A Blind Eye: Book 1 in the Adam Kaminski Mystery Series

by Jane Gorman

  If the goal was death, that was easily accomplished by jumping toward the moving tide in the middle of the river. If the impact of hitting the water didn’t kill you, it, along with the pain of the bitter cold, would likely render you unconscious. Long enough, at least, for the tide to slam your body into the rocks that cropped up just downstream from the bridge. If she hadn’t been dead yet, she would most likely have drowned at that point.

  The graceful image in Adam’s mind changed, against his will, her corpse battered and bruised by the time she reached the shore. Her hair tangled around her neck and armpits. Her warm winter clothes torn and pulled from her body.

  Adam shivered.

  Something about the image still wasn’t right, though. He paid for his coffee and headed back out into the cold, back up the river to the hotel to start his real work for the day.

  A detail from the article was niggling at the back of his mind and wouldn’t let go. Was it the peaceful image he had conjured of the dead woman, one he knew couldn’t be accurate?

  No, that wasn’t it. He looked out over the water as he moved his Italian leather loafers carefully along the still icy bricks of the pavement. In a few hours these bricks would be dried by the sun and the winter wind, but for now they were still slippery from the frozen morning mist.

  Her feet — that was it. When she had been found, Basia had no shoes. The police assumed they had come loose in the water, the article had explained.

  Adam frowned. One shoe could be lost, perhaps. But two? And winter boots at that?

  It struck him as odd. As unlikely. And in a murder investigation, you had to focus on those things that were unlikely or odd to find your first clue. To start down the path that would lead, hopefully, to the truth. To a killer.

  His face grew warm as his anger mounted at the thought of another young life wasted. At the idea that someone might have killed a young woman just starting out. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, his standard practice when trying to get his anger under control. This time, it worked.

  He blew on his hands and tucked them safely back into his pockets. This wasn’t a murder investigation, he reminded himself, this was a suicide. A suicide in Warsaw that had nothing to do with him. Her name was simply a coincidence.

  Yet someone, somewhere, was mourning her, Adam thought as he jogged up the stairs to the hotel lobby, trying but failing to get the image of the dead girl out of his mind. Her death had left a void in someone’s life, and that pain would take a long time to heal.

  5

  The door swung wide. Łukasz looked in through the open doorway. The apartment was empty. Hollow. It was just one step away, but to step inside her home was somehow to accept the emptiness. Admit the loss. He stayed where he was, looking in.

  He could see straight through the apartment to the window looking out over the Praga Południe district of Warsaw. The view showed more of the same, gray apartment buildings that lined the streets in this part of the city. Tall, square, thick, undistinguished.

  A kitchenette ran along part of the wall to the right. To the left, a small table pushed against the other wall left just enough room for a person to pass through. A low bookcase had been placed strategically at the far end of the kitchen to create a break between the eating and living spaces. At the other side of the long, narrow room, a sofa, chairs and coffee table created a cozy seating area. Łukasz knew that the sofa pulled out into a bed.

  A small apartment, perhaps, but enough for one young woman living alone. Her ability to cover her costs of living was a point of pride for Łukasz. His daughter had always been independent. He had raised her that way — to work hard and to aim high.

  He lifted his chin and smiled as the pride surged through him once more, then his face crumpled and his head dropped as he was swamped by the grief that now dominated everything, all the time. There was no escaping it.

  He stepped into the room.

  Basia had been dead for almost a week now but the scent of her in the apartment was so strong Łukasz felt as if she were standing next to him. He closed his eyes and inhaled. His hand reached out, but there was no one there. He stood, imagining, for a few minutes more.

  It would almost have been better had these memories been taken from him as well. He could have stayed in that alley, in the dark and the cold, without remembering the loss or the pain.

  Parts of his mind were still blocked to him, black holes where no memory floated, no ideas emerged. Had there been something else? Someone else? Someone he wanted to remember — or someone he wanted to forget?

  Shaking his head in frustration, he opened his eyes.

  Someone had attacked him, beaten him and left him for dead. It must have been the same people who killed Basia and it could only have been because he’d found something. Something that brought him too close to the truth to be safe. But what? Hours spent searching the one box of files left from his research had produced nothing definitive, just ideas. Wisps of ideas, really.

  Four steps took him through the kitchen into the living room. A plant drooped on a shelf near the window, its leaves withered and dry, but Łukasz turned his attention to the shelf below it. Books filled that shelf and another like it farther along the wall. Books on structures of government, economic policy, analyses of voting practices and European Union policies.

  He ran his eye over the spines of the books neatly shelved, then turned to the few still lying on the coffee table. A report from the World Bank, Jacek Kuron’s book about student involvement in the Solidarity movement, a pile of old newspapers.

  Basia had loved Polish politics, had lived for it. When she received the offer from Minister Novosad to join his staff in the Polish legislature she had almost cried with joy. And Łukasz had rejoiced with her. She had taken him out to eat. Nowhere fancy, it was true, but it was her turn to treat him, she had explained, now she was a working woman. After all her father had done for her.

  Łukasz picked up the World Bank report and flipped through it. Charts and summaries comparing governments of various Central and Eastern European states. Comparing the structures of government and levels of corruption. Łukasz was familiar with the book by Kuron, every journalist was. His firsthand account of what it had been like as a student at Warsaw University, recognizing the Poland that could be and fighting to make it a reality. This is what Basia had been reading when she was killed.

  There was no sign that anyone else had been in her apartment. No books knocked off a shelf, no wrinkles in the rug that covered the floor, no furniture out of place. Not like his apartment when he’d returned from the hospital.

  Yet someone had killed her. Łukasz knew that. Basia was too alive, too full of hope for the future to have killed herself. Whoever had done this had covered his tracks well, but there was a clue somewhere, he just needed to find it.

  He would keep digging and he would keep pushing the police to reopen the investigation. He didn’t care if that meant he had to set up a tent in front of the police station. He would spend every day there if he had to. He wouldn’t give up.

  6

  Chris leaned toward Sylvia, their heads almost touching as they both bent over the schedule, sharing notes from the meetings they’d had so far in Toruń, planning ahead for their time in Warsaw. Adam’s lips pulled into a tight line and he turned his back on the scene within their train compartment.

  Snow fell in large, soft flakes that melted away as they landed, leaving only a thin coating on the fields visible beyond the train windows. When Chris had snagged the seat next to Sylvia, Adam had instead opted for a window seat. Now he leaned his head against the wall on his right as he watched the countryside pass by. It would be over three hours before they reached Warsaw. His copy of The Mauritius Command was in his bag, but he wanted to see as much of Poland as he could while they were passing through it.

  Farms and small towns gradually replaced the sprawl of the city. Yellow and brown fields, harvested of all crops and carpeted lightly in snow, spread
out before him, some still spotted with the giant wheels of hay the farmers had rolled at the end of the summer.

  The train rolled past picturesque chalets that looked like they belonged on a Swiss mountain. These were mixed among small brick farmhouses with clothes hung out to dry in the chill air, the men of the household still hard at work in the fields, even at this time of year.

  He heard Ray, Chris and Sylvia talking about their schedule in Warsaw, heard Jared announce he was making a trip up to the dining cabin, but he sat still and quiet, watching the countryside pass by, taking it all in.

  His family in Philadelphia followed the Polish newspapers closely. There was always a Gazeta Wyborcza or Nowy Dziennik lying on his parents’ coffee table in their narrow row house in the Port Richmond area of the city. His parents’ neighbors would gather in the evenings to read the news and discuss the latest turn of events. He would listen to their stories, try to follow the language as best he could. Sometimes his father would talk of the family left behind in Poland.

  They had all been so proud and excited when Adam told them of his assignment. Adam had kept his concerns to himself. The economic difficulties wracking Europe had also touched Poland. A series of political transitions within only a few years hadn’t helped, either.

  It was a lot of change for the country and the people. Wherever there was change, there was turmoil. Adam had been around long enough to know that. Political change meant people who had been leaders no longer were. And men forced out of positions of power rarely left easily.

  Without warning, the picture he had conjured of the dead young woman, floating in the Wisła River, came to his mind. The image was so real, he could almost smell the reeds along the river, hear the barking of the dog. He glanced around the compartment, listening, wondering what made him think of her. A young life taken.

  Suicide, he whispered to himself, suicide, not murder. He shook his head, forcing his attention to stay on the view outside the window. He was inventing problems because of his uncertainty about his role on this delegation. Even after their first few days of meetings, he still wasn’t sure how he could add any value or accomplish anything for the department.

  He was looking for murder because it was something he could tackle. Plus, an investigation would drown out the sounds of his own ghosts. It always did.

  The train passed through Kutno, the tracks turning south to take them along the banks of the Wisła River to Warsaw. Adam was still wondering how he could complete his assignment and satisfy the captain when Jared stepped back into the compartment. Staggering through the narrow space, he plopped down on the seat facing Adam, balancing a tiny paper cup of pungent black coffee on his knee.

  Seeing Adam glancing at the coffee, Jared said, “There was beer on offer, but I figured I’d be better off with coffee. Gotta get my head ready for our meetings later today.” He paused and took a sip from the cup, then screwed up his face. “Man, this is strong stuff. Maybe I would have been better off with the beer.”

  When Adam didn’t respond, Jared grinned. “So people are mixing us up already. We’ll be getting that a lot on this trip, I suspect. Big guys, same hair, same eyes. Angela said she even thought some of our expressions are the same.”

  Adam nodded. “Yeah, she said that to me, too. We’re both from Philly, I guess that’s part of it. I used to be a teacher, too. Maybe we both come across as pedantic.”

  “Hey! Speak for yourself.” Jared flapped a hand in the air as he spoke, then held his coffee cup more securely as the train took a bend in the tracks at speed.

  After a few minutes, Jared spoke again. “So you were a teacher, huh? Did you work in Philly?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. History. I worked in Northwest Philly. Williams High.”

  Jared whistled. “Tough area, I can see why you left. Not very satisfying, I guess, huh?”

  Annoyance flitted across Adam’s face but Jared was blowing into his coffee cup, his expression one of simple innocence. Noticing Angela looking his way, Adam forced a smile.

  “It was satisfying. When I was able to teach. I had some great students, and I miss them.” His attention was caught by a glimpse of sunlight on the river, and he continued softly, as if speaking to himself, “Some I miss a lot, and so do their parents.”

  He jerked his leg as he felt a light touch and turned to find Angela sitting next to him. “I worked for the School District for a few years before joining the Commerce Department. I know how tough some of those schools are.” She leaned her head forward, looking at Adam carefully, and the sunlight flashed across the lenses of her glasses.

  He didn’t hold her glance, instead looking out the window.

  Angela frowned, glanced at Jared. “You must have similar stories. You teach in Philly too, right?”

  “I do,” Jared agreed. “I’m at the Charleston Art and Technology School. Center city. We’re in the middle of the lesson on Chaucer, one of my favorites.” Jared’s eyes lit up and he laughed as he spoke. “When I explain to the kids what some of these words mean. Ha! They’re all —”

  “It’s good you could get away, then,” Angela interrupted him before he could get too deep into his story.

  “Right, well.” Jared’s head bobbed up and down. “This was such a unique opportunity, you know? How could the principal say no? He’s covering my classes himself, in fact, while I’m away.”

  “You’re lucky.” Adam’s voice was low, his mind still on other things. “Your kids aren’t afraid to come to school. Afraid of who they’ll meet on the way in, afraid of who’s waiting for them once they get there.”

  “If you liked teaching, then why’d you become a cop?” Jared asked, his head tipped to one side.

  Adam shrugged. “Because keeping our kids safe — keeping them alive — has to be the first step. You can’t teach a dead kid.”

  He glanced around and saw that all eyes in the compartment were on him. He shifted in his seat as the train bumped over the tracks. “So, Chris, what happens once we get to Warsaw?”

  “Right… well…” Chris pulled a folder out of his shoulder bag and opened it on his lap. Passing out maps of the town, Chris started filling them in on the meetings scheduled for that day and the next. Adam listened with interest, though he couldn’t help glancing out the window one more time when the first glimpse of Warsaw came into view.

  7

  The sedan was dark. Dark splatters of dirt covered dark paint, and it sat in a pool of darkness that grew between spurts of light. Tinted windows hid the dark interior. The narrow Warsaw street seemed to lie in perpetual night, the afternoon sun trying desperately to crawl through gaps between concrete buildings.

  The visitor slid into the car, pulling the door toward him without closing it. He glanced at the man in the driver’s seat, then jerked the door closed. The interior light clicked off again.

  The passenger handed the driver an envelope. “Seems like our roles are reversed now, eh? How time changes things. Now you work for me.” When the man in the driver’s seat didn’t take it, the passenger placed it on the console between the seats.

  The driver sat silently, his hands loose on the steering wheel, his eyes and posture alert, as if he could take off at any moment. The engine of the car still ran, keeping the interior uncomfortably warm. It was close, but better than the chill outside.

  “This is for your work,” the passenger explained, nudging the envelope that still sat on the console between them. “There may be more, I may need you again.”

  The driver looked forward, as if the car were moving through Warsaw traffic instead of sitting still in the cramped alley.

  “You failed, you know,” the passenger continued after a pause.

  “Failed?” The driver finally spoke, turning his gaze on the passenger, dark eyes looking out from under gray, cropped hair.

  The passenger shrugged and looked away before speaking again, his fingers tapping on the door handle. “The journalist is still alive.”

  The driver f
rowned and nodded, turning his unforgiving gaze back to the street.

  “He went to the police already, pushing them to investigate.”

  “Hmm…” the driver grunted as his brows lowered, his eyes grew even darker.

  “You can’t kill him now, though,” the passenger added. “It would only add credence to his story. Let him flail about. He can’t remember what happened. Nobody believes him.”

  The driver nodded, as if considering his options, still frowning.

  The passenger leaned toward him. “I’ll let you know if your instructions change. If I need more from you.”

  The driver dipped his head once, then smiled. He turned his dark eyes toward the passenger and smiled again. “I’m sure you will, old friend.”

  The passenger shivered and slid back out of the car.

  8

  Somewhere nearby a clock chimed the hour, four o’clock, as Adam and his colleagues left Warsaw Central Station to find the van that was waiting to take them to their hotel. At this hour, the sun sat low in the sky. Buildings were tinged with orange and gold in the weak autumn light. Even in the heart of the city, the scent of burning wood from countless fires carried over the odor of the diesel-fueled buses.

  They piled into the waiting van, automatically taking the same seats they had chosen in the similar vehicle in Toruń. From the back of the van, Adam watched Sylvia as she once again gave the group a quick overview of the city they were now in. Her eyes lit up as she described Warsaw, its long history and its recent changes, talking excitedly as they wound through the streets.

  After only a few days in Poland, the group was happy to arrive at the Newport Hotel, which catered to British and American tourists and businessmen. They were each welcomed in impeccable English and given their room keys along with a quick overview of the amenities the hotel had to offer.