by Martin Rua
Lisáček exchanged glances with Kominkova as he silently tried to digest all this information. At a certain point, the woman raised the photo of the Isis statue.
“Kemetismus…”
“Sorry?” I said.
“Kemetismus, or kemetism. It’s a neo-pagan religion inspired by ancient Egypt. I recently attended an Interpol training course where they talked about these movements which sometimes evolve into criminal organisations. One of the speakers talked to us about this kemetism. It seems it was born in the United States, but it’s also very popular in France and here in the Czech Republic.”
“Well, you’re definitely more of an expert than me on such things,” I added, with a shrug, “but I wonder why a follower of such a distinctive cult would draw attention to the group by providing all these clues. It would be like leaving a signature.”
Lisáček sighed. “You know, Mr Aragona, sometimes psychopaths or serial killers leave clues because they actually want to be caught. That might be what’s happening here, although you can’t really speak of a serial killer in the case of a single murder.”
“But you could certainly speak of mental disorder,” I observed.
“No doubt about that,” intervened Scotto di Fassano, who had visibly lost the thread of our reasoning. “But really, what does all this mean? Ancient Egyptians, murderers, what’s all this got to do with the Prince of Sansevero’s watch. My watch?”
I was about to reply that there was, in fact, a strong connection between the Prince of Sansevero and ancient Egypt, when my phone rang. It was Àrtemis. Before answering I looked at Scotto di Fasano.
“Non hoc totum, Baron, non hoc totum…”
Chapter 10
Prague, the last days of spring, 10.24 a.m
“Hi darling, how are you?”
I’d moved to a corner of the room to get at least a modicum of privacy. For a second, Àrtemis’ voice transported me back to my beloved daily life – a life full of love and tranquility, spent working at the Églantine – my antique gallery – or experimenting in my alchemical laboratory, or debating with my confreres at my masonic lodge. Days to treasure thanks to the presence of my wife.
“Everything’s fine, Àrtemis – what about you?”
“Yes I’m fine. Guess who’s come to visit?”
“No idea, who?”
“My parents. It was a real surprise! About half an hour ago I found them outside the front door. They came in on the first flight from Athens this morning.”
“Fantastic! I can’t wait to see them again. How long are they staying for?”
“For four or five days, I imagine… How are things going over there? Have you any idea when you’ll be back? How’s the exhibition going?”
I hesitated. As usual I didn’t want her to worry about the trouble I was in, so, just for a change, I told a half-truth. “It’s going well, although there has been a theft.”
“Oh no! Don’t tell me it was one of our pieces.”
“No, no, it was an alchemical watch. The police are investigating and they are consulting me on the case.”
“Baron Scotto di Fasano’s alchemical watch?”
“Exactly.”
“Hmm, well it serves him right, the odious little creep.”
“Come on Àrtemis, it’s serious,” I said, without much conviction. We both disliked the man.
“Yeah, sure. But I hope all this won’t tie you up for too long.”
“I’ll try to work it so that I can come back tomorrow at the latest.”
“All right, Aragona,” she said in the tone she used when she wanted to make fun of me or reproach me. “Oh, I almost forgot. Before my parents turned up out of nowhere this morning, I went out early to do some shopping and when I got back there was a letter addressed to you in the post box.”
“Well, I’ll look at it when I get back.”
“The strange thing is that it hadn’t been posted. Someone actually put it in the mailbox in the half-hour that I was out. There’s no sender’s name on the envelope, just a printed symbol with some initials. Maybe it’s a secret message from one of your masonic brothers.”
Àrtemis said the final word with a distinctly ironic tone. She often made fun of me for being a freemason. She was far too pragmatic to accept the idea of respectable people wearing aprons and meeting in a hall decorated bizarrely with columns, triangles, compasses and starry skies. I was never going to be able to change her mind about them.
“Maybe. What does this symbol look like?”
“There’s an Egyptian hieroglyph, a winged female figure. Immediately below that, there are some sort of initials in a St Andrew’s cross, IPSI… ISIP… I can’t tell.”
I felt my heart miss a beat and a shiver go down my spine. “Did you say IPSI?”
“Yes – i, p, s, i. That’s precisely what I said.”
“What… what do you think is in the envelope? A letter, or something solid maybe?”
“No, I reckon it’s only paper inside, nothing solid. I can open it if you want…”
“No,” I said, almost shouting, drawing the attention of the police and the baron. “No… it doesn’t matter. I’ll do it. Hang on, I’ve thought about it and I’ll come back tonight. Y—you be careful.”
There was a moment’s silence.
“Careful about what, Lorenzo?”
“Oh, nothing… just be careful in general. I love you, Àrtemis. See you later.”
“You’ve really lost it, Aragona… I love you too. See you later then.”
I ended the call and returned to the two police officers and Scotto di Fasano. My expression had obviously changed, because both Lisáček and Kominkova were looking at me in astonishment.
“Is something wrong, Mr Aragona?” the woman asked.
“Yes, in fact…” I hesitated, undecided what to do. It seemed that the net around me was rapidly tightening. I needed help. “A few hours ago my wife received a letter with a strange symbol printed on the envelope, a kind of Egyptian hieroglyph with the initials IPSI. No… I’m lost for words. It would seem that I’m more involved in this than I thought, and I’m worried about my wife.”
Lisáček and Kominkova glanced at each other, whilst Scotto di Fasano made an eloquent gesture, as though to emphasise that he had been right.
“I knew it. What did I tell you?” he added arrogantly. I ignored him and looked at the two inspectors.
“Officers, if there are no charges against me, I’d like to ask permission to leave tonight. I’ve really got to find out what’s going on.”
“So have we, Mr Aragona,” Lisáček said calmly. “And as you rightly point out, you’re no longer a secondary player in all of this, so we’re going to have to clarify your role here before we can let you go.”
I looked at him incredulously. I’d trusted him and now he was telling me that I couldn’t go. Scotto di Fasano crossed his arms in satisfaction. I turned in desperation to Andrea Kominkova who, in that fraction of a second, must have understood me better than I’d hoped, for she placed the palms of her hands on Lisáček’s desk and turned to the inspector.
“Gustav, I’ll go with him. If the theft of the watch and the murder are connected, as seems likely, I think we should refer the matter to Interpol. Obviously, we’ll keep in touch and I’ll keep you up to speed on any developments.”
Lisáček didn’t seem very happy. He thought for a moment then sighed and nodded. “Okay, if Bublan agrees…”
Kominkova gave a polite smile. “I’m not after medals, Gustav, I just want to find the people who committed these crimes, like you.”
“Excuse me, but what about my watch? It was stolen here and must still be here,” snapped the baron, interrupting again. “You said so yourself, Inspector!”
“As you’ve just heard, Baron, Inspector Kominkova will pursue the investigation in Naples. There seems to be a trail leading there,” Lisáček said impatiently. “It might help us to get your watch back if we find evidence of trafficking in st
olen art between Prague and Naples. And anyway, my men have been following every available lead for twenty-four hours. It won’t be easy for the thieves to take the watch out of the country, I can assure you of that.”
*
I left the police station with Andrea Kominkova.
“Thank you for intervening there, Inspector,” I said, addressing her awkwardly in Italian as we made our way to a bar.
Andrea shook her head, her expression still serious, as she ordered two coffees. “I didn’t do it to help you, or at least not only for that reason. I’ve definitely got more freedom to move than Lisáček, and this case really intrigues me. I’ll contact my colleagues in Rome to organise logistical support. I’ll need a few hours to get ready, but in the meantime you can find out about the last flight we can get.” She gave me her business card. “We’ll talk again after lunch.”
“Fine.”
Before leaving, she stopped. “Oh, one more thing.”
“Yes?”
She smiled.
“You can call me Andrea.”
Chapter 11
Prague, the last days of spring, 12:23
I made my way to the hotel on foot and took the opportunity to call a few people. The discovery of the letter delivered to Àrtemis had alarmed me, and I couldn’t just wait and do nothing until it was time to return to Naples. I decided to call Carlo Sangiacomo, one of the masons I was closest too and with whom I had shared many years of gratifying esoteric studies.
“Hello Lorenzo, how are you doing? Still in Prague?”
“Yes, Carlo, but I’m about to return. Listen, I need a favour.”
I rapidly explained everything and got a re-assuring promise from him. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”
I then immediately called Àrtemis and told her what to do.
“All right, Lorenzo, as you wish,” she said, sighing at my eccentricities. “I’ll get organised before going to university. I have lessons this afternoon.”
After I had organised things, albeit temporarily, in Naples, I was joined by Riccardo at my hotel. It was lunch time and I found him in the restaurant, sitting at a table with Zuzana. She was wearing a black trench coat to cover up her ‘inappropriate’ dress and the heavy makeup she had been wearing just a few hours ago had gone.
“Ah, there you are Lorenzo – now convince this crazy girl to be on her way.”
I sighed as I sat down and Riccardo said. “She keeps on saying that she’s scared and that we have to help her, but what can we do? We have other things to think about! We have a trail to follow in Naples, as the map shows us.”
“Who cares about the map, Riccardo!” I snapped. “Do you know that someone put a letter, addressed to me, in my mail box signed with the acronym found at Hašek’s crime scene?”
Riccardo said nothing and just scratched his chin, looking serious.
“I have no intention of leaving my wife on her own knowing that there are crazed murderers around who know where I live. The police have authorized me to take the first flight to Naples provided that I am accompanied by an Interpol agent. Me, not you or our friend here.”
Zuzana looked sad and even more worried. “Please Lorenzo, do not abandon me. I scared on my own. Roman will kill me.”
“Roman?”
Riccardo snorted. “She says she’s in the clutches of a pimp, this Roman, but she might have invented it all.”
“No lie! True!” Zuzana protested, attracting the attention of the other patrons.
“All right, calm down,” I said, smiling sheepishly. “Isn’t there anyone who can help? Your parents, for example?”
“She told me that her father is dead and her mother has gone off with another man,” said Riccardo.
“Roman,” said Zuzana with a pained expression.
I was shocked. “You mean your pimp is your mother’s… partner?”
Riccardo shook his head. He was tired. “Lorenzo, how can we believe her?”
I thought for a moment. “Maybe we should go to the police.”
Zuzana began to look agitated. “No, no police, please no!”
“She must have some previous convictions, in addition to her ‘illegal’ profession—” said the Sicilian.
“Kurna1!” exclaimed Zuzana, interrupting Riccardo and clutching his arm while she looked in terror towards the entrance of the restaurant.
“What?” I said, turning in the same direction.
“Shit – I think we’re about to learn more about this about Roman…” whispered Riccardo, following her gaze.
A guy, not that tall and with a high forehead and wavy hair, was coming towards us. His face was anything but re-assuring – he had small eyes like a pitbull and a look of icy displeasure that distorted thin lips framed by a beard. He was accompanied by another man with an imposing physique. Both were dressed in T-shirts, jeans and sneakers.
Ingenuously, the waiter approached them to ask if they had booked, but he was unceremoniously shoved out of the way. A buzz spread through the restaurant.
“This looks bad,” Riccardo whispered.
“Nasial jsem tě Stetko, hejbni zadkem2!” hissed pitbull-face in a hoarse, threatening voice.
“Bez do Romane prdele, nech mě Bejt3!” answered Zuzana equally aggressively.
“Look, why don’t we talk about this calmly, Mr Roman, right?” I interrupted, hoping that the gentleman understood English.
“Hleď si svýho a nic se ti nestane4!” said Roman unceremoniously, then reached out and grabbed Zuzana’s arm.
“Hey!” cried the girl, trying to wriggle free.
Meanwhile, the waiter had approached with a colleague with the intention of removing the two men. Roman’s friend immediately turned around and sent them both flying onto the table next to ours.
It sparked an uproar. Customers began to scream in fear, someone tried to intervene and the first punches were thrown. Roman’s companion was a real thug. Zuzana exploited the moment of confusion and broke free from the grip of her protector, crawling along the floor between the two of them and then darting across the room like a gazelle and managing to escape.
“Zasraný5! Pavel!” said Roman, attracting the attention of his companion. Pavel, who was attacking one of the customers, let go of him and followed his companion out of the restaurant.
“Quick, Riccardo, let’s follow them.”
“What are you planning to do, Lorenzo?”
Without stopping to think, I was already at the entrance. I turned to the Sicilian. “Come on, we can’t just abandon her.”
Riccardo shook his head and followed me. “Damn girl!” He muttered behind me. Just outside we saw the two thugs chasing Zuzana along Obecního Domu street. The girl was heading towards Náměstí Republiky, a central city square, and I was just in time to see her dash down into the metro station of the same name. The two men followed her without hesitation.
“Bad idea,” I thought. “It’s a trap.”
But Riccardo and I had no choice but to run after them and after a few steps we found ourselves in the neon light of the metro station.
“Which way?” I asked breathlessly, looking left then right.
“There they are!” exclaimed the Sicilian, pointing beyond the glass doors that separated us from the escalator. Roman and his partner were moving quickly but not running, evidently so as not to attract undue attention.
Heedless of the fact that they were being followed, they didn’t turn around.
We quickly bought two tickets and rushed down the stairs. The two men were at the bottom of the escalator, on their way to the platform for Zlicin. We kept our distance, mingling with the crowd.
“I don’t see the girl,” I said uneasily.
“Me neither,” echoed Riccardo. Meanwhile the train was approaching. Roman and his companion seemed uncertain as to what to do, and looked around them, trying to see where Zuzana was. The doors opened and the passengers began to get out of the carriage. It being rush hour, a lot of people got off and
just as many got on. The two thugs walked into the carriage.
“Maybe they’ve seen her – come on let’s go!” I said, on my way to the same carriage.
“Riccardo!”
We turned round quickly. Zuzana was hiding behind one of the pillars that separated two benches. The girl had cleverly blended in with the crowd and had managed to trick her pursuers. We walked away from the train as the doors closed and saw Roman and Pavel searching for Zuzana amongst the passengers. When they saw us, it was too late. They were fuming with rage as she gave them the middle finger.
We returned to the square and stopped for a few moments to get our breath back. Zuzana was shaking like a leaf, despite the warmth of the late spring day. I looked at her and shook my head. I wanted to scold her, but at the end of the day it wasn’t really her fault, was it? She was just an unfortunate girl who, like so many, had fallen into the hands of unscrupulous people. My eyes softened and I smiled. There was no easy way out, but I decided that I would do my best to help her.
1Shit, fuck.
2I've found you, you little whore – come on, move your arse!
3Fuck off Roman, leave me alone!
4Mind your own business and you won't get hurt!
5Damn!
Chapter 12
Prague, the last days of spring, 14:00
Andrea joined us at the restaurant where we were holed up. We were all hungry and after managing to escape from Roman, convinced that he would not look for us where we had shaken him off, we had gone back to the Municipal House, the beautiful Art Nouveau building that housed offices, concert halls and the aforementioned restaurant.