by Graham Brack
‘We don’t seem to be getting very far,’ Slonský muttered. ‘Why did you ask for Jiří Holub’s file?’
‘Ah, so that’s what you’re getting at. Because there was an item in the newspaper about him being released. I couldn’t immediately remember his name but I remembered the article and I found it in that.’
Slonský slapped his hat on his head as if that might contain his rising blood pressure. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’ he asked.
‘Because you didn’t ask me,’ Mucha replied in his most reasonable tone.
‘So if you saw the story, it’s possible that Kašpar saw it too.’
‘Unless they only print one copy of each newspaper, I’d say it was entirely possible.’
‘Therefore — follow me closely on this one — if Kašpar knew of Holub’s existence, and eventually managed to track him down, which wouldn’t be too hard because Holub is not that common a name, he may have heard through him about his father’s death.’
‘There are two problems with that,’ Mucha replied. ‘You told me that Holub wasn’t working in the Red House at the right time. And didn’t you also tell me that Holub denied outright that he had ever heard of a person being buried there?’
‘He may have been lying,’ Slonský responded. ‘Criminals do, you know. I’ve complained about it but it does no good.’
Mucha clicked a few keys on his keyboard. ‘Well, he’s not lying about not having been there at the time. He hadn’t joined the StB then.’
‘But he may have lied about knowing anything.’
Mucha considered this proposition for a few moments. ‘I’ve never met him, but you have. Did you think he was lying?’
Slonský shook his head. ‘No, damn it, I didn’t. But I suppose I could have been wrong.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. It happened once in 1984, you know.’
‘I find that hard to believe.’
‘Does sarcasm come naturally to you, or have you had to work at it?’
‘Compulsory training for a desk sergeant. You should know that.’
Navrátil and Peiperová had been granted a couple of hours off so they could sign the papers for their new flat. This had caused Navrátil some anxiety, because they were not yet married and therefore it was out of the question for them to share the flat before their wedding day. On the other hand, Peiperová thought it was foolish for them to pay rent on their existing lodgings when they had a perfectly good apartment they could be using. Accordingly, they had agreed a compromise. Peiperová would move in before the wedding so she could get the place ready for them, while Navrátil would remain in his existing flat until their big day.
Slonský had made it a condition of granting them the time off that he should be their first visitor, so, having carefully written down the address in his notebook, he promised to drop by after they had collected the keys, and then set out to interview Holub once more.
This time Holub was not as suspicious as he had been the first time. This may have been a mistake on his part, because he had just opened the door and turned his back on Slonský to return to his chair when he found himself grabbed by the scruff of the neck and pushed face first against the wall.
‘You didn’t tell me anyone else had been asking about deaths at the Red House,’ Slonský growled.
‘You didn’t ask,’ protested Holub.
‘You know better than that. You knew what I was getting at and you could have saved me a lot of trouble by volunteering the information straight out.’
‘What’s to tell?’ Holub protested. ‘I told you I didn’t know anything and that’s what I told him too.’
‘But you didn’t mention it to me.’
‘To be honest it slipped my mind. It was not long after I got out. He badgered me, and I told him to leave me alone because I knew nothing that could help him.’
‘But you did help him, didn’t you?’ Slonský persisted.
‘I put him on to Jelínek. I don’t know whether that helped or not.’
‘And how would he get in touch with Jelínek, because you told me you didn’t know where he lived?’
‘I don’t. I’ve no idea how he found him.’
‘But you know he did?’
‘He came back to say he’d traced Jelínek,’ Holub admitted. ‘He gave me a few crowns and told me to forget we’d ever spoken.’
‘You seem to have managed that quite well.’
‘I’m not in a position to refuse a thousand crowns, right? Look, if you’re going to take it out on me, just do it and get it over with.’
Slonský thought briefly, then relaxed his grip and allowed Holub to turn to face him. ‘No, you’re not worth it. And I’ll take into account the difficult position you were in. But you should still have told me. Next time, if there is a next time, you squeal before you’re hit, got it?’
Holub nodded sullenly.
‘And you swear you have no idea how he found Jelínek?’
‘He didn’t say. No, wait, when I asked him how he found me he told me he worked for the city authorities so he had access to name and address records. Maybe that was it.’
Slonský felt nonplussed. After so long with no forward momentum the enquiry was running away from him. It had not occurred to him to check what Kašpar did for a living. Was it possible that this was the first sign that his brain was beginning to age?
No, he decided, it was due to the lack of suitable brain fuel.
‘Come on,’ he said to Holub. ‘I need a beer. Fetch your coat.’
Jerneková’s feet were aching, but she felt triumphant. At long last she had an achievement of her very own to crow about. The snag was that she had no idea where Slonský was and the two lieutenants were off collecting their flat keys, so the only person she could discuss it with was Krob.
She liked Krob. He was quiet, a decent family man, seemed to dote on his wife and was unfailingly polite. Admittedly, by the standards of many Czech men she had encountered he would have appeared polite by not being abusive, but there was something unflappable about Krob. He was more patient than she was, but then so were ninety-nine per cent of the population.
Krob was sitting at his desk writing a note when she tapped on the door and invited herself in.
‘Got a moment?’ she asked.
‘Of course,’ Krob replied. ‘Just let me finish this sentence, if you don’t mind.’
He did so and laid down his pen to indicate his readiness to listen.
‘I’ve found Adalheid’s handbag,’ Jerneková told him. ‘Well, not her handbag as such, because they’ve sold it, but the second-hand shop where it was left.’
‘Well done! Any description of the person who left it?’
‘No, nobody saw it being left. They have a box by the door where people can leave stuff and it was in there in a black plastic sack. The assistant remembered that it looked far too good to throw away.’
‘Any contents?’ Krob asked.
‘Clean as a whistle. But it’s just eight hundred metres from Kašpar’s home.’
‘That’s interesting. Captain Slonský just rang me and asked me to find out what Kašpar did for a living.’
‘And what was that, then?’ Jerneková asked.
‘He was a transport manager for the city council.’
‘Which means?’
‘He had access to the city’s computer systems. He would also have been able to get the vehicles he wanted.’
‘Like that little electric thing you were talking about him using to move the body?’
‘Yes, but I’ve discovered something more interesting. The city own a lot of vehicles, but they also take some specialised ones on short-term hire, and Kašpar was authorised to hire these. And I think I know where Adalheid was kept from Thursday until the weekend, when he could dispose of her where he wanted.’ Krob produced a faxed copy of a hire document.
‘A refrigerated van?’ Jerneková asked.
‘The kind they use to transport me
at and fish. He could keep her in there for as long as he needed. And he returned it on the Monday after she was buried.’
‘Why didn’t he use it to transport the body?’
‘Perhaps he did. But I think the reason why he might not have done is that it has the hire company’s name on the side in big orange letters. Maybe it was just too noticeable.’
Slonský did not wait to be invited in.
‘I should have smelled a rat when you were able to trot out a story from nearly forty years ago without any hesitation,’ he said. ‘But then that was because you’d recently been reminded of it, wasn’t it?’
Jelínek was doing his best to look like a grumpy old man, in which attempt he was succeeding rather well. ‘It’s not my job to do your work for you,’ he grumbled.
‘No, but you could have told us that someone had been round asking.’
‘Must have slipped my mind.’
‘Let me ask you another question, and if you have trouble recalling the answer I can give your head a sharp tap with my fist to dislodge the memories for you. Did you tell the young man which grave was his father’s?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘How do you mean, “not exactly”?’
‘I told you I didn’t know the names, and I don’t. This young fellow did, and when he told me I could remember which was which. But I’m an old man. I forget these things, and when he’d gone I forgot the names again, so I wasn’t lying when I told you I didn’t know.’
‘But you must have guessed why Adalheid Rezeková ended up in that grave?’
Jelínek had the grace to look a little shamefaced. ‘I guessed, of course. But he never said anything about her to me. It was Rezek he wanted.’
‘Did he know the name Rezek or did you tell him?’
‘He didn’t know for sure. He’d been trying to look into his father’s death for years, he said, but he didn’t know for certain who killed him. I said I thought it was probably Rezek.’
‘Probably? Only “probably”? So, for all you know, Adalheid Rezeková may have died for something her dad only “probably” did.’
‘No, I knew he’d done it. I just didn’t want to get involved. Those days are past now. All the public is interested in now is revenge.’ Jelínek’s eyes burned as he complained about the injustice of it. ‘They go after us now, loyal servants of the State, but they don’t get the kingpins, do they? The Rezeks of the world are allowed to retire to their nice villas and grow a few cabbages in peace. It’s people like me, the ones who had to carry out the orders, we’re the ones who get sacked and can’t get another job, we’re the ones who get banged up for our so-called past crimes, we’re the ones who finish up living in this latrine of a flat with a one-bar fire for company. If Rezek was going to pay for what he’d done, damn good thing in my eyes. I’d hold the lad’s coat while he filled Rezek with lead. If I had a gun I’d let him have a few myself, except I can’t get a licence on account of being a convicted ex-StB man.’ Jelínek crossed the room and dropped into his armchair. ‘Going after his girl, that’s different. I don’t hold with that. But it wasn’t mentioned.’
Slonský moved some papers to clear a space where he could sit. ‘Let’s get one thing straight. I served in those days too. I did things I didn’t like because I was ordered to. I get that. Youngsters today say we could have refused to do them. We know better. But those days have gone, and by God if I have anything to do with it they aren’t coming back. We have to be clean today. We have to do what we can to put right what we did wrong. Doing more wrong is not the way to go about that. I don’t care how old Rezek is, if I can nail him for the murder of Tomáš Kašpar, he’s going behind bars.’
‘Yes,’ said Jelínek, ‘in a cushy open prison with proper heating, three meals a day, a library. Jesus Maria, he’ll suffer! I’ve got half a mind to commit murder myself. I’d be a damn sight better off in jail. For a start I’d have people to talk to.’
‘Do you think Rezek’s going to enjoy his time in prison once his fellow inmates find out his past? Once they hear he was a high-ranking StB officer, how long do you think he’ll last before he unaccountably sticks his head down a toilet till he drowns?’ Slonský stood up, planted his hat on his head and made for the door. ‘I’ll see myself out,’ he said.
Chapter 15
Slonský was impressed, and said so. He had never seen so much white in a building. The walls were white, the doors were white, the kitchen work surfaces were white. It was as if Navrátil had earned his promotion to angel early.
Peiperová was busily showing him the many and varied ways that the designers had found of concealing storage spaces in the kitchen, to the point where Slonský pressed hopefully on a wall half expecting a shelf to leap out at him.
‘No, that actually is a wall, sir,’ Navrátil told him.
Slonský amused himself for a while opening and closing the pedal bin with his foot, glancing at his watch as if timing the response. ‘What a view you have from that window!’ he cooed. ‘Help me get my bearings here. What church is that?’
Navrátil and Peiperová pointed out several features of interest at which Slonský showed his enthusiasm with repeated exclamations, each a little louder than was appropriate in Navrátil’s view.
When they turned round to face into the room they were surprised to see a small man with the facial expression of an antique ferret sitting on the sofa.
‘Who are you?’ Navrátil demanded.
‘Let me introduce you,’ Slonský intervened. ‘This is Mr Fingers. He has a proper name but you don’t need to know it. He is my wedding present to you.’
Navrátil and Peiperová goggled at each other while trying to frame an appropriate response.
‘He’s very nice, but I don’t know where we’ll keep him,’ Navrátil finally croaked.
‘No, you misunderstand me. It’s his services that form the present, not the man himself, who, frankly, wouldn’t go with the décor.’
‘It’s very … white, isn’t it?’ said Mr Fingers.
‘As you will have noticed, Mr Fingers was able to enter your flat with the minimum of noise.’
‘What is he — a burglar?’ asked Peiperová.
‘Reformed,’ Mr Fingers protested.
‘Now working as — what shall we say? — an independent security consultant,’ Slonský explained.
‘That’s good. I like that,’ said Mr Fingers. ‘I must get some business cards made with that on.’
‘Anyway,’ Slonský continued, ‘as a result of our lengthy professional relationship, I can vouch for the fact that a building that Mr Fingers cannot get into is secure indeed. And his job is to make your flat one of them. By the time he has finished here an emaciated fly won’t be able to squeeze in.’
When he had created the rota for covertly watching Rezek’s house, Slonský had forgotten that Jerneková did not drive; or, perhaps more accurately, the fact that she did not drive would mean that she did not have a car to hide in when conducting her observations. As a result, after she rang Krob to find out where he was observing from, he was more than a little surprised to find her climbing into his car.
‘You haven’t got a car?’ Krob said.
‘No point. No licence, have I?’
‘But if I leave you the car I’ll have to come back for it later. I don’t want to be difficult but that’s a bit of a problem.’
‘I could just lock it up and bring the keys back to you.’
‘You could, but then I’d have to make my own way out here by bus tomorrow night.’
Jerneková knitted her brow. ‘How do you think I got here, then?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t give it any thought.’
‘I had to make my own way by bus. At least Captain Slonský told me I didn’t need to wear uniform for this assignment.’
‘It would be a bit obvious to even an old man if a policewoman was sitting near his door.’
‘Or a policeman. It’s the uniform that’s the giveaway,
not the sex.’
‘I suppose. Look, why don’t I ring Captain Slonský and see what he suggests?’
Slonský arranged for a police car to meet Krob in some discreet corner, and undertook to send one to collect Jerneková at the end of her shift so that she could return the keys to Krob, who would be collected tomorrow evening to complete his next shift. He rang Sergeant Vyhnal on the reception desk to ask him to put it all into effect, and then relaxed again, confident that Vyhnal would make it all happen.
‘I didn’t realise there were policewomen who don’t drive,’ Valentin remarked.
‘I think we have to say police people now,’ Slonský retorted.
‘Do we?’
‘Hang on,’ said Slonský. ‘You don’t drive either.’
‘I never felt the need. There’s nowhere to park and yobs pull your hubcaps off if you leave it in the street.’
‘I wonder what our generation did for mindless vandalism before car ownership became widespread?’
Valentin considered a moment, taking a large gulp of beer to aid his recollection. ‘You remember those big black and white photos of party leaders they used to hang all around town during Party Congresses and the like?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘Well, Honza Langer and I used to have competitions to see who could urinate furthest up them.’
‘And did you excel at this urban sport?’
‘No, Honza was much better than me. But I did once get First Secretary Novotný right on the hairline.’
‘I’m impressed. Shame it wasn’t the man rather than his poster.’
‘I wonder what Honza’s doing now?’
‘I can’t see him getting a job on the strength of that particular skill.’
‘Firefighter?’ suggested Valentin.
‘I think the fire service prefers more reliable sources of water than Honza’s bladder, but it’s a thought.’
‘May I say,’ said Valentin, ‘that for a man with four murders to solve you’re remarkably relaxed this evening.’
‘That’s because I’ve solved the four murders. Kašpar killed Rezeková, and Rezek killed Kašpar senior, Bartek and Toms.’