Field of Death

by Graham Brack

  ‘I’ll ask about,’ said Forman.

  ‘Can you think of anyone who might have a grudge against these men?’ Slonský enquired.

  ‘No,’ said the mayor. ‘People around here aren’t ones for grudges. Live and let live, that’s our motto.’

  ‘Perhaps someone Sedlák put away?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ offered Forman. ‘I can’t remember when Sedlák last arrested anyone.’

  ‘There were those boys who were selling cars that had been written off by the insurers,’ suggested Veselý.

  ‘But where would they get a grenade?’ asked the mayor.

  ‘Maybe they found it,’ Veselý proposed.

  ‘There can barely be a metre of field Procházka and his mates haven’t already checked over with their gadgets,’ the mayor answered.

  ‘Then why were they out?’ Slonský asked. ‘If they’ve already been everywhere, what were they looking for?’

  The meeting drew to a close and Slonský stomped out to the car, climbed in and slammed the door behind him. Peiperová found him with his lips pressed hard together as if he were suppressing some great emotion.

  ‘Are you all right, sir?’

  ‘If we could go back through time to the days of the neanderthals, Peiperová, that lot would feel right at home. God, the long winter nights must just fly by there! If I lived in that village I’d run amok. I wouldn’t be responsible for my actions.’

  ‘You must try to keep calm, sir. It’s not good for your blood pressure.’

  ‘Keep calm? With that bunch? Jesus Christ himself couldn’t keep calm with them. If they were his disciples he’d splat them with a bolt of lightning and say “Stuff it, I’ll manage with nine.” Jesus Maria!’

  They drove back towards Prague, Slonský interrupting the silence at intervals to rage at inefficient public officials, and then telling Peiperová to stop at a pub beside the road before they had gone very far.

  ‘I need a drink. Come on, lass, I’ll break the habit of a lifetime and buy you one.’

  ‘I’m in uniform, sir.’

  ‘Well, take it off. Not all of it, obviously,’ he added hurriedly, ‘but your jacket.’

  ‘The shirt is police issue too, sir.’

  ‘Peiperová, stop being difficult. You can have a coffee, can’t you? Even the police are allowed coffee on duty, thank God. And why are you in uniform anyway?’

  ‘I had to see the Director of Criminal Police this morning, sir. They call it orientation.’

  ‘Upright and facing him is the best bet,’ Slonský replied.

  It was quiet in the bar as Slonský ordered the drinks and sat on one of the barstools. The barman eyed up Peiperová’s uniform.

  ‘You’ll be here about the big bang, then.’

  ‘Hear it from here, did you?’ asked Slonský.

  ‘Oddly enough, no. You’d have thought we would have done, because it’s not that far and it was a still evening.’

  Slonský took a pull at his beer. ‘That’s nice, that is. Got any sausages?’

  Peiperová sighed inwardly. Once Slonský had beer and sausage the chances of an early evening return to Prague went out of the window.

  ‘As it happens, we have. Locally made. A couple each?’

  ‘Why not?’ beamed Slonský. ‘If she doesn’t want them I’m sure I’ll make room.’

  ‘Remember your diet, sir,’ whispered Peiperová.

  ‘Then eat both of yours and save me from myself,’ Slonský whispered back.

  When they returned, Slonský pushed open the door of police headquarters and was delighted to see that Sergeant Mucha was on shift.

  ‘You’re here late,’ he said.

  ‘The wife’s sister invited herself for a few days.’

  ‘My commiserations.’

  ‘No matter. I have to do a few late shifts sometimes, just to show willing.’

  Mucha managed the roster for the front desk and unaccountably seemed always to be on duty when his sister-in-law (also known as The Evil Witch of Kutná Hora) came to stay. He had never admitted to his wife that he devised the off-duty rota, blaming his antisocial hours on Sergeant Varkan, an argument that would have held more weight if Varkan had not died five years earlier.

  ‘Tell me, old friend, how can I find out who owns a piece of land?’

  Mucha leant forward and lowered his voice. ‘Would this be a piece of land on the edge of Holice where a certain explosion took place yesterday?’

  ‘The very same.’

  ‘Then that’s easy,’ Mucha replied. ‘It’s owned by an old woman called Valachová.’

  ‘Are you winding me up or do you actually know?’

  ‘The cheek! Would I impede an investigation with dodgy information?’

  ‘Yes. You’ve done it before.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ admitted Mucha, ‘but not one of yours.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  ‘It really is a woman called Irina Valachová.’

  ‘How do you know this?’

  Mucha leaned forward again. ‘It’s like this. You remember you drove to Holice today?’

  ‘Yes. I’m not ga-ga.’

  ‘And you remember meeting Novák in the field?’

  ‘Yes. Get on with it.’

  ‘And then you had a coffee somewhere?’

  ‘At the police station. How do you know I had a coffee?’

  ‘Because you always do. Well, while you were waffling to our colleagues there, your driver was busy phoning her boyfriend on her mobile to tell him to find out who owned the field. He did, and when he went home he told me.’

  ‘Did he, indeed? I’ll have words with him. He was supposed to be sorting out a burglary in Karlín.’

  ‘He did that too, straight after lunch. Cell six, if you want a word with them too.’

  There were two serious deficiencies in the Human Resources department of the Czech Police, according to Slonský. First, they were a bunch of clockwatchers who went home as soon as the clock struck whatever hour it was when they were due to go home. Slonský was unsure when exactly that was, but it was before seven, which was the time when he preferred to raise any queries he had about his fellow officers. Second, they were so lacking in basic security awareness that they had completely failed to notice that Slonský had a duplicate key to their document store. Mucha had one too, but his was authorised, because if there were a fire out of hours the desk sergeant had to have a way of getting in to preserve the records. Mucha’s key was safely locked in the office safe, but one lunchtime it had been allowed out for a little jaunt in the company of Slonský and had come back with a twin.

  This twin was inserted into the lock and deftly turned by a gloved hand. Of course, if there were a legitimate evidentiary need Slonský could have requested Sedlák’s file through official channels, but until he had read it he did not know whether he needed to request it, which would involve him in all sorts of tedious paperwork. No, his was much the better way, he decided, as he closed the door and sat on the floor so that he could not be seen through its glazed upper half.

  It was dark in the room but he could not switch on a light in case someone passed by, so he produced a small flashlight from his pocket and settled down to read.

  Sedlák, it seemed, was an exemplary officer. Even his file was dull. No scandal attached to his name; there were not even any disciplinary hearings listed there, unlike Slonský’s own folder which included a lengthy list of misdemeanours — or had done before Slonský got his duplicate key. Slonský had been sensible about it, and had only abstracted one leaf, but that was enough to keep it within reasonable bounds.

  He returned the folder to its place, closed the filing cabinet, looked out into the corridor cautiously, then slipped out and locked the door behind him. He smiled at his own cunning, and was just putting the key back in his pocket when he heard a voice behind him.

  ‘What were you doing in there?’

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t creep up on people like that,’ Slonský grumbled.r />
  ‘Sorry, sir, but it’s just as well it was me and not Lieutenant Doležal,’ Navrátil answered.’

  ‘Doležal? Is he in the building?’

  ‘Working late on an attempted blackmail.’

  ‘Who is he attempting to blackmail? And how did you know I was here? Have you tagged my clothing?’

  ‘You left the drawer open. The secret drawer in which you keep your secret key.’

  ‘Not so secret now, evidently. Who else knows?’

  ‘We haven’t said anything, sir.’

  ‘We? Don’t tell me, Little Blue Riding Hood knows too.’

  ‘Her lips are sealed, sir.’

  ‘For now, Navrátil, for now. But if I know women, one day I’ll speak severely to her and she’ll squeal.’ An awful thought struck him. ‘Just a couple of weeks from now she’ll be working for the Director of the Criminal Police, lad. I’d best find somewhere else for it. Have you got one of those little ledges inside your desk?’

  ‘I’m not keeping it.’

  ‘Why not? She won’t turn you in. You’re her boyfriend.’

  ‘It’s a dismissable offence, sir.’

  ‘Only if you’re caught, Navrátil. And you’re a clever lad — you won’t get caught.’

  ‘No, sir! I’ll keep the secret but I won’t keep the key.’

  ‘All right, keep your voice down. Why are you here anyway? Mucha told me you’d left.’

  ‘I was going to call on Kristýna at the barracks, sir, but then I thought you might be here and I could tell you about the burglary in person.’

  ‘Burglary?’

  ‘The one at Karlín, sir. The one you sent me to solve.’

  ‘Ah, that burglary. I hear you did well.’

  ‘They’re downstairs in cell six, sir.’

  ‘So I understand. What put you on to them?’

  ‘The fact that when I got there the victims of the crime were busily carrying all the stolen stuff back up the stairs to their flat.’

  ‘That’s helpful of them.’

  ‘Yes, sir. They also had some items from another flat including a very distinctive table lamp in the form of a silver lady dancer.’

  ‘Very similar to the table lamp in the form of a silver lady dancer reported stolen from that flat in Josefov?’

  ‘Exactly like it, sir.’

  ‘And do the gentlemen have any explanation for this?’

  ‘No, sir. They’re waiting for their lawyer to think of one.’

  ‘That’s what we pay lawyers for, Navrátil. Don’t let me keep you from your night of passion, lad.’

  ‘We’re going to the cinema, sir.’

  ‘Again? Haven’t you seen all the films ever made by now? Or don’t you look at what’s on the screen?’

  ‘Sir! Officer Peiperová and I have never…’

  ‘Joke, Navrátil, joke.’

  Slonský skipped down the stairs to his office and had just fixed the key to the inside of Peiperová's desk with sticky tape when there was a knock on the door and Lieutenant Doležal entered without waiting to be invited.

  ‘Slonský, I just — what are you doing?’

  ‘Me? Oh, Peiperová has been complaining that her desk drawer was catching on something.’

  ‘Do you want me to take a look?’

  ‘It’s fixed! Look.’

  Slonský slid the drawer quickly in and out, demonstrating that it was indeed catching on something, but since Doležal could not see clearly he got away with it.

  ‘Did you want something, Doležal, or did you just come to sneak around my office?’

  ‘Certainly not!’

  Doležal appeared outraged. Since he was generally a seriously uptight man, he did outrage particularly well. Slonský attributed this to the fact that Doležal was a notorious teetotaller. It was rumoured that he owned not one, but two complete sets of Bruckner symphonies, prompting Slonský to question whether this was a recognised psychiatric condition. His black moustache quivered with indignation until he realised that he could hardly maintain this attitude given the purpose of his visit.

  ‘No, I came in the hope of a quiet, off-the-record chat before you assume your new duties.’

  ‘My duties as captain, you mean?’

  Slonský had noticed that Doležal appeared to be incapable of voicing the word “Captain” in association with the name “Slonský”. That was probably a recognised psychiatric condition too.

  ‘Yes. Congratulations again, by the way.’

  The appointment of Slonský had only been in doubt because Slonský himself did not want the job. He had accepted the promotion only because he could not bear the thought of either of the other lieutenants, Doležal or Dvorník, being placed over him. It might have been a difficult decision for the Director of Police, since Doležal had the advantage in length of service but Dvorník had a personal armoury that would have been the envy of many small police stations.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I just wondered whether you were thinking of appointing a senior lieutenant to replace you.’

  Slonský had not considered this possibility, and now that it had been dropped into his lap he foresaw a range of opportunities, all of which would keep Lieutenants Doležal and Dvorník in abject submission so long as he did not actually make a decision.

  ‘It would be premature for me to think about that before I take up the position formally,’ Slonský replied. ‘But I’m grateful for your interest. Ask me again after 1st July.’

  Doležal seemed to consider this as some level of commitment and went away happily, leaving Slonský to ponder who might be appointed as the third lieutenant whom he could reasonably prefer to Doležal and Dvorník.

  Chapter 4

  When morning came Slonský could not help noticing that something was missing.

  ‘You gave her the morning off to choose a retirement present for Captain Lukas, sir,’ Navrátil reminded him.

  Slonský nodded regretfully. Since her arrival a little over a year ago Peiperová had been the self-appointed social secretary of the department, tirelessly trudging from room to room to collect for birthdays, christenings — Dvorník seemed to keep up a never-ending demand for those — or leaving presents. And now she was leaving herself, allegedly just for a year, to go and skivvy for the Director of Criminal Police. This had necessitated some forward planning with Peiperová being deputed to make the arrangements for Lukas’ leaving do although she would actually be leaving first.

  ‘She’s got plenty to work with,’ Navrátil assured him. ‘She says people have been very generous.’

  ‘I wonder how much they’ll collect for me when I go,’ Slonský murmured.

  ‘You’d best hang on till Officer Peiperová comes back, sir. She’s very good at getting a few extra crowns here and there.’

  ‘I’m sure she is. She’s a very persuasive young woman. How much did she get out of you?’

  ‘It’s confidential, sir!’

  ‘I know. I’m just trying to gauge how much I should put in.’

  ‘You haven’t given?’

  ‘I can’t have been around when she was collecting. So, how much?’

  ‘If you must know, sir, five hundred crowns.’

  ‘Five…! He’s got a pension, Navrátil. He doesn’t need a lump sum from you.’

  ‘The Captain has been really good to me, sir. And he’s a nice man.’

  Slonský nodded dumbly. You could not argue with that. He fished in his wallet for a thousand crowns and put it in an envelope on Peiperová’s desk. Navrátil left to fetch some coffee and Slonský briefly toyed with the idea of taking five hundred crowns back, but decided that Lukas deserved it. In fact, he deserved more, but there are limits. I’ll miss him, thought Slonský. Damn it.

  The day took a sudden turn for the better when Lukas spotted Slonský passing his door and invited him in.

  ‘You’d best close the door behind you,’ said Lukas. ‘People here are terrible eavesdroppers.’

  They’re actu
ally very good at it, thought Slonský, but said nothing.

  ‘The thing is, Slonský, that one of our men was killed in the explosion at Holice.’

  ‘I know, sir. I’m investigating it.’

  ‘So you are. Well, the local station needs a new lieutenant. I’ve told them we can’t spare anyone. Then it occurred to me that the one person here who isn’t doing much is me. I could go there for a few weeks while they recruit someone else.’

  ‘But you’re a captain, sir, and they’re after a lieutenant.’

  ‘True, but they won’t be charged the difference in salary. And it would give you a free hand.’

  Slonský was concerned by this development. He had, for once, given a bit of thought to the future and had earmarked a few changes he planned to make, but this threatened to derail his schemes. He had to think quickly.

  ‘You’re indispensable, sir,’ he announced.

  ‘No, I’m not, and you know it. I’m going in about six weeks anyway, so let’s not try to pretend I’m needed.’

  ‘As an example, sir.’

  ‘Well, thank you, but I doubt that too.’

  Slonský’s brain was firing on all cylinders when an idea came to him. Assuming an expression of the deepest reluctance, he began to stammer the real reason. ‘It’s Peiperová, sir.’

  ‘Peiperová? How so?’

  ‘She’s set her heart on giving you the mother of all send-offs. I shouldn’t be saying this, but she’s worked tirelessly on the plan for your leaving do.’

  Lukas looked abashed. ‘I had no idea. Really?’

  ‘You’re very well-loved, sir. Do you know, she was telling me that the collection for your gift has been the largest we’ve ever had in this building?’

  ‘Goodness me! I don’t know what to say.’

  Lukas pulled out a large, impeccably pressed handkerchief and blew his nose loudly before dabbing at the corner of each eye in turn.

  ‘Of course, we all know that your preference would be just to slip quietly out of the back door with the minimum of fuss, but they would be so disappointed if you weren’t here so they can say goodbye properly.’

  ‘I can’t deny that I’m not good with ceremony, Slonský, but it would be cruel to spoil Peiperová’s efforts by selfishly going away.’