Death On Duty

by Graham Brack

  Doležal paused in mid-sip, suddenly uncomfortably aware that Slonský was looking at him. Feeling some response was required, Slonský raised his cup in a silent toast, which Doležal acknowledged with a dip of his head.

  ‘Dear God, don’t let him come over and talk to me,’ Slonský prayed.

  Doležal finished his tea and left.

  ‘My prayers are answered. Thank you, God,’ muttered Slonský.

  ‘That’s very kind,’ said Sergeant Mucha. ‘It’s always nice to be appreciated.’

  ‘You’re not the answer to anyone’s prayers,’ Slonský replied.

  ‘Well, you’re entitled to your opinion,’ said Mucha, ‘but my wife may disagree with you. She prayed for a lifelong scapegoat and here I am.’

  ‘Ah, but why are you here?’ asked Slonský.

  ‘Why are any of us here? It’s foxed better minds than mine. Personally I favour the hypothesis that God likes a laugh, but being omniscient he knows all the punchlines, so he put us here to give himself something to giggle over. Every so often he shakes things up a bit and then wets himself watching us trying to get out of the mess we’re in.’

  Slonský bit into his ham roll. ‘Were you taught by Jesuits?’

  ‘No. Do they go in for that line of thought?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, but I thought I’d ask. The alternative was a discussion based in the real world where I live and you’re an occasional visitor. So, I repeat, why are you here?’

  Mucha sat down and leaned forward. ‘The pertinent question is why you’re here. I’ve been sent to fetch you because Dr Novák is upstairs waiting.’

  ‘Damn! Forgot he was coming.’

  ‘It’s all right. He’s talking to Captain Lukas.’

  Slonský sprang to his feet. ‘Novák talking to Lukas is definitely not all right. How can I keep the upper hand over them if they can gang up on me?’ He pushed the roll into his mouth so he could carry his cup and open the doors on his way.

  As he left, Dumpy Anna called to Mucha, ‘I know it’s only Slonský, but you’ll get him to bring that cup back, won’t you? Takeaway is in cardboard cups. China is for sit-downs.’

  Mucha waved her concern away. ‘Anna, tell him he’s vegetarian till he brings it back and you’ll have every cup in the building back here by nightfall.’

  Slonský skipped up the stairs and nudged his office door open with his hip, putting the coffee and roll down and greeting Novák in one fluid movement before realising that Novák was not there. Navrátil looked up from his work and pointed down the corridor with his pen. Leaving the snack behind, Slonský strode purposefully to Captain Lukas’ door, knocked and was at the side of the desk before Lukas had finished saying ‘Enter’.

  Lukas had a sour look about him. Although he was a very experienced police officer he had long been rather squeamish about the work of pathologists and preferred not to know what they got up to. All he wanted was a clear set of findings, and it looked as if Novák had some. The manila folder in front of him was commendably thin.

  ‘Ah, Lieutenant Slonský, Mucha has tracked you down.’

  ‘No mystery, sir. Just having a well-deserved ham sandwich.’

  The dyspeptic look was intensified. ‘Not one for ham, myself. Not police ham, anyway. Rather fatty for my taste. Anyway, we aren’t here to talk about sandwiches. Dr Novák is about to tell us what he has found.’

  Novák opened his folder and gave a light preparatory cough as if about to deliver a presidential address at a university. Slonský flopped into the vacant chair, where his attention was captured by a carrier bag at Novák’s feet.

  ‘You know all the details of the deceased,’ Novák began, ‘so I needn’t recite those. He died as a result of a single stab wound to the brain stem. It was a narrow blade, perhaps one and a half centimetres wide, but at least twelve centimetres long.’

  ‘Spring loaded?’ asked Slonský, whose eyes were beginning to gleam as facts fell into his possession. He found such material enervating and needed very few hard facts to rouse from torpor and begin detecting.

  ‘I can’t rule it out,’ said Novák, ‘but if it was it was a straight spring rather than a side spring.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Lukas interrupted.

  ‘Switch blades either swing out of one side or they strike like a snake straight forward,’ Novák explained. ‘If it was a spring loaded knife, it must have been the latter type, because having jammed it through Hrdlička’s neck into his brain stem, the murderer gave it a pretty firm wiggle, and there’s no sign of the blade trying to close, which I’d have expected a hinged blade to do.’

  Lukas pressed a handkerchief to his lips. ‘Wiggled? In the brain stem?’

  ‘Yes,’ continued Novák, completely oblivious to the peculiar waxy appearance exhibited by Lukas or the lip-licking that Slonský was performing. ‘At the base of the brain there’s a little tail that leads down to the top of the spine. Some of the most important parts of the brain are in the stem. You don’t survive substantial damage to it.’

  ‘So Hrdlička died quickly?’ Slonský enquired.

  ‘I can’t say it was instantaneous, but his vital functions would have been disrupted severely. He would have been paralysed from the wound down, and he would have had difficulty in breathing because he wouldn’t be able to fill his lungs. I think there’s good evidence that the shock killed him but I’ve sent some blood samples off for analysis to confirm the point. His blood pressure would have fallen calamitously and I suspect he lost consciousness in moments and died very quickly. It’s the same effect as a judicial hanging, just achieved another way.’

  ‘Thank heaven for small mercies,’ Lukas said, though it was difficult to hear him due to the muffling caused by the handkerchief in front of his mouth.

  Slonský was thinking hard. ‘But Hrdlička was a trained police officer. He’d done surveillance work for a long time. How did they kill him in broad daylight without any sign of a struggle?’

  Novák beamed. ‘Ah! A good question, and I may have an answer.’

  ‘May have?’

  ‘I can’t prove it myself, but I may be able to do so with the aid of a willing volunteer. Not you, Slonský, I need to talk to you.’

  Slonský turned to look at Lukas.

  ‘Not Captain Lukas either,’ said Novák. ‘His head is too big.’

  ‘That’ll be due to the brains,’ Slonský opined gravely.

  ‘No doubt. Is young Navrátil about?’

  ‘I’ll fetch him.’

  In this case, “fetch” meant that Slonský went to the door and shouted down the corridor. ‘Navrátil! Come here and get murdered!’

  Novák opened the carrier bag and produced a knight’s helmet.

  ‘Is that the one Hrdlička was wearing?’ asked Navrátil.

  ‘Don’t be squeamish, lad,’ Slonský answered. ‘None of us is a homicidal maniac. You’ll be quite safe.’

  Novák handed it to Navrátil. ‘Put it on and kneel with your back to us.’

  Navrátil did so.

  ‘You can pray if you want,’ Slonský suggested. ‘May as well use the time profitably.’

  Novák produced a flat wooden stick. ‘This tongue depressor will stand in for the murder weapon. Don’t want to risk an accident, do we?’

  Slonský rapped on the helmet with his knuckles, making it ring. ‘You’re all right, we’re not going to use a real knife,’ he bellowed.

  Navrátil nodded an acknowledgement.

  Novák pushed Navrátil’s head gently forward.

  ‘When he is upright, the cuff at the back of the helmet protects his neck. It wouldn’t have been much use in the olden days if it hadn’t. It’s only when he tips his head forward in prayer that the murderer can stab him in the back of the neck under the helmet. Stabbing upwards at an angle — like this! — is only possible in the praying position.’

  ‘But why didn’t Hrdlička hear the assassin sneak up?’

  ‘Because the assassin is a trained killer. Becaus
e he’s on a busy road with plenty of traffic noise. And because Navrátil can’t hear us very well with the helmet on, can you, Navrátil?’

  There was no response, proving the point.

  ‘I never liked the slimy little weed anyway,’ said Slonský.

  ‘Hrdlička?’

  ‘No, Navrátil. And his girlfriend has spots and a lop-sided bottom. No, you’re right, he can’t hear us.’

  Lukas was frowning. ‘But Hrdlička’s face was painted silver. Why bother if he was going to wear a helmet?’

  Slonský wheeled round at speed. ‘He didn’t! When we saw him at lunchtime he wasn’t wearing the helmet.’

  Novák was smirking. ‘Very observant, Slonský.’

  He leaned forward and lifted the helmet from Navrátil’s head, allowing the young detective to rub his neck.

  ‘That’s heavy,’ he remarked. ‘You wouldn’t want to wear it for long.’

  ‘No,’ agreed Novák, ‘you wouldn’t.’

  ‘So why did he?’ asked Slonský. ‘And your face tells me you know.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Novák, ‘but I can guess and you can check.’

  He inverted the helmet and pulled back the padding that cushioned the inside around the temples. With a flick of a thumb he brought a small white object the size of a kidney bean into view.

  ‘An earpiece?’ said Navrátil.

  ‘A wireless one. He was listening in to something when he was killed. That’s why he didn’t hear anyone sneak up on him; he was concentrating on the scratchy sound of a hidden microphone somewhere. The question for you is where that microphone is.’

  ‘Maybe Grigar knows.’

  ‘I doubt it, Slonský,’ said Lukas, ‘or he’d have mentioned it. The prime suspect would be the person they’re listening to.’

  ‘So can we find out when he put the helmet on? Navrátil, that’s your first job. Ask that goddess if she knows when he fetched his helmet. Any ideas, Novák?’

  ‘Found at five, dead around four.’

  ‘So the next question is what provoked him to put the helmet on. Did he put it on at the same time of day every day, or did he see something that prompted him? That’s your next job, lad.’

  Slonský inspected the large map of Prague on the wall in front of Lukas’ desk.

  ‘If Hrdlička is watching the buildings opposite, then how could a murderer sneak out and get round behind him? Visibility is too good. He’d have to go quite a way up or down the river.’

  Navrátil traced a route on the map. ‘He could have set off in the opposite direction and taken the Metro over the river before walking back.’

  ‘He could also have climbed up to the roof, strung a big piece of elastic between the chimneys and catapulted himself to the other side, which is just as likely. How long would it take him to do what you’ve suggested? Twenty minutes? How would he know Hrdlička would keep the helmet on that long?’

  ‘But if Hrdlička is watching the boss, and the boss sends a man out to do the actual killing while he keeps talking, Hrdlička would concentrate on the wrong man.’

  ‘That would work,’ Novák agreed.

  ‘Detectives detect,’ Slonský growled. ‘Pathologists … path. Well, whatever they do it isn’t detecting. But the lad may have something. If they know they’re being watched, the accomplice could slip out at any time of day and wait for a mobile phone call to tell him when to strike. That complicates things.’

  ‘So someone in that red brick building could see that they were being watched and had someone outside to do their dirty work, sir?’ Navrátil enquired.

  ‘Not so fast. That’s the likeliest explanation, but don’t forget that anyone on that side of the road could have thought that they were being watched. If Hrdlička was careless, he could have raised suspicions in anyone with a guilty conscience. And you mustn’t forget the person who has admitted being right there at the time of death.’

  ‘Who, sir?’

  ‘The goddess, Navrátil.’

  ‘Sir! She can’t be the murderer. She was so shaken by it all.’

  ‘She’s hardly going to show her icy coldness to you, is she, lad? She could be acting. Women do, you know. You’ll find out soon enough. She could have stepped off the pedestal, and Hrdlička wouldn’t have suspected a thing. She fetches a knitting needle, drives it into his neck and then calmly steps back on her pedestal and waits an hour or so to start wailing. Easiest thing in the world to arrange.’

  ‘Knitting needle?’ murmured Novák. ‘Could be.’

  ‘She didn’t have a knitting needle on her when Peiperová brought her here to make a statement, sir.’

  ‘Of course not. There’s a damn great river just behind her. She takes the needle out and heaves it into the water. Not much point in getting divers in, though. It’s too big a search area and the current may have carried it downstream by now.’

  ‘Surely someone would notice a woman dressed as a Greek goddess chucking a blood-stained knitting needle into the Vltava, sir.’

  ‘Navrátil, there are people in this city who wouldn’t notice if King Kong scaled St Vitus’ cathedral and swotted planes out of the sky. There are others who wouldn’t tell us even if they saw the whole thing. I wouldn’t mind betting…’

  There was a dull thud behind them. To Slonský’s surprise, Captain Lukas had disappeared from sight, as had his chair. It was Navrátil who first surmised that the reason might be that it had tipped over, and ran behind the desk to find Lukas lying on his side.

  ‘Sir? Can you hear me, sir?’

  Lukas grimaced but did not speak. His skin was clammy and the colour of an unripe grapefruit, and his fist was clenched in front of his chest.

  Slonský realised that he would have to take command.

  ‘Novák, do something!’ he bellowed.

  ‘Me? Why me?’

  ‘Because you’re a doctor.’

  ‘Send for an ambulance, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Navrátil, tell Mucha to get an ambulance. Now, Novák, surely they taught you something at medical school?’

  ‘It was a long time ago, Slonský. I don’t deal with living patients nowadays.’

  ‘Well, we could bump him off if it makes you happier, but there’ll be a hell of a stink when the Doctors’ Union hears about it.’

  ‘This is no time for sarcasm, Slonský.’

  ‘This is no time for hair-splitting, Novák. Do something!’

  ‘Just shut up, Slonský, while I try to think. Is there any pain?’

  ‘Any pain? He’s bent double, man!’

  ‘Well, where is the pain, Captain?’

  Lukas gritted his teeth and took a deep breath. He banged his clenched fist against his breastbone.

  ‘Is it your heart?’

  ‘You’re not meant to ask the bloody patient. You’re supposed to know if it’s his heart.’

  ‘Slonský, you’re not helping. How can I think with you yelling at me? Lukas, can you breathe properly?’

  Lukas nodded.

  ‘Is there any other pain?’

  Lukas nodded again. He pointed over his shoulder.

  ‘In your shoulder? Your right shoulder?’

  ‘Behind … my … shoulder.’

  Slonský leaned across. ‘There’s nothing sticking out,’ he declared.

  ‘I didn’t think there would be,’ Novak hissed. ‘Help me get him on his back so I can examine his chest.’

  As they rolled Lukas over he had a loud attack of flatulence.

  ‘You’ll feel better after that,’ Slonský said.

  Novák gently probed Lukas’s trunk and was rewarded with a groan when he pressed near the liver.

  ‘Of course! Cholecystitis.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Inflammation of the gall bladder. Has he been unwell lately?’

  ‘He’s been sick a lot. Queasy sick — you know — chucking up.’

  ‘Has he seen a doctor?’

  ‘He’s looking at you now and a fat lot of go
od it’s doing him. Shouldn’t you take it out or something? Have you got your scalpel?’

  ‘Slonský, I haven’t done surgery in years.’

  ‘You carve some poor so-and-so up every day of your life.’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t have to put the bits back in the right place afterwards. My patients are past caring about that. It’s best if we wait for the ambulance. I’ll check his vital signs. Why don’t you go and find a bowl in case he vomits?’

  Navrátil reappeared at the door. ‘Ambulance is on its way, sir.’

  ‘Good lad. Now, fetch a bowl for the captain in case he’s sick.’

  ‘Anything else, sir?’

  ‘Yes. I left half my sandwich on my desk. If you’ve got a spare hand…’

  It defied any common sense, but Slonský stood to attention while he telephoned the Director of the Criminal Police to tell him what had happened to Lukas. The Director listened calmly, asked what investigations Lukas was overseeing, then suggested that everyone went home and got a good night’s sleep.

  ‘Can you carry on as normal?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good. Let’s see how it looks in the morning. I’ll ring the hospital and then we’ll see what’s what.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  ‘In Lukas’ absence, you can cover for him. No need to panic for a day or two, but we’ll have to deal with his paperwork somehow.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  ‘Have you told his wife?’

  Slonský groaned inwardly. He knew there was something he should have done. ‘I’m on it now, sir.’

  ‘Good man. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.’

  Slonský put the phone down. ‘We’ll have to tell Mrs Lukasová,’ he announced.

  ‘I rang her while you were putting him in the ambulance,’ Peiperová responded. ‘Navrátil has borrowed a car to take her to the hospital. If you don’t need me, sir, I said I’d sit with their daughters until she gets back.’