Death On Duty

by Graham Brack

  ‘Well, she didn’t know of any notes he’d made.’

  ‘Would it help if I had a talk to her, woman to woman?’

  Slonský grinned with delight. ‘If anyone’s going to speak to her woman to woman, you’re the best qualified, lass. Unless Captain Grigar objects, I think that would be worth a try.’

  ‘No, I don’t object,’ said Grigar. ‘I’ll give you her address.’

  Their food arrived, at which point Grigar decided to take his leave. He tore a leaf from his notebook bearing Hrdlička’s address, and arranged to meet the following afternoon for a more formal exchange of information.

  Slonský fell upon his sausages with a keen display of appetite.

  ‘Good, sir?’ Peiperová asked.

  ‘Don’t know. I just wanted to stop the conversation so he’d go quicker. I can think of only one reason why Hrdlička would be using an unapproved earpiece. He didn’t want his boss to know he had it. Which means he didn’t trust his boss, which means neither should we.’

  Valentin pulled up a chair. ‘Was that Grigar?’ he asked.

  Slonský jumped theatrically. ‘I thought you were the Golem for a moment. Don’t creep up on people like that.’

  ‘Have you been avoiding me?’

  ‘No, I’ve been busy. Working. You know, doing my job.’

  ‘I thought now you had these two those days were behind you.’

  ‘You’re talking to an Acting Captain, I’ll have you know. I have other responsibilities now. The management of the department is in my hands.’

  ‘As good a reason to think of emigrating as any I’ve heard in a long while.’

  ‘I suppose despite your cheek you want a drink.’

  ‘I won’t insult you by refusing your offer. Shall I order some for you too?’

  ‘Peiperová’s already on her second. I’ll have another beer, and Navrátil will dither for a few minutes before deciding he daren’t have a beer in front of his work colleague.’

  ‘He can have a beer if he wants,’ Peiperová responded.

  ‘Oh, then I will,’ Navrátil declared boldly, before adding, ‘Better make it a small one, though.’

  ‘Is this just a way of passing Sunday afternoon or did you have something to tell me?’ Slonský enquired.

  ‘Well, originally I was going to check my sources about a story I’d heard that a young detective with your department had been caught exposing himself to young women, but I can see there isn’t anything in that.’

  Navrátil sprayed coffee into his soup. ‘Where did you hear that?’ he spluttered.

  ‘I have a friend who has — no, may have — a radio scanner that occasionally accidentally picks up police frequencies, and who may have overheard Officer Pelc making a report to his dispatcher last evening. And obviously got completely the wrong end of the stick.’ Valentin could detect a marked frostiness emanating from Peiperová, and decided to drop the subject sharply. ‘Pleased to hear there’s nothing in it, and I shall make a point of telling people so if I hear it said. However, the same friend may have overheard something else earlier that could be of interest to you. I mention it because he was struck — might possibly have been struck — by the odd coincidence of name.’

  Slonský sighed. ‘I am not going to go after your friend for listening in on police transmissions, so long as he isn’t using them for illicit purposes.’

  ‘No, he’s just a boring nerd with no life.’

  ‘I can empathise. So I’m interested in what he heard.’

  ‘He says that when he heard Officer Pelc mention Navrátil, he thought that was interesting, because a few hours before he’d heard another officer mention Navrátil. This one said he was making arrangements to meet a girl later. And he was told to keep watching Navrátil and follow him to see where the girl was taken.’

  ‘Did this friend of yours overhear any names?’

  ‘As it happens, he did. The follower was told that the order to watch Navrátil came from Captain Grigar.’

  ‘This puts a different complexion on things,’ declared Slonský.

  ‘Doesn’t it just?’ agreed Valentin. ‘Is Grigar worried that he doesn’t know what’s going on, or is it more sinister than that?’

  ‘You mean more newsworthy.’

  ‘Well, that too. Though of course I couldn’t publish anything that wasn’t fully verified.’

  ‘When exactly did this new policy of yours come in?’ Slonský asked, arching an eyebrow to indicate that no possible answer was credible.

  ‘I’m only trying to make an honest living and be a model citizen at the same time,’ sulked Valentin. ‘I don’t know why I bother.’

  Slonský cradled his beer for a moment and fell silent, usually a sign that he was bored, but in this case betokening urgent cogitation. ‘Old friend,’ he announced, ‘there is the opportunity for some serious mutual back-scratching here. Navrátil, got any plans for this afternoon?’

  ‘Well, I … shoes and laundry … maybe the movies…’

  ‘Peiperová, could you give up the afternoon to visit Hrdlička’s wife? Then Loverboy here will feel happier about driving Mr Valentin to a secret location he won’t want to know about so even lighted matches under his fingernails can’t get it out of him.’

  ‘Who would put lighted matches under my fingernails? And if they’re serious, I’d rather like to have something to tell them, otherwise they won’t stop.’

  ‘I think you’d like to have an exclusive set of interviews with women who have been trafficked to the Czech Republic for immoral purposes. The quid pro quo is that you mislead the Bosnians about where they are.’

  ‘Deliberately mislead my readers? How unprofessional. I couldn’t countenance such a thing.’

  ‘Bottle of brandy for your trouble?’

  ‘On the other hand,’ Valentin mused, ‘it’s every reporter’s job to assist the police in the detection of crime.’

  ‘Is this wise, sir?’ ventured Navrátil.

  ‘It’s for the girls’ safety. Once they’ve been named and photographed in the papers, and the clubs they work in are made public, there’s no point in the villains trying to get them back, is there? And with a bit of luck there’ll be spontaneous picketing by feminists and church leaders outside the clubs — Navrátil, put together a list of people to leak it to, there’s a good lad — so we get two benefits from it all.’

  ‘Will the girls agree to be named?’ asked Valentin.

  ‘Not all, but some will. And we can give the impression that their virtue was protected by the prompt action of the Czech police who, once more, charged to the rescue of damsels in distress. So although the purposes were immoral, the girls are still pure. Well, as pure as they were when they arrived anyway.’

  Peiperová immediately liked Mrs Hrdličková. She was no great beauty, but there was a warmth about her despite her loss. Hrdlička had been a good-looking man who must have had plenty of options when it came to a wife, so it was clear that he had seen something admirable in this short, rather squat woman with the untidy hair who was simply too strong to cry.

  ‘How did you meet?’ Peiperová asked.

  ‘What a surprising question! The other officers haven’t wanted to know that.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry. I just want to think about your husband as a person rather than only as a police officer.’

  ‘It’s not prying. I’m happy to talk about it. In fact, I think talking may help. You can’t imagine how it feels when you kiss someone goodbye in the morning and that’s the last time you see them.’

  ‘My boyfriend is a police officer too.’

  ‘Then you know the fear. Of course, you worry that it may happen, but you can’t live your life that way, so you tell yourself that it won’t. And when it does, you have nothing to fall back on. Just a big, dark emptiness.’

  ‘You’re being very brave.’

  ‘I have to be, for our son’s sake. One day I’ll have to explain why Daddy didn’t come home. It’s hard e
nough now when he looks at the door and asks for Daddy. I can’t imagine what it will be like when he’s old enough to understand.’

  ‘Mrs Hrdličková, I…’

  ‘Helena, please.’

  ‘Helena, had you been married long?’

  ‘Nearly three years. But we’d known each other a long time. We were at school together, then Erik went off to university. He read psychology, but when he graduated he couldn’t get a job, and someone suggested that he would be good as a policeman. He liked the idea, and he got accepted. He used to act and he was clever with disguises, you see. He could fit in. He had six months pretending to be a rock musician with a drug habit. I think he enjoyed that, because the police bought him a new guitar and they didn’t make him give it back afterwards.’

  ‘You must have waited patiently for him if you’ve only been married three years.’

  ‘He wouldn’t marry until he earned as much as me. I had a job at the hospital as a radiographer. I still do some shifts when Mum takes Petr for me. I may have to go back full-time to pay the rent here now.’

  It was a nice flat, not grand, but clean and well equipped. Peiperová would have been very happy to have one like it. Little Petr had decided that she was sufficiently important to be shown his wooden racing car with two occupants. He picked each out in turn and handed it to her, reciting ‘Mama … Papa…” as he did so. She had to turn away for a moment and dab an eye with her cuff.

  ‘Did he tell you anything about the job he was on at the moment?’

  ‘Absolutely nothing. He never did.’

  ‘Did he have a desk or notebook where he may have left a clue?’

  ‘Surely the police know what he was doing? Captain Grigar asked too, but I thought he would have known.’

  ‘What exactly did Captain Grigar ask?’

  ‘He wanted to know if there were any notes showing where Erik had got to in his investigation. I thought he would have known that. Erik used to do his reports when he came home and then drop them in at the station before he put his costume on.’

  That is odd, thought Peiperová. Did Grigar suspect there was something that had not found its way into the reports?

  ‘Could I see where he worked? It might help, you never know.’

  ‘Of course. He used a corner of the bedroom. I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse the mess.’

  Peiperová looked around her. What mess? It looked immaculate. Assuming that Grigar and his colleagues had gone through the drawers of the little table thoroughly, she concentrated on the bookshelves. Although she was not a great reader herself, she thought you could find out a lot about people by the books they had. In this case, it was confusing because the couple had shared the shelves, so there were books about cookery mixed in with psychology textbooks, a couple of books about the Second World War and a volume of walks in and around Prague. There were a few folded maps as well, which she glanced through.

  ‘Did you both come from Prague?’

  ‘Yes, born and bred. Not this part, of course, but out to the eastern side.’

  ‘What’s the connection with Opava?’ Peiperová asked, waving one of the maps.

  Helena looked puzzled. ‘There isn’t one,’ she said. ‘I’ve never been there and I don’t think Erik had either.’

  Peiperová unfolded the map. It took a while to spot it, but there was a small red cross in one corner, in what appeared to be countryside, and a dotted line marked out an irregular area around the cross.

  ‘May I borrow this?’ she asked.

  Helena nodded. ‘If it helps.’

  ‘I don’t know. But it might be an idea not to tell anyone else I’ve got it.’

  Four things were exercising Slonský’s brain simultaneously. There was the problem of what to do with the women currently loitering in an army camp. This was fairly urgent, because putting young women in a closed camp full of young soldiers was just looking for trouble, though Slonský thought the soldiers would have to learn to look after themselves. They were armed, after all.

  Then there was the vexed question of why Captain Grigar would have had Navrátil followed. He had known Grigar for around fifteen years, and although they were not close friends, he had always thought that Grigar was a good policeman and unlikely to do anything underhand. He would have liked to have thought that if Grigar wanted to know something, he would just have come and asked, which is what Slonský would have done had their positions been reversed. His inclination was to confront Grigar about it, but if Grigar happened to be up to something, that might be the worst thing to do. Perhaps he should watch and wait rather than charging in with all guns blazing.

  Next there was the need to do something about that creep Doležal. As Acting Captain he ought not to do anything drastic while Lukas was on sick leave, but on the other hand this was an opportunity not to be squandered to get the slimy streak of misery posted to a log cabin in the back of beyond — the kind of place where everyone played accordions all the time and the locals had sheep for girlfriends — if he could only think of a pretext. Perhaps it was even worth putting Doležal up for promotion if it meant he got a station of his own far from electricity and connected sewerage.

  But the biggest issue that needed handling was the fact that his wife Věra was currently in his kitchen rustling up dinner for two. He hoped that the deficiencies in his domestic arrangements would put her off repeating the experiment, since she must be getting fed up with the disappointments inherent in his having only one saucepan and very limited utensils. Indeed, he had borrowed a couple of sets of cutlery from the staff canteen to ensure that they both had knives, but the happy humming from the vicinity of the hob suggested that his wife was prepared to regard the shortages as a justification for her act of charity in feeding him.

  When they arrived home things had started badly.

  ‘Sit down and take your shoes off,’ she said. ‘Surely you don’t wear those around the house?’

  In over thirty years it had not occurred to Slonský that other people removed their shoes indoors. He tried to recall the condition of his socks, which were likely to be in a state of dereliction, but he had not paid much attention when he put them on that morning. The only sure thing was that they would be black, because all his socks were. It made finding a pair so much easier.

  Věra misinterpreted his hesitation as a desire to adopt husband and wife roles.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, kneeling in front of him and pulling on his laces. ‘I’ll do it.’

  ‘No…’ stammered Slonský, but in no time his feet were exposed to the cooling air.

  Věra inspected the socks thus revealed. ‘If you’re ever found dead in the street at least Dr Novák won’t have to take your socks off to put a label on your toe. I’ll darn those for you when they’ve been washed.’

  ‘It’s not worth darning socks,’ Slonský protested. ‘They’re cheap enough. I’ll just buy a new pair.’

  ‘Such extravagance,’ tutted Věra, before she noticed that the pink heel was due to the thinness of the wool rather than a raffish design highlight.

  She busied herself emptying the shopping bag in the kitchen area, and then produced a masterstroke of such elegance and cunning that Slonský was momentarily rendered speechless.

  ‘There you are,’ she said. ‘Kristýna told me this was the beer you usually chose.’

  Kristýna? When had she managed to talk to Peiperová? He suspected Navrátil had a hand in this somewhere, because he knew his assistant had Věra’s telephone number, and it was in his romantic nature to play matchmaker given half a chance. Anyway, he could think about that later. For the moment, he must devote his whole attention to the important subject of beer. And wondering what Věra was cooking that smelled not bad at all.

  Chapter 10

  Slonský lobbed his coat in the general direction of the coat-stand and glided to the desk where he unfolded the morning paper. Valentin had worked at speed; the front page of his paper carried a banner headline proclaiming the wi
ckedness of the Bosnians who tricked these innocent girls and the Czechs who exploited them. There was also a promise of further revelations in the following days.

  Navrátil arrived and nodded a greeting.

  ‘Valentin wasted no time,’ Slonský announced, indicating the headline.

  ‘We were there till late. He wants to go back again for some more material if you can spare me.’

  ‘Of course. Anything I ought to know?’

  ‘I got stopped by the traffic police and breathalysed.’

  ‘You? Didn’t you show them your badge?’

  ‘Yes. That just increased the snideness. They said the car smelled like a brewery.’

  ‘Well, of course it did. You had Valentin with you.’

  ‘That didn’t help.’

  Realisation struck Slonský. ‘You’d had a beer. They didn’t fine you, did they?’

  ‘By great good fortune, if you recall, although you offered me a beer you didn’t actually get round to ordering it. I’d only had a coffee.’

  ‘Another triumph of foresight. There — I saved you from yourself. You know the traffic cops love flinging the book at the rest of us.’

  ‘How have you escaped for so long? Any alcohol at all should mean you get hauled in.’

  ‘I just give them the evil eye. They can fine me, but I can bring them in and subject them to seventy-two hours of sarcasm without charging them.’

  ‘Anyway, sir, I haven’t said anything about the traffic police to … anyone else, so I’d appreciate some discretion.’

  ‘And you shall have it,’ Slonský beamed. ‘Discretion is my middle name.’

  Navrátil involuntarily glanced at the heavens in case a lightning bolt was on its way down to the room, but it seemed God was turning a blind eye to that one.

  ‘What are the plans for today, sir?’

  ‘I think you can arrange another day out for Valentin, while I put the wind up Grigar. But first, we must prepare ourselves properly. And that means a hearty breakfast, my boy. Is Officer Peiperová around?’

  ‘I haven’t seen her.’

  ‘Then we will detour past the Acting Acting Captain’s office, since she is invariably punctual, and sweep her away to the café on the corner to ply her with a tasty sausage or three.’