Requiem for a Gypsy

by Michael Genelin

  Jana gave her enough personal details to fill out her copy, then tried to shoo the woman away. The reporter gave her an annoyed look, but soon realized she was going to get nothing further and moved away toward a more receptive face in the crowd.

  Jana didn’t see the speakers’ list until she and Trokan found their seats in the “family row” and the usher for the event handed her a small flyer that listed them. Underneath each listed speaker was a single line explaining what the speaker’s position was in either the party or the government. The second speaker’s name immediately caught Jana’s eye. It was Georg Repka, the man who had betrayed his fellow students and whom Jana had had a confrontation with during his vitriolic speech against the Roms. Jana could not control the deep anger she felt at seeing him listed on the agenda.

  Trokan heard the growl that came from her.

  “A problem, Jana?”

  “Repka, one of the speakers. He’s a horror; a bad human being who shouldn’t be here.”

  Jana got to her feet, looking around the room for Repka. Trokan got up with her, leaning in to her so he could talk without anyone else hearing. “Jana, are you saying this man was an enemy of your mother? That he did something to her that affected her badly? What was it?”

  “He deceived his friends. His ideas about the world are repulsive. He’s a betrayer. I want him off the speakers’ list and out of here.”

  “Was he a friend of your mother’s?”

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  “Of course it does. She selected her friends; you didn’t. This isn’t the time to create a stir. Let it rest for the moment.”

  “I loathe the man.”

  “Your mother didn’t! Unsettling the people who have come to share their loss with each other is not the way to go.”

  A woman who lived down the street from Jana and her mother came over, her husband lagging slightly behind her.

  “I’m so sorry about your mother’s death, Jana,” she whispered. Her husband said something in support of his wife’s sentiments which Jana couldn’t pick up, but for which she thanked them both. Several other neighbors offered their brief condolences. All the while, Jana was looking for Repka.

  Jana saw the man who had made up the speakers’ list and walked over to him. Trokan followed her.

  “This isn’t the thing to do, Jana,” he appealed. “These people want comfort. This isn’t a battlefield. It’s a place for solace and remembrance. Let it go.”

  When they got to the man responsible for the speakers, Jana’s voice was harsh. “Why wasn’t I consulted about the speakers today?” she demanded.

  He looked at her, taken aback by her aggressive posture and tone of voice. “I was told you were too busy with police work.”

  “What impelled you to put Georg Repka on the speakers’ list?”

  “He was a friend of hers, and they were party members together.” The man looked to Trokan for support, since he seemed calm and appeared to have more rank than Jana did. “He came to me about this event and volunteered to give a little talk about your mother, so it seemed right.”

  “It was right, sir,” Trokan interjected. “Thank you for the effort you’ve made in putting this event on.”

  “My thanks as well,” Jana managed to get out, her rush to anger abating slightly. The colonel steered her back to their seats.

  “This Repka will be coming in any time, Jana. What are you going to do when you see him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You had better decide before he comes in. This is no time, and no place, for sudden explosions and tumult.”

  “I want the man out of here, Colonel.”

  “What you want, at this moment, is to assuage your own feelings of anger at this Repka. What you have to ask yourself is how your mother would respond if she saw the man here. What would she think? What would she want you to do?”

  Jana thought about Trokan’s queries. They forced her to call into question what she thought about her mother.

  “She had the same ‘public concerns’ he had,” she finally allowed. “In ways, they sat in the same nest.”

  “You’re saying, in a roundabout way, that she’d want him here?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You haven’t yet said what you’ll do when you see Georg Repka.”

  “I’m thinking.”

  “Not much time to do that.”

  Jana heard a slight alteration in the hum of conversation at the rear of the room. Georg Repka had come in.

  Trokan observed the change in Jana. “He’s here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Caution, Jana. He’ll be presenting you with his condolences any moment now. Remember, when he does, that we’re civilized people.”

  Jana forced herself to face forward, holding in what she was feeling. Within seconds, Repka was standing next to her.

  “My sympathies on your loss, Madam Matinova.”

  He continued talking, Jana keeping her head down, hiding her own emotions, managing to blot out most of his words of commiseration. What he was saying was all false. This was not a man who could empathize. She forced herself to concentrate on pretending he was a cipher, a blank, a negative space and, hence, nothing to respond to.

  Repka went on and on; the longer he stayed, the more difficult it became to block him out completely. Jana’s gorge began to rise. It was an internal war, Jana fighting to keep the anger inside herself. Finally, after an infinity of time had passed, he stopped and she somehow got out a “Thank you.” Repka moved on and found a seat down the row.

  Trokan patted her on the hand to show that he felt for her, aware of what she had gone through to control her anger and disgust with the man. “Congratulations.”

  She nodded.

  “One more ordeal to go: he still has to give his eulogy. Remember that, while he’s talking, you have to tolerate it.”

  Jana nodded again, remembering what she had done when she had heard him give his peroration on the gypsies. It would be just as difficult for her to listen today, perhaps even more so.

  The ceremony began, the first speaker, not used to public speaking, providing a stuttering summary of her mother’s life, including a mention of Jana and the brilliant police career her mother had been so proud of. After five minutes he trailed off, and Repka was summoned to the dais.

  His presentation was engaging. The man was a consummate professional at what he was doing, a manipulator, his speech hitting all the right notes: her mother’s belief in the family, her activity in the party, her encouragement of her daughter to join a profession that did not easily accept women but in which Jana, with her mother’s aid and support, had became a champion of the public welfare.

  And Jana’s mother, he said, had never forgotten what being a Slovak meant, what defending the native traditions meant, what fighting foreign elements meant, what sacrifices were needed to save the Slavic bloodlines and keep them pure. Minorities and their views would not be tolerated. Yes, racial purity above all, expunging foreign influence and its corrupting practices by force if necessary. It was what she had preached and practiced.

  By the time Repka was through, he had made Jana’s mother a heroine, the quintessence of all the ideal qualities of femininity, motherhood, state virtue. The words had also damned her and himself as extremists and bigoted, narrow-minded racists.

  Unfortunately, when he finished there was a murmur of approval from the assembled mourners, though it was quickly stifled for reasons of decorum.

  Jana looked up at him. His eyes roved the audience as he took in their approbation, enjoying the brief moment of having them in his control. Then, for an instant, he glanced at Jana. There was a look of triumph in his eyes. He hadn’t forgotten Jana and her challenge to him when he’d given the speech disparaging the Roms. He had remembered that he had a score to settle with her. In extolling her mother in this way, Georg Repka felt he had won the battle with Jana. The audience of mourners was there for him, for his greater glory, and not
for Jana’s mother.

  Repka left the dais and slipped away from the proceedings.

  The colonel leaned over to Jana. “I agree.”

  “With what?”

  “There is ugliness about the man.”

  “You have a good nose, Colonel.”

  After the final speaker, everyone began to leave. The reporter came up to Jana gushing about the wonderful eulogy Repka had given, telling her she would be sure to include it in the article she was writing. Jana got away from her as quickly as possible.

  Life goes on. Jana accepted the well-wishes of the people who had remained; then both she and Trokan left, driving to work.

  Repka would surface again, Jana told herself. All creatures like that did. And then maybe the earth would open under him and he would receive what he had coming. Jana believed that was how things should happen.

  That thought was her only consolation.

  Chapter 28

  Jana woke up the next morning before the sun rose over Berlin, wondering for a moment where she was, then remembering. Hotel rooms are generic. It always took her a moment after she woke up in a hotel room to realize that she was not lost.

  She went through her morning ablutions and was preparing to go down to the room where the hotel was serving breakfast when Seges called.

  “My wife has had a small breakdown. She had to be sedated.”

  “What happened?”

  “She took the loss of Em very badly.”

  It sounded as if Seges was referring to someone who had died. A jolt of fear went through Jana. “What’s happened to Em?” was all she could get out.

  “The man came and took her, and my wife had become so attached to Em that she began to weep and wouldn’t stop. It went on for hours, until I called the doctor and he gave her some medication. Except, this morning she’s at it again, and I’ve called for the doctor again. So, I’m still at home now, and it’s very hard here.”

  “Seges, what man came and took Em?”

  “He said he was from social services.”

  “What social services?”

  “Slovak social services.”

  “How did he know that Em was there and that he was to take her with him?”

  “He just said he was told to take her. That was it.”

  Jana felt her alarm growing. “I didn’t tell social services about Em. There was no order for them to take her. Did he show you his credentials?”

  “No. But, the girl recognized him. As soon as she saw him, she began gathering her clothes together. My wife had bought them for her,” he explained. “The girl liked the clothing. She liked my wife; my wife liked her. I even started to like her. It was hard when she left.”

  “Seges!” Jana shouted to stop him. “Did Em tell you the man was from social services?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What, exactly, did she say to the man? Seges, I want every word that you heard her say to the man and every word that he said to her. Do you understand? Every single word.”

  “Not much was said.”

  “Seges, tell me!”

  “He came to the door. My wife answered. He told both of us he was from social services. That he’d been sent to take charge of Em. Em was in her bedroom. When she heard the man speaking, she came out. He nodded at her; she nodded back. Then she went back into the bedroom, packed, came out, hugged and kissed my wife, thanked her for her kindness, and the two of them walked out.”

  “He never said a word to Em; she never said a word to him?”

  “Not a word.”

  “Did she appear frightened, anxious?”

  “I didn’t notice any fear. She was like herself. I thought you had sent social services to collect her.”

  “You had my number to call, Seges. Why didn’t you call me?”

  “It didn’t seem necessary.”

  “Did you watch them when they left the house?”

  “That was when my wife broke down. When she and Em went out yesterday, she had a street artist draw a picture of the two of them together. She began kissing the picture. Then she became hysterical. Crying, weeping as if her life was gone. I had to comfort my wife, you understand. It was bad. I had to care for her.”

  “Since she was taken from your home, have you talked to anyone from social services about who it was they sent after Em?”

  There was a long pause on the line. Jana couldn’t even hear the sound of breathing from Seges. Faulting the man now was useless. All Jana could hope for was information, and at the moment she was getting precious little of that.

  “I haven’t talked to anyone,” Seges finally said. He paused again. “He seemed nice enough,” was the excuse that eventually emerged.

  “Seges, he was not nice enough. He may have not been nice at all!”

  Jana considered the situation. Em might be in grave danger. They had to find her. The girl’s life might depend upon it.

  “The drawing of your wife and Em. Get that picture out everywhere. I want a general alert. Find her, Seges. Your career depends upon it. Do you understand the order I’ve given you?”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  Jana pushed her anger at his incompetence away, making a last demand of her warrant officer. “Describe the man, Seges.”

  “Taller than me. Not very distinguished.”

  “Seges, you’re a police officer. Eyes, hair, complexion?”

  “He was, you know, just plain. With dark hair.”

  “His eyes, Seges. The color?”

  “Sort of … muddy.”

  Muddy eyes. She had heard that before, from Em.

  “Go forward with my instructions, Seges.” Jana terminated the call.

  She sat on the edge of the bed, trying to decide if there was any other course of action open to her. Seges had given her very few facts about the event. The only things Jana could be sure of were that the man had specifically come for Em and that Em and he had recognized each other. The girl had proved herself very resourceful. She knew Seges was a police officer. If she’d been afraid of the man, she would have shown it and asked for his help. She hadn’t done that, so that was some small consolation.

  Jana held herself responsible: she’d placed Em with Seges for safekeeping, and it had turned into a disaster. But there was nothing she could do about it from Berlin.

  She didn’t even know what the man looked like.

  One thing nagged at her.

  The eyes.

  Em had told Jana that the fifth man who’d been at the meeting with the Turk and Sipo and the others had muddy eyes.

  He had used Em as a courier before. Maybe that’s what he wanted now.

  Jana hoped that was all it was.

  Please.

  Chapter 29

  Jana called Konrad and arranged for him to meet her in the hotel breakfast area on the second floor. As usual with breakfasts in European hotels, there were a few tables set up along one wall with the typical assortment of juices, dry cereals, a hot porridge pot, hard-boiled eggs, cold cuts, cheese, fresh fruit, breads, pastries, and what Jana was looking for: hot coffee. She poured herself a mug, and, as an afterthought, helped herself to a large piece of strudel. She sat at a corner table looking over her notes as she sipped coffee and ate an occasional bite of the pastry.

  She had some of her rough notes from talks with her men. According to them, neighbors of the Turk’s electronics store said he’d made occasional trips to Berlin. Balder, with his stolen-car enterprise involving BMWs and Mercedes, almost assuredly made similar trips. The third man in that equation was Akso, Balder’s accomplice. That meant Akso probably had a nexus in Berlin as well. She took a deep, frustrated breath. There was not much there. Jana put the rough notes down and reflected on her own questions, trying to fill in the gaps.

  Then there was the matter of the fifth man. He was the one Em worked with, the unidentified man at the meeting with Sipo prior to Klara Boganova and the Turk being murdered. Jana would have to keep him in the back of her mind while
she was nosing around about the other four. He used Em as a courier. That meant slipping illegal items through whatever screens the police and other law enforcement agencies set up to intercept contraband. What was his connection with the other men? Worse, she had nothing to identify the man with except for a very vague description that was, for her purposes, practically worthless.

  Jana finished her first cup of coffee and had just poured herself a second at the serving tables when Konrad came in. Trailing behind him was a toothpick of a man with dyed blond hair that contrasted with his very tawny skin. The combination of color might have been attractive, except for the red blotches of pimples, picked-over scabs, and pockmarks on his face. Jana’s quick analysis was that the toothpick man had all the marks of a drug addict whose body chemistry had been out of balance for too long.

  Jana directed the two to her table with a wave of her hand, decided against another piece of strudel, and walked to her seat, sitting across from both men.

  “Good morning, Albrecht.” She nodded at the food tables. “For a small charge you, too, can have the privilege of a healthy breakfast.” Konrad shrugged the offer off. The toothpick sitting next to him continued to look at every other place in the room except at Jana.

  “This is Zeki Erkin.” Konrad flicked a thumb at the man. “He’s a sometime colleague.” This was Konrad’s way of letting Jana know that this was the informant he’d told her about.

  Jana ignored the fact that he was a drug addict and probably couldn’t care less about the civilities of life. “Good morning, Mr. Erkin.”

  Jana always treated informants with courtesy when she first met them; and then later, when they became greedy or treacherous, which happened often, not so courteously. It was an art that all police officers had to learn. The informants were always criminals themselves. They had to be cultivated and catered to or praised and flattered—and bullied, when that time came.