original source to get back in touch with us?’

&
nbsp; ‘A long shot, I admit, but maybe the best we have at present. And to give the story credibility, it couldn’t come from us. If it came from someone unconnected with the police, it would carry more weight. Enter Mr Valentin here, who, for a modest amount of beer and first chance at the big story when we get it, was prepared to blacken our names in the gutter press.’

  ‘To be honest,’ said Valentin, ‘for the chance to blacken your name I’d work for nothing.’

  ‘Spoken like a true member of the fourth estate. Navrátil, Mr Valentin’s glass is empty. Be a good lad and fill it for him, would you?’

  ‘Can you manage another too?’ asked Navrátil.

  Slonský gave him a disapproving look and drained his glass.

  Chapter 13

  The following day, Slonský gave Navrátil the day off, once it became clear that there had been no response to the newspaper story. In the afternoon, Irina Gruberová was laid to rest in her home village, and the mourners might have noticed a slightly portly man in a crumpled overcoat standing in the churchyard, who appeared to be on speaking terms with Sergeant Tomáš.

  ‘How’s it going?’ the sergeant enquired.

  ‘Not well. The prime suspect is still the prime suspect; there’s no good evidence to exonerate him, but I just can’t picture him being so stupid. We’re working on the principle that someone framed him.’

  Tomáš nodded.

  ‘Understandable. If I’d had something on him, I’d have framed the little sod myself.’

  ‘But why would you do it? He loses his job, but how do you win?’

  ‘It’s just the pleasure of seeing another human being suffer, I suppose,’ Tomáš shrugged. ‘What is it the Germans call it? Schadenfreude? Joy at another’s misfortunes.’

  ‘Okay, I can understand that. But it takes some planning. And it costs an innocent girl her life. Why not accuse him of a tax fiddle, or corruption? Why harm someone else? Why not just kill the Minister?’

  ‘Well, I guess whoever it was knew about the mistress and realised it could hurt Banda. He didn’t have to create anything, because Banda did that himself.’

  Slonský perked up at once.

  ‘Tomáš, you’re a genius! If I ever have a vacancy for a driver, I’ll give you a call.’

  ‘No thanks, I like it here. But what have I said?’

  ‘You said “whoever it was knew about the mistress”. That’s right. And he knew he could go to that restaurant and have a good chance of getting a photo. How did he know that?’

  Novák sipped his pear brandy.

  ‘This is either brilliant or completely hare-brained, and I can’t decide which.’

  They were in the restaurant and Slonský had a tape measure in his hand.

  ‘You understand this better than me. Where was this photograph taken from?’

  Novák measured the height of a wineglass in the photograph, then a matching wineglass on the table. He scribbled some sums on a paper napkin, took the tape measure from Slonský, and started to walk backwards from the table where Banda and Gruberová had been sitting.

  ‘That table there,’ he announced, pointing at a table for two against the wall.

  Slonský raised his eyebrows at the restaurant manager, who flicked through the reservations book.

  ‘Table for one at 7.45, name of Lukas.’

  ‘Did he pay by credit card?’

  The restaurant manager clicked a few keys on a computer terminal.

  ‘No, cash.’

  ‘Remember him?’

  ‘Afraid not. He can’t have been here long, because we gave his table to a couple at nine o’clock.’

  Novák drained his glass.

  ‘Presumably, Banda didn’t recognise him, or he wouldn’t have let himself be photographed.’

  ‘He’d have the cameraman slightly behind him. Probably didn’t even notice he was there. In Banda’s eyes, he was being very discreet. No hanky-panky at the table. Just a pair of business colleagues having a meal together.’

  ‘They were lovers, Slonský! You can’t disguise that.’

  ‘Can’t you? I remember a police captain who thought nobody knew he was shafting his driver. They kept a respectable distance in public and genuinely thought nobody had any reason for suspicion.’

  ‘Nice girl?’

  ‘Who said it was a girl? I can see Banda being just as arrogant. If he was trying to keep it secret, he’d believe he’d succeeded.’

  ‘Okay, but humour me a minute. We’re arguing that the man who took the photo knew enough to know Banda would be here with Irina. That argues for someone familiar with Banda and something Banda wanted to be discreet about. So surely if Banda saw someone he knew here, he’d know he’d been rumbled.’

  ‘Then our source must have sent someone else to take the photograph. But how he used a camera in here without being noticed is a mystery to me.’

  ‘But not to me,’ Novák smirked, raising his mobile phone so that Slonský could see a photograph of himself waiting impatiently while the restaurant manager checked if “Lukas” had paid by credit card. ‘You didn’t know I’d taken that, did you?’

  Slonský checked his own mobile phone.

  ‘Can they all do that?’

  ‘Your antique model is probably the only cellphone in Prague that can’t.’

  ‘Well, phones are for phoning. Who needs a camera in a phone anyway?’

  ‘Our blackmailer does,’ responded Novák. ‘As you said, he couldn’t do this without one.’

  ‘It isn’t blackmail,’ Slonský muttered. ‘The photo was sent to us a day or so after it was taken. That isn’t time for them to call Banda and get him to pay them off. There’s nothing he could do to stop this getting out. It wasn’t a question of money. Someone wanted to bring him down.’

  ‘Not necessarily. They may have been planning to blackmail him, then read that Irina had been murdered and realised they knew who the prime suspect was. Even if they aren’t public-spirited citizens who want to help the police in every way, they’d know the chances that Banda would be able to pay up, even if he wanted to, wouldn’t be good.’

  ‘It’s possible. The trouble is, too many things are possible.’

  ‘Any significance in the name Lukas?’

  ‘You mean he was expecting Lukas to get the case? Maybe.’

  ‘Your Captain isn’t that well known. Could the informant be a policeman?’

  ‘That’s possible too. But then why not claim the credit for nailing Banda himself? Why send it to me?’

  ‘Maybe he’s too far down the food chain.’

  Slonský sat at the table opposite Novák and rubbed his eyes.

  ‘I don’t know. We’re not getting anywhere.’

  Novák held out his glass for another brandy. The restaurant manager obliged.

  ‘He’ll pay.’

  Slonský sighed. It was not worth arguing about that either.

  ‘Just a thought,’ mused Novák. ‘Have you shown the photograph to Banda?’

  ‘Yes, to prove he must have known Gruberová.’

  ‘And does he know when it was taken?’

  ‘Yes, he volunteered that from his diary.’

  ‘Then does he know who took the photo? You’re assuming he didn’t know someone was here, but that doesn’t necessarily follow. He may have recognised someone here but not been worried about it, if it was a friendly face. But now he may know who set him up.’

  Slonský’s brain was racing.

  ‘If he does, then no doubt he’ll be in touch the first chance he gets. We could let him have a private phone call — all suitably tapped, of course.’

  ‘Surely he’s not so dim as to fall for that?’

  ‘No, I suppose not. But then if the photographer knows that Banda recognised him and is about to be released, maybe he will give us something else to stave off Banda’s revenge. I feel another little chat with Valentin coming on.’

  The restaurant manager coughed politely.

  ‘If you don’t mind,’
he said, ‘I’d like to earn a living by letting some customers in. Paying ones,’ he added pointedly.

  ‘Novák, sort the man out,’ Slonský snapped as he marched to the door.

  An advantage of dealing with the gentlemen of the gutter press is that they are regular in their habits. They can usually be found in a particular chair in a particular bar at unvarying times of day, so finding Valentin would not have taxed even Captain Lukas on one of his bad days, Slonský reflected.

  ‘I was just about to go home to bed,’ claimed Valentin.

  ‘At eight o’clock? I doubt that very much. Unless you’re in a nursing home and they insist on it, of course.’

  ‘My funds are exhausted. What is the point of staying?’

  ‘Is this a hint that you’d like me to buy you a drink?’

  ‘I wouldn’t insult you by refusing your act of charity. In fact, I’m prepared to give you repeated opportunities to be charitable.’

  Slonský ordered a couple of beers and explained what he wanted.

  ‘If I do this, can I have a head start if your informant gets in touch again?’

  ‘I won’t lie to you, old friend. If I can do it, I will. But there’s a chance I won’t be able to release any information if it proves to be useful to the investigation.’

  ‘I know that. And I trust you to tell me as much as you can, and perhaps a bit more if I’m a really good boy. Now, let’s compose our little tale. Front page headline?’

  ‘Let’s be a bit more subtle. Late breaking stuff jammed in at the foot of the front page?’

  Valentin sucked the end of his pencil in thought.

  ‘That would imply we’d heard about it late at night, and I’m not clear how we could do that. Who’s his lawyer?’

  ‘Koller.’

  ‘Old Koller or Young Koller?’

  ‘Ye gods, there are two of them?’

  ‘Son qualified last year.’

  ‘It’s the old man. The one who runs the tennis club.’

  ‘Does he play in Armani, I wonder? Never mind, innocent musing that will enliven a tedious midnight hour sometime. So, that publicity-loving hound is unlikely to object if we run a story saying that he is vigorously defending his client and is confident he will soon be released due to lack of evidence.’