by Graham Brack
It had been barely thirty minutes between saying goodbye to Daniela and seeing the holdall thrown at their car. That was scarcely long enough for anyone to go anywhere with Daniela. She had not gone home, but her passport would not be there, so the assumption must be that the Bosnians had just picked up a bag of clothes, dropped the passport in, and actually had it with them while they were watching. But whose bag would be packed?
Milena, the girl who killed herself. Her things would have been put in a bag. They kept the bag and now they had disposed of it in such a way as to make us think it was Daniela’s. The plan only failed because we were able to find where Daniela lived and discovered her clothes were still there.
Peiperová rang Spehar and informed him of her suspicions. If they ever found Milena’s body, there might be DNA on something in the bag that would help to identify it.
‘I’ve already set that horse running,’ Spehar replied. ‘They’re checking the hairbrush and nail files first, but eventually they’ll do the lot. I can tell you one thing — if your description of Daniela is accurate, it’s not her hairbrush. The hairs are blonde.’
‘Thanks. I’ll keep looking for her.’
‘It’s not my business,’ Spehar began, ‘and I’m no detective, but how do you plan to do that?’
‘I’m going to guess her route and look for places where she could be snatched without anyone noticing. After all, it was Saturday afternoon. There were plenty of people around. Even the Prague public would tell us if they saw a girl being forced into a car. Then the car must have parked up somewhere until they found us and dropped off the holdall.’
‘Must they? Let’s say it takes two men to grab a girl and push her into a car. I’ll grant that one could hardly do it, unless he knocked her unconscious first. But once they’ve got her into the car, one can drive off, and the other hops out with the holdall.’
‘But if she isn’t unconscious, she can get out of the car if the other one is driving.’
‘Then she was unconscious, or there were three of them, or she was too scared to get out because, for example, he had a gun.’
‘She’d have to be stupid to walk down an alleyway,’ Peiperová murmured.
‘No, she wouldn’t,’ Spehar argued. ‘She just needs to know her way around. If you’re familiar with it, you don’t think of the threat. I’m forever telling my daughters not to go down one of our local streets at night, but they say they’ve walked it all their lives. I’ll bet she followed her normal way home. If she didn’t, how could they lie in wait for her?’
Peiperová thanked Spehar for the suggestion and consulted her map. There was a walk of perhaps two hundred metres along the street from the café to a cross alley. The right branch could lead her home, but if she turned left she would come out almost at the side of the Purple Apple. She and Navrátil had gone a different way because they always had a car, but for a pedestrian the alley was much the shortest route.
Standing at its entry Peiperová could see how dark it was, the buildings on each side being three or four storeys tall, but you could never get a car along it with all these waste bins in the way. Peiperová contemplated telephoning Navrátil to tell him where she was, just in case of any untoward event, but decided not to do so because he would almost certainly tell her not to be so reckless, so she picked her way through the discarded cabbage leaves and newspapers, looking for a place where a car could be waiting. She walked all the way to the end, where the alley opened onto a broad, busy street, without finding a parking space, and took her bearings. If Daniela made it this far, she was almost home. She would turn left, walk along the street to the crossing, and then she would follow a residential street towards Mrs Pimenová’s bakery and thence to the hostel. It was a longer journey by car, but quite a short walk; no wonder she said she wouldn’t need an hour to walk both ways and pack a bag. But however you looked at it, logic said she disappeared in the alley. It was the only private place.
Peiperová retraced her steps, looking for a gate behind which a car could have been parked. She had walked about two-thirds of the alleyway when she saw a wooden gate, not in the best of condition, beside which there was a small notice on the wall.
It read ‘Double Arrow Import Export Agency.’
Slonský was pleased to have something useful to do. Being in an unusually prudent turn of mind, he looked around for some marksmen to give him armed protection, but there were none around. He did, however, spot a familiar silhouette making its way towards the front door.
‘Dvorník!’ he bellowed. ‘Not so fast.’
Dvorník’s aversion to overtime was soon subdued by the prospect of being allowed to shoot someone, so he rushed to collect some extra ammunition and gave his pistol a cursory check before pronouncing himself satisfied.
‘Just to get this straight,’ he asked, ‘who am I shooting again?’
‘You’re not shooting anyone,’ said Slonský, ‘unless it becomes absolutely necessary.’
‘I see,’ said Dvorník. ‘And what might make it necessary?’
‘Well,’ Slonský answered, ‘a detective might run amok if he’s asked any more stupid questions. We’re going to search a warehouse, and there may be some people there who object to having it searched.’
‘I see. And what are we looking for?’
‘A Bosnian girl. And don’t ask me what she looks like. If we find any women tied up there, whatever they look like, we’ll assume they’re what we’re looking for, all right?’
‘Crystal clear,’ agreed Dvorník. After a brief pause he continued. ‘Shooting to bring down or to kill?’
Slonský bit his tongue. ‘Use your initiative. If they’re unarmed and no threat, it’s probably best if you don’t kill them.’
Navrátil drove them across town to the alleyway, where Peiperová was waiting at the end nearer the café. With the car parked, the three detectives joined her to walk to the old gate.
‘Navrátil, I think you and Peiperová should go round to the other side of the building. There may be another entrance.’
‘I’ve already looked, sir,’ replied Peiperová. ‘There’s a roller door where trucks can back up but it’s not wide enough to let them reverse inside.’
‘Good work. But we still need to cover it in case there are people inside who try to escape. Dvorník, I’d feel happier if you went first.’
‘You’re leading the investigation,’ Dvorník answered. ‘Shouldn’t you go first?’
‘If you think I’m letting you walk behind me with a loaded gun, you’ve got another thing coming,’ responded Slonský. ‘Get in front where I can keep an eye on you. And let’s all keep as quiet as we can, shall we?’
Peiperová and Navrátil walked off, and after giving them three minutes to get into position Slonský pushed the gate open. There was a crash as a metal bin toppled over.
‘Damn!’
‘No sign of a response,’ Dvorník noted. ‘Nobody came to look out. We may have it to ourselves.’
There were steps leading up to a door one floor up. When the buildings were erected they were probably flats, and this would have been the way to the middle floor. The door opened outwards, but it was locked.
‘Shall I smash the glass?’ Dvorník whispered.
‘No need,’ Slonský replied. ‘Just watch for inquisitive bystanders. We’re a bit visible here.’ He produced a set of skeleton keys from a pocket of his coat and jiggled them in the lock. ‘Bless them,’ he said. ‘Preserving a nice simple nineteenth-century lock like this. There we are.’ He nudged the door further open with his shoulder.
‘Is that strictly legal?’ asked Dvorník.
‘No, but we don’t have a warrant,’ Slonský replied, ‘so it doesn’t much matter how we get in, does it?’
‘Just asking,’ Dvorník shrugged. ‘No skin off my nose.’
‘Hush and keep walking. Let’s see what there is to find here.’
They sidled along the corridor in the gloom. It was easy to see why a
wider exit to the warehouse was needed, because it would be very difficult to bring anything substantial in this way. After about twenty paces there was a semi-glazed door, though the glass was so dirty it might as well have been frosted. Cobwebs laced the frame and Slonský could picture Věra feeling the need to give the place a good scrub before going any further.
He motioned Dvorník to keep quiet and they listened at the door. There were no sounds of movement, so Slonský lifted it slightly to prevent it scraping along the floor and eased it open.
The room was large, spanning the whole width of the building, and there was a pulley fixed to a beam which presumably allowed items to be lowered to the floor below. A sling dangled from the pulley, and a guard rail at the far side of the hatch prevented anyone falling from one side. Except that it could not be a rail, because a guard on only one side of a hole made no sense, and someone was slumped against it.
Slonský ran forward while Dvorník crouched with his gun ready, his senses sharpened by the threat he felt. The slumped person was a naked woman, dirty, kneeling at the edge of the hatch with her feet over the drop and her arms fixed to the cross-beam with cable ties which had bitten into her flesh. Her face was bruised, purple, swollen, and her mouth was bloodied where some teeth had been knocked out. She was still breathing, but not strongly.
‘Get an ambulance,’ Slonský barked.
Dvorník dialled the number and made the call, keeping his back to the wall and his gun raised throughout. ‘What’s that beside her knee?’ he asked.
‘Her left ear,’ said Slonský. ‘God knows where the other one is.’
Chapter 12
Peiperová could hardly grasp the cup. Her hands shook, and she did not know whether it was fear or rage, or a bit of both. ‘How could they do that?’ she hissed. ‘What had Daniela done to them?’
Slonský bit into his párek. ‘Because they’re criminals. Criminals do that sort of thing. And she threatened them. If she just walked away without suffering for it, why would any of the girls stay? They can’t lock them up, and they could just walk out of the club, so how do they keep them penned up? They keep their passports, tell them they’ll be arrested by the likes of us, and beat up the odd girl to keep the others in check.’
‘It’s barbaric.’
‘It’s life. Get used to it. People do things like that. Or worse.’
Navrátil stared into his cup. ‘Did the surgeon say…?’
‘He can’t reattach the ears, but he’s taken a mould off each and he says the cosmetic surgeon can build her new ones from cartilage and skin and you’d never know. It’ll take a few months, though.’
Peiperová stifled a sob by pushing her handkerchief into her mouth.
‘Let it out, girl. But the most useful thing you can do for her is to punish the people who did it.’
‘Savović and Brukić.’
Slonský swilled beer round his mouth to dislodge adhesive pieces of sausage. ‘A bit of evidence would be nice before jumping to conclusions.’
‘Who else?’ asked Peiperová.
‘Unfortunately, lass, the courts don’t take kindly to “Who else?” as a prosecution argument.’
Navrátil pushed his plate away untasted.
‘Eat up, lad,’ ordered Slonský. ‘You’ll need that this evening.’
‘I’m not really hungry, sir.’
Slonský patted the grease from his lips with a napkin. ‘Let me explain why you should eat. It’s late afternoon, and shortly we’re going to go to the red brick building to arrest Nejedlý. Let’s hope he’s in, because this is carefully timed for maximum impact. We’ll make a lot of noise about it so it’ll get back to his associates. Then we’ll bring him to the station and start questioning him. We only have to feed him after he has been with us for six hours, so he won’t get anything to eat or drink until around eleven tonight, whereas you and I will be nicely fed and watered, provided we eat all our tea now. That gives us an advantage, Navrátil, and I want to keep it that way, so don’t let me down. Get stuck in.’
‘Can I help, sir?’ Peiperová chipped in.
‘We can only have two doing the questioning, but you can come on the arrest if you like. If he has a secretary you can tell her in lurid detail what we suspect her boss has been doing. She may have some interesting details of her own to add.’
The doorman half rose when they entered, but when he saw who they were he resumed his seat and decided to keep out of it. Slonský bounded up the stairs and pushed open the door of Nejedlý’s outer office.
‘Do you have an appointment?’ the secretary screeched.
‘No, but I’ve got one of these,’ Slonský responded, waving his badge and nodding to Peiperová to stay in the outer office with the secretary.
Nejedlý was riffling through the files in a cabinet when they entered. ‘And you are…?’ he asked.
‘Your worst nightmare,’ came the answer.
‘I’m not saying anything till my lawyer gets here,’ Nejedlý repeated yet again.
‘Who’s asking you to say anything?’ Slonský replied. ‘Have I asked you a single question yet?’
‘No,’ conceded Nejedlý, ‘but why am I here if not to answer questions?’
‘Identity parade.’
‘Identity parade? At this time of day?’
Slonský shrugged. ‘If the crime was committed at night…’ he began.
‘What crime?’
‘The crime you’re accused of.’
‘Which is?’
‘I’m not telling you till your lawyer gets here. Two can play at that game.’
Nejedlý fidgeted a bit, folding and unfolding his arms. The silence continued for a while as Slonský read the newspaper and Navrátil stared into space.
‘I suppose we’re waiting for the others to get here,’ Nejedlý offered.
‘The others?’
‘For the identity parade.’
‘No, you’re the only one.’
‘How can you have an identity parade with only one person?’
‘The law just requires that I have a sufficient number of others. And since I know you’re guilty zero seems like a sufficient number to me.’
‘Guilty? Of what?’
‘I told you,’ said Slonský. ‘I’m not answering questions until your lawyer is present.’
‘I’m entitled to know what I’m being accused of.’
Slonský pondered for a few moments. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ he conceded. ‘Let’s start with trafficking women for immoral purposes. That should put you away for a generation or so. Sentences average out at twelve years but you’ve done a few runs and since your associates are nasty people a bit of their sentences will probably rub off on you. I’ll be disappointed if you don’t get a twenty year stretch. Don’t you agree, Navrátil?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Nejedlý puffed out his chest. ‘Let’s see what evidence you’ve got for this trafficking guff, then.’
Slonský raised the thick folder in front of him. ‘Sworn statements from the trafficked girls, video footage of your vehicles crossing borders, sale of motorway toll coupons, and of course photographs of one of your warehouses with a half-dead naked woman tied to a beam while your friends cut her ears off.’
Nejedlý was shaken. He tried to regain his composure but it was obvious that he had not known about Daniela’s injuries.
‘You didn’t know about the ears, eh? So what did you think they wanted to borrow your warehouse for? Playing doctors and nurses?’ Slonský bellowed.
‘I’m not saying…’ Nejedlý began, cowering under the verbal attack.
‘…any more till your lawyer gets here. We heard. We hear it all the time. But people do. You see, you can’t afford to wait until your lawyer gets here. I wouldn’t mind betting that your associates know you’re here by now. They attacked Daniela so she couldn’t speak to us, and she had nothing very useful to say. Imagine what they’ll do to you once I let you go. There’s probably a big black car
on its way now. Waiting for your lawyer pretty well guarantees that they’ll get here in time to practise their carving skills. Even better, your lawyer may insist on your being released until your trial. So all in all, we’re happy to sit tight and wait.’ Slonský inspected his watch. ‘Oh, it’s our coffee break. We’ll leave you to think for a minute or two.’ Slonský ushered the uniformed officer into the room and carefully closed the door. ‘Sergeant Salzer is a good man. He has one great quality — he barely speaks. I like that in a policeman.’
He peered through the observation port. Salzer had emphasised his unwillingness to engage in conversation by pulling his chair away from the table a metre or two and was staring out Nejedlý in the manner of a heavyweight boxer at a weigh-in. Slonský had ensured that Salzer knew exactly what Nejedlý was being accused of, and Salzer, who had a daughter of Daniela’s age, was going to do nothing except transmitting contempt through the air. Twenty years ago Salzer might have given Nejedlý a little tap with a clenched fist just to emphasise his feelings, but in the modern, democratic Czech Republic where there was a rule of law, he would content himself with throwing the little worm into his cell with undue force a bit later. Of course, there was the added pleasure of not offering the accused a sip of water for five hours and fifty-nine minutes, so Salzer had set the alarm on his watch to ensure he did not inadvertently offer it earlier.
‘Well, that went well,’ Slonský pronounced.
‘Did it, sir?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘What was in the folder, sir?’
‘Eh? Oh, it’s Doležal’s personnel file. Can’t think what that was doing on my desk. Now on to phase two. Klinger is waiting upstairs for his turn to question the suspect, so perhaps you’d like to go and fetch him, Navrátil. An hour or so cloistered with Klinger and Nejedlý will know what true terror is.’
Klinger was impressive, conceded Slonský. He had never sat in on a financial crime interview before and was quite fascinated, not to say baffled. Klinger rattled off the questions briskly with no change of tone, so it was impossible to tell whether the answers were satisfactory or not, and he kept up a sharp pace, hitting with a question precisely as the last answer tailed away.
