Em took a small bite of her pastry, then sipped at the hot chocolate.
Jana watched Em silently mull over what she should say. “You’re trying to think up an answer which you hope will fool me rather than tell me the truth. It won’t work.”
“I’m entitled to eat my food, aren’t I?” Em’s voice had a querulous note to it. “That’s all I’m doing.”
“You’re just stalling.”
“Okay, so I’m stalling.”
“Why were you at the meeting?”
“I was asked to come.”
“And the reason?”
“To run an errand. I run errands for people. They pay me to bring a thing from here to there.” She drew a line on the counter with her finger, then touched one end, then the other. “Maybe they can’t go here or there, so they use me.”
“You carry things for them?”
“I don’t talk about what I do. Ever. I’m not going to now. That’s why people use me.”
“They use you because you’re a pretty girl and won’t be suspected by the police. You’re a courier for illegal items.”
“Business, is all it is.”
“You’re going to be caught,” Jana warned.
“That’s why I’m trying a new trade: earrings. Except they don’t like to pay me, even when the earrings sell.” She bit off another piece of the pastry, this one larger, washing it down with more of the hot chocolate. “How come the old man who runs this place knows what to give people to eat?”
“You just toddle in here and he decides what you eat. It’s like a trademark for the place.”
“I’d like to be able to do that. Tell people what to do.”
“Unfortunately, it’s too often the other person who does the choosing and the telling.”
“That’s true.”
“Em, why were you at the meeting?”
“To pick up a thing and deliver it.”
“What thing?”
“I don’t know.”
“From whom?”
“Another man.”
“Who is the other man?”
“I don’t know. Just a customer. He calls me from time to time. He called; I came. That was it.”
“What did he tell you?”
“I went to the location. They were already there. I waited. Then, when he finished his other business with the men, the ones you already know about, he just said he didn’t need me after all. So I left.”
“You heard them talking together?”
“Just bits and pieces. I’ve told you about Sipo and the Turk and the others.”
“Describe the other man.”
“Tall, I guess. He’s not fat. Dark hair. And scary.”
“Scary?”
“Yeah.”
“Why scary?”
“He just is.”
Jana thought about the description. Very general; nothing specific that could be used to identify the man.
“What color eyes does he have?”
“Kind of muddy. I never look too close. I don’t think he’d like that.”
“Em, you said your father was a criminal. Is this man your father? Is his name Makine? Or perhaps he uses the name Koba?”
“He’s not my father.”
“You’re sure he’s not your father?”
“He’s not any kind of a father. He’s a customer. And I never heard of the guys you named.”
She stuffed the last of the pastry in her mouth.
“Good pastry. I like this place.”
She pointed to the money on the counter. “Can I take my money now?”
If the girl had other useful information, she was doing a good job of concealing it. Jana nodded and watched as Em scooped up her money.
Time would tell if what Em had said was true, and what Jana would do about it if it was not. “Do you still want to stay at my place until your father comes?”
Em gave her a triumphant smile. “I knew you would come around.”
“It’s only for a brief time,” Jana warned her.
“Of course,” Em confirmed, the sound of victory still lingering in her voice. She focused on Jana’s face. “What happened under your chin?”
“None of your business,” Jana replied. Then she laughed. “I cut myself shaving.”
She paid the old man, and the two of them walked out of the store together, into the driving snow.
Chapter 21
The investigators tried to relax at the table in the crowded office they called a conference room. It was really only slightly bigger than the other offices on the floor. The Communists had built the building when they still had an army lurking around the outskirts of Bratislava to enforce their whims and their police force hadn’t needed to deal with an expanding population. The police force had now increased, but the size of the building hadn’t. They had to make do with the limited space. In a way, the closeness encouraged communication.
Grzner, Jonas, and Seges were in their best sprawl, with only Lubos Papanek, the accountant from Frauds who was looking into the Bogans’ financial dealings, sitting upright. He looked so neat that it appeared as if he’d been sewn into his clothes. All the men were eating nuts, drinking coffee, talking football, and complaining about politics and their wives while they waited for Jana and Colonel Trokan. When Jana arrived, they stopped complaining about their wives, and they stopped talking about politics when the colonel came into the room. Jana went through her mental checklist, beginning the conference by asking Jonas, Grzner, and Seges for the results of their investigation at the studio. Jonas led off.
“They were very cooperative at the studio. We talked to the staff manager. It turned out she knew very little about her job.”
“She was a friend of Mrs. Bogan,” Grzner threw in.
“Just an acquaintance,” Seges chimed in.
Jonas continued, ignoring the interruptions. “We went right to the switch box where the rifles had been hidden. The electronics had been switched to another board at the larger soundstage. That way, the lights still functioned on the smaller stage. When they disconnected the old board, it was rebuilt with just enough space to hide the rifles behind the old switches.”
“Who authorized the changes?” Jana asked.
“The manager said that Bogan’s wife told them what to do. Members of their own crew did the work.”
“Bogan’s wife? You’re sure it was Klara?” The colonel’s face reflected how shocking the disclosure was. “It couldn’t be. She was the one who was killed.”
“Maybe the lady was committing suicide?” Seges snidely suggested.
Nobody paid any attention to him. They were focused on the issue.
“Could the manager be fabricating this story?” Jana asked.
“We checked with the crew who did the changes,” Jonas replied. “They verified what the manager told us. There was an authorization on the work sheet. ”
“How about the keys to the door at the top of the side stairs?”
“Four sets at the studio, all accounted for. Mrs. Bogan also had a set.”
“Have we looked for that set?”
Jonas nodded. “None in her possession. No keys in the Bratislava house. We have no idea where they are.”
“If they used her keys, it would explain how the shooters got in and out so easily.” The colonel winced. “This is turning into an even crazier piece of business.”
“Not so crazy if Mrs. Bogan participated in the planning, not expecting to be one of the targets,” Jana suggested. “In that event, I would assume the lady was merely trying to kill off her husband.” She laid out what they knew of the events. “Mr. Bogan is warned by Sipo. Sipo says he merely heard about the plan and decided to take advantage of the knowledge by making money from Bogan by alerting him. But I think Sipo lied about that to cover himself. There were five men at the meeting Em told us about: Sipo, the Turk, Balder, Akso … and the unknown fifth man. It’s my belief that Sipo must have been told to warn Bogan by the fifth man at the
meeting. Except Bogan didn’t listen to him, or to us. Why?”
The colonel understood what Jana was getting at. “Because his wife, Klara, wanted Bogan to go forward with the ceremony. She said as much to us, and to him, just before the shooting. She wanted her gentleman in the spotlight.”
“Why would she want to be shot at?” Grzner asked.
“She didn’t,” Jana explained. “The lady thought that only Mr. Bogan was going to be killed.”
“And she would walk away from the shooting as the grieving widow,” the colonel added.
“Except it all went wrong,” Seges suggested.
“Not for whoever added the supplement to the plan,” Jana concluded. “I checked with the fingerprint people. Nothing on the gloves we found in the box. Nothing on the rifles or the shells still in the weapon. So there’s no help for us there.”
“Very practiced.” There was the hint of admiration in Seges’s voice, as if he approved the professional planning and execution that had gone into the murders.
“Not so very practiced,” said Jana reproachfully. “They left too many paths for us to follow.”
“The financial tracking,” suggested the colonel.
“The two surviving thugs who were at the meeting with Sipo,” Jonas added.
“Anything on them from Interpol or Europol yet?” Jana asked.
“Nothing yet,” Jonas said.
“They take their own sweet time. That means we make our own telephone calls and do the footwork. We know one of them, the man we think is named Balder. Balder was involved in the stolen-car business with the other thug, Akso. Call around to get additional information on them. Try the surrounding countries, with the Czech Republic as a start. After that, the Balkans. Russia and Germany as well. Then we’ll see what we have. Ask if they know of a criminal who has a large chestnut birthmark on his face. If the man exists, we should come up with him if he has a record. Along with them, the dead Turk and the informant Sipo.
“There was also the fifth man,” Jana reminded them. “We don’t have a line to follow up on him yet, unless he’s the man with the birthmark. Keep him in mind during your investigations.”
“How about the shooter who tried to get you?” Jonas asked.
“What about him? The Austrians have nothing to go on in the shooting.”
“He may try again.”
“Protection may be in order,” the colonel suggested.
“We’re police officers. We take our chances,” Jana reminded him.
“You’re adamant. No protection?”
“None.” Jana turned to Seges. “Check with the Hungarians who are investigating the Bogan house burglary in their jurisdiction. Perhaps they found Klara’s set of keys. And find out anything else they came up with. And check with our crew on the Bogans’ Bratislava house.”
“I’ve got something,” Grzner suddenly piped up. “Maybe.”
Everyone stared at him. Grzner generally provided bulk and muscle in investigations, not analysis.
“What?” asked Jana.
“There was some word around that there’s evidence on the case that’s being withheld from us.”
They stared at him for a moment, the room becoming very still. Policemen are a very paranoid group, and when an internal threat materializes, they take it as an ominous event.
“What information, Grzner?” the colonel prompted.
“It’s just a rumor,” Grzner warned.
“Tell us the rumor,” Jana urged.
“We’re not being told everything. By our own people. And the prosecutor. The whole other ‘official’ team that’s looking into Klara Boganova’s death.”
The colonel and Jana exchanged glances.
“Who told you, Grzner?” Jana’s voice was very quiet. It was not unreasonable to believe that one team was withholding evidence from the other to make their own investigation appear more successful. “Someone working in the special investigations group?”
“Just a grunt on patrol. I tried to track the rumor down. You know how it is: one person tells another, and pretty soon you find out that it’s just a big circle screw with the same people who started it now getting the information as if it were new and no one able to say where it began. So maybe it’s crap?”
“Okay, maybe it’s crap. Still good to know, just in case.” Jana began to sum up what she had concluded. “Everyone, we have a new focus: Bogan’s wife being involved in the attempted killing of her husband. Also the trashing of both of their houses. What were they looking for? And don’t forget the man with the chestnut birthmark on his face.” She looked over to Papanek. “Anything from the financial side yet?”
“Too soon for me to have anything.”
Jana had expected that answer. “Okay, everyone. We know what to do. Keep at it.” She looked at Trokan. “If I could talk to you for a moment, Colonel.”
The colonel and Jana waited as the men filed out of the room, Jana signaling for Seges to close the door as he went out behind the others.
“What did you pick up that you don’t want the others to know, Jana?”
“Grzner’s rumor.”
“For goodness’ sake, Jana. In every investigation rumors like that are like the tides in the sea. They come in and out, and where they start, no one knows. It just happens. Petty jealousies, malice, a cop having some fun at another one’s expense, a newspaper story that has no foundation in fact. You’ve seen them before. They mean nothing.”
“Colonel, the ‘approved’ investigation has blanks in it that shouldn’t be there. Their investigation is going at a snail’s pace, creeping along. Reading the murder book, I had the impression that it was like some anemic, terminal patient being left on the operating table by a surgeon hoping the person would die sooner than later.”
The colonel ruminated on what she’d said. “I’ll nose around and see what I can pick up.”
“Thank you, Colonel.”
Back in her office, Jana wondered about the rumor. Well, the colonel would nose around. It was all she could ask. Jana checked her telephone messages. One of them was from Interpol, asking if she’d found anything on the case involving the man killed in Paris. There was also a message from the father of the boy who had been killed with the shotgun. He was asking for Jana’s promised answers.
First, Jana called Paris to speak to the French cop, a man named Jobic Masson, who was listed as the investigator on the killing of the old man. Masson turned out to be a cheerful man, and the two of them amiably chatted away in French. When the chitchat died away, Jana informed the investigator that they had identified his victim as Jindrich Bogan. She promised she’d forward the records they’d come up with, but she had a few requests of her own.
Masson was not very eager to go in a direction that he first thought was tangential to his own case; but as he listened, he began to change his attitude, particularly when Jana informed him that his case might be related to the high-profile murder case she had in Bratislava.
Perhaps, Jana suggested, the hit-and-run in Paris was not just an isolated accident. Perhaps the driver of the truck that killed their French Bogan was connected to the actual and attempted Bogan killings in Slovakia.
The hypothesis intrigued Masson. There might be an outside chance, he allowed, after Jana itemized the evidence. Had he done any search of the area in Paris where the old man had been killed? Jana asked. She reminded him that his own reports on the killing indicated that their Bogan had had groceries in his arms when he’d been killed. This suggested that he lived somewhere near where he had died. Since he hadn’t come home, wherever home was, perhaps someone—a neighbor, or a landlord, or a woman he lived or went out with—had reported that a man fitting his description was missing.
Yes, that reasoning was sound, the French cop agreed. He’d look into it and get back to her. In the meantime, Jana promised to share whatever else she found that could have any bearing on the French case. When she hung up, Jana thanked the lucky alignment of the stars. It was a
good one. Getting a cooperative officer in a foreign jurisdiction to agree to work with them was always a problem. Not that day.
Jana had the records on Jindrich Bogan sent to Paris, then called the forensics unit to find out what the drug tests on the young man who’d been shot to death had determined. The results were startling. There was enough codeine in the young man’s system, particularly when combined with the blood-alcohol content, to have put him in a comatose state. Unless he had been a modern-day Hercules, the lab man told her, he was unconscious at the time of his death. And unconscious before he was killed.
How could a man have accidentally killed himself if he was unconscious? There was no way the young man had done himself in as he was climbing through a fence. Someone else had shot him.
Nothing is ever as it seems. Most good police officers found that out early in the game. Jana could remember the first time she had learned that lesson.
It had been before she became a police officer.
Chapter 22
When she was a teenager, Jana had nightmares of the student beatings she’d seen the police administer, particularly the beating of the student who’d tried to get away from them. Her mother was not sympathetic. If anything, she remained angry at Jana for trying to help the dissidents, talking to her in monosyllables or berating her with cutting remarks in the days after the event. Her mother was afraid of being questioned by the police or reprimanded by the Communist Party for her daughter’s conduct. She carped at Jana’s father about what might happen to the family and to her own position in the party if the police had noticed Jana’s actions.
Things changed later that year when there was a school break. Jana spent as much time out of the house as possible in order to escape her mother’s constant agonizing. Unfortunately, there was only so much time that she could spend with her friend Sofia, so Jana would often take a book and cross Nový Most bridge to the other side of the river to sit on a bench in Sad Janka Král’a park and read. When she became tired of the book, she’d watch the lovers, feeling a small stir of envy, or she’d simply watch the young mothers playing with their children, feeling a different type of desire.
Requiem for a Gypsy Page 12
