by Graham Brack
‘That’s right,’ agreed Navrátil.
‘And what exactly do they import and export?’ Slonský asked.
‘Girls. Women for the bars and clubs, and probably for the streets. They’re also one of our biggest importers of plums, though I suspect jam-making isn’t nearly as lucrative.’
‘Where do they import these girls from, as if I couldn’t guess?’ continued the lieutenant.
‘Bosnia, Kosovo, the less affluent parts of the Balkans. I’m by no means an expert, but it isn’t easy to explain why you would route plums through Serbia, Romania and Hungary to enter the EU. On the other hand, that would be a very good route if you had a truckful of women. There are lots of places where you can sneak across the borders.’
‘So that could be our link with Savović,’ Navrátil interjected.
‘Who knows?’ Slonský replied. ‘The Bosnians haven’t told us why they want him, largely because we haven’t told them he’s here. That’s the next step. But that still doesn’t tell us why he would be meeting up with Smejkal.’
‘No, it doesn’t,’ agreed Klinger. ‘Smejkal has his finger in many pies, but this is not one of them so far as I know.’
‘And you would know, I suppose,’ Slonský teased.
‘Start from the working hypothesis that I know everything, and you won’t go far wrong,’ said Klinger. ‘Now, if you’ve finished cluttering up my office, I believe you have a telephone call to make to Sarajevo.’
Slonský pushed Lukas’ door open and poked his head in.
‘Can you spare me a minute, sir?’
‘Of course. Take a seat.’
Slonský summarised the day’s events while Lukas nodded in what he hoped looked like a sage manner. ‘I see. And what did the Bosnian police say?’
‘That’s the really puzzling bit. They want to find Savović, but they don’t have any evidence tying him to any crimes.’
‘That’s nonsense. What they mean is that they have evidence they don’t want to share. Do they want us to arrest him?’
‘On what charge? So far as I can make out they’re really pleased he’s left the country. They didn’t even want to send someone to talk to him.’
Lukas spread his hands expansively. ‘Then we drop it. We’ve done what they asked. However much it piques our interest, we don’t have time or manpower spare to investigate people out of idle curiosity.’
‘That’s what I thought, sir. Until someone alleges a crime, I don’t see what we can do.’
There was a sharp knock at the door. Navrátil entered without waiting for an invitation. ‘Sir, we’ve had a call. There’s been a murder.’
‘Where, lad?’
‘That’s the point, sir. It’s where we were earlier, down by the riverside. Someone has killed the mediaeval knight.’
Chapter 3
The knight was kneeling as if in prayer, his sword planted firmly in the ground before him and his head resting on the pommel at the end of the hilt. His arms had presumably been grasping the crossbar but now dangled in front of the sword. His position was so stable that he had not fallen to the ground, but remained kneeling in death.
‘He’d have to be stable to hold that position for so long. Where’s the wound, Novák?’
The diminutive pathologist, Dr Vladimír Novák, blinked through his bottle-bottom glasses.
‘And good afternoon to you too, Lieutenant. He was stabbed at the back of the neck. A fine blade. It may have severed the spinal cord, or it might have pushed upwards into the medulla oblongata — the brain stem to you. I won’t know until I peel the skin back.’
‘Looks like it was pretty quick.’
‘He’d probably never know it happened. He’d die within moments.’
‘Time?’
‘About an hour ago, give or take. The place was swarming with people, Slonský. It’s incredible that nobody noticed someone walk up behind a praying knight and stab him in the nape of the neck.’
‘Could it be a flick-knife?’
‘Probably a triggered knife of some kind, with a very narrow blade. This isn’t easily done, Slonský. This is the sort of technique a Special Forces soldier would use.’
Slonský turned to look for the Greek goddess who had been standing beside the knight at lunchtime. She was sitting on a bench crying and shivering.
‘You didn’t see anything?’ he asked her.
‘No, not a thing. When I’m in position, he’s slightly behind me. I can’t turn and look. I didn’t know anything about it until it came to five o’clock. We usually stop then for something to eat and to decide if it’s worth carrying on into the evening. I stepped off my pedestal and came to talk to him, and when he didn’t answer I lifted his head a little. I never dreamed he’d be dead.’
‘It must have been an awful shock for you. Can you tell me anything about him? His name would be a good start.’
‘Pavel. I don’t know his surname.’
‘Had he been coming to this patch for long?’
‘About a month, I think. He asked me if I minded, because I was here first. To be honest, we do better when there are a couple of us. It encourages people to stop and look, so I didn’t mind at all. Better than having a musician or a juggler next to you, when they get all the attention.’
‘Did he tell you anything about his past?’
‘He said he’d done this when he was a student. He was good. People used to say how steady we were. Anyway, he’d lost his last job and decided to give this a try.’
‘Thank you. Officer Peiperová will take you somewhere warmer and get a statement from you, if you don’t mind.’
The goddess nodded and allowed herself to be wrapped in Peiperová’s enveloping arm and led away.
Slonský turned back to Novák. ‘You must have something else for me. You always have.’
Novák sucked his lower lip pensively. ‘I could give you an estimate of the murderer’s height,’ he offered.
Navrátil took out his notebook and stood with his pencil poised.
‘I’m pretty confident he’s more than a metre tall, or he’d have had to reach upwards to stab this chap in the back of the neck.’
‘Damn!’ said Slonský. ‘We’ll have to let all the dwarves go. If you don’t have anything useful to tell me, stop taking the mickey.’
‘Then stop asking damn fool questions and let me do my job. Why don’t you go and talk to that other policeman?’
‘What other policeman?’
‘The one getting out of that police car.’
Slonský followed his gaze and fixed on a heavy-set man in a brown belted raincoat and chocolate-coloured fedora who was walking towards him.
‘Have we run out of silver bullets?’ he asked Navrátil.
The new arrival looked at the knight and grimaced.
‘Do you know who he is?’ asked Slonský.
‘Yes,’ came the answer. ‘He’s one of my men.’
Slonský pushed his hat to the back of his head so he could scratch his brow. ‘I know we’ve cut back on overtime, but surely your officers don’t have to moonlight to make ends meet.’
The newcomer winced again. ‘It’s a long story.’
Slonský pointed at the body. ‘Well, he’s got all the time in the world now. By the way, this is Officer Navrátil. Navrátil, meet Captain Grigar. He organises crime.’
‘Not quite right, Slonský. I work in the Organised Crime team. This is Officer Hrdlička. He was working for me.’
‘Covered in silver paint and wearing fancy dress?’
‘It was his idea. He used to do it as a student. He said that a surveillance team would eventually be spotted, whereas he could stay openly in a good position in this disguise without anyone noticing.’
‘He was wrong there, then,’ said Slonský.
‘It worked for a long time,’ Grigar protested. ‘He’s been here over a month.’
‘What’s he watching?’
‘Don’t turn round. That red brick building opposi
te. We’ve been trying to found out who is based there.’
Slonský beckoned to Navrátil. ‘Come along, lad, give the nice man your list.’
Grigar goggled at the photocopied sheet that Navrátil passed him. ‘How did you get this?’
Navrátil had been brought up to believe that honesty is the best policy, so he told the truth. ‘I asked for it, sir.’ He explained the events that had produced the list for him.
Grigar was never the most animated of souls, but now he looked positively downcast. ‘What now?’ he asked.
‘Well,’ said Slonský, ‘this looks like a murder to me, and murder is my province. Of course I don’t want to mess up your investigation so you’re welcome to hang around, but it’s my show.’
Grigar nodded his assent.
‘However,’ said Slonský, ‘it would be good to check out the inhabitants of that block as quickly as possible just in case someone has seen something, and no doubt you’d like to take a sly squint at the place, so how about we take a floor each? Since Navrátil speaks English, he’d better do the top floor. I’ll do the middle floor with Mr Nejedlý at this side, and you, Grigar, can do the first floor, where the Bosnian gentleman hangs out.’
‘And the ground floor, sir?’ Navrátil enquired.
‘Unless they’ve got x-ray vision, lad, they won’t have seen through that brick boundary wall. The tenants at the far side probably won’t have seen anything either, but let’s make a note of their names for the future anyway.’
They crossed the road and marched into the red brick building, Slonský and Grigar flashing their badges. The doorkeeper goggled as they went past and hissed at Navrátil. ‘What did you bring them for? I said I’d sort the rats out.’
Navrátil opened his mouth to explain, but Slonský got in first. ‘There’s been a murder on the river bank. Navrátil was discreetly checking whether the murderers were hiding here.’
‘Murderers? Not rats?’
Navrátil shook his head sadly.
‘Jesus Maria. Murderers!’ mumbled the doorkeeper. ‘That’s probably worse than rats,’ he added as he returned to his post.
Grigar found Savović sitting at a desk. Grigar explained what had happened, and Savović promptly displayed his passport, a residence permit, his lease and anything else Grigar could think of to enquire about.
‘Have you noticed the knight outside?’ he asked.
‘Of course,’ said Savović. ‘He’s good. Sometimes I’ve stood at this window drinking a coffee and he hasn’t twitched all the time I was drinking it.’
Grigar distrusted the Bosnian’s openness. The more innocent he appeared, the more Grigar felt uneasy.
‘He’s a police officer, and he’s been stabbed. Did you see anything?’
‘No,’ Savović answered. ‘If I had, I’d have called the police. But in any event I haven’t been facing the window. As you can see, my desk faces into the room.’
Grigar nodded. ‘May I ask what you do for a living, sir?’
‘Entertainment. I’m a sort of impresario. I bring dancers to the clubs. There’s no law against it, is there?’
‘Not if they’re legal immigrants and there’s no coercion.’
‘That’s what I thought. I could give you names if you want.’
‘That would be good.’
‘I’ll have a list put together and fax it to you. The police have a fax machine, I suppose?’
‘Several.’
Navrátil was making heavy weather of questioning Mr Brown, the American gentleman on the top floor. Despite watching a lot of American films and police shows, Navrátil found Mr Brown’s accent difficult to penetrate.
‘Athens,’ Mr Brown helpfully repeated. ‘Not the one you’re thinking of — the one in Georgia. And not the Georgia you’re thinking of — the one in the United States.’
‘And you are a writer?’
‘A travel writer. I produce guide books mainly. I pay my way by teaching a little English when I can. But at the moment I’m working on a biography.’
‘Whose biography, if I may ask?’
‘You may, officer. A biography of your President Edvard Beneš. I know he died in 1948, but he isn’t well known in my country, you see.’
Navrátil duly made a note.
‘A person was stabbed on the bank outside earlier this afternoon, sometime between four and five o’clock. Did you see anything?’
‘I saw the crowd gathered around the knight. Was it him?’
Navrátil nodded slightly.
‘My word! How could anyone stab a person in broad daylight on such a busy street?’
‘That’s the question I have to answer, sir.’
Slonský had less luck. Mr Nejedlý was out. The doorkeeper produced a spare key on request, so the three detectives entered and fanned out to have a quick look round.
‘And if Nejedlý returns?’ asked Grigar.
‘We’re in hot pursuit of a murderer. He may be holed up in this building. That justifies checking every square metre, just in case. But we’d better not disturb drawers and cupboards.’
They walked around for a few minutes, then Slonský declared himself satisfied, so they locked the door and returned the key.
‘I suppose he could have killed Hrdlička and then fled,’ offered Navrátil.
‘That’s possible,’ conceded Slonský, ‘but it doesn’t explain why he waited until we were on site before he left.’
‘How do you know that?’ demanded Grigar.
Slonský displayed his hand with a red mark at the base of his thumb.
‘His kettle is still hot,’ he explained. ‘As I discovered when I touched it.’
Lukas frowned. This damn shoes business was beginning to get to him. He could not get a sensible answer out of Slonský to the perfectly straightforward enquiry as to why the latter needed uniform shoes. Slonský had grudgingly noted that although he had managed without them for some time, he had been acutely aware that when they visited important people he did not have a presentable uniform to wear. That was undoubtedly true, but it was also true of his civilian clothes, most of which would have disgraced a charity shop. Lukas had tried to arrange that Slonský was kept away from the powerful people of Prague, but since two recent cases had required him to question successive Ministers of the Interior that had not been entirely possible. Slonský was disrespectful, thought Lukas. He thought ministers were shifty, devious, lying scum. Unfortunately he was quite often right about that, but it did not do to say so, especially to them.
He was also concerned about Peiperová. One moment she was being used as some sort of domestic servant, fetching coffee and sandwiches and not doing real police work, and the next she had been sent out into some of the seediest areas of Prague to question the girls in the clubs. Slonský had justified sending her on her own by explaining that women were more likely to talk to women, and that Navrátil would be less than a hundred metres away in an unmarked car. Lukas could not help thinking that Navrátil, however game and devoted to Peiperová, was no match for the average pimp’s team of thugs. Slonský acknowledged that, but pointed out that Navrátil was equipped with a sniper’s rifle with a laser sight.
‘Has he ever fired one?’ asked Lukas.
‘No, but it wouldn’t help if he had. He doesn’t have any ammunition, just in case he hits Peiperová. The idea is that if he gets the red light on their hearts they’ll assume a bullet is on its way, so they’ll be compliant.’
‘And if they don’t?’
‘I guess he’ll have to shout bang very loud and hope they don’t realise he’s bluffing.’
‘I don’t find that very reassuring, Slonský.’
‘I could give the rifle to Dvorník, sir.’
Lukas winced. Lieutenant Dvorník had such confidence in his own firearms ability that he had shot a suspect who was holding his own wife hostage while Slonský was standing a couple of metres away. The thought of the things he might try with a sniper’s rifle was acutely unsettling a
nd Lukas began to feel another bilious attack coming on.
‘Excuse me,’ he muttered, and ran to the washroom.
Peiperová was beginning to doubt the idea of a universal sisterhood. The girls in the club had made it abundantly clear that she was about as welcome as a dose of thrush and they were unwilling to talk.
‘I don’t want to muscle in on your job,’ she remarked.
‘Just as well, dear,’ one replied. ‘You haven’t got the boobs for it.’
Peiperová sat on a stool and waited. If it became clear she was going to sit there until she got an answer, perhaps they would cave in. Eventually, one did.
It was the tall girl with a beehive hairstyle who worked under the name of Medusa. She waited until the others had gone out to the dance floor before quickly responding to the question she had been asked fifteen minutes earlier.
‘We don’t have Balkan girls here. We’ve been offered them, but the boss knows they don’t want to do it and he says they’re miserable cows. They’ve got some at the Padlock Club. Know it?’
Peiperová confessed that she did not, so Medusa gave her some brief directions before following her colleagues. It was about a ten minute walk to the Padlock Club, which was anything but discreet. There were large windows that gave tantalising glimpses of the interior courtesy of large rotating mirrors carefully positioned so as not to identify any customers. As Peiperová approached the door a large man stepped from the shadows to block her way.
‘Men only, love,’ he announced.
‘Isn’t that discriminatory?’ Peiperová asked.
‘How do you mean?’
‘Haven’t I got just as much right to look at the girls as a man?’
The bouncer thought about this for a moment. ‘If it was up to me, you would, but it isn’t, and you can’t.’
Peiperová issued a deep sigh. ‘I was hoping not to have to be formal,’ she said, ‘but this is official.’ She produced her badge. ‘No doubt you’ll know that impeding a police officer is a serious offence,’ she continued. ‘And I’m sure you don’t want any trouble.’
