The Magician's Accomplice

by Michael Genelin

  “These items as well,” she instructed the photographer.

  Jana moved the victim’s foot slightly to reveal the coin. She signaled the photographer to take a few more photos and then picked up both the coin and the napkin.

  She moved around to the other side of the table to face the dead youth. For a student, he was all dressed up. It was neither Sunday nor a holiday. Students were rarely attired the way he was unless forced to by their parents or by other pressing circumstances. Jana slipped on a pair of plastic gloves and looked closely at the bullet holes in the window, checking the angle of the shots as well as she could, even feeling the holes to check their paths through the glass. A close pattern, which meant an individual who knew how to handle a pistol. A professional.

  Jana gestured for the photographer to move back, then stood behind the dead youth. “I’m about to pull him erect in the chair. I want you to take full photos with him in the upright position, then closeup shots of the wounds both with the jacket open and the jacket closed.”

  Jana took a fistful of the dead youth’s hair with one hand and seized his shoulder with the other, easing him erect, propping him up in the chair so he would not fall, walked around to look at him, then straightened his jacket. All the bullets had hit him in the chest. Yes, the assassin had been a good shot. As the photographer began to take the new set of photos, she went back to Elias and sat opposite him as he began placing the belongings of the dead youth into a large evidence envelope. Jana stopped him.

  “I want a quick look.”

  She examined each personal item: the boy’s student ID card, a comb, a ballpoint pen, tissues, a wallet with no cash, only a driver’s license. There were also a few coins of no real interest. Except for the driver’s license, which she kept, Jana indicated that Elias could now bag the rest of the items.

  “Did you move the body to get these items?”

  “No. I reached around inside his jacket pocket and pulled them out. I patted the pants pockets. Nothing in there.”

  “You missed two items on the floor at his feet.” She held up the napkin and the coin. “You’re getting careless.”

  “Sorry, Commander.”

  “That’s why we have at least two people on the scene: four eyes are better than two.” She gave him the napkin and examined the quarter herself. “An American coin. Something odd about it.” She held it up to the light, running her fingers around the rim. “Slightly uneven.” She began to press around its edge, and was able to bend the coin, then bend it again.

  “You’re a magician, Commander.”

  “A trick coin.” She paused, thinking. “What was an American coin for a magic act doing on the floor?”

  “Perhaps we should see if there is an American magician registered at the hotel.”

  “Perhaps. Most likely not,” she concluded. “Magicians keep close tabs on their props. Their livelihood depends on them. Log it on the manifest of items. I’ll keep it for a while.” She slipped it into her pocket. “What time was the decedent shot?”

  “Give or take a few minutes, just about 7:45.”

  “Did anyone see the actual killing?” She sighed, knowing her question was probably futile. Unless they were professionals, themselves in the business of killing people, or police officers, everyone else would have been too excited or too frightened to remember what happened, much less give an accurate description of the murderer.

  “No one inside or outside that we could find,” Elias responded. “Patrol officers are still walking around the square trying to locate anyone who can give us a description. So far, zero. One of the staff here saw a man wearing an overcoat, dark glasses, and a hat walking away from the window, but he’s not sure the man was the shooter and so far has not been able to give us anything except a build and a height that changes every time our witness thinks about it.”

  Jana checked the name on the driver’s license. “Hello again, Denis Macek.” She looked up at Elias. “Is he a guest at the hotel?”

  “The manager of the hotel says he’s not registered. She assumes the dead kid was just walk-in traffic having the Royal Breakfast.”

  “Couldn’t be: no money in his wallet and no credit cards.”

  “Maybe he was waiting for someone else to join him and pay for the meal?”

  “The food was on the plate in front of him. The fork had bits of egg on it. He was already eating, so he wasn’t waiting for anyone.” She nodded, in the direction of the staff tables. “That the staff in the corner?” Without waiting for an answer, she walked over to them.

  “Hello, everyone. I am Commander Jana Matinova.” The employees were seated at two tables separated by a gap of about three feet. “Let’s move the tables together. That way we can all talk, like one big family.”

  She pulled up a chair and sat. “I’d like you all to know that I’ve heard such great things about the staff at this hotel that I consider it an honor to sit here with you.”

  There were a few nods, sheepish smiles, and murmurs of “thank you” from the group.

  “However, there is one thing that I don’t understand—besides, of course, the question of who killed the victim. How could this man,” she consulted the driver’s license of the decedent, “Denis Macek, a student at Polytechnic University, breakfast here today?”

  “We were serving it,” murmured one of the waiters, not understanding what she meant.

  “I know you were serving.” She smiled at the maitre d’. “You were working the front of the restaurant today, I assume?”

  “I’m the host for the restaurant,” he conceded.

  “Then you would have approved Mr. Macek’s arrival for breakfast.”

  He nodded, with a worried look. “I don’t know a Mr. Macek. I know we have a guest named Miroslav Fico. The man who was killed told me he was Mr. Fico, so I allowed him in.”

  “And Fico is actually staying in the hotel?”

  “I have a guest list. He’s on it.”

  “Do you know what Mr. Fico looks like?”

  “He’s the dead man.”

  “I don’t think so, sir.” She stood.

  “Can we leave?” asked a waiter.

  “Only when the other officers tell you that you’re free to go. That may be a while yet. Thank you all.” Jana walked back to Elias, who was watching the photographer complete his pictures.

  “Anything?” he asked Jana.

  “They thought the dead student was a guest, a man named Miroslav Fico. The front desk is our next stop.”

  Elias fell in step with her. Jana waved the decedent’s license at her investigator. “I think our dead student was scheming to get himself a free breakfast. He knew Fico was a guest. He used Fico’s name to get seated. I have to believe our student didn’t want to be caught stealing a breakfast. So, how did our dead young man know there was a guest registered by the name of Fico, and how did he know Fico was not having breakfast so he could successfully impersonate him?”

  They walked out of the dining area and over to the registration desk. A woman wearing a severe business suit bearing a nameplate that identified her as the hotel manager stood next to the desk fidgeting with her hands. She walked a few steps toward them, her lips pursed with stress.

  “I understand the job the police have to do, but can you tell me how long you must keep the corpse in there? We have guests who will not appreciate seeing a dead man in the dining area.”

  “Just a while longer. Perhaps another half hour.” Jana assured her. “Are the desk staff members who were on duty at the time of the killing still here?”

  “Their shifts aren’t over yet.”

  “I’d like to talk to them,” Jana said.

  “We have a hotel to run. They can’t be occupied for very long.”

  “Just a short conversation.”

  A man and two women were huddled at the rear of the counter. The manager beckoned to them, nodded, then stationed herself behind the desk to serve guests as the three desk employees somewhat anxiously
walked over.

  “I’m Commander Matinova; this is Investigator Elias.”

  The three desk people nodded at the two police officers. Jana held out the dead youth’s driver’s license for them to examine.

  “Tell us if you recognize either the young man in the photo or the name on the license.”

  The man and the older of the women looked at the license, both of them murmuring a quick “no.” The younger woman hesitated. She stared at the photo silently. When she finally lifted her head, a solitary tear trickled down her face.

  “Thank you both.” Jana dismissed the other two desk clerks. The young woman’s ID tag read “Maria.” “Maria, I’d like you to stay for a few more minutes,” Jana said. “I think you knew the victim,” Jana suggested.

  As soon as the other two clerks returned to the counter, the manager darted over to Jana. “Why are you detaining Maria?” She stared into the young woman’s face. “What have you done?” she demanded.

  Jana put her hand on the manager’s shoulder. “She hasn’t done anything. Absolutely nothing! It’s just that we want to clarify a few points. We need to speak privately with Maria. Procedure, you know.”

  The manager hesitated, darting a last suspicious glance at Maria, reluctantly acquiescing. After a last quick warning glance at Maria, she moved away from them.

  “Perhaps we can sit over here,” Jana suggested, leading the young woman to a configuration of easy chairs and couches that had been set up in the lobby for guests and their visitors. “It’s always best to be comfortable.” Jana spoke softly, trying to assure Maria that she was not someone to be afraid of. Jana gestured at one of the couches, easing herself down next to Maria. Elias took one of the chairs across from them.

  “Let me promise you that anything you say to me or my associate will be kept from the manager and anyone else at the hotel,” Jana began. “Only police officers will have access to what you say. So you have nothing to fear from the manager or anyone else at the hotel, or in your private life. Everything you tell us will be confidential. I hope that eases any fears you might have about talking to us.”

  Maria thought, then nodded.

  “Good. Please tell me your full name.”

  “Maria Anikova.”

  “May I call you Maria?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. My name is Jana.”

  “Jana.” Maria tried to smile. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Not too pleased, under these circumstances, though?”

  Another tear trickled down Maria’s face.

  “How well did you know the young man who was killed?”

  “We grew up together. I knew his mother and father before they died. I know his Uncle Denis.”

  Jana glanced at the dead youth’s license, then looked up at Maria. “The same name as your friend?”

  “Yes. Denis was named after his uncle.”

  Elias made a note of the fact.

  “Your friend didn’t have much money, did he?”

  “No.”

  “Am I correct: he was not a guest at the hotel?”

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “So, you were trying to help him. That’s what friends are for, to help each other.”

  “We’d been friends for a long time.”

  Jana nodded approvingly. “Old friends are the best.”

  “He didn’t eat regularly. He had to go days without meals.” The tears flowed more freely down Maria’s face. “I couldn’t stand to see him wasting away.”

  “And that’s how he came to eat breakfast here?”

  “This was the first time. I thought it would be wonderful if he could have the Royal Breakfast.” She added, “They prepare so much food in the kitchen for today. Too much! What isn’t eaten is thrown away. Wasted! How could it hurt to give some of it to Denis? Kindness is everything.”

  “I can understand that,” Jana nodded. “Arranging for him to have breakfast even once a week was very thoughtful. You jeopardized your job to keep him from starving. You were a true pal.” Jana paused, trying to think of a diplomatic way to ask the young woman her next question. There was no other way except to directly put it to her. “Were you having a sexual relationship with Mr. Macek?”

  Maria stared at her, embarrassed. “We were friends. We grew up together. We were never … lovers!”

  “I see, just friends.” Jana thought for a moment. “Let me make sure I understand how you worked it. You give him the name of a guest and a room number, a guest who had checked out early that morning without breakfast, or one you knew wouldn’t eat breakfast. At a certain time your friend came into the hotel dressed in his best clothes, perhaps idled around until the guest left, and then walked into the dining room, simply telling the maitre d’ that he was that guest and giving the suite or room number corresponding to the actual guest’s. The maitre d’ checked him against his guest list. Your friend would then eat a meal without having to pay for it.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did your friend have any enemies? People who might want to kill him?”

  “He was a lovely person. Everyone liked him. He never did any harm to anyone.”

  “So, no enemies. Anything else you can think of which might be helpful?”

  Maria shook her head. “Nothing.”

  Jana nodded, again trying to be reassuring. “Thank you for your cooperation, Maria. You can go now.” They stood, the young woman looked at her with pleading eyes. “Not to worry,” Jana assured her. “Your job is safe. I won’t tell the manager.”

  Maria hurried back to her work. Almost immediately, the manager approached the two detectives.

  “What did she have to say?” she demanded.

  “Nothing of any importance, except how much she liked working here.”

  The manager’s face registered surprise.

  “Then why did you have to talk to her alone?”

  “We cross-check every statement. We often get something by talking to people separately. Unfortunately, she had no information for us. I understand your concern, though. This business is bad for the reputation of the hotel. But don’t be troubled. Your staff doesn’t seem to be involved. Relax. In a little while, everything will return to normal.”

  Jana and Elias left the hotel.

  Once outside, past the revolving doors, Jana paused before she went to her car. “Why would anyone want to execute a starving student?”

  “No reason I can see.”

  “Was Fico, the man whom the victim impersonated, the real target of the murder?”

  “A mistake killing? The killer thought the student was Fico?”

  “A possibility. You checked Fico’s room?”

  “I searched it.”

  “There was nothing worth a second look?”

  “Nothing there worth a second or even a first look. We’re trying to locate Fico. I’ve left word we want to see him.”

  “If possible, I want to be at the interview.”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  Jana looked at the screen that prevented the crowd of spectators from gazing into the restaurant’s window. They all knew by now that someone had been killed. Many would stay at their vantage points until the body was removed. Jana saw it all the time at crime scenes: there is nothing like a murder to stir up morbid curiosity.

  Jana went to her car and began to drive to headquarters. After traveling a short distance, she abruptly realized that she didn’t have to go to her office. Elias would write up the preliminary reports and continue the investigation. The reports would be on her desk the next morning. She still had a chance to get at least a few hours of sleep before reviewing the summary of the initial police investigation. No, she was no longer sleepy, but she still had the time to spare. On a romantic whim, Jana decided to pay a quick visit to Peter Saris at work.

  Peter was a prosecutor in the attorney general’s department. He was currently so tied up in pulling together a corruption case that he often slept at his office. He’d been doing s
o for the last three days. Jana understood, but she hated this routine because it kept him away from her. If she went there now, she would manage to kiss him once or twice before he shooed her out.

  They had been going together for slightly less than a year. Their only problem was that since he was a prosecutor and she was a police commander, they had to keep up an appearance of formality to prevent the gossipmongers from wreaking havoc on their careers.

  Recently, they had decided to stop sneaking around and to announce their engagement as soon as he was finished with his current case. It would be a relief to finally have everything out in the open, although, as she reminded herself, everyone in both of their departments seemed to know about it; but aside from the jokes that her men privately told each other about her affair with Peter, they had kept out of the public eye. Soon even the veiled sexual innuendos and back-office gossip would end.

  Jana pulled into the parking lot at the side of the Ministry of Justice and eased her car into the last space available, still dreaming of the future with Peter, got out of her car, and walked to the front of the building. It wasn’t until she began climbing the steps to the entrance that she saw the fire trucks on Palissady Ulica, with police vehicles lined up behind them. Officers were redirecting traffic away from the front of the building, and several officers, one of them wearing the gear of the bomb disposal unit, were just leaving the building. The men saluted her as they walked past.

  A bomb scare, Jana thought.

  “What’s happening?” she called after them.

  “A bomb,” one of them called back.

  He’d said a bomb, not a bomb scare. It was real.

  Jana hurried through the front door. The guards nodded in recognition as she angled around the table to avoid the metal detectors, then turned left, going toward the stairs leading up to the floor where Peter had his office. There was a small cluster of people at the bottom of the stairs, a few judges, police officers, and Trokan, who saw her as soon as she strode in. He was in full uniform, which was unusual for him. Trokan came toward her, deliberately blocking her way.

  “Let’s walk over there and talk.” He took her arm, which was also unusual. From the look on his face, something was dreadfully wrong.