by Graham Brack
‘Money is his passion, then.’
‘He’s not a man to have passions. He likes an ordered life and hobbies and interests would just get in the way. Oh, he enjoys good food or a night at the opera, but he’s just as happy with a plate of stew and reading a book. Now, will you tell me why you’re asking me all this?’
Slonský opened the cell door.
‘No,’ he replied, and closed it behind him.
To Slonský’s great surprise, Valentin was wearing a tie. It was greasy, stained and abominably knotted, but it was undoubtedly a tie.
‘Are you meeting someone?’ Slonský enquired.
‘No,’ replied Valentin, ‘so if you’re buying drinks I can accept without feeling I’m taking advantage.’
‘Navrátil will see to it. He knows the drill by now. So, why have you got a dog’s leash hanging round your neck?’
‘You’re the detective. Detect.’
Slonský rubbed his chin in a pantomime of deep thought.
‘Well, it can’t be a woman.’
‘I’m hurt by the suggestion that it can’t be a woman. It happens that it isn’t, but I can still pull a woman if I choose to. I just don’t choose to, that’s all.’
Slonský looked more closely. Finding that this did not help, he stood, grabbed a hanging light and pointed it directly at Valentin.
‘You’ve shaved. Recently. Certainly today, and probably early afternoon — or as you journalists call it, breakfast time.’
‘Getting warmer.’
‘You wouldn’t shave because you wanted to, so it was expected by the person you were interviewing. And since nobody’s opinion has the slightest effect on you except one man, I deduce that you were seeing your editor.’
‘Bravo. And that’s why a brandy wouldn’t come amiss.’
‘Not a happy man?’
‘He wasn’t, and I’m not. I need a big story, Slonský. Something for the front page. And I need it quickly. He’s given me a week to find him something or he stops the salary and I have to go freelance. So, old chap, have you got a titbit for me?’
‘I wish I had.’
‘No chance this juicy murder of yours is going to be tidied up in a week?’
‘Don’t know. Not much sign of it.’
‘And you’re adamant I can’t use the picture of Soucha and his little friend?’
‘No! Definitely not. You know I’d give you something if I could. I will just as soon as I can, but at the moment I’m stuck. Maybe I’m losing my magic touch.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Valentin sourly.
They sat in silence until Navrátil joined them.
‘Took me an age to find a waiter. He’s on his way.’
‘That’s because you don’t look like a drinker. They gravitate to the likes of me,’ growled Valentin. ‘Better pickings. With luck I may keel over and forget my wallet, then they’ll help themselves to a big tip.’
The waiter arrived with the beers and was promptly sent to fetch a large brandy for Valentin.
‘Tell you what,’ said Slonský. ‘I’m so sympathetic to your misfortune I’m even going to pay for this one myself.’
‘If only I had a camera,’ Valentin retorted. ‘No-one will believe this without photographic proof. I might even have been able to get it on the front page.’
‘Between bouts of sarcasm,’ Slonský said, ‘tell me what you know about Theodor Sammler.’
‘German.’
‘Knew that.’
‘Banker.’
‘Knew that too.’
‘That’s me done.’
‘You? The greatest investigative journalist Prague has ever seen?’
‘You’re only saying that because it’s true.’
‘No, I’m laying the flattery on with a trowel to get you to try harder.’
‘Not much point. Sammler is a grey man. He doesn’t party much, he doesn’t court publicity, he doesn’t flash his cash around. He just knows a lot of people and makes a lot of money.’
‘Legally?’
‘A banker making money legally in Prague? Are you taking the —’
‘No. I just meant is he the sort of person to get involved with shady stuff?’
‘Not that I’ve heard. Crafty but legit, so far as I know.’
‘So there’s no scandal?’
‘I don’t think so.’
Slonský took a large slurp from his beer and fell silent for a few moments.
‘If he’s such a good money-maker, why stay here? He could be coining it in Frankfurt among his own kind.’
‘His contacts are here, I suppose. It’s taken him years to build up his address book. And I bet those Germans have got Frankfurt sewn up. He wouldn’t get a look in.’
Navrátil was feeling as dispirited as the others.
‘Looks like this line of enquiry is going nowhere then.’
‘No,’ agreed Slonský. ‘The deadest of dead ends.’
Valentin leaned forward and dropped his voice.
‘Look, I’ll see if my paper’s man in Vienna knows anything. That’s where Sammler was between Germany and here. I’ll need a few crowns for the phone call, though.’
Slonský handed him a note.
‘That’s my own money. Don’t waste it.’
Mucha looked disgruntled.
‘I was beginning to wonder if you were ever coming back,’ he moaned.
‘How nice of you to pine,’ replied Slonský, ‘like a faithful lap-dog.’
‘You don’t need a lap-dog,’ Mucha mumbled. ‘You need a guard dog.’
‘If you’d said I needed a guide dog I wouldn’t have argued right now,’ Slonský sighed. ‘We’re getting nowhere fast.’
Mucha leant across the desk and whispered something to Slonský.
‘Just what we needed. Okay, I’ll deal with it. Give me a few minutes to think.’
‘Well, don’t take too long. I was off duty an hour and a half ago.’
‘Off duty? You? I thought you slept here.’
‘If I did I’d probably get more sex.’
‘And on that happy observation I’ll bid you good night,’ Slonský said. ‘I’ll call you later.’
Navrátil was waiting in the corridor by the swing door.
‘What was that about?’
‘Never you mind. Just another complication visited on us from above. If you haven’t already discovered it you’ll soon learn that we solve crime despite the support of our superiors, not because of it.’
‘Do you need me for anything more?’
‘No, lad, off you go. I’ll see you at seven tomorrow morning.’
He walked on a few steps, then turned and called along the corridor.
‘Not here, though. I’ll meet you at the Florenc metro station.’
Chapter 17
They sat in the car with their gaze fixed on an alleyway between two buildings.
‘More coffee?’ asked Slonský.
‘I’d better not. I’ll have to break cover and find a toilet if I do.’
‘There’s one in that café. And while you’re there you can get me another coffee.’
‘Why are we here, sir?’
‘Because we had a tip-off, Navrátil. There’s every chance someone will be selling some guns here. Can’t ignore a hint like that.’
Navrátil squirmed in his seat, trying to allow some air to reach his back.
‘Is the source reliable?’
‘One of the best. Mucha’s brother.’
Navrátil’s alertness level rose sharply, propelling him forward in his seat.
‘Mucha’s brother? Is he mixed up in that sort of thing?’
‘Of course not. But he’s extraordinarily well-informed. He has some great contacts.’
‘Such as?’
‘You wouldn’t expect me to reveal his sources, Navrátil.’
‘I suppose not. But they’re good?’
‘Always have been in the past.’
‘So has he been responsible for putting lots of criminals awa
y, then?’
Slonský turned to face Navrátil. His deep frown disclosed some puzzlement at the question.
‘None, so far as I know.’
‘I don’t understand. How can he be a great source if nobody gets nailed on his evidence?’
‘The fact that we never catch anyone doesn’t mean it’s not Grade A intelligence, Navrátil. It must be — I’ve graded it that way. He has wonderful contacts and no doubt one day cultivating him will pay off. This could be the day.’
Navrátil scanned the alleyway while trying to assimilate the information he had just received.
‘So are we spending a lot on him?’
‘Not much. Today’s snippet, for example, is costing us two tickets to the Sparta game on Sunday.’
Navrátil shrugged.
‘Cheap enough, if it pays off.’
‘It already has.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I think it’s time I initiated you into one or two secrets of the art, Navrátil. But first I must swear you to secrecy. Do you promise you won’t reveal anything I’m about to tell you, even if Lukas threatens to pull out your toenails?’
‘Of course not. The first sign of pliers and I’ll squeal like a piglet.’
‘Any sane man would. But the need for secrecy will be very clear, even to you. I have great respect for your trusting and honest nature, lad. It does you great credit. But it’s a damn nuisance when it comes to fighting crime.’
Slonský took a sip from the cold coffee and winced as he realised that the last warmth it retained came from his hand grasping the cardboard cup.
‘Mucha’s brother told us that there is a good chance that guns, possibly including some used in unsolved crimes, would be traded here this morning.’
‘Is that what Mucha whispered to you last night?’
‘Not exactly. But if you inspect Mucha’s log you’ll see that his brother phoned to tip us off.’
Navrátil blinked furiously. This did not make sense.
‘When? Mucha didn’t mention it.’
‘Indeed he didn’t. But his log book does. And I’m entirely confident that you’ll find an entry in there about a message from Little Sparrow.’
‘Okay, so how did “Little Sparrow” know this was going on?’
‘Because I told him. Close your mouth, lad, you look simple.’
‘You made up an informer?’
‘Of course not. Mucha’s brother is real enough. He’s a plumber in Vysočany, I think. Though whenever I want one I doubt whether plumbers really exist.’
‘So how did you hear about the arms deal?’
‘Ah, I made that bit up.’
‘Why? We’re wasting time when we’ve got a killer to chase.’
‘Because what Mucha whispered to me was that a bunch of goons from the Director’s Office were going to be paying us a visit this morning to go through the team’s cases and audit their methods. That includes us. I don’t want to sit there while some acne-ridden youth questions what we’ve been doing. I don’t mind explaining myself to you — we’re colleagues, and I’m meant to be teaching you — but I can do without that lot pulling all our files to bits. So the best way of avoiding that was to find something that got us out of the office and couldn’t be put off. An arms deal fits the bill, wouldn’t you say?’
‘So you rang Mucha’s brother…?’
‘No, I rang Mucha and Mucha told his brother what he’d already written in the log book. Young Mucha doesn’t mind — he gets two tickets for the Sparta game and if it doesn’t work out he just says it’s what he overheard in a bar and he never swore to its accuracy.’
‘But hasn’t anyone noticed that he has never provided a useful lead?’
‘He did once, come to think of it. He reported a motorist for driving with defective headlights.’
‘But nothing came of it, you said.’
‘Of course not. Colonel Tripka is a very senior police officer. Nobody is going to arrest him for that. But it was a good laugh when the car ownership record was faxed through and pinned on the canteen noticeboard.’
Navrátil felt that his head was reeling yet again.
‘But the bottom line is that we’re sitting doing nothing useful when we could be chasing a murderer.’
‘True. But the choice is that we either sit here doing nothing useful, or we sit in our office doing nothing useful and getting hassled by the Director’s hit squad. So are you going to get that coffee or not?’
Slonský pushed the door open, walked through, then turned round and came straight back out again.
‘They’re still there. Let’s go for a sausage somewhere.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Mucha’s jacket is hanging behind the desk. That’s the signal.’
Navrátil searched his memory.
‘I’ve never seen Mucha’s jacket hanging up.’
‘That’s what makes it such a good signal. Keep to this side of the road, lad, so they can’t see us from the windows.’
There was a shrill ring as Slonský’s mobile phone jumped into life.
‘Don’t recognise the number. It’s probably the goon squad wanting to know when we’ll be back.’
The phone stopped ringing, only to be replaced in seconds by the marimba that Navrátil used as his ring tone.
‘Don’t answer…’ snapped Slonský, but Navrátil was too quick.
‘Navrátil,’ he said.
Mucha’s voice snarled at him.
‘Tell Slonský to answer his bloody phone.’
Navrátil looked at his phone in surprise as Mucha rang off abruptly.
‘It’s Mucha. He says I’ve got to tell you to answer your phone.’
Within moments, Slonský’s phone rang again.
‘National Theatre Box Office,’ said Slonský.
‘Good try,’ said Mucha. ‘Got a pencil? I’ve got a phone number for you.’
Slonský relayed the number to Navrátil who copied it into his notebook.
‘Who is it?’ asked Slonský.
‘Someone called Peiperová.’
‘Don’t know her.’
‘Yes, you do. You met her when you went out to Gruberová’s parents’ place.’
‘Tall blonde with a ponytail?’
‘How would I know?’ Mucha spat. ‘Just call her before the Spotty Ones realise I’m talking to you.’
‘Good point,’ allowed Slonský. ‘Get off the line and stop holding me up.’
‘Whose is the number?’ enquired Navrátil.
‘Officer Peiperová.’
‘Oh, the tall blonde —’
‘…with the ponytail, yes. Not that I noticed. But I bet you did. Watch yourself, Navrátil, hormones have been the ruin of many a promising young policeman. Now, read that number back to me so I can call her.’
Peiperová answered quickly, and explained that she had been trying to find out more about the murdered girl.
‘I got the class list from school and managed to find about eight of the girls.’
‘About eight? Either it was eight or it wasn’t.’
‘Sorry, sir. Eight.’
‘Good work, Officer. Do you have a list?’
‘Yes, sir.’
There was a hesitation in her voice.
‘What are you not telling me, Peiperová?’
‘I hope you don’t mind, sir, but I spoke to them to see if they could help.’
‘That depends on what you asked them. And whether any of them is the murderer, of course.’
If you can hear a blush, Slonský heard it in Peiperová’s voice.
‘Sorry, sir. I didn’t think of that.’
‘Never mind. It’s done now. What did they have to say?’
‘Four or five of them … four of them say they haven’t spoken to her since they left school. One hadn’t seen or spoken to her since she went to Prague. The sixth one used to go out with Gruberová’s brother when she was about fifteen so she still drops by from time to time
to visit the mother, and she says Irina was there when she last went about two months ago.’
‘Did they talk?’
‘Mostly family talk, but Irina let out that she had a boyfriend in Prague. Markéta pressed her to say who he was, but all she could get was that everyone would be surprised when it got out.’
‘She said “When it got out”?’
‘Yes, sir. Markéta was very clear about that. Irina was expecting it to come out at some time, not soon, but definitely at some point.’
‘That’s interesting. Very good —’
‘There’s more, sir. The other two knew a bit more. Maria said that Irina told her that her boyfriend was a married man in his late thirties. He had rented her flat for her. Irina wouldn’t give her the address because she said she couldn’t risk anyone turning up while her boyfriend was there, but she let slip that it was in Strahov. She didn’t know how much the rent was because her boyfriend paid it directly to the owner every six months.’
‘Good work —’
‘So I rang a letting agent in Prague and pretended I wanted a flat in Strahov like she had, and he asked me how much I wanted to pay, so I asked what the going rate was and he reckoned I’d be lucky to get anything below eleven thousand a month.’
‘You’ve been a busy young officer, Peiperová.’
‘But the really interesting one was Julia, sir.’
‘Julia?’
‘Julia went to school with Irina, but she works in Prague, sir. She went with Irina when she got the job as a dancer, but Julia still does it. She didn’t know who the boyfriend was, but she was worried that Irina might have hooked up with a gangster. She says you get some rough types in those clubs, sir.’
‘You don’t say, Officer.’
‘So when she saw Irina out shopping, she tried to catch up with her for a chat. She was wearing heels so she couldn’t run, and she saw Irina go into a small restaurant, and that was when she found out who her lover was, sir. Not a gangster at all — quite the opposite, in fact. It was —’
‘I know who it was, Peiperová. Have you told anyone?’
‘No, sir. Just you.’
‘Good. Keep it that way. You’ve done well, Peiperová. Are you there for a while?’
‘Shift finishes at six, sir.’
‘Well, Officer Navrátil and I are going to come to see you and get all this on paper.’
