by Graham Brack
‘Then why don’t you arrest Rezek?’
‘Two reasons,’ Slonský told him. ‘First, those incompetents in the Prosecutor’s office keep banging on about having this thing called “evidence”, which is a little hard to procure thirty years after the killing. It’s pretty unreasonable of them, in my view, but it seems to matter to them. Then there’s the second problem, which is that if I put Rezek under lock and key I prevent Kašpar getting at him, and at the moment Rezek is the best bait I have for flushing Kašpar out.’
‘Can’t you find Kašpar some other way?’ Valentin asked.
‘We’re doing all the usual things like tagging his credit cards and bank accounts, but he hasn’t used them since the day when Rezek broke into his flat. We can’t find the car that’s registered to him.’
‘So what do you think was in that envelope Rezek opened in Kašpar’s flat?’
‘I don’t know exactly, but it probably contained a few taunts and insults, told him that Kašpar knew he’d killed his father and let Rezek know that Kašpar was going to kill him too.’
‘So why isn’t Rezek asking for protection?’ Valentin persisted.
‘He can’t without showing us the letter that says he’s a murderer. Besides which, it’s not in Rezek’s nature to ask for help sorting his problems out. I may not have met Rezek before, but I’ve met his type, and if I’m any judge his idea is to get Kašpar before Kašpar gets him.’
‘Isn’t that all the more reason to run him in to prevent bloodshed?’
‘Why? If one of them bumps off the other it saves the country an expensive trial and the costs of keeping someone in clink. Win-win, I’d say.’
‘So why hasn’t Rezek done anything?’
‘Because he doesn’t know where Kašpar is,’ Slonský said. ‘But the fact that he isn’t looking suggests to me that the mysterious letter may have contained an appointment. Rezek isn’t searching because he knows where Kašpar will be at a certain time and date.’
‘So couldn’t he give that to you and you could pick Kašpar up with no danger to Rezek?’
‘He could, but it’s a coward’s way out in his eyes. He’ll want to deal with this once and for all. After all, suppose Kašpar escapes us. He’s going to feel double-crossed. Rezek won’t get another appointment, just a bullet in the head when his back is turned.’
‘How long are you going to have to wait?’
‘Not long, I think. Kašpar wrote the note and presumably told Rezek where to find it, but by then he’d cleared out of his flat and collected most of his savings. I think he’s already gone to the rendezvous point to ensure that Rezek can’t get there first and ambush him.’
‘You think he’s sleeping rough?’
‘That depends where the rendezvous is, doesn’t it? For all we know, he may have booked into a five-star hotel in an assumed name.’
‘If that’s the case, it’s even more reason to prevent a shootout. Someone could get hurt.’
‘Yes, and I’d rather that someone wasn’t me,’ Slonský told him, ‘which is why I’m sitting here having a beer with you. Fancy another?’
Chapter 16
Sunday was officially a day off for Slonský, but since he had nothing better to do and he found sitting in his flat depressing, he did what he normally did on his days off and went to work.
Much to Slonský’s surprise, he was not the only person who worked on their day off. The light was on in the women’s office, and when he investigated he discovered Jerneková was sitting at her desk engrossed in something on her monitor and surrounded by the remains of an eclectic meal.
‘I’m sure that diet can’t be good for you,’ he said.
‘Good afternoon, sir. I like pickles. What more can I say?’
‘Most people have pickles with other things. Besides yoghurt, that is.’
Jerneková shrugged. ‘I like pickles, and I like yoghurt. Can’t get enough of the stuff. Why eat stuff you don’t really like?’
‘When you put it like that,’ Slonský replied, ‘I wonder why I’ve wasted so much of my life eating carrots. But what are you doing here?’
‘I can’t get a question out of my head, so I thought I’d better find an answer.’
‘What’s the question?’
‘How did Kašpar find Adalheid Rezeková? Or even know that she existed?’
‘Good question. And have you found an answer?’
‘Sort of. She’s in the phonebook, so he can get her address. And obviously a Rezeková is the daughter or wife of a Rezek. But it was the link with her father that I wanted to pin down. Killing her only makes sense if Kašpar knows she’s the general’s daughter. They don’t have much to do with each other, so he’s unlikely to have seen them together. Then I found this.’ She clicked on her screen and it filled with a blurry image. ‘If you search for Klement Rezek on the internet you don’t find much but there is this guide to senior StB officers that someone put together around 1990. There’s a photo and a potted biography which mentions that he has a son and a daughter. But of course the son doesn’t use his father’s surname, so he can’t easily be found. That leaves the daughter.’
‘And a father would be more upset about failing to protect a daughter than a son.’
‘If you say so,’ answered Jerneková, who seemed to be unconvinced, to judge by her sceptical tone.
‘So it would be quite possible for Kašpar to know that Rezek has a daughter. And then he could use his access through the local council to find out where she lives.’
‘I thought that, but it’s not quite so easy as that. And I got the impression that the letter she hid had been delivered to her work, not her home, so I tried to find her through the addresses database, but the address for her is an old one. She must have moved flats and the database hasn’t caught up.’
‘And now you’re going to tell me how clever you’ve been in working out how it was done?’ Slonský asked.
‘Not really. It was child’s play. An internet search threw up a profile of her in a women’s business magazine. Obviously it says where she works, and there aren’t that many Adalheid Rezekovás around.’
Slonský scanned the article on the monitor. ‘She looks a lot better alive than she does now,’ he concluded. ‘Good work, lass. That tidies up a loose end.’
‘Thank you, sir. Have you been in your office yet? I left a note on your desk.’
‘What does it say?’
She closed her eyes as if recreating the note in her head. ‘It says that Colonel Rajka presents his compliments, and if you could find time in your busy diary to get your rear end into his office he would appreciate it. Words to that effect, anyway.’
‘I’ll make a point of seeing him some time tomorrow. If time permits.’
Navrátil had suggested that he and Peiperová go out for their evening meal, and a couple of hours later they were standing outside their new flat, with Peiperová feeling ready to retire for the night. There was only one problem — there appeared to be more locks on the door than he had keys for.
Navrátil used the key he had, and the door opened. On the floor he saw an envelope addressed to them both that had been taped to the wood, so he prised it free and opened it. It contained some keys and half a dozen pieces of plastic with bar codes on them.
‘Have you won something?’ Peiperová asked.
‘No, it’s Captain Slonský’s wedding present. There’s a list of which new key opens what. We’ve now got two locks on the front door, locks on each window, and an alarm system we set and unset using these little tags. There’s also a spyhole in the door and a pressure pad under the mat outside that connects to this little light above the door to tell us if someone is standing there.’
‘This must have cost Captain Slonský a fortune,’ Peiperová remarked.
‘Yes,’ agreed Navrátil, ‘but he probably doesn’t know that yet.’
Slonský opened his wallet and found the requisite sum.
‘You carry a lot of cash a
round,’ said Mr Fingers. ‘You want to be careful. There’s a lot of crime in Prague these days.’
‘Not while I’m around, there isn’t. And it must have reduced since you went straight.’
‘True. I miss the buzz, but to be honest housebreaking is a young man’s game. I’m not up to clambering through skylights these days.’
‘Just for the avoidance of doubt, none of the stuff you installed was nicked, was it?’
Mr Fingers paused in mid-slurp to look affronted. ‘What do you take me for? I’m not into receiving stolen property.’
‘No, but it would be a great joke at my expense to install stolen security equipment in the home of two police officers paid for by a third.’
‘I’ve got the receipts if you want to check. Well, except for the pressure pad. I got that off a mate and I didn’t ask him where he got it from.’
‘Thanks for doing it so quickly. Are they pleased with it?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Mr Fingers, donning his cap and pea jacket. ‘We didn’t exactly make an appointment with them. But I figured you wouldn’t do me for breaking and entering to install extra security. Which was badly needed, by the way. A novice with a fine blade could have been in there within half a minute.’
‘I thought as much. The trouble is a lot of housebreakers these days just take a sledgehammer to the front door, run in and grab what they can.’
‘Yes, I know. That’s why I put a “Beware of the rottweiler” sign next to their doorbell. See you around.’
Chapter 17
Monday morning dawned bright and sunny, which is more than could be said for the disposition of Colonel Rajka.
‘Let’s get this straight, Slonský. I give you a great deal of latitude to do your work in your way. I don’t interfere. In exchange for that, I expect you to keep me up to date with developments. If you don’t, I will have to sit on your shoulder all the time, and neither of us would like that.’
‘No, sir,’ agreed Slonský.
‘Incidentally, I see congratulations are in order.’
‘Sir?’
‘According to your personnel folder, last Friday you completed five full years since your last disciplinary hearing.’
‘Really? I don’t think I’ve done a five-stretch before.’
‘Take that Švejk expression off your face. I’ve managed nineteen years without one. Let’s see if we can get you through to retirement without another.’
Slonský shuddered. He reacted to the R-word rather like cats respond to seeing a bath being run for them. ‘I don’t know if I can manage to stretch it to ten years, sir,’ he said hopefully.
Rajka clicked his mouse a few times. ‘Let’s see when your retirement date is. Born 1949, I see. That gives you about four and a half more years.’
Slonský could hardly suppress his joy. His little ruse had added two years to his working life by deducting two from his real life.
‘That smirk is back again, Slonský.’
‘Sorry, sir. Natural ebullience at the thought of four and a half years of continued service, sir.’
‘I’m delighted you feel that way. Now, back to the point. I approved your plan not to arrest Rezek because I didn’t like the idea of the tabloids leading with headlines about “Grieving father of murder victim arrested” when we don’t have much evidence other than Kašpar’s clear belief that Rezek was responsible.’
‘I suppose Kašpar may have some evidence, once we manage to find him.’
‘Slonský, call me old-fashioned but I’m not exactly keen on the idea of the police relying on murder suspects to provide evidence on other murder suspects. I have this quaint idea that we should do most of the evidence gathering ourselves.’
‘Very commendable of you, sir. For what it’s worth, I agree.’
They were interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. Rajka barked a command to enter, and Navrátil leaned in. It did not look as if he planned to stay long.
‘Sorry to interrupt, sir, but Hauzer has been in contact. General Rezek has loaded up his car and is on the move.’
‘Is Hauzer sure he isn’t going to the supermarket?’ asked Slonský.
‘Not unless he needs an ammunition clip and a camouflage jacket to go shopping, sir.’
‘Right. Get Hauzer to follow him. Who’s in the office?’
‘Just Krob and me, sir. Lieutenant Dvorník is in his office, and Peiperová and Jerneková are going back to Ms Rezeková’s office.’
‘Then you and Krob take one car and follow Hauzer, and divert the women to follow you as soon as they can. I’ll come along with Dvorník. And tell everyone that he’s armed.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Slonský turned to look at Rajka.
‘There are enough of you there not to need me in the way,’ Rajka said, ‘so I’ll stay here. If you need backup, call me and I’ll arrange it.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Slonský made for the door.
‘And Slonský, please remember, he may be an old man, but he’s not a man to trifle with. No unnecessary risks.’
Dvorník drove in the same way as he used guns, aiming the car in such a way as to terrify others. Since this tallied fairly well with Slonský’s own method of driving, which also involved adding five kilometres per hour to the speed limit, Slonský settled back to enjoy the drive.
It soon became clear that he ought to have charged his mobile phone, because once he had called everyone a few times to check their progress he decided to save his battery for emergencies and use the radio system. This had the disadvantage that others might hear his messages, which was one reason why he rarely used it. The other main reason was that he had forgotten how and therefore blithely ignored the usual conventions for radio communications. On this occasion the easy thing was to leave it to Dvorník, who could, it seemed, drive a car entirely with his left hand and one knee while he worked the radio with his right hand. The exhibition reminded Slonský of an elephant he had once seen at a circus who could balance a football on an upraised knee, and he was tempted to offer Dvorník a banana to see if he could manage the rest of the act by feeding himself with his trunk.
‘Hauzer says he’s heading along highway 4 towards Příbram,’ Dvorník announced.
‘So I heard,’ said Slonský. ‘That won’t be the final destination. It’s too public.’ He unfolded the map of the country. ‘Could he be heading for Šumava National Park?’
Dvorník was sceptical. ‘There are lots of pathways and rangers around. How could you set an appointment in advance and know there wouldn’t be an audience?’
‘If I’m right, and Kašpar has been there for a few days, he could have marked a path as closed, for example. Or maybe he’s made the appointment for one of those huts and he’ll leave directions there for Rezek to pick up.’
Slonský knew that Navrátil and Krob were a few kilometres ahead of them, whilst the women were an unknown distance behind. Peiperová would be driving, and she was competent at high speed.
‘We’ve got to be careful we don’t get ahead of him,’ Slonský announced on the radio. ‘We can go faster with our sirens on than he can, so take care not to scare him off. Hauzer, give everyone your registration number so we don’t pass you.’
‘I can’t, sir,’ came a plaintive voice. ‘I don’t know it. It’s a pool car.’
‘At least give us the colour and model, lad,’ Slonský snapped.
‘It’s a silver Škoda Fabia, sir.’
‘That’ll narrow it down a bit,’ muttered Slonský. ‘There can’t be more than a hundred thousand of them on the roads.’
‘I’ll wind down the passenger window, sir. That should help to identify me.’
‘Good idea, Hauzer. Have you got electric windows, then?’ Slonský asked enviously.
‘No, sir. Just long arms. We’re just coming to the outskirts of Příbram now so he’s got to slow down a bit.’
Slonský returned to scrutiny of his map. It was around a hundred and eighty
kilometres from Prague to the park, so if he was right about the destination they would be driving for around two and a half hours. He wished he had had a bigger breakfast; and maybe brought a sandwich or two and a flask of coffee.
Hauzer was doing a good job of tailing Rezek. It is not easy to follow a car through a suburban area where traffic lights are likely to change after the front car has passed and thus slow down the follower, but Hauzer had managed to retain visual contact until they were back in open country.
Dvorník pointed to his rear-view mirror. ‘There appear to be two demented women in the car behind waving at us,’ he said.
Slonský wound down the window and waved his arm in acknowledgement of their presence. ‘Peiperová has done well to catch you,’ he said. ‘You don’t hang about.’
They drove on, and Slonský’s supposition about Rezek’s destination appeared to be borne out as the old man ignored the turn to Plzeň and ploughed on towards Strakonice. Not long after they passed Strakonice Dvorník tucked in behind Navrátil’s car so the three cars were driving in convoy.
‘Once he’s parked, we’d better hang back until Hauzer reports he’s out of sight of the road,’ Slonský said. ‘Dvorník, are you any good at disabling cars? I want to make sure Rezek can’t make a quick getaway.’
‘I could shoot his tyres out,’ Dvorník suggested.
‘No loud noises. Just let one of them down.’
‘Do we know his registration number?’
‘Good point. It’ll be a dark blue car with a silver Škoda Fabia parked nearby. Get on the radio to Mucha and see if he can find the registration number for us.’
A little under an hour later Hauzer announced that Rezek had turned off the road and parked near Borová Lada at the entrance to the national park.
‘Follow on foot, lad. Don’t take any chances.’
‘No, sir. Shall I let one of his tyres down?’
‘Good idea. I’m glad you thought of that.’
Hauzer watched Rezek leave his car and begin walking up a trail into the forest. He waited two or three minutes before climbing out of his own vehicle, letting some air out of Rezek’s front nearside tyre, and following along the trail.