Death On Duty

by Graham Brack

  Slonský unfolded the fax. ‘This lot.’

  Václav peered closely at the pictures. He obviously needed spectacles, but presumably could not afford them. ‘No, no, no, yes and no.’

  ‘Which one is yes?’

  ‘That one. Eldin whatever it says.’

  ‘Savović.’

  ‘If that’s what it says.’

  ‘Where have you seen him?’

  Václav sneaked a peak over his shoulder. ‘There’s a red brick building not far from this side of the Charles Bridge. Head up towards the Art School and look across the road and you’ll see the windows in the end wall. He goes in there with a bunch of fellows you’ll know. They don’t stay, but it seems to be his base.’

  ‘Been there long?’

  Václav shrugged. ‘Three months maybe.’

  ‘Any idea what he’s into?’

  ‘Bosnians usually have arms to trade. Small stuff mostly. They rent out big guys if you want scores settled. I don’t think they’re pimping or gambling types.’

  ‘Anything else you want to tell me?’

  ‘There’s one time you’ll catch him alone. He’s got a sweet tooth, so he goes to the sweet stall in the nearby market. Likes to make his own choices, you see?’

  ‘No protection?’

  ‘Two big guys with black leather jackets won’t be far away, but they switch off once he’s at the stall. I’ve seen them go and get a hot wine at the kiosk. They can still see him, but an enemy could take him down then.’

  ‘Does he have enemies?’

  Václav stood up and finished his coffee. ‘He’s a Bosnian,’ he said. ‘Of course he has enemies.’

  No wonder my digestion is troubled, thought Captain Josef Lukas. He took out his calculator and tried to decipher Slonský’s expenses claim. Never one to provide excessive detail, Slonský favoured a terse approach to narrative.

  ‘1 train journey — Kč.140.’

  ‘A train journey? To where?’ Lukas asked himself. ‘Why?’

  As if that were not enough, the page bore the unmistakable stamp of a wet beer glass in the top corner. It also seemed to have been written by someone using a stick of spaghetti dipped in ink and the numbers were abominably indistinct. Was that one hundred and sixty crowns, or one hundred and sixty-nine? Or possibly even one hundred and eighty-nine?

  Latterly Slonský had discovered a new way to sow confusion. Possibly in order to safeguard Navrátil’s pocket, he had taken to paying for both of them and claiming both sets of expenses on his form, while cunningly failing to make clear whether the costs were for one person or two. Thus his bill for lunch during a stakeout was quite reasonable if it was for both of them, but extortionate if he alone consumed it; yet the description did not make that clear, and Lukas was beginning to suspect that this was another of Slonský’s irritating little schemes to win a small triumph over bureaucracy.

  Finally Lukas gave up and signed the sheet, turning it face down on the pile to his left and shifting his attention to the requisition form in his in-tray.

  ‘This is too much!’ he exploded, marching down the corridor to see if Slonský could explain himself.

  The only person in the office was Peiperová. It was unfair to expect a young girl to know what her boss was up to, but Lukas needed to share the burden with someone.

  ‘Good morning, Peiperová. No, don’t get up.’

  ‘Good morning, sir.’

  ‘Slonský not back yet?’

  ‘He’s seeing an informer, sir.’

  ‘Goodness knows what that will cost us.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Oh, nothing. You don’t happen to know why Slonský wants some new uniform shoes when he doesn’t wear a uniform, I suppose?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, sir.’

  ‘He hasn’t mentioned it?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘He’s not planning on applying for a uniformed job? Mine, for example?’

  ‘I didn’t know there was a vacancy, sir.’

  ‘There isn’t, and you might remind Slonský of that when he reappears. Please ask him to see me when he returns so I can get to the bottom of this. What are you looking at, Peiperová?’

  ‘Menus, sir. Lieutenant Slonský asked me to investigate a Christmas lunch for the department.’

  ‘Did he? He hasn’t mentioned it to me. Though I approve, of course. It can only serve to foster team spirit. Have you chosen a venue?’

  ‘I wondered if this one might be suitable, sir.’

  Peiperová offered Lukas a menu. It took him no time at all to find six dishes that he could not possibly eat, given the emphasis on cream and the frequent use of the word ‘fried’.

  ‘Splendid!’ he said. ‘Keep me informed. It’s probably best if we keep this to staff only, rather than families. Dvorník’s eight children are ... charming, but you can have too much of a good thing.’

  ‘What now, sir?’ asked Navrátil.

  ‘I’m not sure. My head says have another coffee, but my heart tells me that a small beer would slip down nicely.’

  ‘And what does your bladder say?’

  ‘Good point. Perhaps we’ll just take a stroll along the river and cast an eye over that building Václav mentioned.’

  Slonský’s idea of a stroll proved to be slower than Navrátil could have imagined. They dawdled to look in shop windows, and Slonský spent some time in a cheap souvenir store behaving like a yokel on his first visit to Prague.

  ‘Sir, shouldn’t we be getting over there?’

  ‘Ten more minutes.’

  ‘Why, sir?’

  ‘Because, young Navrátil, seeing the building won’t help me much. I’ve seen it thousands of times. I want to see who is coming and going. Of course, we could strike lucky, but given that we don’t want to stand around for an age drawing attention to ourselves, we’re just going to amble up one side, go round the block, and then go along the river again, and the time when we’re likeliest to see someone is lunchtime, when no doubt at least some of the occupants will be heading out to put on a nosebag. Therefore, we want to arrive around lunchtime, and not at twenty to twelve. Ten minutes here, a gentle perambulation to the site, and a turn round the block should give us about half an hour of potential eyeballing of the men in the building.’

  ‘Should we ask the City Police if they know anything?’

  Slonský sighed. ‘I suppose we should. They won’t, of course, because they never do. Someone could snatch the statue of John Nepomuk off the Charles Bridge and it would be a fortnight before they noticed. Unless his dog was fouling the footpath at the same time, when they’d be on him like a shot, rubbing his nose in it.’

  As luck would have it, two of Prague’s police were taking an early lunch at a sausage stall as Slonský and Navrátil headed northwards. One was small, rotund, and had a cap that looked as if it belonged to a smaller man’s head. The other was a familiar face. It belonged to Officer Krob, who had assisted Slonský once before during a hit and run incident.

  Krob straightened himself and tried to look keen.

  ‘Good day, Officer Krob,’ began Slonský. ‘Do you come here often?’

  ‘The stall, or Prague?’ came the reply.

  ‘This part of Prague.’

  ‘I’ve been on this beat for a month or so, sir. Vácha here has been around much longer.’

  ‘Wonderful. Let me grab one of those sausages and then we can have a little chat. Navrátil, do the introductions.’

  They sat on a bench facing the river, all thoughts of arriving at the building around midday apparently banished from Slonský’s mind.

  ‘This is just a friendly chat between ourselves,’ Slonský explained. ‘Nothing formal. Nothing that needs mentioning to anyone.’

  Krob willingly agreed. Vácha seemed rather less convinced that such a promise was a good idea when he had not yet heard what was wanted of him, but nodded half-heartedly.

  ‘Behind me to my right there’s a large red building. We’re told a wanted c
riminal from Bosnia works out of there. Any idea what might be going on?’

  Vácha studied the building intently as if its inhabitants’ names were about to be displayed in neon on the roof, but turned back reluctantly when he realised that it would not be so.

  ‘We’ve seen Rudolf Smejkal there a couple of times,’ Krob offered.

  ‘Smejkal? Have you reported that?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Navrátil felt the need to interrupt. ‘Who is Smejkal?’

  ‘He’s what is politely termed a property developer. He buys old rundown buildings and stuffs them with tenants on the promise that he’ll do some improvements. The improvements take an age to happen, despite the readiness of banks to lend him money to do the work. He uses that money to buy another building, and the cycle repeats. If anyone gives him a hard time he sends a couple of plumbers and a carpenter around to smarten up the worst of the places, then he goes back to normal.’

  ‘So why would he be mixing with the Bosnian?’

  ‘I don’t know. Usually when Smejkal buddies up to people it’s because the banks have cut off his line of credit and he needs some capital from people who don’t want to have to explain where it came from. You see, lad, ill-gotten gains can be a real sod to invest. Banks ask awkward questions and everyone wants to know your business, so criminals may have money and no idea what they can do with it. Smejkal takes some of it off their hands. But Savović hasn’t been here long enough to build up a stash.’

  ‘He could have brought it with him.’

  ‘He could, but the Bosnian police didn’t mention it, and if they thought that was likely they’d have sent the fax to the fraud department. Since I haven’t seen a hyperexcited Klinger stalking the corridors or asking us what we know about it, I deduce our colleagues upstairs aren’t being informed.’

  ‘Is there anyone else in the building Smejkal could be meeting?’

  Slonský eyed his assistant and frowned. ‘A remarkably percipient question. By your standards, anyway. Krob? Vácha?’

  ‘Don’t know, sir,’ Krob replied.

  Slonský rose to his feet ponderously. ‘Fair enough. No reason why you should. Probably best if uniforms don’t go rooting around there. Come along, Navrátil. Let’s see who occupies those offices.’

  ‘Sir? Couldn’t it be dangerous for you?’

  ‘Indeed it could, lad. That’s why you’re going in.’

  They walked along the embankment, passing a woman disguised as a Greek goddess posing on a white plinth and a mediaeval knight with his sword drawn.

  ‘I’ve no idea how they stand still all day, especially in this weather,’ Slonský whispered.

  ‘I think they move when nobody’s watching, sir.’

  ‘God is always watching, lad, or so my grandmother used to tell me when I was up to something.’

  They crossed the road and walked past the front of the red brick building, turning at the corner and continuing along its side.

  ‘Right, Navrátil, in you go. I’m sure you’ll think of some story to find out who is in there. Meanwhile, I’m going to sit in the window of that bar opposite and strike up a conversation with any regular customer who may have a tale to tell.’

  Navrátil resisted the temptation to protest that the bar could not be described as opposite the building, since it was forty metres along the street and a patron sitting in the window would only see who came and went if they stood on the table with the transom window open and their head sticking out. He took out his notebook, entering the building apparently deep in thought and writing a note or two.

  A security desk was placed at the foot of the stairs where a doorkeeper sat with a large visitors’ book.

  ‘Seeing someone, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘Not necessary,’ said Navrátil. ‘Council environmental health department.’ He waved his tennis club membership card in a cursory way before shoving it back in his pocket. ‘We’ve had complaints that someone in this building has been putting their refuse out without closing it, with the result that rats from the river have been seen picking at it. That’s an offence under section 238 of the law on refuse, you know.’

  The doorkeeper looked pained. ‘Rats? Where?’

  ‘That’s a bit vague. The complaint just says in the doorway, so whether that’s this main doorway, or a side door, I’m not sure. Have you seen any evidence of rats?’

  ‘No, certainly not. This is a clean building. All our tenants are respectable.’

  ‘Perhaps I could have a list?’

  The doorkeeper photocopied his list of telephone numbers and gave it to Navrátil. ‘They’re all on there. It tells you which floor they’re on in the side headings, see?’

  ‘Thank you. Usually when this happens we find the culprits are foreigners who don’t know our waste disposal legislation like a Czech would. You don’t have any foreigners here, I suppose?’

  The doorkeeper looked around anxiously to check there was nobody in the lobby or coming down the stairs. ‘They’re all respectable, like I said. But there’s an American gentleman on the third floor. He teaches English and writes for magazines. And there’s a man from Yugoslavia on the floor above this.’

  ‘Ah! Newly arrived?’

  ‘Three months or so.’

  Navrátil flicked over the pages of his notepad. ‘Well, that just about ties in with the first complaint. You don’t know his name?’

  The doorkeeper made a mark on Navrátil’s photocopy with his pen. ‘That’s him. Keeps himself to himself. Never gives me no trouble, pays his bills on time.’

  ‘These Yugoslavs often have noisy friends though. We get a lot of complaints about noise.’

  ‘No, nothing like that. All the visitors I’ve seen are Czechs. Of course, his driver is a Serb or Croat or something of the sort. And of course he doesn’t live here. I dare say he has his wild parties in his flat.’

  ‘I dare say. Well, thanks again. I’ll give him a ring sometime just to wrap it all up and explain about the rats.’

  Navrátil dashed out into the street, leaving the doorkeeper to wonder where he could buy a few traps and some environmentally-friendly rat poison.

  ‘Come along, lad, we can’t put it off any longer. We’re going to have to go back to the office and do some work.’

  ‘What about the other names on the list, sir?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, there must be a reason why Savović chose that particular office building. How did he hear that it was available? Did somebody introduce him? And what does he need an office for anyway?’

  Slonský rubbed his chin. ‘There are some good questions there, Navrátil. Tell you what: you get some good answers, and I’ll go back to the office and wait for them.’

  ‘Where shall I start, sir?’

  ‘Use your initiative, son. Or, putting it another way, I haven’t a clue. Why not start by finding out who the letting agents are? Where do they normally advertise vacancies? Perhaps your mate on the door can give you a hand.’

  ‘He thinks I’m an environmental health officer, sir. I can hardly go back asking about letting agents.’

  ‘Of course you can. Even environmental health officers need offices somewhere. Tell him you need to find a new office, or your girlfriend wants somewhere to keep all her whips and black leather. In short, lad, fib. Spin him a yarn.’

  Navrátil breathed deeply and pushed the door open. The doorkeeper glanced up and his face distorted in alarm.

  ‘Not more rats?’ he whispered.

  ‘No,’ said Navrátil. ‘You were kind enough to give me a list of occupants, but I didn’t ask if any rooms are empty.’

  ‘Empty?’

  ‘Yes. You see, rats prefer to sleep in places where they won’t be found by a human. I’ve been thinking, and if they’re anywhere in this building, they’d be in an empty flat or office.’

  The doorkeeper snatched a ring of keys and used one to lock the front door, hanging a sign behind its glass to tell callers that
he would be back in ten minutes.

  ‘Third floor,’ he said, ‘but you’re going in first.’

  They mounted the stairs and the doorkeeper unlocked the suite and gingerly pushed the door open. Navrátil stepped inside. The room was completely empty.

  ‘No hiding places here, then.’ Navrátil commented. ‘I’d better just check that the skirting boards are sound.’

  ‘You do that,’ agreed the doorkeeper.

  ‘Where does the owner advertise these offices? I’m surprised a nice place like this is still empty. Maybe he’s using the wrong people.’

  ‘He uses a range of different folks.’

  ‘I suppose people do see the advertisements,’ Navrátil mused. ‘After all, the Yugoslav gentleman must have seen one.’

  ‘Ah, no, you’re wrong there,’ said the doorman. ‘He was introduced by the man on the floor above.’

  ‘The American writer?’

  ‘No, he’s on the top floor. The import-export company, they’re the ones. Mr Nejedlý knew him.’

  ‘It’s Mr Nejedlý that runs that company, is it?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘That’s very good of him, introducing a new tenant. Must be a kindly man.’

  The doorkeeper eloquently failed to agree. After a moment or two Navrátil sensed a chill entering the conversation.

  ‘You obviously don’t agree.’

  ‘It’s not my place to comment on the tenants, sir.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you in an awkward position, especially when you have to work with them every day.’

  ‘That’s all right, sir. Mr Nejedlý is a nice enough man himself. It’s the company he keeps that concerns me. They can be very impolite.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ Navrátil replied, even though he did not. ‘Well, I’m satisfied this suite is rat-free. I think we can safely conclude that the rats are outside. Perhaps you could just remind tenants to seal their bags properly when they put them out.’

  ‘I will. We don’t want rats around here.’

  Major Klinger, head of the fraud squad, was much more interested in Navrátil’s report.

  ‘Nejedlý. Yes, that rings a bell. That would be the Double Arrow Import Export Agency.’