Authors: Michael Genelin
T
he Swiss like to keep their cities clean. Their police do not like litter, particularly when foreigners are involved in the littering. They like it even less when the litter consists of murder victims. It was not that the Swiss police weren’t nice to Jana; it was just that there was a faint aura of distaste about the event. The examination and recording of the crime scene was absolutely correct and precise, but performed with an air of fastidiousness that made Jana doubt that the Swiss police would do any of the dirty work that goes into solving most homicides.
They dealt with both Jana and Sabina in the same manner: cool, exact, and to the point. Eventually, both Jana and Sabina found themselves in a waiting room. Daniela had been taken away by a frightened and angry Mimi, who had made matters even worse by yelling at Jana.
“You should never have taken Daniela, and I should never have let you,” she had shouted. “William warned me. He said you shouldn’t be trusted with a child.” She was very upset and needed to blame someone.
At least Mimi had allowed Jana to hug Daniela before she was driven away. It was hard for Jana to let her granddaughter go, even worse when she saw the car depart and realized that Daniela had left behind the little beaded purse.
The inspector in charge of the case had already summoned Jana twice. As Jana had anticipated, he had been intrigued by the fact that all of the principals—the dead man, Jana, and Sabina—were Slovak police officers. Then he became irate. The inspector was not angry at Jana, but at the Slovaks for sending police into Switzerland without alerting their Swiss colleagues and getting permission. He become even angrier when Jana told him that she had no information as to why the two were following her. After a few minutes, the inspector sent for Sabina. Jana was asked to wait outside. When Sabina emerged forty-five minutes later, the smug expression on her face when she glanced at Jana told her that Sabina had made it look as bad for her as she could. Jana was now the prime suspect, with no one else in sight.
The inspector called her back into his office for what had become an interrogation.
“You’re a commander in the Slovak police?”
“I told you that.”
“You didn’t tell me that you were a major suspect in an investigation going on in Slovakia, and that the dead man was one of those who was a part of the investigation team assigned to gather evidence.”
“I’m not aware of any charges, and I don’t know about any investigation of my conduct. The only thing I was made aware of occurred yesterday, when I saw that two Slovak officers were following me.”
The inspector tried sarcasm. “You knew they were police. Come on! Any fool with a minimum of common sense, particularly a commander with long experience, would know that they were there because you were suspected of a criminal act.”
Jana studied the man, deciding she had to get as much information as she could from him. She needed to unravel the whole picture, not only here but in Slovakia.
“I think that after you talked to Sabina, you called Slovakia and confirmed what she told you. They must have informed you as to the scope of their investigation. I assure you that I’ll tell you everything I know about any charges that may be pending. But I need to know what those charges are.”
The inspector stared at her for a long time. “I had to assure the people in Slovakia that I would not reveal anything about their suspicions.”
“You talked to my granddaughter before she left. She’s a very bright little girl.”
“Quite bright.”
“Then she told you that I was with
her
when we heard the sounds of gunfire. You didn’t find any gun in the area. I didn’t have a gun, and I never left the scene of the murder.” She threw the inspector’s words back at him. “This has to mean, for any ‘fool with common sense,’ that I didn’t kill anyone.”
The inspector grimaced. “The dead man’s partner, the other police officer, says you had a confederate lying in wait for the victim.”
“Why would I want to kill that poor fool Ludovit? I knew they were both following me. I confronted them yesterday. So what? That wasn’t motive for me to murder a man. Even more to the point, why would I kill a man knowing that he had a partner in the area? I saw her just before the killing. She must have told you that as well. I knew she was there. And, if I had set up a murder for a confederate to commit, I wouldn’t have set it up where my granddaughter could witness it, or worse, might be in danger. You were the one who brought up the ‘common sense’ issue, Inspector.”
Jana pressed on. “You informed whoever you talked to in Slovakia that you would keep the facts of their investigation secret. That doesn’t mean that you’d keep the name of the person you talked to secret. That’s not a
fact
of their investigation. So, who was it?”
The inspector thought about it for a moment, wondering whether he should divulge the person’s name. “I prefer not to tell you. They said you were a very fine homicide detective.” He paused, trying to decide if it was within his dignity to ask for her opinion, then decided to continue. “Tell me what you think happened, and perhaps—just perhaps, mind you—I may be able to give you some information.”
Jana had been thinking about the events surrounding the killing anyway. Although she had not particularly enjoyed being followed by Ludovit, she wanted his killer caught.
“Remember, you interviewed the witnesses; I didn’t. So I may be short on needed information.” She ran the events of the killing through her mind. “However, I can try. What do you want from me?”
“Who were the man’s enemies?”
“All police officers make enemies. His partner, Sabina, is in a better position to answer that.”
“I asked her. She said there wasn’t anyone she could point to.”
“No witnesses saw the shooter run from the scene?”
“Too many people; too crowded. They saw no one.”
“They all looked at the victim on the sidewalk, not at the person leaving the scene. Which means the shooter probably walked away without calling attention to himself.”
“How do you kill someone in a sunlit market without being identified?”
“It’s done all the time.”
“Not here, in Switzerland.”
“It happens.”
“I suppose.”
He still sounded reluctant to believe the killing had occurred, that a man had been murdered in his canton.
“Was he shot in the front or the back?” Jana asked.
“Body shots, both at a slight angle, from the right side.”
“Close shots?”
“No powder burns, so not very close.”
“Was there a wide spread to the entry wounds?”
“Yes, quite a wide spread.”
“A face in the crowd then, standing at a distance from him.” She thought about the position of the body and the shots. “He saw someone.”
“The victim saw the murderer?”
“Yes. I also think it was a person he knew.”
The inspector considered her statement.
“The victim shouted just before the shots,” she reminded him. “Perhaps he was trying to yell at the murderer? Maybe trying to get someone’s attention? It sounded like a command or an order. Or a warning.”
“Perhaps a request for help?” the inspector suggested. “Other people heard the shout. So?”
“None of them understood his words, correct?”
“Correct.”
“The tone of voice was very strong. No fear in it. So it was not a cry for help. The shout might have been garbled. But Ludovit shouted before he was hit. He spoke bad French, which might account for it seeming to be garbled. However, under the circumstances, the surprise, the speed of the events, I think he was probably shouting in Slovak. There were four Slovaks there: Sabina, me, Ludovit himself, and, I think, the murderer. Ludovit wasn’t trying to call to Sabina. He was facing me. So he was either calling to me, or to the murderer. I think he was calling to the killer. I think he knew him. And I think the murderer already had his gun out, and Ludovit saw it.”
The inspector looked impressed. “Okay, he was calling to you or to the murderer. How do you know the murderer already had the gun out?”
“The shout immediately preceded the gunshots. Unless the murderer was a quick draw, like in American Westerns, the murderer had already drawn his gun.”
“Preparing to shoot the victim?”
“Maybe.”
“Why ‘maybe’?”
“Maybe the killer was going to shoot
me.
”
The inspector’s eyes widened. He had not considered that possibility.
“Do you know who it might be?”
“Not even a wild conjecture. I have no facts, Inspector.”
The inspector considered the issues, finally nodding. “You’ve analyzed the facts very well.”
“I gave you what I could. Now, it’s your turn to give me a fact or two.”
The inspector nodded, choosing his words carefully. “I made a promise to the person I talked to in Slovakia that I would not compromise the case being worked on. However, there was one thing, I believe, that had nothing to do with that case. The person spoke freely to me about you and Sabina and Ludovit. He explained why the two officers were here. He tried to explain that, due to the nature of the case and the importance of confidentiality, your police had not contacted us about operating in Switzerland.” He hesitated.
“You promised a return for my help in the case, Inspector,” Jana reminded him, trying to gain as much information as possible.
“I’m trying to think how to phrase this.” He pursed his lips, rubbing his face, getting up steam. “The person I talked to was unhappy to hear about what had happened to his colleague, Ludovit. This person was not very concerned about Sabina, the other officer. However, this person was very concerned about you in a very, how shall I put it, in a very
caring
way. There was worry for your personal safety.”
The last fact surprised Jana. It was not what she expected.
The inspector stood, somewhat reluctantly shook hands, and told her she was free to go after her statement was typed up and signed. He wished her a safe trip, then added one more thought. “When you see them, please tell your colleagues in Slovakia to keep Slovak concerns and criminal acts out of Switzerland. They only make my life harder.” He went back to his work.
Jana walked into the waiting room and seated herself near Sabina. Sabina looked uncomfortable. She hadn’t expected Jana to emerge from the inspector’s office without handcuffs.
“Sabina,” Jana began, trying to warm her up. “I am sorry about Ludovit. If you ask the inspector, I think he will tell you that he doesn’t believe I had a hand in Ludovit’s death.”
“That’s his opinion, not mine.”
Jana stopped herself. There was no use trying to reason with the woman. She had to try a different approach.
Jana needed to find out who was in charge of the investigation, the person who had sent two Slovak police officers to follow Jana to Switzerland. Only two people, to Jana’s knowledge, knew about her trip: Trokan and Peter. She had a suspicion, but it was hard for her to believe it was either one of them. No matter. She plunged ahead.
“When I was in his office, the inspector called the procurator assigned to your special investigation team. He told us
you
had to be considered a suspect in Ludovit’s murder.”
Sabina reacted with shock. “How could
I
be a suspect?”
“He said there was bad blood between you and Ludovit, and because of it he had considered not sending the two of you out of the country together.”
“There was no bad blood between us! None at all!”
“Then why would Peter say there was?”
“He is absolutely mistaken.”
“You will have to talk to Peter when you get back, to correct his impression.”
“I can’t understand why he would believe this.”
“Probably a word or two from another police officer? Perhaps a co-worker who was jealous that you got to go out of the country?”
“I’ll bet I know who it is.” Sabine’s voice had venom in it. “I’ll take care of her when I get back.”
“Good idea,” Jana agreed, trying to relax, but finding it absolutely impossible. She now knew that Peter, her lover, the man she had begun to think of as her mate, was trying to put her in prison.
Her granddaughter had been taken away from her. Her lover was false. She was all alone again.
Jana went back to her hotel. Before she left Geneva she tried to telephone Mimi and her husband. There was no answer. She left messages. There was no response.
She almost called Peter. Almost.
The next day Jana flew to Ukraine.
T
he flight to Kiev was uncomfortable. Turbulence tossed the passengers back and forth. Their discomfort was exacerbated by the attitudes of the Aeroflot crew’s two stewardesses. They were more interested in conversing with each other through their clouds of cigarette smoke than in paying attention to the passengers. And the pilots apparently thought they were participating in an aerial circus. Coffee was dumped on passengers, children ran up and down the aisles while their mothers screamed at them, a fight broke out between two men, and the general level of conversation kept rising so the speakers could be heard above the din, which only added more noise. When they reached Boryspil Airport, instead of using a glide path, the cowboys in the cockpit, as Jana now thought of them, peeled off and powered in. Jana was happy to have survived, only recovering fully when she found that Alexi had sent a police officer to accelerate her passage through customs.
They deposited her baggage at the hotel and left immediately with the “package” she’d brought for the captain. The driver, siren wailing, drove like a madman. By the time they reached headquarters, Jana was convinced once more that all Ukrainians were insane.
The man escorted her to the captain’s office and knocked. A yell in Ukrainian commanded Jana to enter. Alexi, a heavyset man with a large paunch and the rosy complexion of a drinker, came bounding out of his chair with remarkable quickness and energy for a man of his size, enfolding her in a bear hug while quickly relieving her of the package she carried.
“I am so pleased to see you. You have come at just the right moment,” he rattled on, this time in Russian so Jana could understand him better. “I have more information.”
He ripped open the package Jana had carried from Slovakia, first pulling out the bottle of Borovicka, then the Slivovitza, heaving a sigh of pleasure as he set them on his desk. “You’ve kept your end of the bargain, so I will fulfill mine, with a small bonus. But first, a drink.” He waved her to a chair. “Sit, sit; that was a long journey, and we have to make sure you’re comfortable enough to enjoy our Ukrainian hospitality.”
As if on cue, the officer who had met her brought in a tray with glasses. He was followed by another, carrying a coffee cup. He was Cziuba, his warrant officer, Alexi explained, who would be going with Jana to question Veza, the Club Exotique manager. Bilyk, the man who had picked Jana up, poured Borovicka into three glasses. As soon as he put the bottle down, Cziuba picked it up and filled his coffee cup.
Alexi scoffed at the glass in his hand. “The doctor says I have to drink less, so I must use these small things.” He muttered a toast, all of them, except Cziuba, downing the Borovicka in one gulp. Cziuba sipped at the contents of his cup, not in any hurry to finish.
Alexi smacked his lips, looking longingly at the bottles, then told Bilyk to put them away. As Bylik left, Alexi settled in his chair with a groan of satisfaction, still savoring the drink. “I’m like the man dying of dehydration in the desert limited to two small sips of liquid per day. Not enough. It still leaves you with a horrible thirst.”
Cziuba continued to sip, Alexi glaring at him.
“He does that deliberately, to torment me.”
“Kremenchuk,” Cziuba reminded him, peering over the cup rim.
“Yes, Kremenchuk.” Alexi settled deeper into his seat, focusing on Jana.
“I had a good man check the place in Kremenchuk. He knew about it already. A bar that doubles as a place to buy women.”
“Veza ran one in Slovakia.” Jana leaned forward, getting even more interested. “It seems we are dealing with a society of pimps. Except I don’t think that’s what this is about.”
Cziuba made a sound of agreement before tilting his cup to take another mouthful of Borovicka.
Alexi shot him an angry look, licking his lips again, swallowing hard, murmuring something at Cziuba that was not polite; then he refocused on Jana.
“My man in Kremenchuk asked about the Guzak brothers. No one had ever heard of them. My man says they were lying. They were terrified when he mentioned their names. I trust his judgment.” He sneaked another envious look at Cziuba. “So, one or both of the Guzaks were there at one time or another. My guy thinks it was recently. He will continue to poke around, but he believes there is a problem. The criminal community isn’t acting normally. Lots of turmoil. An argument between gangs, maybe? Even the worst thugs are afraid. So we can’t depend upon obtaining information on the Guzaks in the next few days. If our man finds out why everyone is frightened, we’ll let you know.”
“They’re very bad people down there.” Cziuba took a last sip from the cup, holding it upside down so everyone could see it was empty, eliciting a grunt from Alexi. “They’re all ruthless bastards. Whoever or whatever is scaring them has to be one son-of-a-bitch.
“Now, a nice piece of additional information for you.” Alexi went into his top drawer and pulled out a folder, handing it to Jana. “Look at them.”
Jana checked the two sheets of paper in the folder. “Telephone numbers?”
Alexi nodded, gesturing at Cziuba to explain.
“We got lucky. May I?” He took the folder from Jana. “The informant we used to locate Veza is involved in another investigation. The investigation has a telephone tap on the line where Veza is. We captured all the ingoing and outgoing calls. Not many. It was a dead line for conversation with nothing on it until Veza began using it again.” He pointed out sections of the two pages to Jana. “The calls out are to Kremenchuk, Bratislava, and Vienna. There were four incoming calls. One came from a small town in Hungary, two from Bratislava. The other one was, from all places, Kathmandu in Nepal. Everything else was outgoing. We tracked the location of the Kremenchuk calls. They go to the bar our man checked out.”
“That means Veza is tied in, one way or the other, with the Guzaks,” Jana said. “Whether friend or enemy, still has to be answered. Have you matched the numbers with addresses?”
“Just the Kremenchuk ones; not yet as to the other numbers. It’s hard to get information from the Austrians. They’re always arguing invasion of privacy. We’re working on it. The Bratislava numbers we figured you would help us with. There are only two of them. The Nepal call was from a hotel in Kathmandu. We haven’t got to it yet. It’s really too far away for me to worry about.”
“I assume you recorded all the conversations?”
Cziuba handed the folder with the numbers back to Jana.
“Yes. On the outgoing Veza calls, he identifies himself. Then the other party, no matter where the calls are made to, hangs up. Veza curses, screams at the dead phone, calls again begging whoever it is to not hang up, but they hang up as soon as they hear his voice.”
Alexi laughed. “Whoever they are, his people have written him off. Veza stays in his apartment all day, only going out to shop. Once he went walking toward a movie. He strolled for a few blocks, then apparently thought better of it and ran back to his apartment in a panic. What set him off, we don’t know. There was nothing there. I think he spooked himself.”
“You said three incoming calls. That means you have recordings of what was said by the party calling in.”
Cziuba pointed to the last page. All the calls had been picked up by an answering machine.
“One, Kathmandu. A man. He said, ‘This is Solti. Tell me why I’m not seeing anyone.’ Two was from a small Hungarian town. Whoever it was didn’t leave a message. Three, two calls from Bratislava. One from a woman. She told him she loved him, then hung up. She said her name was Andreea.”
Jana checked the numbers in Bratislava. One of them she immediately identified; the other one was familiar but just out of reach of her memory.
“I think I know who made one of these calls: I’ve met his girlfriend in Bratislava.” She checked the date of the first phone call, thinking the woman might have warned him, but it had been made a week before Jana had confronted her in her apartment. Too early for her to tell the boyfriend that the Slovak police were looking for him. “I know the other number, but the file in my head isn’t opening yet. I’ll follow up on it when I’m back in Bratislava.” She checked on the number of the call to Hungary. She recognized the town it had been made from. It was where the Hungarian smuggler had been cut to pieces.
More and more connections. The outlines of events were becoming faintly visible.
“Are we ready to go now?” Alexi asked Cziuba.
“Any time,” Cziuba responded.
Alexi looked at Jana. “Ready to go talk to Veza?”
“That’s why I came.”
“We’ll get you a vest in case there are any stray bullets to deal with. Anything else?”
“I couldn’t bring my sidearm.”
Alexi pulled an automatic in a waist-clip holster from the bottom drawer of his desk, sliding it over to her.
“Just so you don’t feel naked. Don’t fire it unless you absolutely have to. I don’t want to answer questions as to why I gave you a gun. And don’t shoot yourself in the foot.”
“I promise not to shoot myself in the foot.”
Jana had one last query. “What was the investigation about that made your people put a tap on the phone?”
“A botched bank robbery.”
Cziuba shook his head in incredulity. “These people never learn. One criminal thug leads us to the other. The man who let Veza use his couch is Veza’s cousin. His name is Omelchenko. We’ve held off arresting him because there were some other locals involved. We thought Omelchenko might lead us to them. He hasn’t. But he led us to Veza. Now that his cousin Veza has come to visit, we can arrest them both.”
“Omelchenko is a murderer,” Alexi added. “Two people were killed in the bank robbery. Which is the reason I gave you the gun.” His voice took on a mock-serious note. “You don’t mind going along while we also do some Ukrainian business?”
“It’s all part of the same business.”
Both men nodded.
All of them understood: They were professionals.