“Who’ve we got next, Dolejš?” he asked grouchily.
4
All day the sky kept dropping lower and lower, until evening when the first autumn rain let loose. Vendyš trudged to the top of Steep Street, hands dug into his raincoat pockets, and stopped with his back to the glass wall of the snack bar, where Božena stood rocking behind the counter. He looked out at the short, dimly lit lane where they had found the old blue Škoda on Friday, and thought hard. Rain streamed down the inside of his collar, but he paid it no attention.
After two weeks of investigation and questioning he hardly knew any more than he had when he first saw the victim. The murder weapon hadn’t provided a single clue. An ordinary kitchen knife, used for cutting meat, one of two types produced in Czechoslovakia, available at any hardware or department store as well as some supermarkets. There were hundreds of them sold every day. The knife was brand-new, so just to cover all the bases Vendyš had sent a couple of detectives around the shops to ask if anyone happened to remember one of the suspects buying a knife like that recently, but as he had anticipated, it didn’t lead anywhere. Almost everywhere someone remembered “a shortish man and his wife,” “a young lady who looked like she was buying it for her hope chest,” “a heavyset brunette woman in a blue dress,” but as soon as the detectives flashed the photos of the people connected to the case, the salespeople shook their heads. He didn’t expect anything different; the killer could have bought the knife months ago and kept it hidden at home till the opportunity presented itself.
Vendyš wiped away the rain sliding down his nose. Steep Street was like an empty auditorium after a performance, with Vendyš the late-coming spectator who could only guess at what had taken place.
There were only two possibilities. Either the killer had driven here in the car with Nedoma, who by that time could barely keep his eyes open anymore, sat with him a while, maybe had a little chat while he watched him fall asleep, then plunged the knife into his chest, got out of the car, and disappeared. On average about one and a quarter people an hour walked down the little street after dark. The killer could have slipped away unobserved without too much trouble. The question was whether any passerby would have consciously noted someone casually climbing out of a parked car, even assuming they did see it.
The other possibility was that Nedoma had driven here alone, fallen asleep behind the wheel, and the killer, who somehow knew he would be there, slipped into the car, killed the captain, and sauntered off. It could’ve been anyone. In his line of work, Nedoma must have had plenty of enemies, and Vendyš had managed to track down and investigate a number of people who had it in for Nedoma, but the result was zero-point-zero. He couldn’t assume the killer just coincidentally stumbled across the car, saw Nedoma asleep, pulled out the huge knife he just happened to have in his pocket—no, coincidence played no role in this. Whoever killed Nedoma had mixed a barbiturate into his drink beforehand. Somebody who knew him well, who’d sat somewhere and talked with him. Definitely not some bad guy Nedoma had put the screws on once upon a time. An image of the tall gray-haired man in the beige suit Vendyš had seen standing on the corner across the street just after the murder was discovered flitted across the screen of the lieutenant’s consciousness.
Moving along. Obviously no fingerprints. A killer would have to be pretty stupid to work without gloves nowadays. Everyone knew the drill from all those movies and murder mysteries. It was pretty convenient for the ladies this year especially, all walking around in those crocheted gloves. A fashion tailor-made for murderers. The only prints inside the car, besides Nedoma’s, belonged to his younger daughter, who he’d driven to the health center with tonsillitis just the day before. Nothing on the knife of course, and just one big smudge on the door handle, from the perpetrator running his gloved fingers over it.
Another mystery was what Nedoma had been doing on Steep Street and what time he had arrived. No matter how hard he tried, Vendyš still hadn’t been able to pin down where Nedoma was earlier that evening. About half past five he’d left the office and driven over to Štajdls’ in Malá Strana for a beer and a frankfurter. At six fifteen he paid and left. Didn’t talk to anyone and no one sat at his table. It was still early, the restaurant was half-empty, and the captain was a familiar face. From then till nine o’clock, when Officer Zemánek spotted the car as he was walking his beat, no one had a clue where Nedoma had been. Zemánek was also the one who noticed, on his second pass at quarter to ten, that the car was still parked in the same spot and the driver was still behind the wheel. He figured it must be some guy sleeping off a hangover, peeked in the window, and saw the knife handle with a long dark line running down the driver’s white shirt.
At first it had seemed logical that the location of the killing must have some connection to Nedoma’s complicated relationships with the Horizon staff. But in spite of his strenuous investigation and inquiries, Vendyš hadn’t been able to turn up any concrete link, let alone a sufficient motive. Vránová had peacefully parted ways with Nedoma a while back, and there was no indication of any stormy aftermath to their affair. Even Mrs. Nedomová, who was obviously well aware of her spouse’s infidelities, said his relationship with Vránová had long been “case closed.”
Kouřimská, as Vendyš had discovered from Nedoma’s files and confirmed through personal questioning, was a low-level paid informant. Nedoma himself had planted her in the cinema, and he was a welcome source of income for her, so his death had caused her a considerable loss—she gained nothing from it. The lieutenant had scrutinized her activity in detail. It couldn’t be ruled out that some seemingly trivial piece of information that she supplied to Nedoma had led to his murder. Vendyš was convinced, however, that while the bits of news and gossip Kouřimská supplied the captain with may have occasionally come in handy, they never amounted to anything substantial. Her main assignment was to keep an eye on Helena Nováková, who, in view of the unfortunate case of Karel Novák, was of course highly suspect. It also turned out that Nováková, via Kouřimská, at Nedoma’s instructions, had been introduced to Comrade Hrůza himself and seen him for a period of time. Vendyš zeroed in on the trail like a hawk. But all his efforts led only to negative conclusions. Nováková had no idea Nedoma was spying on her, and ultimately, Vendyš concluded, she had nothing to hide. It wasn’t surprising that Nedoma had suspected her, but clearly it was a false lead. Helena Nováková was the embodiment of innocence.
Kouřimská had also notified Nedoma about Šípek, and Nedoma had seen to it that Security gave him a thorough grilling more than once. This yielded a thick and utterly worthless file proving nothing except that Šípek was in love with Nováková and followed her along like a puppy dog. Šípek wasn’t surprised to learn Nováková was being watched, though it never crossed his mind that Nedoma—whom for that matter he’d never met—or Kouřimská had anything to do with it.
Eventually Vendyš realized the trail he had been nudged onto so cleverly by Mrs. Nedomová, though it appeared promising, led to a dead end. Too bad he couldn’t disprove her alibi. Not yet anyway.
Vendyš’s shoes were beginning to leak. He shifted his weight back and forth, glancing across the street again. The tall slim man in the beige suit. What had he been doing here that day?
Yes, at first glance all the evidence pointed to the Horizon. But what if it was only an optical illusion? What if the murderer had deliberately set it up to divert attention away from himself? Vendyš had the cinema and its staff under constant surveillance, and his henchmen hadn’t failed to notice that Comrade Hrůza turned up in the vicinity of the Horizon late at night with surprising frequency. Always alone; never met with or said a word to anyone. Vendyš wasn’t informed about what “the other guys” were up to, but he knew Nedoma made himself available to cooperate with Hrůza, occasionally taking on confidential and probably pretty unsavory assignments.
Vendyš let out a sigh. The ground was giving way beneath hi
s feet. He knew which way the line pointed and knew he couldn’t follow it. A cold trickle of rain ran down the inside of his collar, and it suddenly hit him what a dark and gloomy day it was and how empty and meaningless human life was. He turned and walked into the snack bar.
Božena’s face lit up. She toddled rapidly to the end of the counter where Vendyš stood, leaning his elbows on the counter.
“Good day,” the lieutenant said with exaggerated courtesy. “One small vodka, please.” He only drank on special occasions, but today he needed it, body and soul.
Božena filled a glass to the rim and waited expectantly, focusing the full force of her intelligence on him. Maybe the handsome lieutenant would ask her another question. She felt a delicious shudder of anticipation, an immense desire to call attention to herself, ingratiate herself, show off her quick wit and feminine intuition. Sharp-lookin’ fella like him might think, Well, she’s no beauty queen, but she’s definitely something special. Not too many women out there with powers of observation like hers. I ought to pay more attention to her. I’m sure she’d be a big help in my work.
“Comrade Šulcová,” Vendyš said, sipping his vodka cautiously to make sure he didn’t choke. “I’d like to ask you one more time. On Friday, just before eight o’clock, Mrs. Kouřimská came in here to buy a pack of cigarettes. Did you see her arrive and leave that day?”
Božena thought a moment.
“No, sir. Girls come into work at half past two and I’m not on till three. They’re all downstairs by the time I get in. ’Tween the matinee and evening shows—say, ’bout six to seven thirty, then again after eight—sometimes they wander outside or come in here for a bite or whatever. I didn’t notice Kouřimská till she was right at the counter. You know how it gets, Comrade Lieutenant. By that time my head’s in a whirl. She was a little outta breath from runnin’ up the stairs, so she just grabbed her smokes and ran back down. Didn’t go out, I know that for sure. I would’ve noticed.”
Božena pulled a box from under the counter, poured a heap of cookies onto a thick porcelain plate, and slid it in front of Vendyš.
“Thank you,” said the lieutenant. He took one, bit off a mouthful, and munched absently. Božena didn’t take her eyes off of him.
“You probably don’t remember, but there’s one more tiny detail I’d like to ask about. Well, can’t hurt to try: A little later after that, when Comrade Nováková went to the pharmacy, did she happen to have a handbag with her? Do you think you remember?”
Božena closed her eyes and wrinkled her forehead. The circuits kicked into gear and her whole face lit up. “I sure do!” she exclaimed. “I remember, all right! See, Helena’s got this teeny little red bag, more like a big wallet, really. All it holds is a comb, mirror, and keys. Don’t ask me where she got it, but I’ve always liked that thing. So I notice when I see it. And right now, if I shut my eyes”—Božena closed her eyes—“I can see Helena walkin’ out that door with that little red bag in her right hand. That’s all she had with her, that’s it.”
“Wow, that’s terrific,” Vendyš said. “Just terrific.”
Božena shut her eyes again. In bliss.
And that meant, Vendyš mused, that Nováková definitely couldn’t have had a knife as long as that on her. She wouldn’t have had anyplace to hide it.
“Now if you don’t mind, there’s something else I’d like to ask.” Vendyš took a second cookie and chewed it in silence a while, as if wondering how to put it. “Did you by any chance notice, Comrade, whether a tall slim man, middle-aged, in a light suit, passed by here that evening?”
“Grayish hair, suntanned? You bet. That’s that fella that was keen on Helena, used to wait on her here, out in front. Then I guess they had it out, ’cos I haven’t seen him around much lately. Was he here that Friday night? Now wait a sec . . .” Božena paused, then said slowly, “I got a feelin’, yeah, he was. Never came in the snack bar, I just used to see him walkin’ around outside . . . And he was definitely here that night. I remember now. Saw him twice. First around seven thirty, somewhere in there when Kouřimská stopped by. Just caught a glimpse of him, it was packed in here—then again later. No customers left by then, and I look out and see all these cops pullin’ up—I mean, comrade officers—and he’s standin’ there on the corner watchin’, too. Maybe he was just comin’ back from the theater or something.”
“Hm,” Lieutenant Vendyš said, finishing his vodka. “Maybe.” He pulled out a handkerchief and ran it over his hair, still damp from the rain. “Well, thank you very much, Comrade Šulcová. You really have been a terrific help to us. There aren’t many people as observant as you.”
He reached his hand across the counter. Božena inserted her chubby little hand into his hard masculine palm. Her mind went black and sparks shot through her body. She closed her eyes and imagined herself wrapped in a passionate embrace. A moment of utter and perfect happiness. She couldn’t have asked for more.
Božena kept her dreams small and modest. That way they came true surprisingly often.
Vendyš walked out the glass door into the cinema lobby, unconsciously wiping his right hand on the inside of his pocket. A disagreeable greasy feeling remained. But his mind was on other things.
He knew he’d reached an impasse. There was just one thing left to do: take it “upstairs.”
“So you don’t have any proof,” said the thin, inconspicuous elderly man. He sat straight as a coffin nail, rigid behind his enormous desk. Gray hair, gray skin, light blue-gray eyes. Small, sharp pupils behind rimless glasses. In fact his features were so unremarkable he blended in with his surroundings like an animal with protective coloration. Like those moths you can’t even see on the bark of a tree when you’re looking right at them, Vendyš thought. If he’d run into him on the street, he wouldn’t even have noticed him.
“No, Comrade Commissioner, I don’t,” Vendyš said, “and I doubt I’ll be able to get any until I have access to information on the full range of Comrade Nedoma’s activities. In particular his collaboration with Comrade Hrůza. All I know now is it’s related to several individuals employed at the Horizon. Based on what I’ve learned to date, it’s possible Comrade Hrůza has information in his possession that could help me solve this case, particularly as concerns the motive, which still remains unclear.”
The gray man behind the desk reached for his cigarette case, slid one out, lit it, and slowly exhaled a gray cloud of smoke. Then he tightened his lips and thought a moment, silently tapping the armrest of his chair with the hand holding the cigarette.
“Repeat for me in brief, if you would, what steps you’ve taken so far,” he said drily.
“I assume there’s no need for me to go into detail on my routine investigation of Comrade Captain Nedoma’s work and all of the people who might have been plotting to take his life in revenge?” He gave the old man an inquiring look and received a nod of approval. “In any case the outcome was negative. Seeing as the body was discovered next to the Horizon cinema, where the comrade captain had a variety of both official and personal interests, I concentrated my inquiry on the local staff. But as yet,” Vendyš emphasized, “as yet it hasn’t led to anything concrete. The comrade captain had an affair with one of the girls there that lasted several months.” He coughed discreetly. “It ended on good terms some time ago. Comrade Nedomová claims the girl herself initiated the breakup. The other individual Comrade Nedoma had contact with was the informant Kouřimská. The comrade captain’s death means a considerable financial loss to her. Her assignment was to keep tabs on Helena Nováková, whose husband, as you know, committed suicide in custody. Nováková’s been in poor health ever since, in a state of total apathy, and I’m convinced she doesn’t have any idea about the activities of either Kouřimská or Comrade Nedoma.” The lieutenant paused a moment.
“That leaves Comrade Nedomová. She has a fairly strong motive: Their marriage was very bad, b
ut the comrade captain didn’t want a divorce. Problem is, we don’t have a shred of evidence against her. Nobody saw her in the vicinity of the car, her fingerprints aren’t there, and her alibi’s solid. That’s the story so far with everyone I’ve investigated in connection with the murder.”
The gray old man behind the desk stubbed out his cigarette in a smoked-glass ashtray. Vendyš had the impression the man was fading away, dissolving into thin air, everywhere and nowhere at once.
He gave it another try.
“Comrade Commissioner,” Vendyš said, now almost pleading. “There’s one very fundamental piece of this whole thing I’m missing—and that is what orders Comrade Nedoma had from Comrade Hrůza. Comrade Hrůza’s role in this case is too significant for me to just overlook. Of course that doesn’t mean I suspect him of anything,” Vendyš hastily added. “But given his presence at the scene of the crime around the time it was committed, his ongoing working and perhaps personal relationship with Comrade Nedoma, and the fact that he knew both Nováková and Kouřimská, I’m sure he’d have some relevant information for me. So with your permission, Comrade Commissioner, I’d like to request a meeting with Comrade Hrůza.”
Vendyš leaned back wearily in his chair. I did what I could, he thought.
The gray man sat bolt upright, not blinking an eye. Then he gave Vendyš a stiff look and rattled off like a robot, “Thank you, Comrade Lieutenant. You may proceed with the investigation. Your report has been duly noted and I will advise you as soon as possible as to what steps I have taken.”
One day passed into the next. Vendyš rummaged through all of his notes and statements again, calling back all the witnesses he had already questioned, as well as a whole string of new ones Koloušek desperately threw his way. He walked the streets, haunting street corners for hours, breaking into people’s flats and prying into their private affairs, which inevitably turned out to have nothing to do with the case. He fought with his wife and most of his coworkers, snapping at his subordinates and insulting Koloušek ruthlessly, with no compunction at all, yet still no invitation to interview Comrade Hrůza was forthcoming.
Innocence; or, Murder on Steep Street Page 12