Innocence; or, Murder on Steep Street

by Heda Margolius Kovály

  This time Koloušek’s pause was so suggestive, the lieutenant had to respond.

  “That’s critical information,” he said. “Good work, Comrade.”

  Koloušek beamed. His complexion, the color of a baby’s bottom with a mild rash, turned even pinker. Finally he’d received the recognition he was looking for.

  “I got one other important item to report: Comrade Nedomová.” He announced it as if he were unveiling a monument. “Comrade Nedomová went to dinner that night at the Wallenstein Palace with one Bořivoj Šíma, an accountant at Drutěva, the manufacturing cooperative. They arrived at seven and left just before eight. According to Šíma, they went for a stroll around Malá Strana afterwards, and sometime around ten he drove her home in his Fiat, which was parked on Malá Strana Square. In other words, if push came to shove, they could easily’ve made it over to Steep Street—’cept, of course, nobody saw ’em. In my opinion, if you don’t mind, Comrade Lieutenant, Nedomová is our number-one suspect.”

  Vendyš recalled how cleverly Mrs. Nedomová had directed his attention to the Horizon, and his impression of her as better suited to the role of brave, dignified widow than mistress divorcée. Who knew how much bitterness had built up inside her over the years? It was just a pity that Koloušek shared his opinion. Everything in Vendyš rebelled at the thought that he might agree with that slug on anything. He turned, strode back to his desk, and retook his seat.

  “When you searched the cinema, did you find anything, any tiny thing at all, that seemed unusual?” Vendyš asked.

  Koloušek flipped through his notebook. “You know, Comrade Lieutenant, you find all kindsa crap after a screening: handkerchiefs, combs, unmatched gloves . . .”

  “Anything unusual,” Vendyš said through clenched teeth.

  “Well, prob’ly the only thing was some scissors stuck behind the mirror in the ladies’ room. No prints on ’em, nobody knew where they came from, and there’s no way to know how long they were in there, could’ve been even a month. Cleaning lady didn’t know anything. You know the type, old granny . . .”

  “That’ll do,” Vendyš said.

  Koloušek shut his notebook, wrapped a rubber band around it, and sat up straight so he could tuck it into his pants pocket. “That’s all I have for now, Comrade Lieutenant,” he said.

  With a supreme effort, Vendyš forced himself to look into the light brown raisins. “Thank you, Comrade. Continue with your investigation.”

  Monday at 3:15 p.m., the manager of the Horizon walked out of her office holding a glossy French fashion magazine. “Marie? Go ahead, you’re first,” she said, and went to sit in the smoking lounge.

  Marie knocked politely and opened the door. Lieutenant Vendyš, wearing a hardened expression, sat behind the desk crowded with elegant trinkets. A man with short-cropped blond hair and a look of listlessness on his alcoholic face sat hunched over a notepad in a low armchair by the coffee table in the corner. Marie took two steps in and stopped. She didn’t have on her shapeless usher’s uniform today, the black broadcloth smock with Horizon Cinema stitched in red thread on the pocket. Instead she was garbed in a clingy knit dress with a plunging neckline and her sheerest nylons. Her bangs were combed down over her forehead and her lashes were so black and curly, her circular, dark brown eyes looked like little round centipedes.

  Marie walked up to the desk and smiled. The centipedes wriggled their legs.

  “Have a seat, Comrade,” Vendyš said, motioning to the chair on the other side of the desk.

  Marie lowered herself into it, gyrating to maximum effect, crossed her legs, and put on a face that showed she was eager to please.

  “Ahem,” Vendyš said, tapping his pencil on the desk. “Comrade Vránová, could you tell us about your relationship with Captain Nedoma? I warn you, we have our own information, so there’s no point trying to deny anything.”

  “But, Captain, sir . . .”

  “Comrade Lieutenant. Lieutenant Vendyš.”

  “Why, I wouldn’t dream of it. Anyway, what’s there to deny? Me and Václav, the comrade captain, that is, we had a, well, what do you call it . . . we were goin’ steady, you know? But I haven’t even laid eyes on him now in over two months, cross my heart, Comrade Captain . . .”

  “Lieutenant,” growled Vendyš.

  “. . . and if anybody told you different, they were lying. I’ll swear to you right here on the spot, if you want.”

  “Can you tell me why you broke up?” Vendyš said hastily.

  “Oh, you know how it is. His wife found out and you know I’m not the type to break up a marriage, ’specially when there’s kids involved. So we each went our own way, no hard feelings. Happens every day, right? Wouldn’t you say, Comrade Captain?”

  “Lieutenant. Describe for me then what you did last Friday night. Between seven and nine, say.”

  Wriggling her centipedes, Marie rested her chin in her palm and her elbow on her knee, edging up her skirt in the process. She thought a moment. “I guess till about eight, maybe a few minutes after, I was here at the Horizon, showin’ people to their seats. Then when the show started, I decided to go to the Little Bears for some dinner.”

  “Do you go there often?” Vendyš asked.

  “Why, surely you jest, Comrade Captain.” Marie smiled. “Only if someone invites me . . .” She fixed Vendyš with her centipedes and paused meaningfully. Vendyš fumed, banging his pencil down against the desktop. Marie, startled, went on: “Ordinarily I bring something from home, some bread and salami, what have you. Either that or I pop upstairs to the snack bar. Líba brews coffee for us here at the concession stand. But on Friday morning I was tidying up my flat and all of a sudden I looked and saw it was time for me to skedaddle to work, so I didn’t even eat lunch. Then by nighttime I was so hungry I thought I was gonna faint, so I figured I’d just break the bank and treat myself to a proper din-din. For a change.”

  “How do you have your evening breaks set up among the employees? I assume you don’t all go out at once?”

  “Of course not, Comrade Cap—”

  “Lieutenant.”

  “Well, like I said before, most of the time we don’t even go out, but when we do, we have to take turns, right? I mean, we can’t all disappear at once. And I knew Líba—that is, Comrade Pařízková—had a date with Petr Krátký—that is, her fiancé—so I wanted to get back as fast as I could. So I ran off to the pub, had my dinner, and came straight back. And on the way I ran into Petr, who was on his way to meet Líba, and he walked me back here,” Marie said. She turned to the blond party boy at the coffee table. “Did you get all that down, sir? I mean, Comrade . . . ?”

  “Dolejš. Comrade Dolejš,” Vendyš said mechanically.

  Marie folded her hands in her lap, took a deep breath and, gathering up her courage, looked squarely into Vendyš’s coal-black eyes. The main thing now was utter calm. Here it comes.

  “Comrade Vránová,” Vendyš said, his eyes piercing the center of her brown beetles like pins. He drummed his pencil on the desktop like a march for a condemned man making his way to the gallows. “Comrade Nedoma’s car was already parked on Steep Street when you passed through. You must have noticed it.”

  “Matter of fact, I didn’t. Look, Captain, sir—I mean, Comrade Lieutenant,” she quickly corrected herself, reacting to the flash of annoyance in Vendyš’s eyes. “How many cars do you think you’d notice running down a street at night, especially one with lighting as lousy as that one? I mean, how many complaints’ve there been about it already? Just last month there was a pensioner with a wooden leg who—”

  “Hold up, Comrade Vránová, now wait a minute. Don’t tell me you don’t recognize the comrade captain’s car.”

  “I recognize it all right, but it’s not like I’m an expert on cars. There must be a million old clunkers crawlin’ around Prague. Maybe if it was some big schmancy mobile
I might’ve noticed. Besides, Václav—I mean, Captain Nedoma—only took me for a ride in it two or three times. We didn’t go too far, usually, just from here to my flat and—”

  “Comrade Vránová,” Vendyš said firmly. “We’ll find out the truth eventually, no matter what, so you might as well tell us now and save yourself the trouble.”

  Marie tilted her head to the side and gave him a fetching look while dropping a shoulder to show off her cleavage to best advantage.

  Vendyš suppressed a satisfied smile. That’s how he liked it. His method was working, as usual. The girl had tried every floozy trick in the book and finally it was dawning on her it wasn’t going to work. She was scared out of her wits and losing her nerve. She didn’t know which way to turn. She was ripe to come clean.

  “Listen,” the lieutenant said warmly, switching tack. “I’m on your side. If you start lying now, you’ll only make things worse for yourself. We appreciate it when people confess. It could really help you, and I myself—”

  “But, Comrade Captain,” Marie exclaimed, jumping out of her chair. “Don’t tell me you suspect me of killing him? Why would I wanna do that? There was nothing messy about our breakup. We parted ways and said good-bye like decent people. If you know everything, I’m sure you also know I haven’t laid eyes on him in over two months. Look,” Marie said, suddenly changing tone. She sat back down, leaned forward, and rested her chin on the edge of the desk, so her permed and perfumed head was right under Vendyš’s nose. “Look, Comrade Lieutenant,” she said solemnly. “If I had to stab every guy I ever slept with . . .”

  “All right, fine, fine!” Vendyš said, rocking back in his chair away from her.

  Marie fixed him with a meaningful look to signal her statement was over as far as she was concerned, then leaned back from the desk, sat up straight, pulled her skirt down over her knees, and put on a prim face that said, I hope we understand each other now.

  There was a minute or two of silence. Vendyš stared absently at the green leather writing pad in front of him. Then he reached into his pocket and took out a small pair of pointy scissors.

  “Do you know who these belong to? Have you ever seen them before?”

  Marie looked surprised. She took them from the lieutenant’s hand and examined them.

  “I must’ve seen at least a thousand pairs of scissors like this. I got some just like these at home. For my nails and stuff. But I don’t have a clue who these belong to. Cross my heart.” She turned to the stenographer. “I swear I don’t know a thing about those scissors or who they belong to,” she stated slowly and emphatically. “Did you get that down?”

  She laid the scissors on the desk. “What’ve they got to do with it anyway?” she asked. “I thought he got stuck with a knife?”

  Lieutenant Vendyš tapped his pencil on the desk again. “Thank you, Comrade Vránová. That will be all for now. You can go.”

  Marie stood and made her way out with a slow, undulating step. The stenographer raised his rheumy red eyes from his notepad, following her with a vacant look till she exited the office, then just stared at the door.

  “Dolejš,” Lieutenant Vendyš said in disgust. “Call Nováková in here for me.”

  Vendyš studied Nedoma’s files and notes over the weekend. He knew Nedoma had been trying tirelessly, without any luck, to prove Helena Nováková was engaged in some as yet unidentified type of espionage, or at the very least that she’d had contact with individuals who were involved in such activities. Nedoma’s reports, at any rate the ones he had access to, were superficial and incomplete—evidence more of the captain’s sloppiness and narrow thinking than of any criminal acts or complicity on Nováková’s part. Vendyš also attempted to obtain some new information about the cause of Karel Novák’s suicide, but none of the officials he approached could offer any insight into the mystery.

  In any event, Nováková may have had serious reason to get rid of Nedoma, and Vendyš, who was neither stupid nor sloppy, systematically set to work. If Novák’s wife had anything on her conscience, he would uncover it.

  Based on his investigation so far, the lieutenant, as was his custom, had developed a fairly well-defined notion of the woman who had attracted so much attention from State Security, so when she walked into the room, he was stunned.

  Garbed in her black work smock, Helena appeared almost shockingly thin and pale; her face, with deep circles of insomnia under her eyes, looked tiny and helpless as a child’s. As she stepped up to the desk, Vendyš observed the gently chiseled lines at the corners of her mouth and around her eyes, like some secret code. He’d never seen so much silent pain and resignation in a person’s face.

  “Hello,” he said politely. “Please, have a seat.” Helena sat down in the chair on the other side of the desk. Dolejš staggered back to the corner, flopped into the armchair, took out his pad and pencil, and stretched out his legs.

  Helena sat motionless. Like a statue, Lieutenant Vendyš thought. Carved of alabaster. She could probably sit like that forever.

  The lieutenant intentionally took his time. He leaned back, fixing his eyes on the white face with the downcast eyes. Minutes slipped by. The note-taker began to doze off, sliding even further down in his chair. Helena didn’t stir. Vendyš rapped the desk with his pencil and Dolejš woke with a snort, but Helena didn’t even lift her head. Vendyš sighed to himself. “Comrade Nováková, you knew Comrade Captain Nedoma, did you not?”

  “I saw him here at the cinema,” Helena said. “He was investigating the murder of Josef Vrba.”

  “Did you ever meet him again after that?”

  “No. Never.”

  “Or even see him?”

  Helena hesitated.

  Lieutenant Vendyš said mildly, “I’ve just had a talk with Comrade Vránová. She told us about her relationship with Captain Nedoma. So please, speak as freely as you wish.”

  Helena replied as calmly as she had the first time. “I saw him just two or three times on the street here, in front of the cinema. Waiting for her, I guess. Apart from that, I never met him.”

  “Where were you Friday night between seven thirty and eight thirty?”

  “Here at the Horizon. Then at about ten after eight—I’m not sure exactly—I went out. I had a headache all afternoon. I went to buy some aspirin at the pharmacy on the corner.”

  “Were all the other ushers here when you left?”

  Helena thought a moment. “I’m not positive, but I think Marie Vránová left a while before me.”

  “And you came straight back here from the pharmacy?”

  “No. I walked down the street for about fifteen minutes. I already told all this to the officer who—”

  “I realize that,” Vendyš said. “I just needed to confirm it. This is just a preliminary investigation. We’re going to have to ask you about everything a few more times. There’s always a chance you might remember something that can help us. When you were walking down the street, did you meet anybody you know?”

  “No, not that I recall.”

  “What were you wearing?”

  Helena squinted in concentration. “I think . . . the same thing as today. Yes, a blue-and-white striped skirt and a dark blue woolen sweater.”

  “Maybe we can find someone who noticed you to confirm your statement. If anything at all comes to mind—we have to verify everything, I’m sure you understand. Please just let me know. Your boss has my phone number.”

  Vendyš studied her again for a moment. Then said impulsively, “Tell me, Comrade Nováková. What do you think about the murder?”

  The expression on Helena’s face didn’t change. She probably didn’t realize what an unorthodox question it was. It took her some time to respond. The note-taker, who apparently had taught himself not to waste a single moment on the job, had nodded off again.

  “Such a brutal murder,” Helena s
aid at last, “could only have been done by someone genuinely insane, truly deranged. Someone who hated or feared him so much that nothing mattered to them anymore. Not their own life or anyone else’s. Captain Nedoma must have hurt somebody badly. Either that or he was about to.”

  Lieutenant Vendyš sat staring at her, thinking. He had a funny feeling the answer was close at hand. All it would take was two or three questions. But for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what they were.

  He reached into his pocket and held out his hand. “I don’t suppose you know who these scissors belong to?”

  For the first time Helena turned to face him. She took a cursory glance at the scissors. “They could be mine.”

  Vendyš leaned forward. “Could you say for sure?”

  “I carry some just like them in my handbag. If they aren’t there, I must have lost them. In which case they could be mine.”

  “Where is your handbag now? In the cloakroom?”

  Helena nodded.

  “Dolejš,” said the lieutenant. “Go ask Comrade Vránová if she could bring in that handbag.”

  Dolejš shuffled to the door and pushed it open into the hallway. A few minutes later he returned with a dark blue handbag, which he placed on the desk in front of Helena, then headed back to his chair. He collapsed into it exhausted, but with a sense of satisfaction. It’s hard work being a spook, he thought. Major responsibility.

  Helena dug through her bag and pulled out a pair of scissors identical to the ones Vendyš held in his hand. She set them down on the desk.

  “There, you see,” she said. “They’re exactly the same.”

  “All right. You can put them away,” Vendyš said disappointedly. “And you can go now. Thank you.”

  As the door closed behind Helena, Vendyš leaned back and yawned widely. Some case this was. Damn thing wasn’t going anywhere.