by Graham Brack
‘He wouldn’t dare,’ Nejedlý protested.
Slonský could have told him that was a silly thing to say to Salzer, who hit Nejedlý across the knee with the flat of the shovel blade.
‘Sorry, it slipped out of my hand,’ said Salzer.
‘Never mind,’ said Slonský, ‘these things happen. You’d better give the spade to me in case it happens again.’
Nejedlý sat on the bank and rubbed his knee. ‘You could have done me a serious injury,’ he moaned.
‘And if we have to do it again, I’ll make sure we do,’ Slonský told him. ‘Now, are you going to start digging voluntarily, or do we have to ask again?’
Nejedlý accepted the offered tool and began spooning earth away. It took only a few minutes to clear enough soil to reveal a bedsheet.
‘Thank you very much, Mr Nejedlý. That’s a crime scene now so we’ll get the experts to finish the job. Would you like to sit in the car or are you enjoying the fresh air?’
‘I’m not sitting in the car with him,’ Nejedlý pouted, so when Dr Novák and his technicians arrived they were surprised to find him attached to a tree as a result of his wrists being cuffed on the far side of the trunk.
‘That can’t be comfortable,’ Novák observed.
‘You’d think not,’ agreed Slonský, ‘but of the options available to him, that was the one he chose.’
The technicians worked quietly and methodically for a couple of hours, and finally Milena was revealed when the cloth around her was unwrapped. Nejedlý turned his head away, but Salzer and Slonský turned it back for him so he could see better.
‘What do you think?’ Slonský asked Novák. ‘Could this be a pregnant Bosnian woman who cut her wrists?’
‘Well,’ Novák replied, ‘it’s a woman, and she seems to have cuts to her wrists. Whether she’s pregnant or Bosnian remains to be seen. And, of course, someone may have cut her wrists for her.’
‘You think so? Did you hear that, Nejedlý? I suppose a judge might wonder why you would bury a body secretly if she committed suicide. It’s much more likely that those who buried her killed her, don’t you think?’
‘They told me she killed herself,’ Nejedlý protested. ‘I wouldn’t have had anything to do with it if I thought they’d murdered her.’
‘Don’t give me that garbage,’ Slonský snarled. ‘You’d do as you’re told. I can’t see you telling a pair of Bosnian gangsters where they get off. So, tell us who asked you to move the body.’
‘It was Brukić. He’d got a couple of men to wrap the body in a sheet then they stayed behind to tidy up the room. A couple of Bosnians drove the van but Brukić told me to take them somewhere they could leave the body where it wouldn’t be found for a long time. We thought of putting it in a sack and heaving it in the river, but there isn’t anywhere you can go where you might not be seen.’
‘By “It” you mean “Her”, I take it? She’s a human being, not a parcel,’ Slonský interrupted.
‘Yes. Her. Milena.’
‘And it never crossed your mind that if she’d killed herself there was no good reason to deny her a proper burial?’
‘She had no papers. We’d have had a lot of explaining to do.’
‘She did have papers. Brukić took them off her, so Brukić could have given them back. And you’ve got a lot of explaining to do now. Concealing a death is a very serious offence. Unauthorised burial is another one. And, of course, so is murder.’
‘Murder? She wasn’t murdered.’
‘You don’t know that. By your own account they sent for you after she was dead. You can’t know whether or not they killed her.’
‘They told me she cut her own wrists.’
Slonský marched over to the tree, grabbed the handcuffs and gave them a sharp yank, pulling Nejedlý against the trunk of the tree.
‘Shall I let you into a secret? Murderers lie. You can’t believe anything they tell you. If you cut a girl’s wrists with a razor, fibbing that you didn’t do it seems like a relatively small bit of added naughtiness.’
Nejedlý’s head drooped. He had the look of a defeated man, which seemed to Slonský like the perfect time to rub it in a bit.
‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they tried to blame you for the whole thing. After all, you personally accompanied the body to ensure that it was disposed of securely. Why would you do that if you had nothing to do with the murder? Those two will give each other an alibi and you’ll be hung out to dry. Unless you get your side of the story in first, that is.’
Nejedlý slumped against the tree. ‘Take me back somewhere warm and I’ll tell you all I know,’ he said.
‘All he knew’ turned out not to be much more than Slonský already knew, and in some respects it was rather less. Having returned Nejedlý to the cells, Slonský and Navrátil decamped to the canteen to await the arrival of Peiperová, who had been taking supplementary statements from the two girls who remained with them and who were now tucked away in a police barracks while the administration slowly ground towards finding them a police safe house.
Slonský had just collected a coffee when Mucha appeared with a brown envelope.
‘Where have you been all afternoon?’ he grumbled. ‘You tell me this is important then you skive off and I can’t find you.’
‘We were digging up a body,’ Slonský explained. ‘That seemed more important at the time.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Mucha. ‘Take a peek at that.’ He pushed the envelope across the table. It included a couple of sheets of paper which Slonský inspected carefully.
‘Good work, my old and trusted friend,’ he announced. ‘Have I ever told you that you’re my very favourite desk sergeant?’
‘Yes, whenever you wanted something.’
‘Well, it’s true. This is exactly what we needed. Now we just need to visit Nejedlý and if we’re lucky Technician First Class Spehar will lead us to the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.’
He shoved the papers back in the envelope and thrust them in his pocket without offering Navrátil a glimpse.
‘There remains one loose end, though. And for that, I suspect we need to spend an hour in the Human Resources department.’
‘Knowing their efficiency, you’ll need an hour to get them to admit who they are,’ said Mucha.
‘True,’ agreed Slonský. ‘So we’d better fill ourselves with calories to guard against feeling faint while we wait. Navrátil, pass me the plate of pastries, and you’d better have one yourself.’
Nejedlý was slumped on his cot when Slonský breezed in.
‘I thought you were finished with me,’ he said.
‘Almost,’ replied Slonský cheerily. ‘But it occurs to me that you may be able to assist us further with our enquiries. I want a mobile phone number, and I’m hoping you may have it.’
When he announced whose number he was after the look of surprise on Nejedlý’s face told him quite a lot about the complex arrangements of life in the red brick building. Nejedlý said he did not know the number by heart, but it was probably in the diary in his desk. If not, the doorkeeper would have it.
‘It’s not in your diary,’ responded Slonský, ‘because I’ve already liberated that to my own desk. I’ll give the doorkeeper a ring, if you have his number.’
Nejedlý knew that one, and in a few minutes Slonský had the phone number he wanted and was ready to visit Spehar. He knew from past experience that Spehar’s team could find a mobile phone’s whereabouts because Ricka had done that for him before.
‘Ricka is on leave,’ said Spehar, ‘but it isn’t difficult. If the phone is switched on I can find it for you.’
Slonský gave him the number and Spehar typed it into his laptop. A lot of lights flashed and a screen like a radar screen appeared, but despite several sweeps no little blip appeared.
‘It’s switched off,’ said Spehar.
‘Can we try again later?’ Slonský asked.
‘I’ll set it to try every half-
hour overnight, then we’ll see how things look in the morning,’ Spehar answered. ‘Would it help if I found out when and where it was last used?’
‘It might,’ Slonský conceded.
‘There’s a bit of paperwork to fill out first,’ Spehar informed him.
‘This is Prague,’ said Slonský. ‘There always is.’
Valentin was putting himself outside a large brandy when Slonský dropped in for a quick beer or six after work.
‘French brandy? Times must be good.’
‘Times are most definitely not good,’ said the journalist. ‘That exposé you gave me has caused some ructions.’
‘Oh, yes?’
‘Yes! Our man in Belgrade had a couple of phone calls wanting the series of articles stopped, then last night his car was sprayed with gunfire.’
‘Was he all right?’
‘Yes, fortunately they missed.’
‘Valentin, old friend, have another brandy and I’ll explain it to you. There was no “fortunately” about it. If they missed it’s because they meant to miss. It’s not that hard to hit a car driver — after all, you know where he’s sitting in the car. But much more importantly, it tells me where the people we’re looking for have run to. They couldn’t go back to Sarajevo so they had to find somewhere else to hide, and now we know where. I’ll just ring headquarters and they’ll speak nicely to the Serbian police, and with luck they’ll arrest the bad men and your colleague will be able to drive around Belgrade in safety.’
‘I’ll let him know. He’s quite shaken up.’
‘Nonsense. There’s nothing stirs up the blood quite so much as being shot at. It makes you feel glad to be alive. So long as you are, of course. Who wants a boring desk job anyway?’
‘I do. That’s why I can’t understand those nutcases who want to be war correspondents. It’s dangerous, the food is lousy and you don’t get to sleep in a proper bed. Who wants that?’
‘My sentiments exactly.’
‘So you’re after these Bosnians? What have they done?’
‘Something really serious. They’ve annoyed me.’
Peiperová had returned just in time to be given the job of speaking to the Human Resources Department. Slonský had suggested going in person rather than telephoning because, he said, they can’t put a personal caller on hold, though they seemed to be making a pretty good fist of it to her. After waiting at the enquiry desk for ten minutes, the clerk who dealt with her had pointedly looked at the clock which showed thirteen minutes to the end of the working day.
‘Peiperová?’ he said. ‘Are you the one we’ve had all the enquiries about concerning this peculiar Acting Acting Captain rank?’
‘Enquiries?’
‘Yes, a number of people have asked about it.’
‘Well, that’s me. What did you tell them?’
‘Oh, I didn’t tell them anything. I referred it to my line manager for a ruling.’
‘And what did he say?’
‘She.’
‘Very well then. What did she say?’
‘She said that it needed to be approached from first principles. An Acting Captain undoubtedly exists, and has all the delegated authority of an actual bona fide Captain. Thus, she said, it follows that an Acting Captain must have the authority to delegate to an Acting Acting Captain. It’s all highly irregular, of course.’
‘Much of what Lieutenant Slonský does is irregular. But I’m pleased to hear that on this occasion he knew what he was doing. However, that isn’t what I’ve come for.’
‘It isn’t?’ said the clerk, sneaking another peek at the clock.
‘It shouldn’t take long,’ Peiperová declared encouragingly. ‘We just need a copy of a policeman’s service record.’
‘A current policeman?’
‘Yes. These are his details.’
She passed a piece of paper across the desk.
‘This isn’t the approved form,’ said the clerk.
‘I’m happy to fill one in,’ said Peiperová, ‘but I wouldn’t want to keep you after hours while I do it.’
The clerk thought for a moment, then handed her a blank form.
‘I’ll go and dig this out while you put his name here and your signature here. We can fill the rest in later.’ He gave a strange gurgling giggle. ‘Make sure you put your rank as Acting Acting Captain or I’ll have to get it countersigned.’
Slonský was amused by the photocopy of the request form attached to the folder that Peiperová had just given him.
‘Acting Acting Captain?’
‘Yes, sir. He told me there is such a rank, and you knew what you were doing despite the sceptical enquiries.’
‘Well I never. Still, that’s one in the eye for Doležal. I bet he rang them at least twice. Now, let’s see what we have here. Have you read this, Peiperová?’
‘It’s personal to you, sir.’
‘Avoiding a direct answer, I see. Sit yourself down, lass. I’ve got something important to say to you.’
Peiperová did as instructed.
‘Are you happy here, Peiperová?’
‘Very happy, sir.’
‘Good. So am I.’
‘I’m pleased to hear that, sir.’
‘The point is that the Director of Criminal Police wants me to offer you a job as his Personal Assistant. It’s only for a year, but it means you wouldn’t be a detective. On the other hand, it would look good on your record. Anyway, he wanted me to put it to you, and I have. Go away and think about it.’
‘Thank you, sir. When does he want an answer?’
‘I don’t know, but the job starts in mid-summer. Personally I would be sorry to lose you but I mustn’t allow my own thoughts to come in the way of your advancement, or do anything that might influence your decision. If you want to waste a year of your life sat behind a desk making coffee for a bigwig, that’s your choice.’
The thought crossed Peiperová’s mind that she had spent quite lot of the last six months making coffee when she wasn’t being abducted or shouted at. It would undoubtedly look good on her CV, but then she could imagine Navrátil’s reaction. It had been bad enough when she was made Acting Acting Captain, so what he would say about her being Personal Assistant to the Director of Criminal Police she could hardly imagine. But then she had to think about how proud her parents would be, which might get her mother off her back about the dangers of living in Prague, because it was a firm belief of Mrs Peiperová that every woman there was molested regularly. Like many maternal beliefs, it was unsupported by any evidence and unshakeable in the face of facts to the contrary.
‘I said this puts the lid on the enquiry, lass.’
‘Sorry, sir. I was far away. So we know who killed Hrdlička, sir?’
‘Of course. That’s been obvious for a while. And no doubt you’ve worked out why. But I couldn’t see why Grigar was having Navrátil followed, and now I know. All we need is for Spehar to come up with the whereabouts of that mobile phone, and we spring into action.’
Peiperová was nonplussed. The identity of the killer might be clear to Slonský, but it certainly was not to her. And she had no idea of a motive other than the obvious one of avoiding detection, nor could she see how Grigar came into it. But when she asked for further details Slonský just told her to wait and see, wait and see.
Chapter 15
Spehar’s call was brief and to the point.
‘He put the phone on this morning and we’ve got a fix.’
‘So where is he?’
‘Opava.’
‘I know that. But where in Opava? How close can you get?’
‘Probably to within a block. Looking at the street map, I think he’s in a hotel there.’
‘Let me get a pencil and you can give me the address. Then I’ll go for a drive.’
Navrátil had lost the toss of a coin and was sitting in the back seat while Peiperová drove. Spehar was under instructions to watch for any sign of the phone moving and to ring them at once if it
did. Slonský had tipped his hat over his eyes and was having forty winks in the front passenger seat.
‘It’s three hundred and seventy kilometres, sir. I doubt we’ll be there before bedtime.’
‘Then we’ll wake him up, lad. We’re entitled to wake criminals up to get arrested. It says so in the law somewhere.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Besides, arresting people after bedtime is a lot easier. You know where they are. In the good old days we used to arrest people in the early hours. It wasn’t to increase the terror. It just meant they weren’t likely to be out when you called, because there’s nothing more irritating than kicking someone’s door in and finding they’ve gone out for a night at the pub.’
‘Couldn’t you just knock, sir?’ asked Peiperova.
‘You could, I suppose,’ Slonský conceded, ‘but any criminal with half a brain would turn the lights off and pretend to be out, so then you’ve lost the element of surprise. Much better to kick his door down and let yourself in to surprise him. Some of the best arrests involved getting the door patched up and waiting inside for him to come home. You should have seen the look on their faces when they turned the lights on and found a room full of police sitting patiently in the dark. Of course,’ he said pointedly, ‘to be able to arrest people in the early hours, you had to get some kip during the day.’
Given the lack of urgency that Slonský was exhibiting, it came as no surprise to Navrátil and Peiperová when he suggested stopping for something to eat, with the result that it was nearly eleven o’clock when they arrived in Opava. Slonský consulted his notebook and suggested a hotel he wanted to check out.
‘I’m afraid we only have one room free,’ said the receptionist.
‘That’s all right,’ said Slonský, waving his badge perfunctorily. ‘In a few minutes you’ll have two. I just need to inspect your register.’
‘We don’t have a register. We’re computerised.’
‘Well then,’ said Slonský, ‘a list of who is staying here would be good, and I don’t care whether it’s bound, printed, illuminated by monks or tattooed on your arse.’
