Death On Duty

by Graham Brack

  Before long Slonský was fairly convinced it all hinged on Nejedlý’s answer to question 101a on form 54 — or perhaps it was question 54 on form 101a — and why it did not tally with the answer he had given to question 27 on some other form. This must have been important because Klinger had highlighted it in orange on his photocopy, and if you knew Klinger’s method you knew orange was always bad. So was green, but a different kind of bad. And you never wanted to see pink on one of your forms.

  With a jolt Slonský realised that he must have nodded off briefly because Klinger was now going through the import regulations as they related to Serbian fruit, jotting down numbers on a pad of squared paper and clicking on a calculator before adding figures to a column. In the end the hour with Klinger ran to two hours, eighteen minutes.

  ‘Satisfactory?’ asked Slonský as they left the room.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ Klinger answered. ‘I think we can demonstrate a very large unpaid tax and duty liability there.’

  ‘How large is “very large”?’

  ‘All his worldly goods and then some. The vehicles are leased, and some of the buildings are rented, so he doesn’t actually have a great deal. Or, more accurately, not a great deal that we can’t confiscate as ill-gotten proceeds.’

  ‘Couldn’t happen to a nicer man. He didn’t want to wait for his lawyer, then?’

  ‘I don’t recall it being mentioned. Anyway, I’ll just write this up, then I’ll come down and charge him, then you can hold him until his first hearing, and fraud hearings are notoriously slow in coming up.’

  Slonský beamed. ‘I do enjoy co-operating with other branches of the police service. We’re all here to serve the public, after all. Well, must let you get on. And as soon as Navrátil gets here we’d better ask a bit about the abduction and trafficking.’

  ‘Yes, where is young Navrátil?’

  ‘Gone to get us a couple of hot bacon rolls and some coffee. The rules say the prisoner can be kept without food for six hours but it doesn’t say that the same is true for detectives. I thought if we eat them in front of him it may help him work up an appetite.’

  Peiperová was employing more subtle questioning skills. Nejedlý’s secretary had been struck dumb by the story Peiperová had unfolded for her, so the young officer had suggested a brandy might be just the thing to steady her nerves. One brandy had become three, while Peiperová sipped a glass of mineral water.

  The secretary’s name was Petra. She was a matronly lady of about fifty who had been with Mr Nejedlý for about four years, having previously worked as an administrator for a theatre company that lost its funding. If she hadn’t been desperate she would never have taken the job with Nejedlý who, she said, struck her all along as a wrong ’un, though she could not really say why.

  ‘There were his friends, of course. A man is known by the company he keeps,’ she explained.

  ‘My mother used to say that,’ Peiperová agreed.

  ‘Mine too. They were rough types. Uncultured. I was surprised, because Mr Nejedlý was a theatre-goer, you know. Comedies, mostly. But not the sort to mix with hooligans like that.’

  ‘Did you see any evidence of girls being trafficked?’

  Petra shook her head emphatically. ‘No. never. Well, when I say never, I mean hardly ever. He came in one day with a pink handbag he said had been left in one of the lorries. I asked why there would be a handbag in one of our lorries, and he said the driver must have invited a woman into his cab. Well, that was strictly against the rules, but the driver wasn’t disciplined for it, so you have to wonder, don’t you?’

  ‘But you didn’t mention this to anyone?’

  ‘There’s no-one to mention it to, dear. There’s me and there’s Mr Nejedlý. The drivers and warehousemen rarely come in.’

  ‘There’s no Mrs Nejedlý?’

  ‘Well, there is and there isn’t. I’ve never met her, but she used to ring in if her monthly payment didn’t turn up, so I think they must be divorced. That wasn’t happening so much lately, but there was a time when it was going on most months.’

  ‘So things were getting better?’

  ‘I didn’t see how. There wasn’t much more business. Of course, from what you’ve said I can see how it might be. Mr Nejedlý was running out of space to keep all these plums he was importing. He gave me a load of tins and he donated some to a homeless shelter, but he kept bringing them in, even though they weren’t selling. At least, not as fast as they were arriving. But I suppose you can’t ship girls in empty trucks, can you? They need something to hide behind. I blame those foreigners downstairs. I bet they got him into this.’

  ‘So can you give us a statement describing what you saw?’

  ‘I didn’t really see anything. I can’t help you.’

  Peiperová dipped in her bag and produced a photograph. She passed it wordlessly to Petra, who gasped and clasped her hand over her mouth.

  ‘Jesus Maria! Is that the girl found in the warehouse?’

  ‘Yes. Her name is Daniela,’ Peiperová added, having remembered the lecture that told her that people empathise more with others when they know their names. ‘I knew her. I’d like to catch the people who did this, and I need your help.’

  Slonský was going home. It was nearly midnight and Navrátil was just typing up a report.

  ‘Come in an hour or two late in the morning, lad.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Just leave that on my desk when you’re done. Goodnight.’

  Slonský clapped his hat on his head and strode downstairs.

  The office door creaked open, and Peiperová reversed in with a mug in each hand.

  ‘Are you still here?’ said Navratil.

  ‘Obviously. Unless you’re dreaming, of course. I’ve been writing up Nejedlý’s secretary’s statement.’

  ‘Did you get anywhere?’

  ‘She’s got a good memory for dates. She also has an office diary she’ll bring in, along with Nejedlý’s address book.’

  ‘Good. I’m almost finished here. I thought you’d have gone home by now,’ Navrátil added, accepting the proffered mug of coffee.

  ‘I’m waiting for a strong man to walk me through the streets. If I go on my own I might get molested.’

  ‘You won’t get molested if I’m with you.’

  ‘No,’ she said. Shame, she thought.

  Chapter 13

  Nejedlý’s statement was a curious mixture, thought Slonský as he read it through for the third time. He had been prepared to give full details of many things, but there were a couple where he claimed to know nothing, or, more accurately, nothing useful in one case and nothing at all in the other.

  When Navrátil and Peiperová arrived Slonský recounted these as he paraphrased the statement.

  ‘According to his account — and bear in mind he’s a criminal and therefore probably a liar too — Nejedlý’s business was entirely legitimate and very prosperous through the nineties. His downfall began with women — there’s a lesson there, lad — and in particular the staff of a couple of clubs where he was wont to go to unwind after a busy day humping his plums onto lorries. He became a bit too friendly with one of them, and his wife caught him in flagrante delicto in his office. I think that’s Latin for squeezing the fruit.’

  ‘I know what it means, sir.’

  ‘Jolly good. So his wife walked out and divorced him, and collared a good chunk of his net worth plus a monthly payment. This coincided with a downturn in the import-export trade and soon he was having trouble keeping going, to the point where he tried to get out of a contract to import tinned fruit from Serbia. His contacts there put an alternative proposition to him. Now, he claims that they threatened him, but if they did that why would they pay him handsomely too?’

  ‘They wanted him to smuggle girls into the country.’

  ‘Not necessarily to the Czech Republic, but here if possible because they could earn more here. And as a customer of the clubs in Prague he knew a few people who
might take them. Before long the Bosnians bought some of the clubs — Klinger tells me this is called downstream vertical integration — and the profits became quite healthy. Nejedlý sent his lorries to Serbia, Brukić brought the girls from Bosnia, and then Nejedlý brought them home.’

  ‘Why didn’t Brukić just drive them all the way, sir?’ Peiperová wanted to know.

  ‘He had a very close shave with the Hungarians and he was convinced they were on his trail. Plus he could only bring six or eight in a minibus, what with the guards and luggage space he needed. This way he kept his hands cleaner — if the girls told their story, he could claim he only took them to Serbia and had no idea what happened to them after that.’

  ‘Would anyone be taken in, though?’

  ‘The likes of Brukić don’t care what people think. They’re only interested in what can be proved, and you couldn’t possibly have proved that he was lying. Nejedlý claims that when Daniela was snatched he was just told they needed a safe building for a few days, so he handed over the keys to a warehouse he no longer uses. He knew nothing about her abduction or anything that happened to her.’

  ‘Do you believe him, sir?’ asked Navrátil.

  Slonský sighed. ‘I think I do, because I think he was keen not to know, so even if he didn’t know particulars, he knew something criminal was going on. Anyway, what I find interesting are the things he says he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know who killed Hrdlička and says he has an alibi, though we know that’s a lie because his hot kettle gave him away. But he says he hadn’t heard any mention of the knight before the day of the killing, and then he only heard about it immediately after.’

  ‘So why did he leave before the questioning?’ Peiperová enquired.

  ‘He says he had incriminating documents in his office and decided he had better hide them when he saw us heading for the building, so he took off down the fire escape.’

  ‘But we weren’t in uniform,’ Navrátil objected.

  ‘Maybe not, but we were talking to uniformed police and waving our badges around, and it seems he overheard one of your rat-catching visits. Then the other thing he claims not to know about is Opava. According to him he hasn’t been in or through Opava and he has no idea why Hrdlička was so interested in it. Anyway, let’s get down to business. We’ve got enough here to bring in Brukić and Savović but I doubt they’ll come quietly, so we need to plan our campaign carefully.’

  There was a prolonged silence as they waited to hear what the plan was.

  ‘But before we do that,’ said Slonský, ‘let’s get some coffee and pastries.’

  The summons from the Director of Criminal Police came halfway through Slonský’s second pastry, so he was obliged to put half the tartlet in his mouth in one go as he departed. The Director did not rise to greet Slonský or offer him his hand as he entered, which Slonský interpreted as bad signs.

  ‘Good morning, Slonský.’

  ‘Good morning, sir.’

  ‘I thought I asked you to keep me informed of the progress of your enquiries?’

  ‘I think that too, sir.’

  ‘But you haven’t.’

  ‘Not entirely, sir.’

  ‘Not at all, Slonský.’

  ‘No, sir. I’ve been too busy detecting crime, sir.’

  ‘Then there’s no time like the present, seeing as you were detecting crime in the canteen.’

  Slonský looked nonplussed.

  ‘You’ve got a smear of blueberry juice on your chin, man.’

  ‘Ah. Well, where to start, sir?’

  ‘How about explaining why there’s an army camp full of impressionable young cadets and a busload of prostitutes?’

  ‘Place of safety, sir. I had to improvise somewhere to keep the girls out of the reach of intimidators.’

  ‘That’s worked, then, though whether the cadets will ever be the same again is a moot point. Then there’s the girl who went missing?’

  ‘Found in a warehouse in a bad way, sir. The owner of the warehouse is in custody and denies involvement in that. He’s one of the people in the building Hrdlička was watching.’

  ‘And what progress on trapping the killer of Hrdlička?’

  ‘There’s some oddities there, sir. Hrdlička was using a non-authorised radio microphone and earpiece obtained from an ex-policeman.’

  ‘Don’t tell me — Gazdík.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Gazdík seems to have been asked to provide this because Hrdlička didn’t want to go through normal channels. That implies that he didn’t trust someone in his department.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Peiperová visited his wife and found a map of Opava among his effects. He doesn’t mention this in any of his reports, but his enquiries seem to centre on a derelict manor house. This is where we come to a delicate bit, sir.’

  ‘You think you know who the officer is that Hrdlička was keeping it from.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Captain Grigar asked Mrs Hrdličková what her husband had been doing at the time of his death and wanted any papers he had, but she says Hrdlička had already sent them all in. So presumably he was sending them to someone other than Grigar. Then there’s the curious incident on the night Navrátil got arrested.’

  ‘Yes, I heard about that. I trust there was some mistake?’

  ‘I can’t think of anyone less likely to expose himself than Navrátil, sir. It was a cover story I improvised on the spur of the moment to explain why he was on the roof of a villa looking into a woman’s bedroom.’

  ‘In the course of duty, I hope?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Technically he was working overtime. Anyway, a source was listening to the police frequencies that afternoon when Navrátil and Peiperová went to meet the girl who was found in the warehouse, and the source says he heard Captain Grigar order that Navrátil should be followed.’

  The Director put his pen down and stood up. Slonský tried to do the same but a gesture from the Director told him to resume his seat.

  ‘I think better when I walk,’ the Director explained. ‘This is serious. Grigar is a senior officer with an excellent record. It’s hard to imagine any kind of bad practice where he is concerned.’

  ‘We can all be tempted. A nice nest-egg to take into retirement, a foreign holiday, who knows what it would take? And he’s been pestering me for details of the progress of my enquiries.’

  ‘I hope he hasn’t got anywhere.’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Good. I’d be put out if I thought he knew more about what was going on than I did. Have you spoken to Grigar about these suggestions?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Reported them to Internal Affairs?’

  ‘No, sir. I didn’t think I had enough proof.’

  ‘It’s their job to look for proof, not yours. I’ll speak to Major Rajka and get his team onto it.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘So what next? These Bosnians are still out and about.’

  ‘I plan to bring them in, sir, but I don’t expect it to be easy. We may need armed backup.’

  ‘I hope that doesn’t mean Dvorník and his personal collection.’

  ‘No, sir. But it’s hard to think how best to do this.’

  The Director looked at the map of Prague on his wall. ‘Do you know where they are?’

  Slonský walked over to join him. ‘Savović’s office is here. They share a villa here. Their clubs are here and here. The clubs are the place they’re most likely to be but that means arresting them at night.’

  ‘Let’s try the office first. You interviewed him there so that’s a possibility. If he isn’t there we’ll leave a man watching and we’ll raid the club tonight. I’ll organise some armed support for you.’

  Slonský felt just a smidgen of concern at the use of the word “you”. He had hoped his presence at the arrest might not be needed but managed to stammer his thanks. The Director examined his watch.

  ‘Shall we say 14:30 for the roundup?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’


  ‘Good. Now to the other reason I asked you here. Captain Lukas was here yesterday to discuss returning to work.’

  ‘Excellent news, sir. Shall I clear his room?’

  ‘Not yet, Slonský. I hear you aren’t in it anyway. I receive regular reports on the arrangements you’ve made.’

  ‘Bloody Doležal.’

  The Director smiled. ‘You know a policeman never reveals his sources. Don’t worry, I told you to organise it however you thought best and that’s what you’ve done. I’m not going to criticise you for that. In fact, the department has never run so efficiently. I can’t recall a time when so many reports arrived punctually.’

  ‘I can’t claim the credit, sir.’

  ‘And you weren’t going to get it. Officer Peiperová possesses a rare administrative talent. So much so that when Captain Lukas returns, I’d like her to come here to act as my personal assistant.’

  Slonský was taken aback. ‘I don’t have to have Kuchař, do I, sir?’

  ‘No, Slonský. Nobody should have to have a Kuchař, not even among my enemies. When his year is up I’m sending him to Interpol. With luck he won’t come back. But I thought I’ve had enough of Academy graduates. It would be good to have someone who has come up through the ranks the long way round.’

  ‘She’s undoubtedly qualified, sir. And she’s ambitious, and there’s no doubt that being personal assistant to the Director of Criminal Police would look good on any job application.’

  The Director coughed gently. ‘It may be personal assistant to someone at a higher level by then.’

  ‘We live in hope, sir,’ said Slonský quickly. ‘I’m just unsure what effect this will have on Navrátil.’

  ‘Of course, there’s no special relationship between workmates under your supervision, is there?’

  ‘Not during work time, sir.’

  ‘Not quite what the regulations say, Slonský. Perhaps separating them now would be a good thing in the long run.’