Authors: Michael Genelin
Dark Dreams (10 page)
Andras looked surprised. “You know him?”
Jana sat back in her seat, mulling over the information. It had to be him. Kamin! Sofia’s rapist. He was close.
She finished her beer.
“Ever hear of Midi again?”
“Not Midi. Three days later, the Slovak smuggler was murdered in jail. Throat cut.”
“You had no leads?”
“Nothing.” He dropped his voice, leaning closer. “He was in a locked cell. We never figured out how the murderer got in or out.” He shifted nervously in his seat. “Maybe a jailhouse guard was bribed?” He laughed. This time there was an edge of nervousness to the sound.
They finished off the remainder of their beer; Jana paid for the last round. She left quickly, glad to be going home.
J
ana and Peter decided to spend a few nights out of town together. It was one of those intervals when each had a lull in official responsibilities. They jumped at the chance to get away.
A relative of Peter’s was the manager of a hotel in Piešt’any, a spa town that claimed miraculous cures for its hot mineral baths. It catered to not only the Slovaks but also to tourists from a dozen other countries, particularly Germans, Czechs, and Russians, who had a long tradition of patronizing the waters. Their vivid testimonials about the curative value of the spa’s thermal pools and sulfurous mud were advertised in international magazines, bringing in a constant flow of new pilgrims intent on experiencing miraculous cures.
Despite a certain cynicism about what the curative waters of the spa did for people, Peter’s cousin Vilem took pride in the way his hotel treated its customers. He claimed that the staff, which he had trained, was attentive; besides, he bragged, although the hotel was one of the oldest of the numerous hotels in the city, it sat next to a small, bucolic stream, and, despite its age and Spartan decor, it was charming. To further induce Peter to come, his cousin offered them free immersion in the steaming hot springs, glorious mud baths, and all the free massages they wanted, from morning until just before midnight.
It was an easy eighty-kilometer drive from Bratislava. Before Jana and Peter arrived, they had decided that since it would not be seemly for the two of them to room together, they would get rooms on different floors, each paying for his own. However, they also made sure that one of the rooms came with a king-size bed.
They each insisted on taking up their own bag to their own room, where they quickly put belongings away and freshened up, then met in Peter’s suite. He had ordered a bottle of Russian champagne. They were too much involved with teasing and kissing and slowly undressing each other to be critical of their surroundings, making glorious, undisturbed love for the next two hours.
They lazed around for another hour, drank the rest of the champagne, and decided to try the mud baths. Changing into their bathing suits, they went down to the baths and had themselves coated with the soft, brown sulfurous goo. The experience ended with showers, topped off with a luxurious massage. After that, they were both so agreeably tired that they went back up to Peter’s room and fell asleep, not waking up until dinnertime, both now ravenously hungry.
Since Cousin Vilem and Peter had not seen each other for a while, they decided to all go out to a Hungarian restaurant to have dinner. It was a small place but comfortable. Cousin Vilem provided the entertainment. He was a very pleasant man, almost chivalrous in his courtesy to Jana, complaining about the terrible girls that Peter had dated when they were both young, and complimenting Peter for finally bagging a lady who was not only good-looking and bright, but who had a gun that she could use to protect him. He laughed uproariously at his own joke.
The small talk continued through dinner. They began affectionately calling Peter’s cousin “Groucho” because his moustache and wry humor reminded them of one of the Marx Brothers. Groucho’s jokes began tapering off just after dessert, when Peter’s cousin, a perceptive man, claimed that he had to get back to his duties at the hotel.
The two of them sipped their after-dinner drinks, glad to be alone together. With some trepidation, Jana decided that it was also time for them to talk more about themselves and their pasts, particularly hers.
“We have to recognize who each of us is, and where we have come from. No,” she stopped herself, “it’s more important that you know about me. If nobody’s told you or if they have said something, I want you to know my truth. How it actually was with me before, and how it is now.”
“What’s there to know? I love being with you. We fit together. We talk and have fun, and you let me tell stupid jokes and stories and laugh at them, and I think you love me, which is even more important. So what else is there to say?”
“I was married.”
“You told me you’d been married. You said he was dead.”
“Did you know he was a criminal?”
Peter’s eyes opened wide in surprise.
“Ah, you didn’t know.” Jana thought about how she should phrase this, then plunged ahead. “He was not a criminal when I married him. He was the love of my life, I thought. And he was, for a while. Then he went off somewhere. It was not because of me; it was because of how he saw himself, the government, the whole world. He decided he wanted to be a man who robbed the rich and gave to the poor. I loved him, but I couldn’t help him. No one really could. It was heartbreaking. Along the way, the man he was disappeared. And, when there was nothing left of him, he died. By his own hand.”
Peter took her hand, pressing it to his mouth to reassure her.
“You think his being a criminal would hurt me, or have some effect on me? The answer is no. And, since you’re still a commander in the police, I imagine the government agrees.” He held his hands up, as if to surrender. “The past has to be let go of . . . by both of us.”
Jana thought about the next problem. It was harder to talk about than the first one, and more serious.
“Another truth to tell: we had a child, a daughter.”
Peter did not let go of her hand. “Then he left you with a wonderful present. I hope you’ve told her about me. What did she say?”
“My daughter married an American. They were both killed in an auto accident.”
Peter felt her anguish. “Hard. So hard! I am sorry, Jana.”
“She had something wrong with her . . . approach to life. Maybe she was too much like her father.” Jana grieved for her daughter’s life, and her death. There was a void, a deep hole inside herself, because of that death. “She also had a daughter.” Jana forced a laugh. “You didn’t know you were making love to a grandmother, did you?”
“Is that all?”
Jana managed to get out a weak “Yes,” waiting for his response.
He kissed her hand again. “The youngest, prettiest, and sexiest grandmother I have ever seen.”
“You’re sure?”
“I think that I’m surer than you are.”
Jana had to continue, the words tumbling out. “I may be a good police officer, but I couldn’t help my family.” She grimaced. “Peter, please believe me, I truly loved them both. It didn’t help. They died anyway.”
“Anyone who knew you would know that you loved them. Where is your granddaughter?”
“She lives with her father’s parents in the United States. Right now, they’re in Switzerland for a time.”
“Have you seen her lately?”
“We talk at least once a month.” She laughed, a little shaky and embarrassed. “She doesn’t speak Slovak except for a few words; but she wants to come visit me. My daughter’s in-laws have refused. I think I’m ready to visit her in Switzerland without going into hysterics when I have to leave. I believe her other grandparents will let me see her there.”
“I am glad it is all right between you and your grandchild.”
“It may not be all right if she learns more about her mother and me.”
“It was . . . bad with your daughter?”
“Very bad, because of my relationship with her father at the end of my marriage. She was angry and blamed me.”
“You and your granddaughter haven’t talked about her?”
“I’ve told my granddaughter how much I loved her mother, and that she was a good girl and a bright girl and a pretty girl, with little anecdotes sprinkled in. As far as she knows, her mother was wonderful. That’s all.”
“I don’t think it would have benefited you or her if you had told her anything else.”
“You think I did the right thing?”
“I know so!”
Jana felt a wave of relief. “You’re a lovely man.”
“I’m just a man who feels both love and admiration for the woman sitting next to him. Thanks for confiding in me.”
“I had to tell you sometime.”
Peter smiled. “That sometime is now officially over. One last question: Do I get to meet her when she eventually comes to Slovakia?”
Jana stared at Peter, a weight lifting from her shoulders. He had accepted her past without rejecting her. She leaned over and planted a firm, lingering kiss on his mouth before settling back in her seat.
“I liked the kiss,” he said.
“I liked the kiss too; I like you,” Jana whispered.
“You’re supposed to,” Peter insisted.
“I’m going to see her soon in Switzerland.”
“When?” asked Peter.
“In six weeks. She has a break from classes then.”
“I think she’ll look like you.”
Jana found herself blushing. “It doesn’t matter what she looks like, as long as I can see her.”
“So,” said Peter, “shall we go back to the hotel?”
“Your room or my room?” Jana teased.
“My bed is made up with two pillows, and it’s larger.”
They walked out of the restaurant with their arms around each other’s waists.
J
ana was at home in bed when the body of the Guzak brothers’ mother was discovered near Nový Most bus station. Her younger son, Milan, was found lying in the garden of Saint Martin’s Cathedral, around the corner from the front entrance.
A priest had telephoned after hearing shots just before a midnight mass. The officers who were dispatched to the location found the son first, lying face up, his arms outstretched, legs together, the blood on the body making it look as if he were a modern Christ, crucified on the ground. The mother was found during the police sweep of the area, her small frame crumpled like a sack of garbage in the bus underpass at Nový Most.
As soon as the officers at the location reported the murders, Jana dispatched a forensics crew to the scene, and made sure the homicide investigators who were on night duty were experienced. When she realized that the name of the dead man was Guzak, she went to the scene herself.
Portable lights had been strung up at both sites. The police vehicle’s headlights also had been left on to provide further illumination. Jana stopped first at the bus underpass, figuring that she would spend a short time there, then would quickly go to the church where the woman’s son had been killed. She expected to spend more time at the second location. The son had probably been the target. The man was too deeply involved in criminal activity not to be the primary objective.
The bus underpass was eerie in the artificial light, support pillars casting huge, impenetrable shadows around the few illuminated areas. The officers had already marked off the murder site and were making a spiral search of the ground, commencing with the perimeter around the body. They could not do a wider search until daylight gave them confidence that they wouldn’t miss anything.
Jana walked over to the woman’s body. The photographer had finished. She put on the regulation plastic gloves and, using her flashlight to give her added light, checked the corpse. Her clothes were sedate: she could not possibly have been mistaken for a streetwalker trying to pick up customers in the bus depot area. The woman had been in her early fifties, with nothing to distinguish her except the apparent cause of death: her throat had been cut, the slash so deep that the woman’s head was hanging by a thread. Jana looked closer at the wound.
The cut was wide and clean, so the knife that inflicted it had been large and very sharp, with no obstructions on the blade such as scaling notches that might have torn the edges of the wound. Whoever had done the killing must have been very strong to create this kind of deep slash without any sawing, just a single blow.
Jana checked the woman’s hair. There was a small patch missing from the top and just to the right side of her head, with a very small amount of blood on the scalp itself. The murderer had obtained leverage by grabbing a handful of hair, then pulled her head back to expose her throat. From the direction of the cut and the position of the missing hair and bloody scalp, the murderer had used his right hand to bring her head back, wielding the knife with his left. It was a small thing but might be an item in the chain of evidence.
Jana scanned the woman’s clothing. It was not particularly disheveled, nothing was torn, the dress was fully buttoned, her shoes still on her feet. She pulled the woman’s dress up: panties intact and not pulled down, so there had been no sexual assault. Jana checked the wrists and fingers: no watch, but a wedding ring still there. There was no necklace. Jana checked the immediate vicinity to determine if it might have been jerked or cut off. A few feet away she found a small gold chain in a crack on the sidewalk. A very small pavé diamond pendant was still on the chain, the clasp intact. One of the links had been broken. Again, Jana thought, the murderer was very strong. She looked around for the woman’s purse. It was not there. This did not appear to have been a robbery, so the handbag should have been in the immediate area.
“Do any of you have the woman’s purse?” she yelled at the working officers.
One of the patrol officers held his hand up. “I do.”
“I want it.”
The man quickly trotted over to his vehicle, took out the woman’s handbag, and bought it over to Jana.
“Was this by the body?”
“Yes, Commander.”
“You picked it up and put it in your car before the photographer got his shots of its position in relation to the body?”
The officer thought. “I wanted to safeguard the contents.”
“Commendable. Unfortunately, it interfered with the investigation. The next time, leave evidence where it is until the police assigned to investigate the homicide arrive at the scene.”
“Yes, Commander.”
She went through the contents of the purse, which were relatively orderly. It was probable that the purse had not been searched by the murderer. The money was still there. She gave the purse back to the patrol officer. “Put this in the same spot where you found it. Have the photographer take a few pictures. Then have a detective make a note of what you have done, so it is clear in the written reports, and tell him I want the purse and its contents on my desk in the morning.”
The man scurried off.
Within a few minutes, Jana was at the scene of the second murder. This examination had progressed about as far as the other.
Milan, the dead Guzak brother, was in his twenties. He had been shot several times. She rolled the body on its side, checking the wounds: once in the back, twice in the chest, and once through the head. The shot in the back had left no visible powder burns, so it was probably fired from more than three feet away. Jana tilted the body. There was one exit wound on his back; the bullet from the other shot was probably still in the body. She checked the ground under the body. A large slug, mashed beyond ballistics comparison, had gone through the body and smacked into the stones underneath. As the slug was on the ground under the body, the bullets in the chest probably had been fired straight down while Guzak was on the ground and helpless. Jana carefully replaced the body. She wanted to make sure that the bullet was recovered and not overlooked, so she told the crime-scene detectives that there was a slug under the torso of the corpse.
Jana examined the head of the dead man. There was a contact wound in a tight ring of scorched powder, and, from what she could tell, burning inside the wound. Two bullets in the chest and the one in the back had not been enough for the killer. He wanted to make absolutely sure that his victim went to hell. It was an execution.
Jana stood, perusing the surroundings. A priest was standing to one side being interviewed by an officer. The shots had occurred just before the midnight mass. The killings of both mother and son had to be related, so Jana could hazard a few reasonable guesses: The mother and son had intended to attend the midnight mass. It was a time that her son, a man wanted for questioning in connection with several crimes, would have felt it would be safe enough to leave whatever hole he had been hiding in. So, Jana conjectured, Mother Guzak had wanted to go to mass, and not having seen mama for awhile, and wanting to do the Slovak thing of protecting one’s mother when she went out at night, or perhaps even listening to her entreaties to save his soul, he had accompanied her.
Unfortunately for them both, someone knew they were coming. Perhaps knowing that the sons were in Slovakia, someone had been watching the mother’s house and had seen her and one of her sons take the bus to the area under the overpass and get off to walk to the cathedral.
The first contact with the murderer had been at the bus stop. The mother was quickly eliminated, probably so there would be no witness. It also meant it was possible that the mother had known the killer. The son had run, perhaps thinking his mother would not be harmed. He’d headed to the one area he thought might be safe: the cathedral where the mass was to be celebrated. He’d almost made it, but was cut down before he reached a place of refuge. Perhaps he had staggered a few feet, twisting, falling on his back, and the killer had come up to him, firing straight down into his chest. Then the killer had made damned sure that Milan Guzak would never get up and run away again by putting the gun to his head and firing the last shot.
Jana thought about the huge old Webley that Giles’s bodyguard had displayed when she’d visited. Ballistics from the two slugs still in the body, the one in the chest and the one in the head, would give them an indication of the type of gun that had fired the slug. If they found the gun, they might get a match.
In the scenario Jana had constructed, there were at least two killers. While one was killing the mother, the other had to have chased the son and caught up to him before he got to the safety of the cathedral.
Could one of the men have been Giles? Jana thought about it for a second. Possibly. He could be violent. And he certainly was afraid of the Guzak brothers, and wanted them out of his life. But to kill, Giles would have had to be under enormous and immediate threat. If Giles’s bodyguard had been part of the murder team, and not Giles, the bodyguard could have worked with someone else, someone who would also be able to commit cold blooded murder. There were certainly enough criminals in the world to choose from.
Jana sighed. She’d wait for the autopsy report and the ballistics reports. As well, she’d look through the mother’s purse in the morning to see if there was anything of interest inside.
Then she went home to bed.