Lying and Dying

by Graham Brack

‘I don’t know anything. I didn’t open this account. I haven’t made any payments into it.’

  ‘Come now, Mr Holec. To open such an account, one needs a passport. Here is a copy of your passport attached to the application form. Do you seriously expect me to believe that you lent your passport to someone who looks enough like you to open an account in your name? And you didn’t notice your passport had gone missing?’

  ‘It’s not my money,’ Holec whined.

  ‘It won’t be now,’ conceded Klinger. ‘We’ll repatriate it. And since you say it isn’t yours I’m sure you’ll willingly sign some paperwork allowing us to reclaim the cash and examine all the transactions connected with it.’

  Holec bowed his head and began to wring his hands. Klinger sat patiently, something that he had perfected over a few years. Sit still, keep quiet, let them speak when they want to fill the silence.

  ‘I didn’t realise it was so much. I only did one thing for them.’

  ‘Who are “they”?’

  ‘It’s an investment fund in Austria. They contacted me because I was organising the sale of a company here and their bid had been ruled out of time. They wanted to argue about the timetable and I said that it couldn’t be changed but in any event there was a better deal about to come up, and told them about another sale. It wasn’t illegal! I just gave them advance notice.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘They bought the company before it went on the market, and next thing I knew a bankers’ draft for a hundred thousand euros was sitting on my desk. I obviously couldn’t bank it here, so I asked around for ways of disposing of it.’

  ‘You mean hiding it.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose I do. If I’d known then what I know now, I obviously should have shredded it or sent it back. But it was a bit like a finder’s fee. I didn’t see anything wrong in it.’

  ‘However, Mr Holec, that does not explain these other sixteen transactions, some for much larger sums.’

  ‘I don’t remember them all. The same firm used to ring and ask about investments in the old Eastern bloc.’

  ‘I can’t help noticing that one of these payments is for rather more than fifteen million euros. That must have been quite a profitable deal for them if they could afford to pay you that much commission.’

  ‘That was a Romanian cement works. I didn’t realise that their properties were sitting on top of an oilfield. They’d kept it quiet but the Austrians must have assumed I’d known.’

  ‘And they were very grateful, it seems.’

  ‘Yes. So it seems.’

  ‘And it never crossed your mind to give this money back.’

  ‘I didn’t think I’d done anything illegal.’

  ‘Well, you didn’t pay tax on it. And there is an interesting debate to be had as to whether a government adviser should profit personally from the sale of assets. But in any event you know as well as I do that sending such large sums abroad without declaring them is an offence.’

  ‘I’ll willingly pay the tax,’ Holec squealed.

  ‘With what? The assets will be confiscated and, so far as I can see, your other accounts don’t contain enough to pay this amount of tax. Oh, dear, Mr Holec, prepare yourself for a few years in jail.’

  Holec began to sob.

  ‘My wife!’ he cried. ‘The shame will kill her. She’s not strong.’

  Klinger pushed his chair back and gathered his papers together.

  ‘You’ve got time to divorce her before the trial begins. Then she can tell her friends that she knew you were a devious little criminal and they’ll congratulate her for finding you out before we did.’

  Mucha entered bearing a cardboard box. Slonský glanced up from his paperwork and greeted him.

  ‘Wife finally slung you out, eh? Well, you can’t sleep here.’

  ‘Ha-de-ha-ha. These are not my possessions. My life runs to more than a videotape and a couple of badly typed statements. Where’s Navrátil?’

  ‘Lying in a meadow somewhere plaiting wild flowers for his true love’s hair. I couldn’t stand the big sad eyes any longer so I sent him to Kladno to check something in one of the statements from Gruberová’s friends. He’s turned into a fearsome mythical beast, half man, half puppy.’

  ‘Navrátil the were-puppy.’

  ‘That’s about the size of it. We’d better requisition some silver bullets in case he turns on us at the new moon.’

  ‘I’ll check the stores.’

  ‘So what’s in the box?’

  ‘I thought it would be a nice simple case for him to cut his teeth on. Old dear at Smíchov burgled by three lads. One of them works for a television installation company. He had been there a day or two ago and rigged a window so it wouldn’t close properly. He denies it, of course, but one of the boys is busy spilling all the beans he can.’

  ‘How sweet. I love it when kids play nicely together.’

  ‘The problem was that due to some illegal parking they couldn’t get their truck down her street, so they parked it on an office forecourt and ran backwards and forwards loading it up. Unfortunately, they didn’t spot the security cameras on the office building, so we have a nice clear videotape and a couple of confessions. One of them is holding out but I thought Navrátil would enjoy wrapping it up.’

  ‘Will it keep till tomorrow?’

  ‘I’ll charge them all anyway.’

  ‘Just leave the box on his desk and I’ll get him on it as soon as he comes back. If he comes back, that is. Since he fell for Officer Peiperová his brain has gone to mush. What is it with women, old pal? I’m no expert, but you’ve managed it. How many years have you been married?’

  ‘Twenty-eight, and around half of them have been happy. I find it helps if I have as little as possible to do with her family. Her dad was a good type, but then he went and died on me.’

  ‘Selfish so-and-so.’

  ‘That’s what I thought, leaving me alone with his wife and his other daughters. My wife’s not a bad sort, but her sisters are harpies.’

  ‘If it makes you feel happy I’ll ticket their broomsticks if I see them parked around town.’

  ‘You do that. Just watch for them turning you into a frog.’

  When Mucha had left Slonský remembered another piece of security footage that he had watched several times without really understanding what he was watching. However, it spurred him to pick up the phone to Spehar.

  ‘That clever gadget of yours — did it pick up any other days apart from the weekend that Soucha stayed at the house?’

  ‘I copied the entire hard disk. However far it goes back, we’ve got it.’

  Slonský flicked through his files and gave Spehar a date to check. He grabbed his coat and decided to take a walk, possibly taking in a sausage stall on the way.

  Slonský ambled down the ramp to the underground garage, ducking under the black and yellow barrier that filled the whole of the opening. There was a small cabin at the back of the car park by the elevators from which a figure clad all in maroon emerged.

  ‘This is a private car park, sir. If you’re visiting anyone here I must ask you to go to the front door.’

  ‘I don’t do front doors,’ replied Slonský, waving his badge at nobody in particular. ‘Can we have a little chat in that palatial sentry-post of yours?’

  The guard waved him ahead and offered Slonský a cup of instant coffee, which was accepted with alacrity.

  ‘Quite a swish set-up you have here,’ the detective said.

  ‘State of the art, they tell me.’

  ‘Do you open the barrier from here?’

  ‘I can, but most of the time the number-plate recognition system does it automatically.’

  ‘So it knows all the regulars?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We’re investigating a break-in earlier this year. It seems that the villains couldn’t park outside so they must have hidden their vehicle off the street somewhere.’

  ‘Won’t be here, unless it was a skateboard. Nobody gets i
n or out without being checked.’

  ‘Is there a log?’

  ‘There will be. The boss is a stickler for that. The system itself logs all the entries by the cars it knows. We keep a separate sheet for visitors.’

  He reached above him to produce a black folder which he offered to Slonský. Slonský fished in his pocket for a little slip of paper on which he had written a registration number that he carefully avoided letting the security guard see.

  ‘How do I get to see the residents’ log?’

  ‘Surely none of them can be involved. They’re all respectable people.’

  ‘No doubt they are, but they may have disreputable friends who borrow their cars. I’d like to be able to exclude your tenants from my enquiries, but without the log…’ He shrugged expressively.

  The security man clicked a couple of buttons on his keyboard.

  ‘What date?’

  ‘Tuesday, 7th February.’

  A few more clicks called up a list of entries and exits for the date in question. Slonský read it attentively.

  ‘Can we go over to the next day?’

  ‘There you go. Anything useful?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Slonský, then, seeing the guard’s surprise he added, ‘it’s always helpful to be able to exclude someone from your enquiries. Could I make a copy of this just to prove the point?’

  The guard printed off a couple of pages at Slonský’s direction.

  ‘Thanks. And thanks for the coffee. I’ll see myself out.’

  Slonský allowed himself a broad smile as he climbed the ramp to the outside world. This called for a celebration pastry. Shame Navrátil was not there to share in it, but Slonský could have one for him too.

  Chapter 20

  Slonský was no chess player, but he played a mean hand of sedma when his head was clear, and he knew the importance of not rushing the last few tricks just because you had made a breakthrough. It was simply too easy to mess up when it all seemed to be going well. Before making any further moves he decided to write out what he had discovered and run it past Navrátil, inviting him to look for holes in the argument. If it passed that test, the next step was to take it to Lukas, who would doubtless prove a less demanding hurdle.

  The less demanding hurdle chose that moment to make an impromptu visit to Slonský’s office.

  ‘Ah, Slonský, a word if you please.’

  Slonský tried to close the folder both hurriedly and nonchalantly at the same time, and was acutely aware that he must have looked every bit as guilty as he appeared to his grandmother at the age of eight when she was investigating a case of gingerbread theft and unexpectedly climbed up to his tree house.

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  ‘The Prosecutor’s office has been in contact with me. The Prosecutor has been reading the newspapers, Slonský.’

  ‘I’ve warned him about that, sir. They’re a tissue of lies and ill-informed speculation. I believe you said so yourself.’

  ‘Be that as it may, Slonský, he doesn’t like what he is reading.’

  ‘Has he tried changing his newspaper, sir?’

  ‘It is what he isn’t reading that disquiets him, Slonský. He isn’t reading about an arrest, and he isn’t reading about a charge.’

  ‘It’s his job to decide on a charge, sir, not mine.’

  ‘Don’t be obtuse, Slonský. His point is that the question is not even being asked of him, and he would like me to explain why.’

  Slonský let out a deep exhalation of relief.

  ‘That’s all right then. For a moment I thought I was going to have to come up with something.’

  ‘You do, Slonský, because I can’t answer him unless you answer me.’

  Slonský was not a small man, and when he decided to stand to attention in the centre of the office floor Lukas found the experience rather intimidating.

  ‘Beg to report, sir, that I am keeping the Prosecutor uninformed as a mark of respect to his integrity, sir.’

  Slonský could have sworn that Lukas mouthed the words silently as he mulled them over.

  ‘A mark of respect to his integrity? What the devil does that mean?’

  Slonský stood at ease.

  ‘Who appointed the Prosecutor, sir? Dr Banda did. It could therefore be argued that the Prosecutor may be beholden to Dr Banda and any decision other than charging the ex-Minister would look to some eyes like a cover-up.’

  ‘Ye-es…’ began Lukas, rather uncertainly.

  ‘But at the same time charging him may look like political opportunism of the worst kind — kicking a man when he is down.’ Slonský bent close to Lukas so that he could drop his voice in revealing the full cunning of the plan he had just concocted on the hoof. ‘By not giving the Prosecutor a decision to make until I have incontrovertible proof of either guilt or innocence, sir, I am protecting him from ill-informed public criticism and possible interference from higher circles.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I can see that,’ agreed Lukas. ‘I’ll put those points to the Prosecutor and see what he says.’ In the doorway he paused. ‘You, er, might just give me a written note of your argument — just so I don’t forget to mention something important.’

  ‘Certainly, sir. Within the hour.’

  Slonský watched the door close and breathed another large sigh of relief.

  ‘God,’ he muttered, ‘I hope he never gets promoted. I could never strike that lucky again.’

  The unsuspecting prey was grazing contentedly, chewing slowly and silently, as the great predator sighted him and carefully weighed up the right moment to strike. With a coffee in one hand and the least disgusting of the available sandwiches in the other, Slonský dropped into the seat opposite Němec, who reacted instinctively by wrapping his hairy forearms around his bowl to protect his soup.

  Slonský was generally given to formality, but Němec had always rated the familiar greeting.

  ‘Ahoj, Josef.’

  ‘You’re looking a bit peaky. Everything all right?’

  Němec was fairly sure that he looked in the best of health. Of course, he could do with losing a kilo or two — who couldn’t? — but for his age he was doing pretty well, he thought.

  ‘Yes, fine, thanks. Why the sudden concern for my health?’

  ‘It would be such a shame if anything happened to spoil your retirement when you’re so close to it.’

  Němec tore off a mouthful of bread, sprinkled a little salt on it, and chewed it thoughtfully.

  ‘Slonský, how long have we known each other?’

  ‘Thirty-eight years, old pal.’

  ‘That’s right. We know each other better than any other pair in the whole police force, I reckon. So when I detect some kind of scheming going on, you’d better believe I know what I’m talking about. I know you dread retiring, so why should you think I’d be any different?’

  ‘Because you have a family, and grandchildren to play with, and lots of things you’ve told me you want to do. You said you wanted to go skiing in the Alps, for example.’

  ‘Slonský, I said that in 1976. We weren’t going anywhere then. My skiing days are behind me.’

  ‘Lots of breweries you haven’t visited. That vegetable plot of yours — you work miracles on it in your time off, so think what you could do if you could work on it full time.’

  ‘I don’t like the heavy emphasis on “full time” in that last comment of yours. Why don’t you just tell me what you’re after? Then I can tell you to stick it up your backside and we can part the best of friends.’

  Slonský took a mouthful of roll. To his horror, it proved to contain salad.

  ‘Hell, that’s like eating a hedge. Give me a napkin so I can spit it out.’

  ‘You should have had the soup. I was enjoying that till you came.’

  ‘The fact is, you have it in your power to do me a great favour at little or no cost to yourself. Have they given you a finishing date yet?’

  ‘Last day of April. Why?’

  ‘Advert out to repl
ace you?’

  ‘Internal selection.’

  ‘Have you got your eye on anyone?’

  ‘No. I haven’t promised it. I don’t see how I could, since it won’t be my decision.’

  ‘That’s fine. Just wanted to know my plan wasn’t a waste of time.’

  ‘You have a plan?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Němec eyed Slonský with great suspicion.

  ‘I’m just trying to remember any plan of yours that ever worked out well for anyone but you. No, I can’t think of one.’

  ‘There was the trip to go climbing in the Tatras with those young policewomen.’

  ‘I broke my wrist, remember. Someone sitting not too far from me yanked on the rope when I hadn’t fixed it to the pin and I slid down the rockface. Not your finest hour.’

  ‘You persist in looking on the black side, Josef. Those girls were so impressed with the stoic way you bore the pain. If you’d played your cards right you could have got off with any of them.’

  ‘I could, if I hadn’t been in a hospital in Poprad getting my arm put back together without adequate painkillers while you lot were having a high old time in the mountains.’

  ‘Point taken. But this plan will be for the good of the force, trust me.’

  Němec slurped another spoonful of soup.

  ‘No more broken bones?’

  ‘Guaranteed.’

  ‘I won’t be retired in disgrace?’

  ‘Not unless you’ve done something I haven’t heard about. You haven’t, have you?’

  ‘You sound like a gossip columnist. No, I haven’t. And I’m going to keep it that way, so if it involves bending the law, count me out.’

  ‘Not in the least, old friend. What do you take me for?’

  ‘Out of respect for our friendship, Slonský, I won’t answer that.’

  Navrátil had run off to play with the contents of Mucha’s cardboard box, so Slonský was left to his own devices for a few hours. There were two things he had to do, so he tossed a coin to decide which to do first. It came down heads, so he tossed it twice more until it came down tails, then went off to see Captain Lukas.

  Lukas read Slonský’s memorandum carefully, then returned to the top and read it again.