by Graham Brack
‘Don’t forget to look for anything that isn’t in a drawer,’ Peiperová counselled. ‘Things at the back of drawers, tucked under a blotter or between books. Take your time.’
It was Peiperová who found a diary in a large shoulder bag, presumably the one Rezeková used for work, but there were no private appointments in it. However, there was a tantalising hint that an appointment had existed, because she had blocked out the first half of the Thursday morning before she was found. Did this mean that she had been expecting to be staying out late the night before?
Jerneková had turned her attention to the mail and the refrigerator. It looked as if the unopened post would probably have been delivered on or after Friday.
‘The absence of post delivered on Thursday isn’t conclusive,’ Peiperová remarked. ‘There may simply have been none.’
‘Her milk went out of date on Sunday. There isn’t a lot in the fridge, to be honest. Maybe she wasn’t a keen cook.’
‘Perhaps she would have done her food shopping at the weekend. The dirty plate looks to me like a breakfast plate. It’s not big enough for it to be an evening meal.’
‘So it may be that she had a dinner date on Wednesday evening and never came home?’
‘It looks that way. But don’t forget we don’t have any hard evidence. We’re arguing from things we’re not finding — a gap in the diary, no evidence of an evening meal, post that wasn’t opened. After all, do you always open mail on the day it arrives?’
‘Yes, actually I do. I don’t get much post, and what I get is often from debt collection agencies. You don’t want to ignore those bastards,’ Jerneková replied.
Slonský was in a good mood as he entered the office, which was swiftly dissipated by the message Krob had for him.
‘Colonel Rajka says he’d like to see you when you get back.’
‘Did he say why?’
‘No, sir. He didn’t sound very happy, though.’
‘Right-ho. I’ll just get a coffee and then go and see him.’
Krob coughed in embarrassment. ‘The Colonel said I was to stop you going for a coffee first, sir. In fact, he said I wasn’t to let you go anywhere where you could spend money.’
Thus chastened, Slonský walked downstairs and into the lush carpeting of the executive wing which housed his boss, Colonel Rajka. Rajka had previously been head of the Office of Internal Inspection, the body that looked into the conduct of police officers, and when he had been promoted to replace Colonel Urban, Rajka had tried to persuade Slonský to take over at OII. Slonský could not deny that there were attractions. He loathed police corruption and those who practised it, and had already been largely responsible for putting a number of police officers behind bars. It would have come with a bigger salary and a promotion to Major. On the other hand, the officers in OII were unable to socialise with colleagues. They were required to keep a proper distance between themselves and those they might be called upon to investigate. And, with the possible exception of Rajka himself, they were astoundingly dull and humourless.
As for Rajka, it was a very unusual experience for Slonský to have a senior officer over him whom he both liked and respected. They could never be close friends, of course, so long as Rajka maintained the aversion to alcohol and caffeine that he had nurtured since his days as an Olympic wrestler. He looked well on it, and if Slonský ever wanted a telephone directory torn in half he knew exactly where he would go, but the idea of sitting down with a mate to share a brew of green tea filled Slonský with horror. To him, not drinking beer was unpatriotic. Admittedly he had seen the famous clip of Rajka standing on the rostrum in tears as the Czech flag was raised, so he had to concede that it was possible to love the Czech Republic without raising a half-litre tankard to it, but he told himself that Rajka would have been a beer-drinker if his training regimen had allowed it, so that was all right.
Rajka glanced up as Slonský knocked at the open door. ‘Come in, so long as there’s no charge.’
‘This is about my expenses claim, isn’t it, sir?’
‘They don’t call you Prague’s number one detective for nothing, do they, Slonský?’
‘I don’t think they do call me that, sir. Surely that’s you?’
‘Cut the flattery. Just how many people did you take to dinner?’
‘There were just the three of us, sir. Me, Petr Vlk and Valentin.’
‘Valentin? What was he doing there?’
‘It was a sort of finder’s fee for tracking down Vlk.’
‘Vlk and Valentin. Two journalists. Well, I suppose that explains the drinks bill.’
‘It was just to get Vlk talking, sir. I needed to know about his father.’
‘Yes, I’ve read your report. Isn’t it a bit early in the game to be concluding that it’s a revenge killing for something her father did?’
‘I haven’t definitely concluded that, sir. It’s just the first option given that we don’t know of anyone else who might have had a motive to kill her.’
Rajka sat back and thought for a moment. ‘And did Vlk come up trumps?’
‘Not really. He confirmed what we already knew, fleshed out the family background, but there was little new material that was directly relevant.’
Rajka signed off the expenses sheet. ‘Okay, you win some, you lose some. Just don’t make a habit of spending that much on one witness, please.’
‘I won’t, sir.’
‘You recall when I got this job I offered you my old one?’
‘Yes, sir. I turned it down, if I remember correctly.’
‘You do. You haven’t reconsidered?’
‘No, sir. I’m a criminal detective. It’s what I do, and I’m a bit old to learn new tricks.’
‘When you leave here, you might want to drop in on my old office and say hello to my replacement.’
This was news to Slonský; and, as he ascertained via a brisk detour to the front desk, it was news to Mucha too.
‘I can’t believe it,’ said Mucha. ‘They’ve appointed a new head of OII and neither of us knew?’
‘Are we losing our grip?’ Slonský pondered. ‘Or are the top brass getting cleverer?’
Mucha shot him an old-fashioned look. ‘The top brass getting cleverer? How likely is that?’
‘Yes, you’re right. I mean, I hadn’t even heard any rumours.’
‘That’s because I hadn’t got round to starting any.’
‘Well, I suppose I’d better go on my fact-finding mission. I’ll report back later.’
To find Rajka’s old office, it was necessary to walk to the end of the senior officers’ corridor and then descend a small flight of stairs into the end of the wing. There was a security door where you were identified, this being a device to ensure that the senior officers could not put pressure on the Office of Internal Inspection team. For convenience, the security door was often propped open but it was guarded by a woman secretary who acted as the equivalent of a rottweiler but with fewer social graces.
Slonský was allowed to pass and entered the office where he received the biggest surprise he had known for some time. Behind the desk sat the spitting image of his old boss, Captain Lukas. Slonský would have been completely taken in by this impostor were it not for the error that saw him decked out in a major’s uniform.
‘Slonský! How very kind of you to drop in on my very first day,’ said Lukas.
‘Is that really you, sir?’
‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Yes, it’s me. Colonel Rajka was kind enough to suggest that I might come back for a short while when he was promoted and you refused the job.’
‘But I thought you were enjoying retirement?’
Lukas looked slightly awkward. ‘My wife and daughters are delightful, but I missed male company. And when Rajka said that he felt that Captain Bendík was well able to conduct the enquiries but would benefit from the oversight of an experienced officer, I don’t mind admitting that I found the suggestion very enticing. So I agreed to come
back part-time for six months in the first instance. I’m only going to be here for a couple of days a week, but Bendík and his colleagues can ring me any time if they want me.’
‘I’m sure they’ll benefit from your support as much as I always did, sir.’
‘That’s very generous of you,’ said Lukas, completely failing to notice that the sentiment was ambiguous. ‘And of course the offer of a promotion to major means that when I draw my pension, it will be enhanced. I must admit that I never thought I would ever wear a major’s uniform.’
You and me both, thought Slonský.
Bohumil Jelínek may have been eighty-five, but he was just as suspicious as a man half his age.
‘Why this sudden interest in my time in the StB?’ he asked Slonský. ‘Haven’t you jailed your quota of ex-officers?’
‘I’m not interested in what you did or didn’t do. I’m interested in what you know,’ Slonský explained.
‘I don’t think I know anything you’d want to know.’
‘Why don’t you let me ask, and then you can tell me, and perhaps I’ll go away. Unless I think you’re lying, in which case I’ll move into your spare bedroom and stay until I get the truth.’
‘Good luck with that. I haven’t got a spare bedroom,’ said Jelínek. ‘You can have the dog’s kennel if you like.’
‘I’ve had worse.’
Jelínek shrugged. ‘You’d best come in, then. Mind the dog crap.’
‘When you offered me the kennel, I thought the dog must have passed on.’
‘It has, but the cleaner’s an idle cow.’ He shuffled along the hallway and pushed a door open. ‘In there. Sit wherever you want.’
Since there was only one armchair, which showed every sign of being Jelínek’s preferred seat, Slonský sat on one of the chairs by the dining table.
‘I’m here about the Red House,’ he began. ‘A body has been found there, and one possible line of enquiry is that the victim was killed in revenge for something that her father, an StB officer, may have done in the past.’
‘Who was he?’ barked Jelínek.
‘A man called Rezek.’
‘I knew him. Not one of the worst, but not someone you’d get on the wrong side of. He was like a hunting dog. Once he got his teeth into you, he wouldn’t let go.’
‘Is it possible that someone he arrested died there?’
‘It’s certainly possible. He wasn’t a gentle interrogator. But if you’re going to ask me who it was, I can’t help you. I don’t know any names.’
‘Someone we spoke to said he remembered that dogs didn’t like to go near the south wall and that, when he mentioned it to you, you told him to keep his nose out.’
‘That was generally good advice to anyone where StB business was concerned. It doesn’t mean that I knew anything.’
‘But you know something about that particular burial, don’t you?’
Jelínek dipped his head onto his chest while he had a good think. After a while Slonský began to worry that he may have fallen asleep, but he stirred and began to speak again. ‘I said I don’t know anything specific, and I stand by that. But during 1970, there was something going on. These were people who were followers of Dubček and his clique, reformers, counter-revolutionaries, you know the sort. Three men were brought to the Red House one night. I don’t know who they were and I made it my business not to find out. There was talk that they had been in contact with West Germany and were lobbying the West Germans to stop cosying up to the East Germans. The German Democratic Republic increasingly relied on the money and trade the West Germans were prepared to give them, so the threat was taken very seriously, though I don’t know if the three had any real chance of pulling off their plan.
‘Anyway, the powers that be wanted to know who they had been talking to and what promises had been made, and Rezek was given the job of finding out. I suppose they were there nine or ten days, then they were gone. But there was a digger on site at the time that had been uprooting the footings of the old glasshouse, and we noticed that it had been used to carve a trench near the south wall.’
‘How big a trench?’
‘Not very wide — it was only a small digger — but around twenty metres long. We all pretended not to notice it and just got on with our work, but the dogs barked like hell when they went past it.’
‘And you’ve no idea who the three men were?’
‘None at all. I assume all three died or were killed, because if any of them had survived he’d have kicked up a racket once the old regime was gone.’
Slonský didn’t like the sound of this. Could there really be two more bodies under those flower beds?
Slonský returned to the office under a cloud to find Navrátil in a feverish state.
‘There’s been a development,’ Navrátil announced excitedly.
‘Have you been drinking something with artificial food colouring again?’ Slonský demanded.
‘No. Will you listen while I explain?’
‘My lips are sealed. For now.’
‘General Rezek came while you were out. He demanded to be taken to the place where his daughter’s body was found so that he could leave some flowers there.’
‘Did he actually have any flowers?’
‘Yes. Roses. Dark red ones.’
‘Fine. Proceed.’
‘Obviously we had to comply, because it was a reasonable request from a grieving father.’
‘Not a very common one, though. I’ve known it with road accidents, but not usually with murders.’
‘But it’s not unknown, is it, sir? Anyway, I agreed and I drove him over there. He walked to the spot with me and laid the flowers there, then we bowed our heads for a few moments. He looked around and said that returning to the Red House after so many years brought back some memories, not all of them good ones.’
‘I can understand that.’
‘Then he thanked me and offered his hand, so I shook it. He marched off, but not the way we’d come. He walked across the lawn to the path.’
‘Did he now? And why do you think he did that?’
‘I think he wanted to fix exactly where the grave was in relation to the building.’
‘And I think you’re probably right because I think that too.’
‘Sir, I got the impression that he may know whose body was in that grave and that’s why he wanted to see exactly where she was.’
Slonský frowned. ‘Could we continue this discussion in the canteen? My stomach thinks my throat has been cut.’
They queued to collect a coffee and Slonský put a couple of pastries on a plate.
‘If those are both for you, you can put one back,’ said Dumpy Anna. ‘You told me to stop you overdoing the calories.’
‘One of them is for the boy,’ Slonský replied.
Dumpy Anna fixed Navrátil with her best basilisk stare. ‘The young lieutenant is incapable of telling a lie, so I’m going to ask him to tell me to my face that one of these is for him.’
Slonský sighed and pushed one of the pastries back onto the tray. ‘You’re a hard woman.’
‘I’m only doing what you told me.’
‘Why? Nobody else does.’
Slonský and Navrátil found a table and resumed their conversation.
‘So you think Rezek knows whose body was buried there before, and therefore he will have some idea who might be behind the killing of his daughter?’
‘I don’t have any real evidence, sir, but I’ve just got a feeling.’
‘At last. That instinct is the most vital thing in a detective’s armoury, lad.’
‘I thought you told me diligence was the most vital thing, sir?’
‘That’s right. They’re both the most vital thing. And there are others. But I need to explain what I discovered from the old sergeant I’ve been to see. He tells me there were three people who disappeared while in custody at the Red House around 1970. He believes that all three were buried in the grounds in a line along that wal
l.’
‘So there are still two to find?’
‘If he’s right, that seems to be the case. I’ll have to apply for an exhumation order to investigate.’
‘Are you sure, sir? You’d need an order if you knew there were bodies there, but since we don’t know that for sure, and we don’t know who they are anyway, so we couldn’t put names on the forms, I’d have thought we could do some preliminary digging without an order.’
‘I knew there was a reason why I took you on, despite my natural suspicion of people with law degrees.’
‘If you’ve met many of my classmates, I could understand that suspicion, sir.’
‘Right! Let’s get Novák involved and see if those bodies are there. If we can identify the other two, we may be able to decide who the third one was. Where’s Krob, by the way?’
‘Following Rezek. He’s the only person in our team that Rezek hasn’t seen. I sent him to follow Rezek after I dropped him at his house.’
‘Good work, Navrátil. The person most likely to know who was in that grave before Adalheid Rezeková is her father, so let’s follow him and see who he leads us to.’
Krob reported back by telephone.
‘I followed General Rezek to the Prague City Archives in Chodovec, sir.’
‘That figures,’ Slonský replied. ‘If he wanted to know whether the man in the grave had any children, the register of births would be the place to start. Did you ask who he asked about?’
‘I asked, but they couldn’t tell me. He used the online catalogue of births but he didn’t ask for any particular birth certificate.’
‘That only makes sense if the victim’s name was so unusual that there could be no doubt about the father of the birth he looked up.’
‘Or there were none to look up.’
‘But if there weren’t then we don’t have a suspect for Adalheid Rezeková’s killing.’
Krob, ever practical, brought them back to a key point. ‘I don’t want to appear half-hearted, sir, but I wondered if someone is going to relieve me.’