A Blind Eye: Book 1 in the Adam Kaminski Mystery Series (16 page)

S
pires
of golden stone caught the afternoon light and the Polish flag floated above the Polish Army Field Cathedral. Across the street, mute metal men, larger than life, crawled out of an underground tunnel under the shelter of a concrete curtain. Commemorating the successes — and failures — of the Warsaw Uprising of 1944, the memorial loomed out of the gray concrete surrounding it. This desolate reminder of the bravery and loss of the citizens of Warsaw was no match for the macabre scene waiting to greet visitors inside the church.

Entering the vestibule, Adam came face to face with a memorial to war designed as only those who have faced war’s terrors could design. The Second World War had devastated Warsaw. Bombed, tortured and killed, the residents of this city had held on, through it all, to their faith. But the effects of this misery could not be ignored.

Facing the entranceway and almost filling the small space stood a crucifix like none Adam had seen before. A body hung, as on most crucifixes, but this body was one of distress and misery, not life and resurrection. Tattered rags hung off the form, the artist having creatively scraped and distressed the metal that formed the artwork to generate an appearance of torn clothes, shriveled limbs, wasted skin over broken bones.

This figure hung between two stone pillars, themselves cracked and covered in jagged edges. Embedded within the stones of these pillars lay what appeared to be human skulls, lost souls crying out for redemption. Clearly crying in vain.

Shuddering slightly, Adam walked through the interior doors to the nave of the church, trying unsuccessfully not to think of death. Or the dead.

Hundreds of votive candles flickered throughout the church, their heavily perfumed smoke hanging in the air. Fantastic painted frescoes depicted images of Poland’s victories and God’s greatness.

Adam turned his eyes from the walls and scanned the pews, searching for Sylvia and Łukasz. A few elderly women still sat in prayer, their heads covered in black lace, their shoulders bowed. It didn’t take long for Adam to spot Sylvia, her blond hair shining in the dim candlelight of the church.

Sliding next to her, he put his hand gently on her leg. “Shh,” he said as she jumped and started to speak. When she looked up at him, he saw that she had been crying.

“I know, I went to the hospital, I saw the others.”

“What’s going on, Adam? What happened to Jared?” She looked away from him as she spoke, her eyes moving upward as if studying the display of Polish Hussar armor that hung near them, two long, curved wooden frames lined with ostrich feathers.

The famous wings of the Hussars. Strapped to the back of the armor of the cavalryman, the wings would catch the air as the horse galloped forward, creating a fearsome sound. Adam could imagine an entire unit of cavalry storming forward, the wind wailing through their giant wings. It would be enough to scare any enemy force.

“I don’t know for sure, Sylvia,” he answered slowly. “I think they were looking for me. I think they got Jared by mistake.”

“By mistake?” Sylvia inhaled sharply and wound her hands together around the rosary that lay in her lap. “How could anyone kill someone by mistake?”

Adam nodded and looked down at his own hands. “Łukasz is on to something, Sylvia. Whatever we’re digging up, we’re scaring somebody. They’re willing to kill to stop us. I’m in the middle of this now and I’m not even sure what it is.”

Sylvia sat staring at him, her hands finally still. “What are you talking about, Adam?” she whispered. “What’s going on? Was Jared involved as well?”

“No, damn it!”

Sylvia shushed him harshly even as the words escaped his lips. A couple of black-laced women glanced back at them from a few pews in front.

“Sorry. No, Jared wasn’t involved. I think whoever killed him was looking for me. You know Jared and I look alike, at least to anyone who doesn’t know us.”

Sylvia frowned and shook her head slightly, so Adam continued, “I was supposed to be on that van, Sylvia. And if I had been, I’d be dead by now.” He paused, looking at her closely. “And Jared would be alive.”

Sylvia shook her head sharply. “No, I can’t believe what you’re saying. I don’t know what trouble you’re in, but it can’t be because of Basia Kaminski or anyone at the
Sejm
.”

“Are you sure?” Adam watched her, but her expression didn’t falter.

She gestured slightly to indicate the grand nave of the church and all of its artwork. “Do you see all this? All this beauty, all this history?”

Adam looked around once again, at the colorful icons painted on the wall, the stained glass that tinted the light within the church. The giant wings of war.

“Yes, it’s beautiful.”

“But it’s not real. It is a reconstruction, like every other building in the Old Town.” Sylvia smiled, a sad gesture. “It was all destroyed, you know. First the war. Then the German occupation. Most of the city was rubble by the time it all ended.”

She looked around as she spoke, her voice picking up. “But we reclaimed our land, you see?” She looked at Adam, smiling now. “From all over the country. Children collected tin cans to donate… churches throughout Poland gathered funds… tradesmen donated their time.” She smiled. “Warsaw was rebuilt.”

“That’s a beautiful story, a proud history.”

“But that’s my point. We have struggled. But to move forward. Not backward.” She cast her glance once more up at the apse, then looked at Adam. “Not backward.”

Adam glanced at his watch. “We’ve been here for an hour. Łukasz should be here by now.”

Sylvia continued to examine the beauty around them and didn’t respond, so Adam continued. “I don’t know what Łukasz is digging up, but it must be big. He told me he thought he had stumbled onto proof of corruption in the legislature. He thinks Basia found it, too, and it got her killed. I don’t know. I suppose that could be it. It just seems like it must be bigger than simple corruption. Would someone kill to hide that?”

“Perhaps” — Sylvia shrugged — “if the benefits he received from it were important enough to him. Or to her.”

“Or to her,” Adam repeated. “We need to dig deeper. Łukasz and I — we need to look farther into the past. I’m convinced there’s more there, we just need to find it.”

“Why?” Sylvia finally looked at Adam. “Why do you need to? I understand that Łukasz wants to find the truth about what happened to his daughter. He believes that truth lies in our history. Perhaps it does. But why is this so important to you?”

“Because I want to know who’s really responsible. Even if we catch the person who killed Basia and Jared — or the thugs who attacked Łukasz — I think there’s someone else behind this. Someone in a position of power in this government. It’s not enough to find the man who pulled the trigger, we need to find the man who’s calling the shots.”

Sylvia shrugged. “Perhaps. Perhaps that is important. Is it important enough to die for?”

“Whoever it is, he thinks it’s important enough to kill for. And right now, that’s all that really concerns me.”

Adam looked around again. The church was by now almost completely empty. Only two other people remained, one kneeling in front of the votive candles, another hunched low in the last pew.

“We can’t stay here forever, we need to move. At this point, we need to be surrounded by people. It’s the only way we can be safe. Do you know where we can go?”

“There is somewhere I can take you. Where most of Warsaw will be today, in fact.” She glanced up at Adam hopefully. “You know, that’s probably where Łukasz is right now.”

“Where?”

“
Powązki
. The cemetery.”

“What?” Adam asked, confused. “We need to be somewhere public, somewhere crowded.”

“Oh, yes, I understand.” Sylvia smiled slightly. “You’ll see.”

A
short drive
from the center of town along the avenue named for the Polish Home Army,
Powązki
Cemetery stood wrapped by a red stone wall. It covered forty-four hectares, as large as Vatican City itself.

The road leading to the cemetery was already congested, so Sylvia parked a distance away from the main entrance. The two walked slowly along the wall toward the gate. Church and community groups had set up along the walls with stalls selling flowers and candles, beverages and sweet cakes.

“Every year, artists and actors gather here at the cemetery,” Sylvia explained when she saw Adam’s confusion. “To meet their fans, put on a concert, to raise money to support
Powązki
. It is our nation’s cemetery. Łukasz must be here, I’m sure of it. His editor probably assigned him to cover this event and he didn’t have a chance to tell you.”

Adam looked skeptical, but he took Sylvia’s hand. “Okay, let’s go find him.”

Voices called out to them as they passed, vendors offering hot drinks, babka, sweet fried dough. A stand with colorful balloons on display attracted the attention of the children while their mothers stopped to buy bread or votive candles, or drop a few coins into the red donation cans.

Inside the gates of the graveyard, the festival-like atmosphere gave way to a reverent hush. Crowds of people passed along the narrow paths between burial plots. Voices were whispered and muffled.

Though it was still early in the afternoon, the rows of tall gray headstones created dark shadows along the narrow paths that wound through the graveyard, and the flickering lights of hundreds of small candles reflected through the dimness.

It seemed to Adam as if all of Warsaw were here, gathered in the cemetery. Trying to make their way through the cemetery, Adam and Sylvia found themselves brushing past mourners and tourists alike, families and school groups. As they walked, Adam could hear voices of children asking their parents about what they were seeing.

“
A tu
,” a young boy’s voice carried across the stillness, “and here, who is here?”

“Kieslowski,” a father answered, reading from a moss-covered stone.

“Boleslaw Prus,” announced another.

Adam smiled as he watched the youngsters, eager to learn more, pulling their parents forward from gravestone to gravestone.

Burial ground for artists and authors, political leaders and leading dissidents,
Powązki’s
grounds brought all great men and women buried here to equality. While some graves bore more candles than others, none were untended, not even those of the Soviet leaders buried here but now reviled. All graves were cared for, weeds pulled, flowers planted, candles lit.

Thick oak trees with gnarled and twisted trunks leaned perilously over the tombs and gravestones near the gate they entered by. Farther into the cemetery, pale birches marked an area dedicated to those whose lives were lost during the war. Simple crosses of white birchwood tied together marked sites where Adam suspected no bodies had been left to be buried. Plaques on these crosses listed the names and ages of the young men and women — nineteen, twenty, eighteen years old — who had been killed during the Uprising.

“We should move toward the chapel at the side of the cemetery,” Sylvia explained. “That’s where the concert is later, and where Łukasz is probably waiting.”

“I don’t like this.” Adam glanced around them as they walked. “He should have been at the church. He’s the one who suggested the meeting. I don’t believe he would just not show up and not send me a message.”

Sylvia shrugged and kept walking, moving quickly past the meandering tourists and kneeling mourners.

As they turned a bend in the path, Adam ducked behind a large stone, pulling Sylvia with him.

“What are you doing? What is it?” She looked at him, then turned to look around them.

They stood behind a giant angel whose marble had become mottled and gray over the years. Its face bent down toward them, an expression of terrible sadness etched into its features.

“I’m not sure, I think I saw someone,” Adam explained. Had he imagined the black coat and jeans ducking behind a large gravestone just up the path from them? He was sure it had been the same man who followed him in the marketplace. But he hadn’t got a clear look at the guy then, either.

“Who did you see?” Sylvia pressed him, but Adam had no answer.

“Come on, let’s find another way to the chapel. We need to find Łukasz.”

Sylvia nodded and led them away from the path, weaving among the warped and faded stones that marked the final resting place of Poland’s greatest heroes.

After a few minutes of walking, they found themselves in one of the oldest areas of the cemetery. All the ground here was taken, with no room to pass between the heavy stones.

To avoid going back to the main path, they stole carefully over graves, climbing over the ancient markers. Even here, votive candles marked individual graves, and Adam slowed to avoid knocking any over, his hand running along the icy marble of the long resting stones.

As he put his weight on one, he felt a shock of warmth emanating from the marble. Pulling his hand back as if burnt, he stumbled. Sylvia glanced back to make sure he was all right, then kept moving.

“There, up ahead.” Sylvia pointed. An open path lay ahead of them, again crawling with visitors. Farther along the path, beyond a few turns and dips in the ground, Adam could see a small chapel, its lights glowing in the distance. “That’s where he’ll be. We must follow this path.”

Adam nodded and led the way across the last few graves, covered in pebbles, gravel and the detritus of what once had been a green lawn.

They merged into the crowds flowing along the path and turned toward the chapel. They found it harder to move quickly here, as the mass of people was denser. They fell into pace with the other visitors, moving painfully slowly toward the lit door of the chapel. As the path neared each turn in the way, they slowed even more, as visitors had to pause to make room for those leaving the chapel and heading back toward the cemetery gates.

At one of these turns, the ground dipped low, below the level of the stones behind them. A movement behind them caught Adam’s eye. Pushing Sylvia roughly off the path, he turned as quickly as he could in the crowd.

Thanks to his turn, the blade slid across his shoulder, slicing through his coat instead of through his back as it had been aimed.

Adam caught the arm that held the knife under his own and spun the man off the path into the gray field of stones where Sylvia already hid. Beyond a few complaints, the crowd hardly noticed the scuffle and kept moving forward at its slow pace.

Coming to rest leaning against a square black stone, he looked at the man who had attacked him. He was older than Adam, maybe in his late fifties. His expression was as still as that of the marble angels; only his eyes shifted below his closely cut gray hair. He bounced on the balls of his feet, switching the knife between his hands as he tried to guess Adam’s next move.

Sylvia crouched a few feet away. Adam could see her leaning forward to see around the stone that hid her. She was behind the attacker, and as far as he could tell, the man hadn’t seen her yet. He wanted to keep it that way.

He stepped to his right, spinning around a towering marble cross and jumping over the next row of stones behind him. His attacker didn’t miss a beat. Jumping agilely over the stones between them, he narrowed the gap between them faster than Adam could get away.

Adam kept moving until there was enough distance between the attacker and Sylvia or one of the innocent visitors on the path to their left. He stopped with his back to his attacker. Holding his breath and counting down, he waited only a few seconds, until he knew the man was closing in. He spun and caught the man hard on the jaw with his left arm.

Knocked off-balance, the man tripped over a low stone, dropping his knife. Bending as he ran, Adam grabbed the knife and moved toward the attacker.

“Who are you? Who do you work for?” he asked as he approached the stranger, who was once again back on his feet and ready for a fight.

The man remained silent, simply watching Adam warily, staying light on his feet and ready to lunge again.

“I’m younger than you, I’m stronger than you, and I have your knife. What do you think is going to happen next, hmm?” Adam asked him, watching him carefully.

The man seemed not even to realize Adam was speaking. His eyes were fixed constantly on the knife without wavering. Finally, Adam moved toward the man.

Adam’s opponent leapt forward and to his left, grabbing Adam’s arm as he moved and spinning Adam hard against a gravestone. Even as his face crashed into the rough marble, Adam felt his arm bent painfully behind him. He lost his grip on the knife.

Kicking out behind him, Adam managed to pull away, but it was too late. The man had the knife and was smiling now, moving slowly closer to Adam. Adam knew he was outmatched in this fight.

“Stop, or I’ll scream.” Sylvia’s words in Polish meant nothing to Adam, but the attacker stopped and turned.

At the sight of Sylvia, his eyes widened and his posture straightened. It was only for a second, then he resumed the stance of a hunter. Adam had seen it, there was no question. And Sylvia had noticed it, too.

“Who are you?” she asked, this time in English. “Why are you attacking us?”

When the man didn’t respond, she picked up a large rock lying on one of the graves. “I am a good shot. If you attack me, Adam will get you while your back is turned. If you attack him, I will scream. And I’ll do some damage with this rock, I am sure.”

The man smiled slightly. It was the first response Adam had seen him make.

The man looked once more back at Adam, then at Sylvia, then turned and ran away from the main path, through the stones that filled the graveyard to the red brick wall.

Sylvia dropped the stone and Adam could see her hands were trembling. He ran to her and held her hands in his own, pulling her close against his body to stop the trembling that threatened to take over.

“Shh, it’s okay, he’s gone,” he spoke as he caressed her hair, wiping the tears that spilled down onto her cheeks. Only a few yards away, innocent visitors continued their slow march to and from the cemetery chapel, there to remember the dead, blissfully unaware of the deadly attack that had just taken place. When Sylvia finally calmed down, he stepped back and looked down at her. “Who was that guy? Do you know him?”

Sylvia shook her head. “We’re not safe here, we should go.”

“We need to find Łukasz. That’s why we came here, remember?” he asked, shaking his head at her. “We can’t leave now.”

“No, we must leave. It isn’t safe here. I don’t know if Łukasz is here or not, but we can’t stay.”

“Where can we go? There’s nowhere we can be safe.” Adam held her close again, trying to comfort her, but she pushed away from him.

“No! I know what I am saying. If he was sent to attack us, he will try again. He still has his knife. We aren’t safe here. We can go back to my apartment.”

“If he knows you, he knows where you live, Sylvia. You must tell me who that was.”

“I don’t know that man,” Sylvia insisted. “He doesn’t know me and he doesn’t know where I live. This is your problem, not mine. You and that cousin of yours. I am not part of this. And I need to go home.”

With that, she pushed past him and strode back to the path, joining the few people who were moving upstream, away from the lights of the chapel. Adam shook his head as he followed close behind her.

S
ylvia pushed
the door to her apartment open roughly, barely allowing Adam time to squeeze through before she slammed it shut and leaned heavily against it. Adam, too, rested against the wall for a minute. Then he turned, leaning over Sylvia with his hand pushing against the door behind her.

“What’s going on, Sylvia? Who was that man?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, “I don’t know what’s happening, I swear.” She looked up at him, tears in her eyes.

“He recognized you, you saw that as clearly as I did.” As he leaned toward her, he could feel her heart beating in her chest, only inches from his. His own heart was pounding in his ears, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. “How did he know you?”

“Adam, you must believe me.” She put a hand up to touch his face, but he pushed it away.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore. I don’t know who’s behind this, I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know where Łukasz is.” Adam paused, frustrated. “I feel like I’m losing control.”

Sylvia reached up once again, placing her hand gently on Adam’s face. This time he didn’t move. “You must believe me, Adam, because you have no one else to believe. What just happened today, I don’t know what that was. I was scared, Adam. I am still scared. I need you to believe me.”

Sylvia lifted her face to his and ran her lips gently over his eyes, his cheeks and his lips. He shut his eyes. He didn’t know what to believe anymore. Sylvia had been the one person he trusted. He thought he trusted. He pictured her as he had first met her, waiting on the train platform in Toruń, her lavender-scented hair blowing in the breeze.

“No… wait.” He pushed away from her and moved deeper into her apartment. “I need to think, Sylvia.”

“Think? About what?” Sylvia’s voice sounded high and tight. “I know how I feel about you. And I’m sure you feel the same way.” Sylvia stepped close behind him, resting her hand on his shoulder. “I’m scared, Adam. I don’t know what’s going on. Why are you turning away from me?”

Adam turned to face her. He tried to focus on the blueness of her eyes, the scent of lavender that drew him in and surrounded him in a sense of warmth and excitement. But it was as if a veil had come down between them. All he could see in his mind were images of other days, other places.

Sylvia trying to prevent him from talking with Łukasz at the police station and again at the
Sejm
. Sylvia — could it have been Sylvia? — watching him from the third floor office as he and Łukasz left the
Sejm
together. Sylvia sharing a look with Laurienty… whispering with Malak… sharing a laugh with Kapral.