Innocence; or, Murder on Steep Street

by Heda Margolius Kovály

  The man cleared his throat and reached for his glass. The woman clasped her hands in her lap.

  “Only then, instead of cavin’ in like most guys would, the jerk went completely off the deep end. Just blew a fuse. Started actin’ all crazy, sayin’ he was going to kill Hrůza with his bare hands. Then when they took him back to his cell, he tore up his grays, made a noose, and hanged himself from his cell window bars. I just found out. Goddam mess.”

  He heaved a deep sigh and curled up in the armchair, staring blankly into space. After a while he rose heavily to his feet, shrugged, and threw out his hands.

  “Now Hrůza’s been runnin’ around with her a month. All that time, all that money, and the whole thing’s down the drain. Anyway, like I said, Karla, no one can blame you for it.”

  Still standing, he threw back the rest of his beer, turned and, as always, marched out of the room without a good-bye, slamming the door behind him.

  Mrs. Kouřimská stiffly rose to her feet and walked to the window. The man stepped out onto the street. In the light of the streetlamp his thick hair, cropped short, glittered like purest silver.

  11

  The Horizon was playing an English detective film. It was sold out every day, with long lines at the box office. The ushers had their work cut out for them. The days were hot and muggy, and even late at night it didn’t cool down much. People roamed along the river all night long, till their hair was damp with dew. Life sagged and slowed with the heat.

  Marie walked out of the cinema and trudged wearily down the street. As soon as this is all over, I’m putting in for some sick days, she thought. The last six months had been just too much. She was barely dragging her feet.

  On the wall above the stairs leading down to the river, adorned with graffiti and doodles, a new demonstration of folk creativity had appeared: a beautifully shaped heart—only inside it, instead of the usual initials, were the numbers 15–3. Marie stopped a moment, then slowly made her way down the stairs.

  As soon as she got in the elevator, she began to unbutton her dress, and the moment she stepped through the door of her flat, she flung her handbag onto the chair and headed straight to the bathroom to run herself a cold bath. Then she stretched out on the daybed, too big for only one, and listened to the water streaming from the faucet. I’m not even going to eat anything, just take a bath and hit the hay. Then after a couple days’ rest, I’ll start looking around for some nice, ordinary guy I can love in a nice, ordinary way, like normal people do.

  A large gray moth flew in the open window and circled around the lamp. Disgusted, Marie switched off the light and hopped into the tub in the dark.

  The next day before leaving for work, Marie rummaged through the cookie tin that served as her medicine cabinet until she found a smudged envelope that said band-aids in blue and red letters. She pulled out a large square adhesive bandage and, using her nail, peeled back a corner of the gauze pad. Underneath was a black dot the size of a pinhead. She didn’t look any further. She knew all she would find was a few more exactly identical dots. She pressed the pad back against the adhesive, pulled up her skirt, and attached the bandage to her upper thigh. She tossed the envelope with the blue and red writing into her handbag, stepped up to the mirror, ran a comb through her hair, and made a face at herself.

  “And away we go,” she said out loud.

  The show was of course sold out again, and the house was nearly full by the time the lights went down. Five minutes in, Marie went out to the hallway and slipped through the door marked ladies. She had the whole place to herself. Hissing softly, she peeled the bandage away from her skin. She took the blue-and-red envelope from the pocket of her work smock, inserted the bandage, resealed the envelope, and placed it back in her pocket. Then she returned to the auditorium and leaned against the wall next to the middle door. Exactly ten minutes after the start of the screening, a chubby, bespectacled man of middle age burst through the door. He was clearly upset to be late, as evidenced by the fact that he was gasping for breath from his rush to get there. Marie took his ticket and flashed her light on it. Row fifteen, seat three. She led the portly gentleman down the aisle to his row, and he squeezed past the other grumpily muttering viewers to his seat. As he settled in, he stole a glance at his neighbor to the right: a boy of about fourteen, eyes glued to the screen. The fat man reached into his right-hand jacket pocket, finding a small crumpled envelope with his fingertips. As slowly and inconspicuously as possible, he withdrew the envelope and dropped it to the floor. Then he rested his shoe on top of it, so he could kick it away if needed. Only then did he make himself comfortable and devote his undivided attention to the film.

  Three minutes before the end, the portly man removed his glasses—apparently they had clouded up—and began fumbling for his handkerchief. He succeeded in cleaning them, but managed to drop his handkerchief on the floor in the process. Groping around in the dark a while, he finally found it and folded it neatly back into his pocket. The lights in the house went up and the audience began to rise from their seats. The fat man docilely shuffled out with the rest of them, and on reaching the street, he breathed in the hot, thick, dust-choked evening air with a smile of delight.

  The cinema emptied out unusually slowly. Even the ushers weren’t in a rush to get home. Helena, Marie, and Mrs. Kouřimská climbed the staircase together and plodded out through the lobby. Mrs. Kouřimská barely nodded good-bye and took the first right down toward the embankment. Helena and Marie stopped and stared after her.

  “Have you noticed?” asked Helena.

  “How could I not,” answered Marie. “Even the boss has been asking if we know what’s goin’ on with her. Ládinka says she just hopes it isn’t cancer.”

  “I don’t think so. I’d say more like she’s in a jam. She seems more troubled than sick.”

  “And what a woman she was just a few days ago. I always thought she’d get old slow, but it’s like all the years just suddenly piled up on top of her.”

  “Maybe it’s the heat. It’s getting to me too.”

  “It’s gettin’ to everyone. Everyone’s actin’ funny. And there’s some funny things going on. Yesterday I heard the Podolí pool was crammed like a barrel of carp before Christmas, and at night when they let out the water they found a dead guy at the bottom. Drowned right in the middle of all those people, jumpin’ and splashin’ and horsin’ around. Nobody even noticed.”

  They were still standing in front of the cinema. Helena looked up and down the street.

  “It’s been a few days since that pretty boy of yours put in an appearance, huh?” said Marie. “Can’t say I’m surprised. Probably lyin’ at home in the bath. I don’t know any love strong enough to make a guy climb out of the tub on a scorcher like this.”

  “I don’t know what’s going on with him,” Helena said anxiously. It had been three days now since Vojta had shown his face, or even called. She thought back to their last date, but couldn’t recall anything to suggest an impending breakup. We had a good time, she thought. Something must’ve happened. Maybe one of those “funny” things. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a high, thin note, a silver chord of fear, twanged in her head. And it slowly began getting louder.

  She nearly grabbed Marie by the hand. Oh God, don’t let her leave yet, she thought, in a state of near-panic.

  “And what about your captain?” Helena quickly asked.

  “Aw, that’s gone and died on the vine. It was startin’ to look like we might get permanently hitched, and you know me, I’m not cut out for marital bliss. Assumin’ there even is such a thing. Can’t say as I’ve ever seen it. Anyways, look at all the guys waltzin’ down the street and here we are traipsin’ home alone. Though, truth is, I wouldn’t mind so much bein’ by myself if . . .”

  “. . . if you weren’t alone. I know what you mean. There’s alone, more alone, and most alone of all.”

  “Exactly,”
said Marie. “When you know there’s somebody out there, even if they’re all the way on the other side of the world, you might be alone, but you don’t feel it so much. You got an advantage over me when it comes to that.”

  The noise in Helena’s head began to chatter so loudly it drowned out everything else, sending tremors all the way out to her fingertips.

  “Bye now,” said Marie, turning to walk away, but Helena gave no reply. She just stood there, engulfed in herself and the horror eating its way into her like a ravine carving itself into the surface of the earth. Finally she managed to snap out of it and dashed off down the street, running all the way home, mailbox key clenched in her hand. Breathlessly she burst in the door and unlocked the tall shiny box to find her fears confirmed: a long white envelope with an official letterhead in the left-hand corner.

  PART II

  1

  The whole right-hand side of the building that housed the Horizon was taken up by the glass wall of the Black Cat snack bar, like an aquarium set into the facade. From her post behind the counter, Božena Šulcová commanded a view of the entire lobby of the Horizon, as well as both directions up and down Broad Street, and to her right, around the corner, a short lane just one block long, aptly named Steep Street.

  It was already after 10 p.m. On any other day Božena would have been getting ready to close, but today it was the last thing on her mind. She pressed her body against the glass to the right of the counter, trying to see as far as she could down Steep Street.

  “Don’t waste your time,” said the last customer of the day, a fatherly old man in a tram driver’s uniform, wiping the last dab of mustard from his plate with the tip of his frankfurter. “Can’t see a thing from here. Must’ve happened down the far end of the street. Officers ain’t lettin’ anyone in. Say there’s a body down there.”

  “Body?” Božena said excitedly. “Some sorta traffic accident?”

  “Naw. But could be someone got run over.”

  “I’ll find out one way or another,” Božena said, catching the eye of one of the men in uniform out on the sidewalk. She tipped her head and the officer grinned and winked. He was a familiar face. Came to the snack bar almost every day for a black brawn and beer. He’ll be in soon enough, Božena thought to herself, satisfied, going back behind the counter.

  “That’ll be six fifty,” she said. The tram driver laid the change down on a small rubber mat, put on his cap, and stood up.

  “They can’t get anything by you, Božena, love. I’ve no worries there,” he said as he walked to the door.

  Božena picked up a rag and began wiping down the counter, but she didn’t take her eyes off the street outside for a second. To her left, moviegoers were coming out of the cinema. To her right, in the middle of the street, a traffic policeman stood preventing vehicles from turning into Steep Street and directing them to continue down Broad Street instead. Shiny black cars barricaded Steep Street at both ends, with officers in uniform winding in and out. A little further on, past the point where Božena could see from her post, an old dark-blue Škoda was parked, with a cluster of men in civilian dress standing beside it. One, a pudgy, pink-cheeked blond, was diligently taking down notes in a thick black notepad. Leaning against the hood of the car, a muscular, dark-haired man with sparkling-black gypsy eyes examined the driver, who was sitting behind the wheel but tipped over so far to the side that his head rested against the car window. On the seat next to him was a young man in a white coat with a stethoscope around his neck and a hardened look on his face. It was his first police case and he was doing his best to give the impression of a seasoned veteran, his face showing nothing even as his stomach lurched uncomfortably. He pointed to the handle of the knife protruding from the chest of the man behind the wheel, cleared his throat, and said in a voice distinctly higher than usual:

  “There’s nothing else here to investigate. The knife penetrated the heart, resulting in immediate death. He didn’t put up a struggle. In fact he appeared to take it rather calmly.” The doctor touched his fingertips to the eyelids of the deceased.

  “It’s possible he was dozing. From the looks of it, I’d say it happened around eight o’clock. Give or take.”

  “Did it take a lot of strength?” the dark-eyed bruiser asked.

  The young doctor ran two fingers along the dead man’s chest.

  “Not really,” he said. “The knife went between the ribs. Perfect aim. Could be knowledge of anatomy, or could be sheer coincidence. That’s about all I can say for now. To be continued after the autopsy.”

  The doctor opened the car door and stepped out.

  The brown-skinned policeman turned to the fat blond. “Comrade Koloušek, make sure everything follows proper procedure. Report back to me in an hour for further instructions.”

  “Yes sir, Comrade Lieutenant,” the butterball said eagerly.

  The lieutenant made his way through the clump of vehicles on Broad Street. When he reached the corner, he stopped and glanced across the street. A tall, thin man with graying temples stood staring down Steep Street over the heads of the gawkers. Wait, isn’t that . . . ? Before the lieutenant could finish his thought, the man slowly turned and walked off, down Broad, toward the embankment. The lieutenant followed him with his eyes a while, then climbed into one of the black automobiles, and the driver pulled away. The lieutenant didn’t need to name his destination.

  The white lace hem of a nightgown peeked out from under the woman’s dark-blue robe. It was surprisingly unseductive. Mrs. Nedomová dabbed at her red eyes and nose with a large handkerchief as she paced back and forth across the room. Lieutenant Vendyš sat hunched on the edge of his chair, watching unhappily. This was the worst part of his profession. At this point, looking at dead bodies, no matter how mutilated they were, was just part of the job and he didn’t let his imagination get the better of him. He kept his emotions out of his investigations, too. But the first conversation with the victim’s closest relatives was always a challenge for him and he rarely handled it well. Usually it was all he could do to rattle off a few sentences, informing them of the basic facts in as condensed a form as possible, then remove himself to the corner and sit with his mouth shut, desperately awaiting a chance to get out with his honor intact.

  Lieutenant Vendyš, along with the rest of his colleagues, had been required by the ministry to undergo a two-week training course in psychology. Yet for deep-seated psychological reasons he categorically rejected the idea that the subject was of any use in his profession. His line of work was human acts—more to the point, criminal acts—which was problematic enough as it was. Where would he end up if on top of all that he had to poke around in people’s heads?

  The only situations where he admitted the training might come in handy were ones like this, where a little knowledge of the human soul, so to speak, could be useful. How do you break the news to someone that their loved one has met with a violent death—telling them in the least painful way possible, and even more important, causing the least amount of uproar? There probably was no way. Some things just had to run their course. Sometimes with surprising results. Like with Mrs. Nedomová here. The lieutenant hadn’t expected her to take it so hard. Nedoma had hardly been a model husband, and everybody knew it.

  “I’m sure you know as well as anyone that Václav wasn’t exactly a model husband,” Mrs. Nedomová told the lieutenant. “I myself am surprised I’m so upset. I’ve wanted a divorce for ages now. But still, it’s not the same.”

  She sniffled and raised the handkerchief to her eyes. It was damp, but not that damp.

  Vendyš muttered something unintelligible. Of course it wasn’t the same, he thought. Just because you wanted to end a failed marriage didn’t mean you wanted the other person dead. Although—once things got to the point where a husband and wife couldn’t live together anymore, it must be a lot easier, and more respectable, to be widowed than divorced. Especially
for a woman. Death had a way of erasing the abuse, balancing out the humiliation. It was easy to forgive a dead man: After all, it wasn’t his choice to leave me, poor guy. Maybe there was still a chance we could have gotten back together. He used to be so in love with me . . . I need to be able to stand up and take the blow. On the other hand, getting a divorce meant admitting to the entire world—including your children and yourself—that your marriage was bankrupt and you couldn’t make it work. You didn’t know how to keep a husband or a home . . . Divorce was always so awkward and unpleasant, and it could drag on and on, whereas . . .

  Vendyš unconsciously registered the muscular forearm poking out of the sleeve of Mrs. Nedomová’s robe. “We called you as soon as . . .” His voice trailed off into an embarrassed cough. “But there was no answer. So I came right over.”

  “Yes, I just got in a half hour ago. I was out,” Mrs. Nedomová said vaguely. Vendyš shot her a questioning look, but didn’t dare probe any further just yet.

  Mrs. Nedomová started pacing around the room again. “What will I tell the girls? How do you tell your children they don’t have a father anymore?”

  She came to a stop in the middle of the room, thought for a moment, then vigorously blew her nose and wiped her eyes. She tucked the handkerchief into her robe pocket and turned to the lieutenant.

  “Thank you, Comrade Vendyš. I know you have your hands full. You did what you could. From here on in I’ll have to fend for myself. And forgive me for being so agitated.”

  The lieutenant cleared his throat again. “Oh, don’t worry. I wish I could do more to help. It’s such a terrible thing to have happen . . . If there’s anything you need, of course . . . Before I go, there’s just one thing I’d like to ask, if you don’t mind . . .”