“I don’t believe Dušan was the only man in Slovenia, or even all of the world, you could love. You do know people meet on the internet all the time, right?”
“I know about internet dating. I’m not interested in an inbox full of dick pics.” Jo nudged him. “It isn’t just about Dušan. That hurt a lot, but not enough to put me off for life. I really just like being able to do what I want. Love is too complicated.” How many times had they had this conversation? How many different ways could she tell him that she had enough people in her life?
“And you don’t love Rok? Really? You’ve been fucking him for 15 years and you don’t love him?”
“I love him like I love you, aside from the fucking part. It turns out that he is possibly even less inclined to fall in love than I am. Having a wife or girlfriend would definitely put a crimp in his vagabond lifestyle.”
“Where is he these days?” Gregor adjusted his arm under her hand.
“He’s in town, but he’s on some celibacy kick to prepare for a pilgrimage to… He told me. To Nepal.”
“So what do the two of you do if he’s celibate? Play mahjong?
“No, chess mostly. And he’s teaching me how to knit.”
Gregor stopped. “Rok is teaching you how to knit?”
She looked up at him, miffed. “Yes. We are actually friends, per the whole ‘friends with benefits’ thing.”
“I get that. I’m just trying to imagine that mountain goat knitting.”
“You laugh, but he’s quite talented. He made me a beautiful pair of socks.”
“You never cease to amaze me.”
She squeezed his arm and they continued on. “Good. I’d hate it if you thought I was boring.”
They walked on with a few others out to Mirje at the edge of the central district and into the residential area where the Emona house had been excavated in the 1960s. Along the way, they passed a community garden, one of the few left in the central city. It was too dark to see much, just enough light to make out the wired grape trellis near the shoulder-high brick wall that separated the garden from the sidewalk.
The entrance to the site was near a small block of flats and looked like the alleyway to someone’s back garden. Gregor saw the small museum sign on the fence or they would’ve missed it. Beyond, fairy lights were wrapped around the open gates and railing at the entrance as a signal to after-party goers that they had arrived at their destination.
Another hired waiter met them inside at the entrance with a tray of champagne flutes. Gregor took two and handed one to her.
He held up his glass to her. “I propose a toast. A small one.”
“Yes?” She asked. “To what.”
“To continued happiness – whatever form that takes.” He looked her in the eyes, smiling, and they clinked their flutes. He took a sip, then said, “Okay. Let’s see who’s here and then you can go find Helena and abandon me.”
She looked around for familiar faces and spotted Tomaž speaking with a tall, heavily built man in a tight-fitting suit. The stub of a ponytail and the full beard suggested he probably didn’t live in suits, but he wore one well. He of the ponytail was talking with his hands, apparently describing something to Tomaž. Tomaž was nodding and making occasional asides to Katarina. She looked vague, maybe glazed by too much champagne.
Tomaž caught Jo looking at him. He waved, inviting her and Gregor to join them. She still had no desire to spend her evening with His Oiliness, but she did want to meet his friend. She took Gregor’s wrist and they merged into the small circle.
“Matjaž, I don’t believe you’ve met Gregor or his lovely friend Miss Jo Wiley? She is the proprietress of the teashop on Zajčeva.” Tomaž put his hand on her arm and turned her toward Matjaž. It was a possessive gesture and it made her skin crawl.
Matjaž shook her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” His hands were large and warm and very calloused.
Definitely not a suit guy.
“I know your teashop. I’ve passed it often, but I’m not much of a tea drinker.”
“Oh, it isn’t just mine. Gregor and I own it with another business partner. And we do offer things besides tea.” She smiled up at him, trying not to play her whole hand with one glance. He wasn’t classically handsome, but he had an appealing familiarity. His hazel eyes were flecked with gold and deep laugh lines showed at the corners when he smiled back.
Damn.
“Tomaž was telling me about his idea for this destination restaurant in Tolmin. What are your thoughts?” Matjaž looked her in the eye.
She didn’t want to speak her true mind in front of Tomaž, not yet anyway. Nor did she want to lie; besides, she wasn’t particularly adept at it. “I think it’s an intriguing idea, though I haven’t seen the property. Tomaž would be the expert on such a high-end restaurant and its prospects. If you’ve seen the teahouse, you know we cater to a very different clientele.”
Tomaž chimed in, “I imagine you do know business. Renegade Tea has been very successful. How long have you been open?”
“This year is ten years. I’m not the business person. I leave that to Gregor and Vesna. I sling tea and make fancy sandwiches.”
“Jo. You sell yourself short.” Gregor put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into him. He knew she was uncomfortable and was enjoying it a bit. “You have an excellent palate and formidable culinary skills.”
Her cheeks were flushed, and she felt embarrassed at the blush. “Thank you, Gregor, but I don’t think my knife skills equate to Magnus Nilsson level cuisine and luxury fine dining. I am flattered though.”
Tomaž laughed. “Whatever your skills are Miss Wiley, I’m looking forward to tasting your wares on Monday.”
Gross. He was lewd and demeaning at the same time, calling her Miss like she was in her teens and talking about “tasting your wares.” His wife didn’t even blink. She must have developed immunity to her husband’s smarm. But Matjaž looked uncomfortable.
Jo continued the fake-friendly act and made her voice sound pleasant. “Yes. I’m looking forward to seeing you and Katarina at the shop. I’ll even turn the music down a bit.”
Gregor squeezed her shoulders a little harder as a reminder to be nice. “Matjaž, what is your interest in a high end restaurant?”
“I’m more interested in the idea of preserving and redesigning the farmhouse and barn. I own a firm that specializes in historic preservation and reconstruction.” He produced two business cards from his suit pocket and handed one to Gregor and the other to Jo.
She held the cream-colored card out to read it. “And you live in Škofja Loka.”
“Yes. It would be nice to have a short commute for once. I’ve been on a project in the Veneto for the last year and a half.”
“Would anyone else like another glass of champagne?” Gregor motioned to the nearest waiter with a full tray.
“None for me, thank you. I don’t care for it.” Katarina still looked a bit distracted, but her voice was firm.
Gregor passed a glass to Matjaž and Tomaž, who set their empties back on the tray. He took one for himself and gave one to Jo.
Last one, she decided. Or she wouldn’t have walking-home legs, let alone shoes.
She noticed a little hush in the party chatter. Conversations around them seemed to be stopping, and then there was a silence so complete it made the hair stand up on the back of Jo’s neck. A dropped glass shattered against the decking. She heard a wave of gasps making its way to her. The crowd was shifting to the railing that overlooked what was once the winter room of the house. She felt, more than heard, a whisper behind her ear. “Jolene, leave. Now.”
Gregor got to the railing before she did and put a hand on her arm. “Don’t look.”
But it was too late.
Helena was sprawled out on the ancient black and white mosaic floor below th
em, partially hidden in the shadow of the canopy over the site. Her head was at an unnatural angle. Her eyes were wide with surprise but there was no light in them or thought behind them. A cry caught in Jo’s throat and she turned her face into Gregor’s chest to try to blot out the image of Helena lying there.
Matjaž came up behind them. “No. Helena? No. No. No.” He climbed over the railing to reach her.
“You mustn’t move her.” A museum security guard tried to push between Jo and Gregor. “We need to call the police.”
Several people pulled out cell phones at once.
Gregor took control of the situation. “Only one call needs to be made. Tomaž?”
Tomaž nodded. “Dialing now.” His face had gone white.
Katarina stood next to him, her face still blank as it had been earlier. Olga appeared at her elbow, pinched-looking as before, but shaken.
Down on the ancient floor, Matjaž knelt and then sat back on his heels. He cradled Helena’s head in his lap. He was rocking back and forth. “Call an ambulance. Please. Someone call an ambulance.”
The man who had muscled past her clambered over the railing and joined Matjaž on the ruins. He leaned over to speak with him. “Do you know her? Was she your date?”
“She’s my sister. We came together.” Matjaž’s words were halting, caught by the raw edge of emotion flooding him. Jo was in shock, and not just at the sight of Helena’s twisted body. Matjaž was her brother? Jo really didn’t know much about Helena. The time they’d spent together didn’t involve much talking.
She knew she was staring openly at Matjaž, but she couldn’t stop herself. She was rooted where she stood. Her insides felt like ice. Gregor spoke soothingly to her in both English and Slovenian, but his words didn’t penetrate enough to mean anything. She sat as he told her to, her champagne glass forgotten and Matjaž’s card clutched in her hand.
“The police are on their way. Would you like some water?” Gregor squatted down so he was eye level with her. He searched her face waiting for a response.
“No. I’m fine.” She wasn’t fine. “I’m cold.” Her teeth were chattering and she couldn’t make it stop.
He took his jacket off and draped it over her shoulders. The weight and smell of it was comforting, but didn’t make her any warmer. The only clear thought was to do what the whispered voice had said, to run away from this horrible place with all these people milling around while Helena lay dead like a child’s doll thrown down in a tantrum.
“Let’s leave.” She grabbed his hand.
“We can’t leave yet. We have to wait.”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than the first wave of police arrived. The sound of sirens flooded out all other sound and the lights bathed them all in alternating flashes of blue. One officer went down to the ruins. He checked Helena’s pulse, but there was little doubt she was dead. There was no Helena in the unfocused stare. Jo was processing the events around her indiscriminately, as if her eyes and brain had been reduced to camera and film: everything came through with the same mix of urgency and detachment. Two other officers herded the crowd away from the deck back out into the parking area. One officer questioned Gregor, but didn’t make them leave. Paramedics arrived, but didn’t go down to Helena’s body after the first officer answered their question with a grave nod.
Gregor spoke to a young paramedic closest to where Jo sat. “I’m sorry. Could you have a look at my friend? Something’s not right.”
The woman crouched down and looked into Jo’s face. “Ma’am, can you tell me your name?”
“Jo. Jo Wiley.”
“Okay, Jo. How are you feeling?”
“I’m cold.”
The paramedic took both of Jo’s limp hands in hers. “Your hands are like ice. I’d like to take you to the ambulance so we can warm you up a bit.” She looked up at Gregor and nodded, then said, “I think she should go to the hospital. Might be shock. A doc can check her out and maybe give her a sedative. I’ll check with the officer in charge to see if she can leave.”
The paramedic disappeared. There were more police now. They were asking people their names. Two stood with Matjaž still on the ruins of the winter room floor, asking their questions. His ponytail had come undone and his hair was wild where he’d pushed his hands through it. Jo had to look away from the pain etched in his eyes and the grimace of his mouth. More officers cordoned off the place where Helena’s body lay. The edges of everything, the people, the railing around the deck, her own hand, seemed to be lit in high contrast, like a Bergman film, or one of Dušan’s photographs.
The paramedic returned. “Ms. Wiley, let’s go in the ambulance. Sir?” She looked up at Gregor.
“Bregant.”
“Mr. Bregant, the inspector in charge said we can take Ms. Wiley and you to the hospital. They’ll have questions for both of you in the morning.”
He nodded. “Jo, can you stand?”
She nodded and stood, then collapsed back onto the chair. Her legs were frozen and she couldn’t make them work. Gregor and the paramedic caught her and walked her between them to the ambulance.
The paramedic got Jo onto a gurney and layered a heat blanket over her with another blanket. She stayed with Jo and Gregor rode up front with the driver to the hospital.
Someone else was in the ambulance with them. She looked around, but she couldn’t see where. Her stomach sank. This was it. This was how it must have started for her mother.
When they arrived at the hospital the receiving area was filled with people waiting for her. No one from the hospital or the ambulance crew seemed to notice or to care. Why wasn’t anyone pushing them away? What could all those people possibly want from her?
Chapter 4
The longer Gustaf was there, the better he understood that the heart of the strangeness of this city was the river. The river of seven names. Its waters rose from and disappeared into the karst six times before bubbling up again in the marshes, where it became the brief but important Ljubljanica. Ten kilometers east of the capital, the murky river joined the glass-green Sava, found the Danube, and finally emptied into the Black Sea. It carried all the mundane debris and supernatural detritus of eastern Europe to be discarded in that basin, coloring the lives of those who lived along the way. There was a reason this was a part of the world which would never find peace.
Thousands of artifacts had been pulled from the depths of the Ljubljanica over the years by treasure hunters and professional archeologists. More objects had been discovered in the marshes from which the river flowed. The most spectacular find was an ancient wooden wheel, the oldest ever discovered. Its renown fed the desire of unscrupulous fortune seekers, despite laws requiring diving and digging permits. It was impossible to trace everything. Many pieces disappeared into private collections, away from public view.
Archeologists and amateurs speculated about the concentration of artifacts in the river. The prevailing theory held that the river had been a sacred boundary and a place to make sacrifices. That could explain the high quality and craftsmanship of the finds. For Gustaf, it also explained the power, both benevolent and malevolent, many of these artifacts carried. He had seen that nearly everything of supernatural origin in the city was connected in some way to the river.
The symbol of the city itself, the dragon, was also tied to the marshes. Jason and the Argonauts, after stealing the Golden Fleece from Colchis, followed the Danube to the Sava and then the Ljubljanica. The travelers overwintered in the marshes, where Jason encountered a dragon. He slew it, as the heroes of old were won’t to do. The slain dragon became the symbol of the city, and Jason its first (brief) resident of note. The Argonauts disassembled their boats and carried them to the Adriatic to reassemble and complete the journey home. If Jason had known how his story would end, he might have stayed in the marsh.
After Jason’s time, the Romans brought with the
m the cult of Achelous, a Greek river deity. It was Gustaf’s belief that many of the recovered sacrificial artifacts had been placed in the keep of the river by those asking the god’s favor or thanking him for safe passage. Achelous was a protector of the river and marshes, and unlike many other minor deities of the Greeks and their Roman echoes, he retained some power in the region. He appeared in works by the national poet as the Water Man, who steals beautiful, but vain women to be his aquatic brides. A first-century stone head excavated from the Emona archeological layer was recognized as Achelous and put on public display.
As part of the preparations for the anniversary celebrations, the City Museum had embarked on a renovation in the basement of its building on Trg francoske revolucije. The work included preservation of an in-situ Roman well. Gustaf had hoped it would be only a minor disturbance. He now had reason to believe that was not the case.
He was obligated to report any activities at sites of interest to the Board, so he tried to sum up his thoughts in an email to Bettine. He had little doubt the woman Helena’s death was more than it appeared. His contact in the capital’s police department had phoned him late to express the same thought. He heard the world weariness in her voice. She hadn’t truly accepted the reality he dealt in, but each incident chipped away at her skepticism. She usually did a better job of hiding that.
It looked like a murder. In Ljubljana, where such things were rare, news of a murder would be plastered on newsstands and the talk of every local radio and television show by morning. There would be no covering it up. He told his contact to treat it as she would any suspicious death, and he would handle the rest. With a yawn in her voice, she agreed and hung up.
He finished his message to Bettine and closed his computer. This would be a complicated business. The place, the players, the timing all created an intricate web across the city, touching individuals he’d made diligent efforts to keep at a distance.
He stood and walked to the map to examine the blue flags dotted across the neighborhoods of Ljubljana. He traced the line of the river to Trnovo, to a house near the church at the center of the district, and plucked a pin from the map. Helena Belak’s name was printed in his cramped lettering on the flag. He twirled the pin between his thumb and index finger, then placed it in a silver dish on the nearest bookshelf with the pins of others who had crossed into what lay beyond this world.
Who By Water Page 4