A Second Death

by Graham Brack

  ‘And have they?’

  ‘Certainly not. Navrátil has strong opinions about that sort of thing. But as his nuptials approach, the pressure on his scruples to anticipate the lawful joys of matrimony will surely increase.’

  ‘Slonský, I’ve heard some tosh in my time, but that’s pretty high up the list of bunkum I’ve experienced. How about if I move the officers out of the room on the other side of yours and give you three in a row plus Dvorník’s room just along the corridor?’

  Slonský had not considered that possibility but it sounded good. He could have Navrátil and Krob on one side and Peiperová and Jerneková on the other and still have space to squeeze a desk of his own in each if he wanted, so he extended his hand to shake Colonel Urban’s and watched as his superior tore up the fourth piece of paper.

  Navrátil was keen to bring matters to a head.

  ‘Why don’t we go to Petra Novotná’s house and just see if there’s any sign that Magdalena Broukalová is there? If she is we have enough evidence to bring her in for questioning on the abduction charge, and she might come voluntarily anyway if it means Nágl can’t get at her.’

  ‘But what if she isn’t there? Or, more exactly, what if she is there, but not at the time when you call? We’ll have given away that we know what she did.’

  ‘That’s true, but she has very limited options for survival. She’s not earning and she has very little in the way of savings.’

  ‘Ah,’ sighed Slonský, ‘that’s why rich people make more successful criminals. Having money gives you options that poor people don’t have.’

  ‘My point exactly. She has no real options. She can’t get out of the country easily…’

  ‘Hang on. We don’t know for sure that she didn’t get out before we knew who she was.’

  ‘She couldn’t afford the ticket to Vienna, sir.’

  ‘Has it occurred to you, lad, that if you already have child abduction to your name not buying a ticket on a train may not be too much of a moral challenge? Thousands of Czechs do it every year.’

  ‘You think she may have boarded the train without a ticket?’

  ‘Don’t look so astonished. I’m not saying she did. I’m saying she might have done.’

  ‘Okay, but the only lead we have is that she may have sought help from Petra Novotná. I think we should at least pay an unannounced visit. We may be wasting our time, but we might not be.’

  Slonský considered this for a moment. ‘If you think you should go, that’s fine. I said you needed to take the lead sometimes, and if you think that’s a good use of your time I won’t argue. But you can’t go alone. We need two officers there. And since you’re aiming to arrest a woman, you ought to take a female officer.’ He looked round the room. ‘If only we had a female officer spare…’ he said.

  Peiperová raised her hand. ‘I could go.’

  ‘You’re ringing round hostels.’

  ‘I can do that,’ Krob said. ‘I’m doing some anyway — I can just carry on with the rest of the list.’

  ‘That’s settled then,’ Slonský announced. ‘Go and book yourself a car and pay Petra Novotná a visit. If you time it right you should arrive after she finishes work, unless she’s a nightclub hostess, I suppose.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s the sort of place that has nightclubs, sir,’ said Peiperová.

  ‘And don’t expect overtime payments,’ Slonský added.

  ‘I’ve never had one before,’ said Navrátil. ‘I didn’t know they existed.’

  ‘They don’t. That’s why you shouldn’t expect one.’

  ‘Which of us is going to drive?’ asked Navrátil.

  ‘You’re in charge apparently,’ said Peiperová. ‘You decide.’

  ‘I feel uncomfortable about giving you orders.’

  ‘So you should. And I feel uncomfortable about taking them from you, but it’s the police way. Someone’s in charge, and this time it happens to be you. In the future things may be reversed.’

  Navrátil decided that no answer that he could give would be convincing, and — more to the point — any kind of answer would be unwise, so he unlocked the car and climbed into the driver’s seat.

  ‘How about I drive going and you drive back?’

  ‘But if we find her and arrest her I’ll have to sit with her in the back, which will make driving difficult.’

  ‘Okay. You drive going and I’ll drive back.’

  ‘Good decision, Officer Navrátil.’

  Navrátil could feel the tension in the air, and didn’t like it one bit. Suddenly Peiperová burst out laughing.

  ‘If you could see the look on your face!’ she said.

  ‘You’re not annoyed with me?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘You looked annoyed,’ he said suspiciously.

  Peiperová took the keys and smiled. ‘If I’m annoyed with you, you’ll know about it.’

  Navrátil did not doubt that for a minute.

  They changed places and Peiperová pulled out into the traffic.

  ‘What have you got planned for us this weekend?’ Peiperová asked.

  ‘I thought when we get back tonight, or tomorrow morning if we’re back very late, we’ll go over to my mother’s place and you can spend some time with her.’

  ‘Does she go to bed early? I wouldn’t want to arrive after she’s retired for the night.’

  ‘She sits reading most evenings, unless it’s very cold, when she may go to bed to keep warm. Then tomorrow I thought we’d all go into the woods for a picnic, if the weather is good. It’ll do her good to get some fresh air.’

  ‘And who’s going to make this picnic?’

  ‘She will. She won’t let me. You may be permitted to assist, if you’re favoured.’

  ‘That will be nice. I intend to impress her, you know.’

  ‘You won’t have to try. She’ll be won over.’

  ‘You think? This is quite nerve-wracking, you know, meeting your future mother-in-law.’

  ‘You didn’t say that when I met your mother.’

  ‘But she’s my mother! She wouldn’t wrack anyone’s nerves.’

  ‘Yes, but you know that. I didn’t.’

  ‘Anyway, brave knight won over the dragon. You were a big hit. Mother and father approve.’

  ‘I assumed that or you wouldn’t be marrying me next June.’

  ‘Actually, they think I’ve done rather well for myself.’

  ‘That’s very kind of them.’

  ‘That’s mainly because my cousins didn’t. My mother looks at the men her nieces married and shuddered to think I might do the same. They were swayed by big muscles, you see.’

  ‘I’m glad I don’t have any then.’

  Peiperová busied herself removing imaginary fluff from her trousers. ‘One thing we ought to get clear. My mother thinks that a woman’s main function in life is to get pregnant as quickly as possible after she marries. I’ve already told her I am not going to be your personal baby factory.’

  ‘Heaven forbid.’

  ‘I have a career too, you know.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I just wanted to be sure your mother didn’t have the same idea, because it might lead to some friction.’

  ‘She’s never said so. Of course, she’d like grandchildren some day. And I assume you have no objection to children as such?’

  ‘Not ours, no. I’m not dewy-eyed over other people’s.’

  It crossed Navrátil’s mind that there were a number of topics related to their forthcoming marriage and life together that they had not discussed, and probably should have done, but a police car was not the place. Peiperová had no such inhibitions.

  ‘Just in case there’s any doubt, I don’t want a baby any time soon.’

  ‘No. Right.’

  ‘And I’m relying on you to make sure I don’t have one.’

  ‘How do you m— oh, right. Yes. That’ll be my job.’

  ‘Just getting it out in the open.’
r />   ‘I understand.’

  ‘And I’m not taking your name. At least, not professionally. I don’t mind being Mrs Navrátilová when we’re off duty, but I’ll still be Peiperová at work. I don’t want anyone thinking that I’m riding on your coat-tails.’

  ‘You may advance faster than me,’ Navrátil pointed out.

  ‘Even so. Just managing expectations.’

  ‘That’s fine by me. Anything else you want to make clear now?’

  ‘Yes. Your tennis is going to have to improve. I can’t get better if you can’t return my serves.’

  ‘I do my best, but after your arm goes up the next thing I know is the ball smacking into the wall behind me. You could always practise with someone else.’

  ‘Where’s the fun in that?’ Peiperová asked.

  Slonský was enjoying an evening (or, perhaps, late afternoon) of solitude. He had a beer in front of him, and a plate of sausage and onions was on its way, so life was good. He needed to think, and since Valentin was busy at the radio station where he had just been reinstated as one of the late night chat show hosts, Slonský anticipated no interruptions. He had promised that at ten o’clock he would listen to the programme so that he could give informed feedback on Valentin’s pithy social commentary, unburdened as it was by either research or excessive reliance on facts, and just hoped he could stay awake through the whole programme, something he had never achieved during Valentin’s earlier stint. This was less of a handicap than might have been thought, partly because Valentin kept repeating himself (‘As I said earlier…’) and partly because Slonský already knew his views on almost any subject that might be raised so if asked he could probably busk a critique.

  He turned over the sequence of events that weekend when Viktorie died. Within his head, he walked through various possibilities, but almost all of them came up against a problem. Sometimes it was that the sequence made no sense. Why did Nágl choose that weekend to kill the child? Was it fear because he had discovered they were leaving him? Did Magdalena decide to leave because she foresaw this happening some day? But if he killed the girl, why didn’t he kill Magdalena too? Why did he let her escape? Did he think he had such a hold over her that she would be pliable in future? And how had he managed to track her to Kolín and then back to her original home? They’d been together some years so he supposed that something must have been said at some time. He thought of his wife Vĕra; they’d only been together for two or three years nearly forty years ago but he’d known where her family home had been, which school she had attended, where her first job was.

  Magdalena had hurriedly packed a bag. Her partner seemed to have chased after her without pausing to do so. It must have been a shock to him when she drove off in their car and left him having to use public transport. Slonský considered whether Nágl might have been able to persuade a friend to lend him a car or give him a lift, but concluded that Nágl didn’t seem to have any real friends. He would have used public transport, but that would not necessarily have left him far behind her. The Prague traffic system gave priority to public transport in some places so it was often faster than driving. That’s why Slonský rarely drove. If he took a car it was usually so he would have some way of conveying a prisoner.

  There was then the question of what Broukalová was going to do next. She could not hide forever, especially with no money coming in. Even if Petra Novotná was the best friend a woman ever had, she would not want to house and feed her indefinitely. They had only to wait, and one day Magdalena Broukalová would take a job or rent a flat and her details would come up on an ID trace. It just seemed cruel to him for Mr Dlask and Mrs Dlasková to have to wait that bit longer to get justice.

  Major Rajka could have done with a stiff drink himself, but as a teetotaller he was denied that pleasure. He had just spent an hour closeted with the Minister of the Interior, Dr Pilik, as the latter raged about the response he had received from Colonel Dostál.

  Pilik had written to Interpol withdrawing Dostál’s credentials. Interpol had, of course, immediately complied and had informed Dostál that he must return to his home country, but Dostál was not that stupid, and had last been seen enquiring about a flight to Taiwan, which did not appear to have an extradition treaty with the Czech Republic. What really irritated Pilik was that when he had enquired of his officials how they should begin the extradition process he had been told that he needed to contact Interpol where, it transpired, Dostál had pre-empted him by asking the extradition experts which countries were particularly difficult to retrieve fugitives from.

  It seemed likely that Dostál and a lady friend had driven to an airport in Germany from which they had taken a flight to the USA. The woman had been detained at New York because she did not have a visa or any other permission to enter. Dostál had the brass neck to use his Interpol ID card and had talked his way into a transit lounge.

  This had now become very personal for Pilik who was telling anyone who would listen that his high office was being disrespected. He had formally requested the Taiwanese authorities to detain Dostál, and when they asked for probable cause and seemed to be dithering, he asked the Japanese to order the flight to land when it crossed their airspace.

  Rajka had gone back to his office and rang the American authorities with the news that a criminal was in possession of an expired Interpol pass and on board an American flight. They had been very helpful and the plane, which had been sitting patiently waiting for its turn to take off, was instructed to taxi back to the terminal where some large gentlemen boarded it to remove a passenger.

  Rajka had then telephoned the Minister to tell him what had transpired, with the result that Pilik had gone home in a very good mood and Rajka took heart from Pilik’s closing remarks.

  ‘Isn’t the head of OII usually a colonel?’

  ‘Historically he has been, but there is no obligation to make him one.’

  ‘We must see what we can do.’

  Navrátil parked the car and walked with Peiperová towards Novotná’s house. As Slonský regularly remarked, Navrátil didn’t really look like a policeman, but just in case anyone was suspicious he held Peiperová’s hand as they walked along. It was only fifty metres or so to the door but he wanted to ensure that nobody in the house should see them pull up.

  ‘It’s on the third floor,’ he said.

  ‘There’s an external fire escape at the back but I don’t think we need to separate to cover that,’ said Peiperová. ‘If she’s there she won’t want to run until she knows she has to.’

  They climbed the stairs, taking care not to inhale the urine-scented air in the stairwell any more than was absolutely necessary. At the third floor they paused while Navrátil produced the address and silently showed it to Peiperová, receiving nodded confirmation that they had come to the right place.

  Each of the detectives held their badges at the ready as Navrátil listened at the door.

  ‘Two female voices,’ he whispered.

  ‘Adults?’

  ‘Sounds like it.’

  ‘Let’s knock and get it over with then.’

  Navrátil did as Peiperová suggested. The door was opened by a woman of around fifty. She had chestnut brown hair tied back in a ponytail and no evidence of bruising on her face, so Navrátil concluded that this could not be Broukalová.

  ‘Would you be Petra Novotná?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. What is it?’

  ‘May we come in? We’d like your help in connection with a crime we’re investigating.’

  Novotná was not going to budge. ‘Why do you think I can help?’

  ‘We’re acting on information we’ve received.’

  Novotná bit her lip. If that was the case bluster was only going to get her so far.

  ‘We can sit on the stairs for days if we have to,’ Peiperová added, at which Novotná held the door back and allowed them to enter.

  She led the way into a room at the back of the flat, Navrátil following her while Peiperová waited by t
he door. This proved to be a wise precaution because as Navrátil began speaking in the sitting room, a bedroom door opened and a woman stepped out and made for the exit, walking straight into Peiperová’s arms. Despite her struggles she was unable to free herself, her difficulties being enhanced by Peiperová’s knowledge that her right arm was injured already. Peiperová gripped the wrist firmly and threatened to twist it, at which point Broukalová submitted to the inevitable, dropped to her knees and began to cry.

  Chapter 17

  Navrátil and Peiperová knew that they must not ask any questions on site, but wait until they had Broukalová in the interview room. The temptation to rush in was considerable, but they had learned from Slonský that giving an interviewee time to wonder what exactly the police knew would raise her anxiety levels and was likely to make her more malleable when the questioning began.

  They telephoned to say that they were bringing Broukalová back, which led Slonský to order a celebration coffee and take a leisurely stroll to the office. Mucha was just handing over to Sergeant Salzer, which was no bad thing, because Salzer was a big, silent man who could intimidate interviewees without saying or doing anything very much except stand still and look at them. It was true that he shared Slonský’s hatred of crooked police officers, more than one of whom had unaccountably fallen out of his grasp and banged their heads on walls, floors and steps over the years, but in other respects he was a stickler for the rules. For example, he knew that interviewees did not have to be offered food or drink until they had been in custody for six hours, and he therefore had the stopwatch function on his watch permanently set to five hours fifty-nine minutes to ensure that he did not inadvertently give them anything too early.

  Mucha threw his coat over his shoulders and donned his cap.

  ‘Long night ahead?’ he asked Slonský.

  ‘As long as it takes. Fortunately I’ve just eaten.’