Requiem for a Gypsy

by Michael Genelin

  Jana decided to be blunt. “Your friend was murdered.”

  That got a response, both of them gaping at her.

  “Your statements said that he was active, talking to you, very aware of what was going on when he tried to climb through the fence.” Jana was hard-edged when she talked. “You said his shotgun went off accidentally. This new analysis says that you lied. It indicates that he was unconscious at the time of his death. He could no more have talked and walked than if his head had been cut off. And it nearly was, considering that the shot that killed him almost decapitated the poor fellow.

  “So, we’re here not to decide whether or not you killed him, but why you killed him.”

  When suspects are confronted with a police accusation, they often break out into what officers call the “fear disease.” Within seconds, the sweat stands out on their faces, tremors are visible on one portion of the body or another, and their eyes show symptoms of nystagmus: flickering from side to side, not focusing well, blinking. Both of the men began showing symptoms of the “disease.”

  Jana had pushed them to where she wanted them to be. They were afraid of her. Even more, they were afraid of what was on the paper.

  “The wound caused by the shell showed virtually no spread in the shot, which means it was fired from close up. That means it could not have been fired from more than a foot or two away. Close-up powder burns as well. Since he was not conscious at the time, the dead man could only have been shot by someone who intended to kill him with a shot fired at close range. Therefore, what we have is a planned and deliberate murder. I want to know which of you fired the shot.”

  The one on Jana’s left immediately looked to the one on her right, the one on her right cringing back and deflating. Jana now knew who the actual killer was. She looked to the one on her left first. The next steps were clear: ease the fear; separate him from the man sitting next to him; make him her friend; give him the hope that if he cooperated, he might save himself.

  “I thought you were the innocent one. Thank you for showing us who did the killing. That means we probably won’t be bothering you too much more. He did do the actual killing, didn’t he?”

  The man gulped, his Adam’s apple going up and down. He got out a weak “Yes.”

  “He’s lying,” the other one gasped.

  Jana continued to address the one on her left. “One of my officers will be taking you outside to sign a statement before you’re released. Of course, it depends upon your telling him the complete truth about how the events occurred.”

  She nodded at Jonas, who took the man’s arm and propelled him out of the room. He would finish the job with that one; Jana now focused on the other one.

  “We know that you killed him. Investigator Jonas is with your friend. They’ll be through soon. As I think you know, your friend will give Investigator Jonas a complete statement before they’re though. We could prosecute you without the testimony of your friend. The scientific evidence is all in this report. There’s no question. It’s incontrovertible. However, this is an opportunity for you to tell your side of the story.”

  She checked her reports again.

  “Ah, yes, the knees. You or your friend or someone else broke his knees some time before the ‘hunting’ trip. The man you killed was crippled by that attack and had to have surgery. Obviously, you had a reason then for being angry and punishing him. Then, later, after he had received medical treatment and his knees had mostly healed, you decided to kill him. Or, perhaps you were made to kill him. Was that it? Were you forced to kill him? Something or someone made you kill him, right?”

  She tried to look as if she were sympathetic to the man.

  He didn’t reply.

  “It’s important that we have your side of the story,” she said. “Everything you say to us will go before the judge. Everything your friend says as well. All the reports that have been made, including the coroner’s report, will be read. Do you understand that?”

  The man managed a nod.

  “Before we get to the shooting, let’s talk about your breaking the man’s knees. Why did you do it?”

  “He got the vitsa leader’s daughter pregnant. His father was asked to pay for the damage to the family honor. His father refused to pay the money. He called her things. Honor had to be satisfied.”

  “So you broke his knees?”

  The man shook his head. “He was a friend of mine. I couldn’t break his knees. Not for that. Other men in the village did it.”

  “You didn’t take part?”

  “I didn’t do any of it.”

  Jana made a show of writing it all down, getting the names of the men who had done the crushing of the youth’s knees and the name of the village head who had ordered it.

  “I’m glad you didn’t do something that horrible to your friend.” Jana’s voice had a necessary compassion she didn’t feel. It was all part of the questioning process, and not a part she liked. “You showed humanity.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Then your friend committed another foolish act, didn’t he?”

  The man hesitated. “Yes.”

  “He saw the girl again?”

  The man nodded.

  “They were seen?”

  He nodded again.

  “And you were ordered to kill him?”

  He sat, immobile. Jana went on as if he had answered.

  “Did your friend help you do the killing?”

  The man stiffened. “I didn’t need his help.”

  “Didn’t your friend help you get him drunk? And give him additional pain pills? Hold him down, perhaps?”

  He shook his head no.

  “Your friend must have helped you carry him over to the fence so you could set up your story?”

  The man brightened slightly. “He was too heavy for me to carry by myself.”

  “I would think so, even for a strong man like you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me, if you refused to have anything to do with breaking your friend’s kneecaps, why did you agree to kill him?”

  For the first time there was the sound of anger in the young man’s voice. “He didn’t stop. Even after he had been told to stay away. Even after his knees were broken. He didn’t care about our honor. He didn’t care about the fact that I pleaded with him to stop. He spit in our faces. After a while I couldn’t even look at him. He was no longer my friend.” He smiled. “When I was told that I had to protect our honor, I was ready to do it.” He looked at Jana with concern in his eyes. “You can see, I had to do it.”

  “Yes, I can see.” She picked up the reports she’d brought in. “Investigator Grzner will write up what you said. Then he’ll read it to you. If you have anything to add, just tell him. He’ll put it in the report. After that, you can put your mark on the paper. That way we’ll be able to get your side of the story to the judges. Okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “One more thing. The girl. Was she related to you?”

  He nodded. “My sister.”

  Jana had half expected the answer. “How has she reacted to her boyfriend’s death?”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine?”

  “She knew what had to be done. It’s not as if he was her husband.” The anger came back into his voice. “He wouldn’t marry her.”

  “I see.”

  Jana left Grzner with the Rom. She walked past the room where Jonas was questioning the other young man. Jonas gave her a quick sign to indicate everything was going all right, so she went on to her office, calling for Seges to come in.

  “We have the two men in custody who did the shotgun killing of the young gypsy. We may have others to take into custody when I get back from Paris. I’ll review the evidence on them, then decide.”

  “You’re going to Paris?” Seges looked impressed.

  “Business, not pleasure. The man who was killed in Paris by the truck, the one the French wanted us to identify. He’s related to the Bogan case. I think I’l
l find additional evidence in Paris.”

  Seges rocked back and forth, not really interested in the reasons for the trip. “I’ve been told that Paris is nice even to do business in. There are also other things to become involved with.” He gave her his equivalent of a leer.

  “Wipe the smirk off your face, Seges.”

  He quickly dropped the leer.

  Jana began pulling together things that she would need for her trip. “I need to see Em as soon as possible. I’d like to speak to her alone. Do you think you might leave work early, perhaps take your wife out to a movie or for a hot chocolate and a pastry, so we can have the time I need?”

  “Are you planning to take her out of our house?”

  “I’m not planning anything except a talk with her.”

  “My wife and I get along much better with her around. So we thought she could possibly continue to stay on with us—if you approve, of course.”

  “It’s not for me to say. There are rules. You know them. You will have to apply to get approval for child custody.” “Certainly, Commander.”

  “I’m glad you are hitting if off with her, Seges. Did it surprise you?”

  “Yes, Commander. A pleasant surprise. I guess we often just don’t know what we really need in life.”

  “I’m glad for you both.”

  “It was your suggestion that we take her in for a few days. It grew from there, particularly with my wife.”

  “You want to take her in permanently?”

  “I guess so.”

  He resembled a very large doll with a proportionately large smile on his face, his hands behind his back, shifting from one leg to the other, happy to be feeling the emotions that his almost-family had brought him. Jana reached into her top drawer and pulled out the little bag with the money that Em had given her in Germany. She tossed it to Seges.

  “This is Em’s. There’s money inside. Give it to her when you get home.”

  “Money?”

  “American dollars. Remember, I’ve counted it, Seges.”

  He looked hurt by the insinuation that he might take any of Em’s money.

  “Make the call to your wife, Seges. You can leave any time to pick her up.”

  “Yes, Commander.” He did his approximation of a snappy about-face and walked out, trailing good will.

  Jana wrote a small memo for both Jonas and Grzner, outlining the charges that she thought should be written up on the two who had killed the young man, at the same time thinking about the craziness of the whole incident and the lives now damaged beyond repair. Whether Rom law or Slovak law, the results of enforcement are invariably traumatic. Whatever the violation and whatever law is enforced, the waves that were made by the crime and then by its penalty spread out in concentric circles, eventually affecting everyone: the families, the police who became immersed in the horror, the prosecutors, the judges, all of them suffocating in the mess.

  Jana picked up the material she was taking to Paris and left the building. She sat at a roadside coffeeshop watching the wind pick up the snow from the ground and swirl it in the air, thinking about what she had to talk to Em about, the things she had to confront her with, the answers that she already knew. She hoped she would soon be able to give the colonel the answers to his questions about why she needed Em to solve the case.

  She arrived at the Seges house after waiting for an hour to give Seges and his wife time to leave. Unhappily, they were still there when Jana arrived, Seges’s wife frightened and stunned, Seges looking very unsure of himself. Em was gone again.

  Jana waited a few minutes for things to settle down, hugging Mrs. Seges to calm her and assuring her that everything would be all right, even though she knew it wouldn’t. Their dream of permanently taking the girl in would never be a reality.

  “What happened?” Jana eventually asked.

  “She just picked up her things and left,” Mrs. Seges said. “Just like that. Not even a kiss on the cheek.”

  Jana glanced at Seges, reasonably certain she knew why the girl had gone. “She was here when you arrived?”

  He nodded unhappily, trying to keep himself from breaking down.

  “What did you say to Em when you came home?”

  “Nothing much. I asked my wife to go out with me, that’s all. The next thing I knew, Em was gone.”

  “Did you tell your wife that I was coming over to talk to Em?”

  “Of course. And my wife told her that you wanted to talk with her.”

  “Which of you told Em that I was going to Paris on the Bogan case?”

  Mrs. Seges’s voice was weak when she spoke. “I said you were going to Paris. I didn’t know why.”

  Seges looked progressively more uncomfortable. “You didn’t prohibit me from telling Em that you were going to Paris.”

  “No, I didn’t,” Jana agreed.

  He seemed slightly relieved, brightening even more a second later. “I gave her the money you told me was hers.”

  “And?”

  “She was surprised.”

  “Happy?”

  “Not particularly. She just hung the bag around her neck.”

  “Then you told her about what I was going to do in Paris?”

  “She kind of asked me why you were going.”

  “Kind of?”

  “She was saying this and that, and then she said she’d never been to Paris and wanted to see it. She asked me if you were going to see the Eiffel Tower and Napoleon’s tomb and all those places. And when I said it was business, she looked at me as if she expected me to tell her what the business was.”

  “So you did.”

  “Yes …”

  “And then?”

  “She borrowed my wife’s cell phone, went into the kitchen to use it, then came running out and grabbed her things.”

  “She just ran off.” Mrs. Seges began to cry.

  “She’ll come back,” Seges reassured her.

  “Only after she’s been to Paris,” Jana said.

  They both stared at Jana, not quite believing what they’d just heard.

  “Paris,” Jana repeated.

  She was sure of it.

  Chapter 41

  As the plane descended into Paris, Jana felt the slight sense of foreboding that she always had when she was a passenger on an aircraft nosing down into an overcast sky, the worry that the pilot might misjudge the landing in the dreary gloom.

  The landing was perfect. The plane taxied to its terminal berth without a wait, the passengers disembarking almost immediately. Jana walked through the discharge ramp into the passenger waiting area expecting to see Masson waiting for her, since cops are allowed into the secure areas. He was not there, though, so she found her own way through the airport maze to the baggage area, picked up her bag from the carousel, then walked to the Metro station, taking the Metro to a stop that was supposed to be near enough to her hotel to walk the rest of the distance.

  It was cold in Paris, below freezing, people bundled up, all the women and most of the men wearing heavy coats and jackets, collars up, scarves around their necks. The pedestrians all seemed to be hurrying to get back to indoor warmth as quickly as possible. They brooked no interference with their determination to get out of the cold, which worked against Jana. Her requests for directions met abrupt, shrug-off answers and half-thought-out gestures in the general direction of where people thought Jana’s hotel was. The vagueness of the directions resulted in her missing the hotel by several blocks, a friendly optometrist at a small shop at last taking the time to tell her exactly how to get there. When she arrived, she was happy to step out of the frosty street.

  Jana’s question to the hotel clerk who checked her in about whether a young girl had been there asking about her was met with a vacant look. Based on prior experience, she had expected Em to be waiting for her when she got there. She was convinced that if Em wasn’t there yet, she would be soon. Jana’s room was clean and neat, a little too noisy because of the heavy traffic on the rue de Rivoli,
but the noise was muted enough by the double-glazed window for her to know she would be able to sleep at night when the traffic eased off. She called Investigator Masson and was informed that he was out for the day on an investigation. She left a message, unpacked, and then decided she would use this window of opportunity to see a little of Paris while she had the chance.

  The desk clerk provided Jana with a pocket-size map of the city and explicit directions on how to use the Metro to get around. Twenty minutes later, Jana was on the Champs-Elysées, on the top of the Arc de Triomphe, looking over the city. It was windy, which made it even colder at the top of the monument, but she ignored the windchill to enjoy the view of the city from the top of the 164-foot structure.

  Paris, at this late-afternoon hour, was gorgeous, the overcast lifting just for Jana, the boulevards radiating out from the axis of the Arc like the straight lines of a haut designer gown, the Eiffel Tower in the distance a jewel on the hem of the flowing dress. Jana walked around the edge of the monument, watching the people parade below, ticking off the sights from her map. She had just decided to leave, wanting to walk down the Champs, and was looking around for the ascenseur when she saw Em standing by the parapet on the opposite side of the monument. The girl gaily waved at her as if they were together on a gala holiday enjoying the sights.

  Even though Jana had expected to see Em, she still felt a slight quiver of shock at her appearance. Jana stared at her, not quite sure how to act. Then, forcing herself to abandon the emotions she still felt for the girl, she walked to the ascenseur without waiting for Em and took it down to the street.

  The clouds moved to hide the sun, and the temperature dropped. Jana walked east on the Champs, crossing the street that circled the monument, then was taken aback to realize that it was named the rue de Presbourg. Presbourg had been the old Austrian name for Bratislava. In the back of her mind, the remnant from some half-forgotten history class surfaced. Napoleon was victorious against the Austrians at Presbourg when Slovakia had been a vassal in the Austro-Hungarian Empire. An omen for Jana. She had come to Paris to fight a battle, and she was being given fair warning that it was about to begin.