The Chosen Child

by Graham Masterton

  ‘I was thinking about that,’ said Matejko, as they walked back to the ladders. ‘I was thinking, well, if they seem to be killing for no reason at all, perhaps we ought to stop worrying about it. Perhaps they’re killing for no reason at all. I mean, sometimes you have to accept that people do terrible things, murders and God knows what, and even they don’t know why.’

  Rej put his foot on the first rung of the ladder. ‘Let me tell you something, Mr Psychiatrist,’ he said, his head wreathed in cigarette smoke. ‘Everything happens for a reason. All of these people were beheaded for a reason. Don’t you ever forget that. You might think the reason is illogical, or irrelevant, or stupid. But that’s not the point. To the person who did it, at the time that they did it, it made perfect sense. It seemed like the only course of action open to them. You understand me? And if you and I can understand what that sense was, then we might begin to understand why it was done – and, more than that, who did it.’

  A muscle pulled in Matejko’s cheek. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said. ‘I understand.’

  Rej reached out and gripped his shoulder again. ‘I want you to understand something else. I don’t ever want to give you that crappy speech again.’

  3

  Ben looked so different when he came through the gate at Okecie airport that she scarcely recognized him. He was 30lbs heavier; his curly hair had turned lavender-grey: and he was wearing a monstrous powder-blue suit and a necktie with explosive pink chrysanthemums on it.

  When she first caught sight of him, she smiled at him, and waved: but as he came nearer her smile disassembled itself and her wave collapsed. The next thing she knew he was kissing her with cheeks that reeked of Davidoff Blue Waters aftershave (travel-size).

  ‘Sarah, you look gorgeous!’ he brayed. ‘Poland sure suits you! What did I always say? A flower always flourishes in its native soil!’

  ‘Did you always say that?’ Sarah asked him. ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘Don’t start ribbing me, Sarah. It’s been a very long day.’

  ‘Let’s find a taxi,’ she said.

  ‘Didn’t the office give you the limo?’

  ‘No... I was driven out here in very great style, by Komisarz Rej. He’s the detective who’s been trying to solve our murder. Not very adeptly, I’m afraid. I think he needs to go back to remedial detective class.’

  Ben said, ‘I don’t think I like you calling it “our” murder. Senate wants to distance itself from this kind of thing. You remember what happened in Moscow. We do like our business associates to keep their manhood connected to the rest of their body.’

  They reached the entrance and Sarah whistled two-fingered for a taxi. A creaking yellow Polonez drew up alongside her, driven by an unshaven man in a Romany bandana who looked as if he was taking a day off from sharpening cutlery and mending pots. They climbed into the back seat, which was covered with a thick woven shawl. ‘Holiday Inn,’ said Sarah. ‘And don’t try going via Gdansk.’

  Ben sat with his knees tucked up under his chin. ‘We’re trying to get Citibank involved in the Tatra Mountain Resort. We don’t want them to get the idea that there’s any kind of mobsterism involved in what we’re doing here.’

  ‘Well, there isn’t, is there? Although Komisarz Rej has some ridiculous idea that we had this man murdered because he made rude remarks about us on the radio.’

  Ben shook his head in disbelief. ‘And they wonder where Polish jokes come from.’

  He hefted his briefcase onto his knees and snapped it open. ‘Here... here’s that book on hotel management structure that you asked Jenny to get for you. And here are those stockings you wanted from Bloomingdales. And here’s a little commemorative gift from me.’

  He handed her a flat, square jewellery box.

  ‘What’s this?’ she asked, defensively.

  ‘I guess it’s a way of saying forgive me. And, well, maybe we could start over.’

  They were driving along the broad dual carriageway of Zwirki i Wigury Avenue, named for the two 1920s Polish pilots who flew around the world. The sun had come out again, and it shone in Sarah’s eyes so that they turned amber instead of green. ‘It’s a little too late for starting over,’ she said. Besides which, the Ben Saunders I used to love was lean and hip-looking... not this overfed corporate heavyweight.

  ‘Hey, I’m not talking romance,’ Ben protested. ‘I’m talking pals. We’re going to be working pretty damn close together, after all.’

  ‘We’re pals already. I don’t need jewellery.’

  ‘Just open the damn box, will you? Christ, you don’t change much. The titanium fist in the iron glove.’

  Sarah laughed. She opened up the box, and inside it, resting on dark blue silk, was a diamond brooch in the shape of two Ps, back-to-back, the symbol of the Plaza Hotel in New York.

  ‘What’s this supposed to mean?’ she asked him.

  ‘What do you think it’s supposed to mean? That’s where we started it, and that’s where we agreed to end it.’

  ‘“Agreed to end it?” We had a stand-up screaming contest. I tipped a dish of hickory-smoked almonds over your head.’

  ‘Two dishes of hickory-smoked almonds. And half a glass of chardonnay.’

  ‘Well, excuse me. You don’t remember what vineyard it was, do you?’

  They were rippling over cobbles now as they traversed Zawiszy Square. Light and shade flickered through the taxi like a sunlit river. Ben turned to Sarah and said, ‘Listen... don’t start giving me a hard time, Sarah. It’s all water under the bridge. I want you and me to be friends, genuine friends.’

  Sarah lifted the Plaza symbol out of its box. ‘How much did this cost you?’

  ‘Not very much.’

  ‘It’s Tiffany, for God’s sake. It’s 18 carat gold, and diamonds. How much did it cost you?’

  ‘It didn’t cost me a penny more than I wanted to pay.’

  ‘You’re incredible, Ben, do you know that? If I accept it, then I’m submissive. If I don’t, then I’m some kind of unforgiving hardass.’

  ‘You don’t understand, do you?’ said Ben. ‘The most attractive women are the hardest to get.’

  ‘Oh God,’ said Sarah. ‘What have I done to deserve you?’

  They reached the Holiday Inn on Zlota Street, and Ben stood patiently by while Sarah argued with the driver about the fare, because he had multiplied the figure that showed on the meter by three. In the end, she reached into the back seat, dragged out the shawl on which they had been sitting, and refused to give it back until he had dropped the price.

  ‘Hey, come on!’ the driver protested. ‘That was my mother’s!’

  ‘Your mother would turn over in her grave if she knew what a thief her son was!’ Sarah shouted back.

  ‘My mother’s still alive!’

  ‘Well, give her the shawl back, then!’

  At that, Sarah started laughing, and couldn’t stop. She stuffed the shawl back into the taxi, and gave the driver fifteen zlotys, which was half what he had asked for. He pulled away with a screech of tyres, and almost collided with a huge gasoline truck.

  ‘You’re incredible,’ said Ben, putting his arm around her shoulders. At least he was taller than Jacek Studnicki.

  ‘Come on,’ said Sarah. ‘Let’s get you settled; then let’s go to the office for a progress report.’

  As they waited by the check-in desk, Ben took hold of her hands. ‘You don’t know how good it is to see you, Sarah. It’s been too long. I’ve changed, you know. I’ve really changed a whole lot.’

  ‘Well, five years. I guess we all have.’

  ‘You’ll accept the brooch?’

  ‘I suppose so – just so long as there are no conditions.’

  ‘Just one. You’ll let me buy you dinner.’

  ‘Dinner?’ she said, patting his stomach. ‘You don’t need dinner.’

  ‘Thanks, sweetheart. I’ll say one thing about you. You always giveth with one hand and taketh away with the other, don’t you?’

 
‘Mister, I had expert tuition.’

  *

  Rej was late for his three o’clock meeting with Nadkomisarz Dembek. For that reason, Dembek kept him waiting for more than twenty minutes on a hard varnished bench outside his office. Through the wired-glass windows, the sun sank behind the next-door building.

  At last Dembek appeared, wearing a new blue suit that he had bought in Germany. It was two shades too bright to be serious. He was small, bald, with five strands of hair carefully arranged over his scalp in a sunray pattern. He had first joined the Wydzial Zabojstw as one of Rej’s trainees; but he had always been meticulously political, and when Rej had tried to show allegiance to his old boss, Nadkomisarz Grzywacz, Dembek had been careful to distance himself from any of the old regime.

  Rej had kept his job because he was both dogged and inventive; and his conviction rate was better than anybody else’s; and there was nobody else. But he knew that he had lost any chance of serious promotion, and that Dembek would probably end up as inspektor, with a weekend cottage in the Tatra mountains and an invitation to every champagne reception that was ever held for visiting dignitaries. Sometimes he didn’t care, but occasionally it hurt him so badly that it made him wince, like indigestion.

  He believed that the collapse of communism had not only undermined his career, but destroyed his relationship with his wife Maria. He had never been much of a party member, but his life had been structured. In those days, you knew where you were, even with your enemies. He just couldn’t believe how many of his colleagues had suddenly reinvented themselves, as if they had never even heard of communism. Maria, too. One day she had been calm and collected and their marriage had seemed completely ordered. The next day she wanted everything. A job, and a Zanussi washing machine. Not only a job and a Zanussi washing machine, but God, too. She had turned to the church, and Rej couldn’t stick the church. All those effigies, and all that incense. All those holy relics. He had seen too many dead bodies to believe in any of that. A priest had come to their door one morning and Rej had told him to go screw himself, him and John Paul II, too.

  Dembek beckoned him into his office. Out of the window, there was a view of Wileza Street, and the sun sparkling from the buildings opposite. Rej sat down in a tubular steel chair without being asked, and took out a pack of Camels. On the wall hung an inept oil painting of Morskie Oko, a mountain in the High Tatras (obviously painted by Mrs Dembek), and a photograph of Mr and Mrs Dembek meeting President Walesa.

  Dembek closed the door. Then he said, ‘This latest Executioner business.’

  ‘You mean Kaminski. We’re making some progress, yes.’

  ‘Oh, really? How much progress?’

  ‘We’ve found some cloth in Kaminski’s fingernails, and another piece of cloth in the sewer.’

  ‘Do they match?’

  ‘We don’t know that yet.’

  ‘What else?’ asked Dembek, with exaggerated patience.

  ‘We’ve found a child’s doll. We’re circulating a picture of it to see if anybody can identify it.’

  ‘What about Kaminski’s investigation into Senate Hotels?’

  Rej’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve been talking to that Pronaszka woman.’

  ‘She called, yes. And I’d prefer it if you didn’t smoke.’

  Rej snapped his lighter shut but kept his unlit cigarette between his lips. ‘Kaminski made some sarcastic comments on the radio about the Senate Belgrade. Anna Pronazska said that he was also looking into their finances. It could have been a motive for somebody to get rid of him.’

  ‘Why didn’t they just shoot him?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe they wanted his death to look like all of the others. Random, you know. The work of some psychopath.’

  ‘Maybe it was some psychopath. Maybe it was the Executioner.’

  ‘I’m keeping an open mind, nadkomisarz.’

  ‘That’s the trouble. Stefan. Seven people have had their heads cut off and you’re keeping an open mind. I’ve had two phone calls from Inspektor Grabowski that practically burned the hair out of my ears, and another call from the city president’s office. This business is making Warsaw look like the murder capital of Eastern Europe.’

  Rej said, ‘I just need to find a connection, that’s all.’

  ‘That’s what you said after the first one. That’s what you said after the second and the third and the fourth and the fifth and the sixth.’

  ‘Yes, nadkomisarz. And I’ll go on saying it until I find it.’

  Dembek drummed his fingers on his blotter. Then he said, ‘I’m sorry. I want a result by the end of the week. Otherwise I’m going to replace you.’

  ‘Replace me? What are you talking about?’ Rej demanded. ‘Replace me with who? I know more about this case than anybody!’

  ‘You mean you know as little about this case as anybody.’

  ‘You can’t do this, Artur.’

  ‘Stefan, I don’t have any choice. If you can’t find this murderer, I’ve got to hand this over to somebody who can.’

  ‘What you mean is you have to look as if you’re doing something, even if it’s totally misguided. You always were the perfect bureaucrat, weren’t you?’

  ‘I can replace you right now, if that’s what you want!’ Dembek snapped at him.

  Rej stood up. ‘You’ll get your Executioner, nadkomisarz. Don’t worry about it. You’ll get his head on a plate.’

  ‘I wish I could believe you.’

  Rej went out and closed the door behind him with the care and quietness of absolute rage. He stood for a long time in the corridor outside, breathing deeply to steady his temper. That was what you got when the world was turned upside-down: the fools and the crooks all rose to the top and the wise and the good were buried underneath.

  A pretty young secretary came past, her blonde hair tied up, a red file clasped self-consciously to her bosom. ‘Is everything all right, komisarz?’ she asked him. ‘You’re looking so pale.’

  ‘I’m –’ Rej began. But he didn’t know what he was. He gave her a quick, ill-assembled smile and then he walked back along the corridor to the windowless office he shared with Matejko.

  *

  While Ben went upstairs to unpack and freshen up, Sarah waited in the bar on the mezzanine floor of the Holiday Inn, reading up on promotional reports. She drank orange juice although she could have murdered a vodka. She had been feeling tense about Ben’s arrival ever since Senate had appointed him president in charge of Eastern European operations, just after 4 July. She knew that she didn’t love him any more. She had been through two intense relationships since the night of the hickory-smoked almonds – the first with a deeply sophisticated forty-eight-year-old Frenchman called Patrice who had shown her some of the stranger sights of Paris, and then shown her how he could eat a freshly-shucked oyster from between her widely-parted thighs, an experience which still made her shudder when she thought about it, with glee and disgust. Patrice had disappeared one day as if he had never existed, and she often wondered what had happened to him.

  Two months later, however – and very much to her own surprise – Sarah became entangled with Nat, a young American rock singer who had been trying to make it in Prague. He was three years younger than her, thin-faced, beautiful and dreamy, with long flowing hair, and for two months she had remembered what it was like to have stars and moons and suns in your eyes and dance barefooted down the street. But nobody can do that for ever; and Sarah’s time for doing that had already passed, and now it was back to business.

  She remembered what her father had told her when she was thirteen: ‘Everything happens just the once. You can’t relive it. If you spend all your time trying to relive it, you’ll miss whatever happens next.’

  Ben... well. Ben at first had been brilliant. He had seemed knowledgeable, witty, highly together – the perfect companion for the late 1980s. He freely taught her everything he knew about hotel development, and helped her to rise from assistant projects manager to junior vice-pres
ident in charge of development, all within the space of six months. But in return, he wanted everything. Her body, her affection, her undivided attention. He liked Bruce Springsteen, so she had to like Bruce Springsteen. He loved Tex-Mex food, so she had to love Tex-Mex food. He had appeared to be so generous, but in fact he was leaching all of her individuality out of her. Towards the end, she had nothing left to give, and she was so dependent on him that she wouldn’t even speak unless he invited her to.

  She couldn’t believe now that she had ever allowed anyone to control her like that. She still couldn’t think why. But she had learned a painful lesson. She had recognized that even a woman as focused and as motivated as she was could have deep emotional weaknesses. That realization had made her stronger, more complete. She had sworn that no man would ever dominate her like that again.

  Especially Ben. Especially this new, smooth, bigger Ben, whose well-shaved skin seemed to be too tight for his face.

  Eventually, he appeared out of the elevator, wearing a navy sports coat with brass buttons and tight grey slacks. ‘All righty, I’m refreshed. How about telling me what’s been going down?’

  He popped his fingers to attract the attention of the cocktail waitress. When she came over, he ordered himself a Canadian Club on the rocks. Before she could go back to the bar, however, he took hold of her wrist and looked her straight in the eyes. ‘You know what I think?’ he told her. ‘Polish women are the most beautiful women in the world, bar none.’

  The waitress smiled nervously, and managed to twist her hand free.

  Sarah said, ‘You’ve embarrassed her, Ben. This isn’t New York.’

  ‘What? I was only paying her a compliment. And I was paying you a compliment, too.’

  ‘Oh, sure. I know your compliments. You pay compliments the way some men open their trousers and waggle their dicks at people.’

  Ben leaned forward. ‘Listen,’ he said, in an aggressive undertone, ‘if you don’t want that brooch –’

  ‘I don’t. There you were, talking about a new beginning, and what did you do? Give me a ludicrously expensive memento to something I’d rather forget.’