by Graham Brack
‘Given the district I’m surprised they’re still here,’ murmured Rajka.
Mrs Moserová returned with a tray bearing their drinks, including a coffee for herself, and a plate of vanilla crescents.
‘I have a woman who helps me now I’m older,’ she explained. ‘She loves baking. Do help yourselves, please.’
Slonský tasted the coffee and took a bite from the biscuit. If he had not already been married he might have proposed to Mrs Moserová on the spot. The coffee was excellent, and the biscuits were beyond any of the type that he had ever bought in a bakery.
‘You have a very nice flat here,’ Rajka began.
‘Thank you,’ the old lady smiled. ‘I owe many of the objects to my late husband’s taste. He was a professor at the university where he taught the history of art. And of course he knew many artists. That accounts for the collection here. I doubt we could have bought so many on the open market, but they were very kind to him.’
‘We’re here about a letter you wrote to a newspaper some years ago after you were caught up in a bank siege. Do you remember?’
‘Young man, I don’t see how I could ever forget it. Have you come round to tell me I’m a stupid old woman who didn’t see what she thought?’
‘Not at all,’ said Rajka. ‘Why — has someone done that?’
‘A policeman came shortly afterwards and told me my complaint had been investigated and found to be unfounded, and I wasn’t to repeat such scurrilous allegations again. I was rather upset to be called a liar like that, but my husband persuaded me that I had done my duty by drawing attention to it and we must trust that the authorities would have investigated it thoroughly.’
‘Unfortunately,’ Rajka replied, ‘we now have reason to believe that your evidence was … not properly assessed.’
Hidden in an old drawer and ignored for eight years was how Slonský might have phrased it, but he let the matter drop.
‘I wonder if you’d mind telling us what you saw once again,’ Rajka asked, ‘if it isn’t too distressing for you.’
‘It’s not distressing at all,’ said Mrs Moserová.
‘It must have been quite an ordeal,’ Slonský chipped in.
‘I’ve had worse,’ sniffed Mrs Moserová. ‘As a young woman in the fifties I was arrested several times. In those days you weren’t even guaranteed a trial.’
Not for the first time Slonský found himself admiring a seemingly frail old lady who proved to be made of granite.
‘I was in the bank to pay in a money order my sister had sent us,’ Mrs Moserová continued. ‘It wasn’t a lot but her feelings would have been hurt if we hadn’t banked it. It was quite a long walk from the bus and there was a queue so I sat on one of the chairs just inside the door to collect myself. Three men came in.’
‘Did they arrive together?’ Rajka interrupted.
‘Two were talking as they came in, and they joined the line. The third one started picking up leaflets or forms of some kind.’
‘I see. Please, do continue.’
‘I’m afraid I wasn’t really concentrating when it all started. Suddenly the two men produced guns and the third one had somehow managed to get behind the counter and was collecting all the money in a bag. We were all told to keep our hands up, so of course we did. After just a little while — not much more than a minute I’d have said — one of the men went to the door and looked out. They must have been expecting to meet someone because the man came back and said “He’s not there.”’
‘Those exact words?’
‘I believe so. Then the man behind the counter, who seemed to be the leader of the group, said something rather vulgar and told his colleague to bolt the door. I’ve often wondered why they didn’t just run away but I think the bags were rather heavy with so much money in them, particularly because the bank staff had added coins as well as notes. Then we heard someone banging on the door and shouting “Police! Open up!” at which the leader told them all to grab the nearest person to use as a shield. They all grabbed young women and then they gathered at the end of the counter to discuss their next steps. I couldn’t hear what they were saying.’
Slonský was very impressed with Mrs Moserová. She spoke clearly and didn’t pretend to know anything just to complete her story. This was quite novel in Prague. When he was a new policeman Slonský had discovered that at most traffic accidents people were prepared to give statements clearly attributing blame even if they could not have seen the incident in question, based to a large extent on the principle that a man who had a car was a bigwig and therefore not to be trusted. He had a special fondness for the old boys who insisted that the Deputy Secretary of the Communist Party in Prague had driven into the back of a young man’s vehicle and continued to insist on the point even after the honest young fellow had admitted selecting reverse gear by mistake. This, they explained, was clear proof that he had sustained a head injury due to the Secretary’s inept driving.
Mrs Moserová took a sip of coffee before continuing.
‘I don’t know how long the police took to get into the bank, but they came down the back stairs and there was a loud noise as they came through the door at the foot of the stairs. There was a horrible smell so I suppose they must have used some sort of explosive. Then the policemen spread out in a large arc which must have made it difficult for the robbers to see all of them at once. The two in the bank foyer realised that they could not escape, so they pushed their hostages away but as soon as they did so they were shot.’
‘Did you see who shot them?’ Rajka wanted to know.
‘At that stage I could only see three of the police clearly because they were so spread out. The only one I saw shoot was the one in the middle. But there were at least two I couldn’t see.’
‘What about the third man?’
‘Well, he didn’t have a gun, so he tried to escape up the stairs, but the wreckage from the door was in his way, and one of the police shot him. Now, I know that can only have been the one in the middle. That’s what I thought was so upsetting, do you see? One doesn’t expect to see bloodshed on a little trip to the bank, but to see an unarmed man shot seemed completely abhorrent to me, and I said so in my letter.’
Rajka turned to Slonský. ‘Any questions, Captain?’
‘No, sir. Mrs Moserová’s evidence is admirably straightforward.’
They thanked her for her co-operation and her hospitality, and strolled back to the car.
‘If only we knew who the middle one was,’ Rajka said.
‘Surely the commander of the mission.’
‘We need a bit more than that, Slonský. If only we still had that videotape that went missing.’
The boy was waiting by the car with his hand outstretched. Rajka fished in his pocket and handed the lad twenty crowns.
‘You’re right,’ said Rajka. ‘It was worth twenty.’
It was late afternoon by now and Rajka suggested they return to the office so he could write up the draft statements.
‘Where do we go next?’ posed Slonský.
‘I don’t know,’ said Rajka. ‘We’ve got enough to start an enquiry but not enough to conclude it successfully.’
‘On the basis of three heads being better than two, why don’t we go to see Colonel Urban?’
Urban heard them out without comment, but when they had finished he slapped his desk hard with the palm of his hand.
‘I knew it! It’s that idiot Zedniček’s fault. If he’d conducted a proper enquiry we wouldn’t be having this trouble now. Of course, the fact that one of the men was subsequently found not to have a gun is not proof that Dostál didn’t genuinely believe he had when he shot him. If he was the one who did the shooting, that is.’
‘If he has nothing to feel guilty about, why falsify the evidence?’ Slonský answered. ‘The body didn’t move itself or go and fetch a gun.’
‘Why didn’t the other police say anything? Do we know who they were?’
Rajka made a note. ‘I do
n’t know how we’ll find out who they are, given that the case file has been so thoroughly edited. But I’ll see if we can find a staff list of the time,’ he said.
Urban stood up and walked round his desk to stand next to them.
‘I really appreciate the effort you’re putting in on my behalf.’
Rajka would have protested that this was his job, but decided that this was not the time to split hairs.
‘Slonský, you’re working flat out anyway. Haven’t you got an abduction and murder to solve?’ Urban asked.
‘I’m letting Navrátil lead on that one, sir.’
‘Navrátil? He has the makings of a good officer, doesn’t he? But I seem to remember you were whingeing about a shortage of people before all this.’
‘Krob joins us next week. And I’ve got to recruit a woman from somewhere.’
‘What’s Lieutenant Dvorník doing?’
In all the fuss of the last few days Slonský had completely forgotten about Dvorník and his assistant Hauzer. Neither of them was lazy, but they obviously thought that if he showed no interest in them it was not their place to come to him to explain how they were filling in their time.
‘I’m just about to get a report from him, sir,’ Slonský improvised.
‘Why don’t I let you have Peiperová back until this is sorted?’
‘That will leave you without a Personal Assistant, sir,’ Slonský protested.
‘I put up with that nincompoop Kuchař for a year. That was as good as doing without.’
Kuchař was a young officer who scored surprisingly high marks at the police academy in the light of his subsequent performance in the force, but it appeared that you could make up for a lack of diligence, organisation and intelligence by having a senior politician for a father, as a result of which he was now part of the Czech contingent at Europol.
‘In that case, sir…’ Slonský began.
‘Needless to say, the quid pro quo is that you get results, Slonský.’
There’s always a catch, Slonský thought. But it would be worth it to have Peiperová in the team again. She was sharp, fearless, supremely organised, and she made much better coffee than Navrátil. Not that coffee making fell within her normal duties, he hurriedly added mentally, in case she could read his thoughts.
Peiperová herself was sitting opposite Navrátil as he tidied his desk at the end of the day.
‘It’s good that you’re being given some responsibility,’ she said. ‘I’m just a skivvy at the moment.’
‘But you’re being introduced to some very important people,’ Navrátil pointed out.
‘I am,’ conceded Peiperová, ‘but you may have noticed that very important people quite often seem to end up as very important prisoners.’
‘That’s true,’ Navrátil agreed. ‘You need real influence to be truly corrupt.’
‘That’s probably why you and I are so honest.’
Navrátil said nothing for a moment or two. When he finally found his voice, he averted his gaze so as not to convey his feelings fully.
‘I miss you,’ he said. ‘It’s not the same.’
‘You see me almost every day.’
‘Yes, but not to work with. The Captain is a good man but he’s stretched at the minute. He’s not as much fun as he used to be. I think he misses you too.’
‘He wouldn’t say so, would he?’
‘Not to me. Or to you. Or to anyone else, I suppose. He’s trying to carry on as if nothing has happened but you can’t get over the fact that he now has a department to run, and on top of that he’s dreading the thought that Colonel Dostál may become Chief of Police and your boss won’t get the job.’
‘There’s nothing he can do about that, Jan. What will be will be.’
Navrátil smiled. ‘Are you going to tell him that, or will I?’
‘Probably best if neither of us says a word. Anyway, he has enough on his plate with this abduction and murder. At least we know why the mother didn’t report the murdered child missing, if she thought it might lead to us discovering she wasn’t her daughter in the first place.’
‘It seems she’d got into an abusive relationship. In the last picture I can find of her you can see she’d taken a beating.’
‘What makes men think they can do that?’ snapped Peiperová.
‘We don’t all do that,’ Navrátil replied. ‘I’d never lay a finger on you.’
‘I was rather hoping you might once we were married.’
‘I mean I’d never lay a finger on you in anger.’
‘We don’t know what we’d do in anger, do we? But I think I’m safer with you than anyone else I know.’
Navrátil smiled again.
‘Besides,’ Peiperová added, ‘if you hurt me I’d complain to Captain Slonský and he’d give you the kicking of a lifetime.’
‘That’s true. He hates domestic violence.’
‘Where is he, by the way?’
‘I’ve no idea. I haven’t seen him since yesterday afternoon. He said he was going to see Major Rajka this morning.’
‘Maybe they’ve found something.’
‘Let’s hope. I reckon if Captain Slonský can pin something on Dostál that gets Urban that job you’ll be back here in no time, probably with your lieutenant’s star on your shoulder.’
‘We wear plain clothes. Insignia aren’t that important.’
‘I’d get mine sewn on my shirt just to make the point.’
Peiperová laughed. ‘Have you finished there? Let’s go and get something to eat and maybe we can find a movie.’
‘Almost. Are you all packed for the weekend?’
‘It doesn’t take me long to pack for a weekend. I’m looking forward to it.’
‘I’m not. My mother is too nosey for her own good sometimes.’
‘She’s lovely. And we’ll get along perfectly well. After all, we already have something in common.’
‘What’s that?’
Peiperová stood up and draped her arms round Navrátil’s neck.
‘Your mum thinks you’re smashing. And so do I.’
Dvorník was still at his desk when Slonský marched into the room.
‘Still here?’
‘There’s a lot on. I know you’re busy so I didn’t like to worry you about it.’
Slonský pulled up a chair. ‘If I haven’t spoken to you it’s because I trust you just to get on with things. After all, now that I’ve been moved up you’re the senior lieutenant.’
‘That’s because I’m the only lieutenant,’ Dvorník corrected him. ‘Any news of another one?’
‘Still pushing Human Resources to let me have one.’
‘We need two. One to replace you, and one to replace poor old Doležal.’
‘I know. It’s not for want of trying, believe me. How’s Hauzer doing?’
‘He’s okay. Keeps himself to himself. Some days he barely says a word.’
‘Can you keep him occupied?’
‘Oh, yes! We’ve got a grievous bodily harm and a hit and run on the go. And I’m still liaising with Organised Crime about that gang thing.’
‘Don’t let them saddle you with all the work. Our interest is only in the woundings. They can sort out the gangs themselves.’
Slonský noticed a new picture of Dvorník’s family on the corner of the desk. Since new Dvorníks arrived at depressingly frequent intervals he quietly counted the children.
‘Still eight?’ he asked.
‘That’s right,’ said Dvorník. ‘I don’t think we’ll have any more.’
‘That’s what you said after number seven.’
‘I mean it this time. It wasn’t too bad when they were small but the oldest is fifteen now and the house feels a bit crowded.’
Dvorník and his wife had each been married before, and each had brought three children to the new relationship. Slonský had enough trouble remembering the first names of people he knew well. How anyone remembered the names of eight children was beyond him
. Perhaps Dvorník made them wear shirts with their names on the front. Maybe they had individual numbers like a hockey team.
‘I’ll leave you to get on,’ said Slonský. ‘I just want you to know that even when we get new lieutenants, if we ever do, you’ll still be the senior one.’
Dvorník was touched. ‘Thanks. I appreciate your faith in me.’
Slonský had some reservations about Dvorník. His willingness to resort to firearms was a bit of an issue, but at least he put in the hours on the range perfecting his technique. Slonský himself had to be prodded to do his mandatory firearms training; in fact, come to think of it, now that Captain Lukas was not around to do the prodding, he thought he should check when it had to be completed. He flicked through his training logbook when he returned to his office.
Two weeks ago.
Chapter 12
Slonský tipped his glass as far as it would go to catch the very last drains of his beer. Valentin had another one waiting for him, but it would be a shame to waste any when the devoted brewers of Plzeň had put so much effort into making it.
‘Better?’ asked Valentin.
‘Oh yes,’ said Slonský. ‘The little grey cells are beginning to buzz. I can feel them all lining up for maximum efficiency. I reckon another one of those and the old brain will be purring along like a well-tuned engine.’
‘You hang on here. I need to go and sort out a problem with my hydraulics.’
‘It’s your age. Have one for me while you’re at it.’
As Valentin waddled off Slonský took his first sip through the foamy head of a new beer and sighed with deep satisfaction. It rarely disappointed, unlike most other things in life. Valentin didn’t. He’d been the same since they started school on the same day over fifty years ago. They had their first drink together when they were eleven, a glug from a bottle of homemade schnapps Valentin’s father had distilled.
Captain Lukas was always reliable too. I never thought I’d miss him, thought Slonský, at least not until the last few months when it became clear he was going. It was a bit like a bereavement — there were so many things he wished he’d said to Lukas before it was too late. Things like “How do you get all the staff you’re supposed to have?”, “Why do you wear uniform when you don’t have to?” and “Can I have another couple of pairs of police issue shoes?”
