Jana continued leafing through the magazine. Jakus was about to make his request again, angry now, leaning across the prosecutor. Truchanova pushed him gently but firmly back into his seat.
“You’re crowding me,” she warned him, then turned back to Jana. “You want to come along with us to the German police?”
“To the house as well,” Jana said. “And I want to get whatever information the German police have gathered on their own about Bogan, or the crime.”
“You’re not the primary investigator,” Jakus managed to get out before Truchanova squeezed his arm to shut him up.
“Investigator Jakus is very eager,” she said by way of excusing his outburst. “I’m also eager. Just quieter. I can also get the information from you without making any promises. All I have to do is call Colonel Trokan.”
“True. But I can then have Colonel Trokan talk to the attorney general, and he in turn will order you to …”
“… give my information to you? He would, except you’re not officially working on the case, Matinova. So he won’t.” Truchanova leaned back in her seat, believing the battle won.
Everybody always guarded their turf. The surprise generated by finding each other on the plane had triggered an involuntary threat response. The two of them were in a war over territorial rights.
Absurd, Jana realized, since they needed each other.
“Madam Prosecutor, we had agreed,” Jana pointed out. “We keep out of each other’s way. I stay out of the public sphere. We share information. I’m not challenging that agreement. I’m simply reasserting its terms. Both of us see the other stealing a march, and we think our territory is being invaded. Why don’t we just put our emotions aside and stick to the original agreement?” Jana rattled off the phone number that she’d obtained from Kralik for Bogan’s son in Berlin. “An offer of good faith and trust,” Jana explained.
Jakus scribbled the number down on a piece of paper.
Jana played another card. “Think about it, Madam Truchanova. Would you rather have me investigating the case with you, or would you rather go your own way without me, leaving Investigator Jakus as your sole investigative support?”
Jakus nearly came out of his seat, ready to do battle, but Truchanova managed to stop him.
“Why didn’t you give me the telephone number before this?” Truchanova demanded.
“Something came up.”
“You had no intention of giving it to me.”
“I was shot. Twice. Would you like to see the wounds?”
Truchanova gaped at her.
“It’s true. After I got the number in Vienna.”
“You were shot twice?”
“Twice,” Jana affirmed. “We didn’t broadcast it. It wouldn’t have been helpful to tell the media that I was in Austria on business. They would have wanted to know what I was doing there. So, you see, I’ve honored our agreement that I stay out of the public eye. Now, do we go forward together?”
“You’re not lying,” Truchanova said to herself, her voice betraying her astonishment.
“Police commanders are not in the habit of lying to prosecutors. Prosecutors should be able to depend upon the police they work with to fulfill their promises. Any problems with that?”
“None.” Truchanova was a very practical person. It was plainly in her best interest to continue the agreement with Jana. “The same terms and conditions, then.”
“We see the German police together?”
“Yes.”
“And share all our information?”
“As per the accord.”
“Good.” Jana gave Truchanova a smile. “When we get back to Bratislava, I’ll write up the report on Vienna and several other items and get them to you. With that in mind, there is one other thing I want to ask you. I’ve read the murder book several times, and I can’t escape the feeling that something’s been left out.”
“How so?” Truchanova asked, a slight hesitation in her voice that revealed to Jana that she was, in fact, deliberately holding something back.
“I don’t quite know why I feel that way,” Jana said, pretending not to suspect Truchanova of any duplicity. “Perhaps it’s the things which haven’t been done yet. Or the perceptible gaps in the reports.” Jana waited for her observation to sink in with Truchanova. There was no response. “It’s probably something else that’s giving me that feeling. You know how it is when things are written up by someone else. We see spaces that shouldn’t be there. I’m sure it’s just my own sensitivity, my own observations, which are off the mark.”
“Yes, that could be. We often misperceive.” Again there was the faltering quality in the prosecutor’s voice.
“Good to know how well we’re cooperating.” Jana inwardly cringed at her own blatant insincerity. “We should call ahead to the Berlin police from Prague. They can give us the exact location for the second address.” She thought about the logistics of the situation. “Unfortunately, knowing how the courts operate, if the number I was given comes back to a second location, it’s probably too late today for the police to get a second warrant.”
“Tomorrow, then,” Truchanova suggested.
“Good,” Jana agreed.
Jana sat back in her seat absolutely convinced that the two were deliberately withholding something. She needed to know not only the information they were holding back, but why they were hiding it. The fact that they were keeping things from her would make it much harder for Jana to widen her investigation or to successfully put any case together. She shut her eyes, and woke up only when the plane landed in Prague. Both Jakus and Jana called their German police contacts from the airport, giving them both the new telephone number for Bogan’s son. The three of them then boarded the Berlin flight.
They didn’t talk to each other during the flight. When they reached Berlin airspace, the plane was put into a temporary holding pattern, circling the airport. Berlin unfolded below. It is not the prettiest city in the world, Jana thought. That honor belongs to Paris. Rome still has the glories of its ancient past and empire, Vienna its Hapsburg stateliness and kitsch, London its lurid history wound around Shakespearean legends. And Berlin?
Anger, violence, intrigue, and, most of all, fear.
A few minutes later, they landed.
Chapter 24
They met the German police officers outside the arrival area of Tegel. Following protocol, Jana and Truchanova had each separately phoned their own contacts in the German Polizei. Unfortunately, these contacts were from two separate departments of the police, and both had sent officers. Those officers had all met each other outside the terminal, and they were uneasily standing together to welcome their colleagues from Slovakia.
Jana immediately saw the police officer she was supposed to meet: Albrecht Konrad was a senior investigator with the Kriminalpolizei—or, as Albrecht himself called it, Die Kripo—the German state police charged with investigating serious crime. He and Jana served together on a regional interagency police task force dealing with central European crime suppression. The group met periodically in one or another capital, most often in Vienna, so they knew each other well.
Konrad was generally an aloof individual, but he and Jana had hit it off in their prior contacts, and the man broke out in a big smile when he saw her, still insisting on a formal handshake but clearly glad to see her.
“Welcome to Berlin, Commander Matinova.”
“Jana,” she corrected him, trying to be informal. Then she introduced him to Truchanova and Investigator Jakus. “They’re here to see you as well.”
Konrad shrugged, looking slightly uncomfortable. “I believe they’re meeting my friends from the Bundeskriminalamt.” He gestured to the two other officers, neither of whom seemed pleased to see Jana. “Our FBI, only they’re the BKA here.”
Jana was surprised. Truchanova had taken the case up with an agency that was not usually involved in this sort of case. The prosecutor had a smug look on her face, appreciating the reference to the BKA
being Germany’s FBI. It put her a notch above Jana on the prestige ladder.
“Pleased to meet you,” one of the BKA men said to Jana, without any real welcome in his voice. He nodded a greeting to Truchanova, the semblance of a smile on his face.
Truchanova and Jakus moved over to the two BKA men, Jana standing with Albrecht Konrad, the two groups facing each other as if they were on different sides in an athletic contest. The separation between them was more than just physical.
“We’re here to talk to our friends from the BKA,” Truchanova pointedly asserted. “Perhaps it would be best—to get the most out of this situation, you understand— if we separated at this stage of our inquiry.”
“I see your point. You’re probably right,” Jana managed, although she didn’t agree with the strategy at all. Separate meetings meant imperfectly shared information. Even worse, Jana felt that if the BKA was anything like the FBI was reputed to be, they would never get back to her with any information if she subsequently tried to contact them. All organizations like that had an unofficial policy of cooperating with other agencies only when they were forced to. On the bright side, Jana consoled herself with the thought that she’d have more freedom to operate without Truchanova around.
“What about the warrant on the second location? I should be there when it’s served,” Jana reminded Truchanova and the BKA people.
“The magistrate who authorized the first warrant won’t be available until tomorrow morning,” one of the BKA men reluctantly informed her. He had an air of superiority about him, which Jana instantly disliked. His attitude suggested a large gasbag, and she had the urge to put a pin in the man and deflate him.
He continued, as if to an inferior, explaining what those in the upper reaches of the universe were doing. “We felt it better to use the same magistrate who issued the warrant on the first location since he already has all the relevant information. We plan to serve both on the same day at the same time, with two teams. The magistrate will, naturally, want to deal with us on this issue, so, when he’s ready, we’ll see him; and I’m sure there will be no trouble in having you along while we serve them.”
“Naturally. Very appropriate.” Albrecht’s voice had the tone of a man sucking on a sour lemon.
“Good,” said the BKA agent.
“You can get in touch with Investigator Konrad when you’re ready,” Jana said. “He’ll have my contact information.”
“Certainly,” assured one of the agents.
“Until then,” Truchanova chimed in, pleased with events. She and Jakus moved off with the BKA officers.
“Blah, blah, blah, blah. Gas and more gas,” Konrad murmured to Jana. “That’s all they ever give you.”
“Better for us that we keep distance between us and them,” said Jana.
“No question.”
They began to make their way out of the airport terminal.
“I want to see Zdenko Bogan’s place of business,” Jana said.
“As soon as I can set it up.”
They walked out of the building to Konrad’s car parked at the curb. Across the main terminal drive they could see Truchanova and her little coterie following the signs leading to one of the car-park areas.
Watching them, Konrad muttered something under his breath in German, a tinge of anger in his voice.
“What was that?” Jana asked, having the clear impression that it was not a compliment that had come out of Konrad’s mouth.
“Pig fat.”
“Very harsh; however, there’s a germ of truth in it,” Jana said.
They got in Konrad’s car and drove off. They were headed north on Glinka Strasse, toward Unter den Linden, with Jana admiring the new shops and the bustle of the people going in and out of the stores, suggesting good economic times and the general lust for life that money in the pocket brings, when they ran into the demonstration.
The riot police were all over the place, dressed in heavy-duty crowd-control gear—large helmets, plastic faceplates, bulletproof vests—carrying shields and long riot batons. Traffic police had taken over an intersection and flagged down their car as it approached, trying to redirect them around the disturbance. Recognizing one of the cops, Konrad rolled down his window and called him by name.
“What the hell is happening?” Konrad asked.
“Gypsies.”
“Roms? Here?”
The faint odor of tear gas wafted into the car.
“How far down the street?” Konrad wanted to know.
“Five hundred meters.”
“The gypsies are creating a riot?” There was wonderment in Konrad’s voice.
The traffic cop snorted in derision. “You couldn’t get enough gypsies to fill up a Volkswagen if they knew it was for a riot. This is Berlin. Steal, yes; riot, no.
“They were having a corner demonstration,” the cop continued. “Twenty of them parading around, and suddenly there were skinheads beating up on them; then people tried to stop it; more skinheads; then some Turks passed near enough to become targets, and now we’ve got half the Berlin bar population involved.”
“Scheisse,” said Konrad.
“What were the gypsies protesting?” Jana asked.
“War reparations,” the cop said. “Half a century ago, and they’re still pushing us for money.”
“War reparations?” Konrad said. “Well, Adolf and his boys killed a few of them. The gypsies are entitled.”
“He killed a lot of them,” Jana corrected.
“Except everybody now wants a taste of money,” the traffic cop grumbled.
“They lost everything,” Jana reminded him.
“It was a long time ago.”
The traffic officer looked down the street, then back to Konrad, and waved him ahead rather than into the detour. “Go through. It’s clear enough for you to cross.”
Konrad put the car in gear, edging into the boulevard, preparing to make a left turn.
“A favorite spot for people kicking up a fuss,” he told Jana. “Brandenburger Tor to our left, the Deutsche Staatsoper to our right; a little northwest we have the Reichstag so the legislators can take notice. The area is great for catching people’s eyes.”
Jana looked to the right where everyone seemed to be pointing. All she could see were police buses blocking the boulevard, with officers standing around them. The demonstrators and their enemies, the neo-Nazis, were all screened off. There was a wisp of gas hanging over the bus. Another group of riot police in formation went trotting past them toward the buses. Jana was tempted to get out of the car and follow the riot police behind the buses to see how they handled the event. She couldn’t see at all from where they were.
Instead, she sat back in her seat, accepting that she was not going to get to see whether the police treated the gypsies any differently than the ones who had come to fight with them. She hoped they did. Picketing or demonstrating was not rioting. The police should see the difference and take the distinction into account. Unfortunately, nobody ever saw or did everything they were required to. And some people never saw anything. It was the human condition.
Chapter 25
It had been years since Jana had seen the student who had been an agent provocateur. One day after having moved out of her parents’ home to see how it would be to live alone, she had gone home for a short visit. Her mother and father had been fighting when she arrived; for a few hours after that, things had not gone well between Jana and her mother. Her father had gone out, and Jana had rather innocently made a comment about her mother not giving her father a chance to explain his actions at a party the night before. Since her husband wasn’t present at the moment, Jana’s mother had settled on Jana as a substitute target for her rage.
The incident the night before had been minuscule. Jana’s father had had one drink too many and had told a woman whom her mother loathed that he liked what she was wearing that evening. This had angered Jana’s mother enough to make her stop talking to him; and then, when he’d gotte
n into a heated discussion damning the government for their policies regarding the minority communities in Slovakia, her mother had insisted on leaving, berating her father throughout the whole drive home.
Jana’s father had been scheduled at the last minute to give a speech at a judges’ conference in Kosice in eastern Slovakia, so he’d been forced to leave early that morning, with nothing resolved between him and his wife. Then, as she served lunch, Jana’s mother had begun relating the events of the night before. When Jana gave the impression of taking her father’s side, her mother had gone into a tirade. Facing a no-win situation, Jana had retreated to the backyard of the house and read a book until, after an hour of isolation and a twinge of hunger, she had gone into the kitchen for a quick snack.
As most parents do, when they’ve had time to reconsider their actions, Jana’s mother had feelings of remorse for becoming so angry at her daughter and proceeded to serve Jana the meal of kachna and red cabbage with a side of knedliky that she’d prepared, sneaking in a quick apology as she did so. Her mood improved even more as she watched her daughter relish the food, waiting until Jana had finished it to set out fresh strawberries and a small pitcher of fresh cream. Her mother’s final wave of the olive branch was to suggest that the two of them go into town to see a lecture on a subject she was involved in. She knew the man who was lecturing and was interested in what he had to say. Rather than refuse and risk reopening the breach between them, Jana said she was happy to go along.
Her mother’s mood switched to a pleasant excitement about getting out, and the two of them talked about the old days and her mother’s enjoyment of going to party events, the wonderful conversations they’d had when Jana was younger about so many important matters, and the outings with Jana and all the other children. Her mother was still a devout Communist, still enthralled with being in what she thought was the advance guard of social change, always going to party events as if they were galas for the privileged.
It was her mother’s belief that the world was better when governments had strong ideals; and that was exemplified, she thought, in the solidarity that the party brought to the people, uniting even the most disparate groups under the red banner. The lecture they were attending that day was called “Majority vs. Minority in the National Interest,” a subject Jana was only mildly concerned with. But going to the lecture was a priority now, if not to serve the national interest, then to save the family unity.
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