Lying and Dying

by Graham Brack

  Sammler’s answer came back just a little too quickly.

  ‘There are more about than you would think, Lieutenant. There’s nothing to be ashamed of in wanting to bring about a more equitable distribution of wealth. If that’s a crime, I’ll gladly plead guilty.’

  ‘Of course not, sir. I’d sign up for that myself, especially since a lot of people have more than me. But the Czech Republic has tried communism and decided it doesn’t like it.’

  ‘No, Slonský, it tried a watered-down imitation of communism. It tolerated a cadre of opportunists and incompetents. But when communism returns, this is exactly where it will start.’

  Sammler spoke rapidly, occasionally mispronouncing the Czech words as he lectured his audience of one.

  ‘The Czech Republic has a long tradition of social democracy and left-wing politics. Between the wars there was solid support for proletarian social justice. Remember that this was the only country where communism was voted in at a free election after the war. Look at the 1946 election. Over forty per cent of Czechs voted communist, and over thirty per cent of Slovaks. We didn’t even have to cheat. The President nominated a communist Prime Minister. Around one in every four adult Czechs was a party member. Nobody made them do that! They believed in the cause. It’s in their blood, Slonský. Give them leadership, and they’ll be the first to return to the fold. One more push, a firm line from the top, serious socialist reform, and this will once again be the socialist nation it used to be. And once socialism has a beachhead in Europe, it can recapture the hearts and minds of the many who have become disillusioned with Western-style democracy. All those millions who struggle every day and watch the few amassing great fortunes and blowing them in a tasteless display of conspicuous consumption. And they will be grateful to the Czech people for leading them back to the road to socialist equality. The Czechs embraced communism, Lieutenant.’

  ’With respect, sir, that was before they’d tried something else. A generation has only known capitalism, and they seem to like it.’

  ‘Like it? How can they like what their country has become?’

  Sammler had jumped out of his chair and was animatedly addressing Slonský as if he were a large, sceptical crowd.

  ‘Look at Prague! The big glitzy shops, the clubs, the bars. And, in front of them, the beggars kneeling for a crust. All those new cars, some built here, but Czech only in name, because everything that matters is in foreign hands. All those tourists coming here — is it for the culture, to admire the Czech contribution to civilisation? Of course not. They come for cheap beer and sex clubs. Is that what your bourgeois Czech Republic wants to be, Slonský? Are you proud that your young women are the easiest in Europe, that so many of them earn a living in this way? Have you seen that vile place in Smíchov, “Big Sister”? A brothel where everything is free because people pay to watch what you do live on the internet. A city with the history and culture that Prague has, and it’s known to the world because you can watch tarts being screwed there from anywhere you like. Is that “success”, Slonský? Is it “reform”? Is it what Havel and those other idiots fought for? In all those underground years were they itching to turn their country into a place where English yobs come to drink cheap beer and paw Czech women? Can you picture them plotting in their squalid little rooms to fill Prague with unemployment and all-night casinos? I didn’t make those men behave badly. I didn’t trick them. They did what they were going to do anyway. All I did was bring it into the light.’

  ‘I’d have no quarrel with that if Irina Gruberová was still alive.’

  ‘That stupid bitch! If she had co-operated and sold her story to the press she would still be alive now. She was willing to take Banda’s money for the car, and let Banda pay for the flat. And when I pointed out that I paid for her flat and if I took it away Banda couldn’t do a thing about it — and he wouldn’t try anyway — she threatened to go to the police. With what, I asked? A complaint that I’d offered to make her rich by telling the truth? She said that Banda was a good man and she loved him, and he was going to leave his wife and marry her. As if! Then she said she would accuse me of breaking in and assaulting her. She began tearing her clothes and was going to scream. As if I’d be interested in molesting a dirty little cow like her. The only thing she loved was my money, so I helped her make love to my money.’

  Sammler fell silent, and the awkwardness of the quiet in the room caused him to subside into the chair.

  ‘Would you like to put that in a statement, sir?’ asked Slonský.

  ‘Of course not,’ Sammler replied. ‘I won’t say any of that outside this room.’

  ‘How do you know I didn’t record it, sir?’

  ‘You wouldn’t have got into this room with a wire on your body. It’s a special shielded chamber, and the small corridor behind my main office door contains all sorts of scanning equipment. As you enter, I know you’re clean. You didn’t record, and if you repeat it I’ll just tell everyone you’ve made it up. As I proved to you before, you don’t have a shred of evidence. You’ll never prove it, and I’ll never go to court. One day, this country will return to the true path, and I may be able to do you some good. Remember that, Slonský.’

  Slonský picked up his hat and stood up.

  ‘I’ll be long since retired, sir. And I don’t think I want someone like you to do me any good. I’ll see myself out, sir.’

  Slonský had not talked to himself since his childhood, but he drew some curious looks from passers-by as he stormed along the road towards the metro. People who swear and mumble often do. He was annoyed with himself for letting Sammler know that he had only circumstantial evidence against him, and although Sammler had lost his temper and said more than he might have planned, he could use none of it in court. Without Navrátil there, he had no witnesses either, but then if Navrátil had been there Sammler would have clammed up.

  Maybe he didn’t lose his temper, thought Slonský? He heated up and cooled down very quickly, yet he is supposed to be very self-contained and controlled. Maybe it was for show. Maybe he wanted me to understand the link between the cases because he was worried that no-one was getting it.

  But if he couldn’t nail Sammler, what then? That was the really uncomfortable part, because Slonský knew there was a bit of truth in Sammler’s claim that the Czechs were egalitarian by nature. It was quite likely that if communism was going to make a comeback in Europe, Prague would have to be the starting point, because if you couldn’t foment socialist revolution there, you would never do it anywhere else. And Sammler had started a snowball that might become an avalanche. If those three men appeared in court, the people might very well decide that the whole system was not worth preserving. Slonský closed his eyes to visualise where the future was taking him. How would Navrátil fare if he had to go through the years Slonský had himself faced? What would happen to all that Slonský had learned and worked for? Somehow he had to derail Sammler’s plan. He had to stop the three stories hitting the press at the same time. As the escalator carried him up to street level, an idea came to him.

  Slonský took out his cellphone and notebook. He had never liked keeping numbers on the phone in case it got lost, not to mention that he did not know how to enter them anyway, so he needed to riffle through the black book to find the number he wanted. To his relief, it was answered quickly. Time was of the essence, and there was not enough of it to allow him to think through his next steps. He had to work by instinct. But his instinct had rarely let him down before.

  Chapter 23

  The morning newspaper was a sensation. The photograph was reproduced in gorgeous colour right in the middle of the front page, though decency required that so much was blacked out that it could have shown almost anything.

  Valentin was looking more than a little self-satisfied as he held court in his favourite chair, acknowledging the fellow journalists who came up to ask if there were any more revelations to come, particularly any more photographs of Soucha, and how he had ferreted th
is information out.

  ‘Happy?’ asked Slonský, as he slipped into a chair by Valentin’s side.

  ‘Contract should be in the bag, thanks. I knew I could count on you.’

  ‘That’s not what you said the other day.’

  ‘I was under stress. I wasn’t feeling myself. I had every confidence that my old mate wouldn’t let me down. And that was a lulu. I wasn’t expecting the go-ahead to print that.’

  ‘Just remember you never spoke to me about it. Our copy is under lock and key at the office and no doubt the concerned citizen who sent it in sent you an entirely separate copy. I almost drew a moustache on him so people would know it wasn’t our photo you’d got hold of.’

  ‘Glad you didn’t. It was fun trying to stick the black rectangles on so you couldn’t see what he was doing but you knew who he was.’

  ‘Have you heard from Soucha?’

  ‘No. Surprising how quickly you can get a flight if you need to. We gave him an hour’s start, unofficially. I think he may have gone to Turkey, but it doesn’t matter. The key thing is that I got my scoop, and the editor is happy as a pig in poo.’

  Slonský made to get up, but Valentin grabbed his arm.

  ‘In view of the extreme joy of this occasion, I am prepared to buy you a large beer of your choice, with my own money. How about that, then?’

  ‘Old friend, I would love to accept your kind offer, which I realise may never come my way again. I’ve waited thirty years for it, and I probably won’t live another thirty. But your story should have started a tidal wave, and I need to be in the office to watch the ripples hit the beach.’

  ‘There aren’t any beaches in Prague. We’re landlocked.’

  ‘Then I’ll have to look all the harder. But there will be ripples, Valentin. I don’t know what will happen, but something will.’

  Slonský sat patiently as Lukas read the morning paper.

  ‘I’m appalled. Of course, the man will have to resign. As you say, this changes things.’

  ‘If I’m right, sir, Dr Sammler must be very angry now. His plot needs all three stories in the news at once, and he held this one back from the press to maximise the impact. Now one story will be a nine days’ wonder, over and done with before the other two get anywhere. He knows now that Banda won’t be charged, and although Holec will be, a fraud trial takes months to set up.’

  ‘Especially when Klinger is writing it up,’ agreed Lukas. ‘He’ll want to cross-reference and index every item of evidence he has.’

  ‘So the fact that this has unaccountably got into the press takes the timetable out of Sammler’s hands, and I can’t see how he can get control again.’

  Lukas sucked the leg of his spectacles in deep thought.

  ‘I’m not quite so sure that I would use the word “unaccountably”, Slonský. I trust this department is not connected to that development?’

  ‘Only Navrátil and I have access to the original, sir, and it’s safely locked in my filing cabinet. Of course, copies may have been made in the lab. Who can tell where it came from? We’ll probably never know.’

  ‘So what does Sammler do now?’

  ‘It’s a little hard to say, sir. I’ve never been a fanatic or a murderer. But he can’t influence the Gruberová or Holec cases, unless he decides to confess to killing Irina, which I think is unlikely. I think he has two alternatives. As I’ve told you, he knows I’m on his trail, so he may try to discredit me in some way to take his revenge, or he may realise that the game is up and that his plan failed.’

  ‘Be careful, Josef. If you’re right and he has already killed once, who knows how he will get his revenge on you? I think you should carry your gun, just in case.’

  ‘I’ve got it on me, sir.’

  ‘And have you remembered to put a magazine in it?’

  ‘Brand new, never been used, sir.’

  ‘Good man. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you might want to think about checking it actually works. I doubt you’ll have cleaned it for a while.’

  Slonský took it from its holster and placed it on the desk for inspection. Lukas deftly checked it over.

  ‘I’m very cautious about my own safety, sir,’ explained Slonský.

  ‘Good. Tell Navrátil to do the same. I wouldn’t put it past Sammler to punish you by taking it out on Navrátil.’

  Slonský’s heart gave a little skip. That thought had not occurred to him. He could live with being dead, but having to carry the guilt of Navrátil’s early demise would be a real burden.

  ‘I will, sir. In fact, I’ll do it now, sir.’

  ‘You do that. I’m going to see the Director. If Sammler decides to try to frame you, it would be as well to launch a pre-emptive move by making sure the Director knows why that might be happening.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. Sammler will be desperate. Who knows what he might do?’

  ‘Who indeed? Anything is possible with a man like that.’

  Navrátil was sucking the top of his pencil in rapt contemplation of a set of particulars supplied by letting agents.

  ‘Didn’t your mother tell you not to suck pencils, or the lead will go up your nose and enter your brain?’ asked Slonský.

  ‘She may have done,’ agreed Navrátil. ‘She warned me against all kinds of unlikely accidents. If I’m ever shot on duty I’ve got to get someone to check my underwear is clean before they take me to hospital.’

  ‘Funny you should mention that,’ commented Slonský. ‘What’s your shooting like?’

  ‘I doubt I could match the Cat-Murdering Priest of Žižkov, sir, but if I’m ever attacked by a cardboard cut-out of a man, I’ll be okay.’

  ‘Good. Get your gun cleaned, oiled, loaded and on you. We don’t know what Sammler will do next and whatever it is, I don’t want him doing it to you.’

  ‘Actually, sir, I think we do know. Valentin rang. He’d like you to call him back.’

  ‘Call? Not meet? Where do I call him? He doesn’t have a mobile.’

  ‘He’s at the newspaper, sir. The number is on your desk by the telephone.’

  ‘Valentin? At the newspaper office? During daylight?’

  Slonský dialled and asked to speak to the reporter, who sounded sober. In fact, he sounded scared and sober.

  ‘Thank God you rang. Something very odd is happening here. I’ve had a phone call inviting me to follow up my story this morning. A young man called claiming to be Mario. He says he’ll meet me at Kobylisy metro station if I come alone.’

  ‘Did he have an accent?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘“Not really”? What kind of answer is that? Either he did or he didn’t. Soucha said Mario was Austrian. Where did he get that from unless Mario had an accent?’

  ‘I don’t know. Look, all I want to know is whether it’s safe to go.’

  ‘I can’t tell you that. We know Sammler must be rattled. I thought that if I couldn’t stop his plan, I could mess it up by speeding one part along. Feeding you Mario now is probably a way of trying to regain the initiative. I’m just wary that it may be a stand-in, because we don’t know where Mario has been. But you’ve got a photo of him, so you can check if he looks like the right young man.’

  ‘Oh, great!’ scoffed Valentin. ‘I can hardly unfold that in the middle of the street to see if he looks right, can I?’

  ‘Then scan it in, blow it up or do whatever you need to do to get a good image.’

  ‘I can’t improve a picture that actually doesn’t show Mario’s face clearly anyway. The attention is on Soucha — his face is plain as day. Mario’s head is thrown back and to the side so you barely see it.’

  ‘Then use your wits. Try asking a question or two, like proper journalists would. I can’t see Sammler trying anything in a public place like a metro station. After all, if this is the real Mario he wants that story told. Just refuse to get into any cars. Stay in public. I’ll get a few undercover police there. They won’t be able to bring rifles, but they’ll have handguns. We�
�ll send them by metro rather than by car. When are you meeting?’

  ‘Fifty minutes from now.’

  Slonský growled down the line. ‘Fifty minutes? Give us some notice, Valentin. It doesn’t give me long to put this in place.’

  ‘Hardly my fault. I rang half an hour ago but apparently you were kissing someone’s backside.’

  ‘Reporting to my chief and kissing his backside are two entirely separate things. Well, different, anyway. Just get there and we’ll sort something out. Keep in touch.’

  Slonský barked some orders at Navrátil and swept out of the room, flinging his coat over his shoulders as he went. Navrátil was a little put out, because he had no idea where he was going to find six guys with plain clothes and revolvers. However, the name Mucha came to mind.

  Whatever happened at Kobylisy, Slonský had no intention of being there. If there is a trap, he thought, the one person they will be looking out for is me. The one person they might risk shooting in public is me. Not only that, the sausages are much better in town. If Slonský faced imminent death, he had no plans to die on an empty stomach. He was gnawing on a pork rib when his phone rang.

  ‘Navrátil? You okay?’

  ‘I’m fine. Nothing happened.’

  ‘You mean he didn’t turn up.’

  ‘No, he showed as planned. And if it isn’t Mario it’s a very good lookalike.’

  ‘So what’s the story?’

  Navrátil paused. His mouth sounded dry as if he did not want to tell the tale.

  ‘Mario is a Roma boy.’

  ‘You say “boy”? How old?’

  ‘Nineteen.’

  Slonský relaxed a little.

  ‘But he’s a ward of court. It seems he has personality problems so his parents couldn’t cope with him and being on the move all the time meant he wasn’t getting his treatment. He was in a home until he was seventeen, then he ran away. They caught him and put him under legal protection.’

  ‘So how did Sammler find him?’

  ‘Mario doesn’t recognise the name Sammler. He says that his home found him a job but he doesn’t like being indoors all day. Then someone said he would give him a job looking after horses. All he had to do was to say that his uncle was coming for him. One day he was called into the director’s office and a man he had never seen before was waiting to take him to the horses.’