talking. They proved nothing.
Another photograph, he thought.
When they called her that first time to tell her Janos was dead, she felt as if she were being watched. You know the feeling.
Maybe they were watching her, waiting for her to run after the photograph. But she didn’t, because she knew nothing.
(When he closed his eyes, he was back in that field, at the foot of the Carpathians.)
It was three in the afternoon when he dropped by the state bank, cashed Lena’s exorbitant check, and then made it to the station. Big Ferenc was getting ready to leave with Stefan, but they stopped when they saw him clicking along with his cane. Leonek sat up in his chair, waking. “Brod! What the hell?”
Emil went straight to Brano Sev, who was sliding his file drawer closed, watching him approach. Emil dragged over a spare chair and settled into it.
“Comrade Brod,” said Sev-round, flat face, tiny eyes.
Everyone in the station was watching them.
“I need some help,” said Emil. He neither whispered nor raised his voice, so the others had to lean to listen. “Information.”
Brano Sev gave a minimal shrug and brought his fingers together on the impeccably clean desktop.
“There’s a man who went to Berlin last February. I want to know who he visited.”
The small mole on his cheek didn’t move when he spoke. “Depends on the man.”
“Janos Crowder.”
“Ah ha.”
Emil lowered his voice-just a little, but enough. “Can you contact the Berlin MVD?”
Sev looked at his hands, then at the buttons on his leather coat. The hardly visible shrug again. “Maybe.”
“Can I know by tomorrow?”
The security inspector gave a sharp, economical nod. Leonek was waiting at Emil’s desk. His eyes shifted back and forth between Emil and Sev, as if he couldn’t make them match. “What’s this?”
Emil laid his cane beside the typewriter. “Can you get me a visa?”
“A what?”
“I need travel papers. Berlin. Here’s my passport.” He grunted and withdrew from his inside pocket the hard, maroon booklet.*Berlin?”
“Spare me the surprise.”
“And this?” He touched some koronas sticking out of the passport.
“Bribes, I suppose.”
Leonek rubbed the bills between his thumb and forefinger.. “I’m coming with you.” “No, you’re not.” “You’ll get killed.” “I need you elsewhere,” said Emil. “Where?” “First, the visa.”
Leonek frowned and handed back the money. He held the passport beside his face. “Come on.”
Roberto did a fine job acting overjoyed to see Emil. He scrambled up and over the counter and patted his shoulders violently. “A ghost! It’s the curse of Sergei-that accursed typewriter!”
“Shut up,” said Leonek, though Emil smiled.
Roberto patted Leonek on the cheek, his lazy eye observing the far wall, and spoke reverently. “I’m sorry, my sensitive comrade.” Then he turned back to Emil, loud again: “So what can I do for my most abused customer? Typewriter ribbon? Blotters? Lamps? Erasers? Picture frames?”
Emil nodded at Leonek. “Tell him.”
“Travel visa.”
Roberto’s smile slid away. “Now that, my friends, is highly complicated. Do you realize?”
“But not impossible,” said Emil.
“Nothing:,” Roberto explained, “is impossible these days. The only issue is how.”
“And tomorrow,” said Leonek.
Roberto looked as though he had just witnessed a murder. “My God Friends! How can I?”
“And for free,” said Leonek, his stony face making no suggestion of flexibility.
Roberto emitted more sounds of protest-whimpers and shouts-and pulled at his hair, but in the end took the passport. “For you,” he said to Leonek. “And that’s done.”
In the corridor, Leonek explained that, a year ago, Roberto was caught selling surplus Militia pistols in the Canal District. Leonek saved him from being sent to the labor camps. He had milked that favor for as long as possible, and Emil’s visa constituted the final payment.
“You’re a good man to know,” said Emil.
Leonek shoved his hands into his pockets. “Take a walk?”
They left the station house, and Leonek guided him through a couple turns, stopping often for Emil to catch up. They were soon in a busy market-loud voices, hands shoving vegetables in their faces.
“I’ve been asking around,” Leonek said, nodding an old woman and her wooden spoons away. “Like a real inspector.”
“A real one, huh?” Emil tried to keep up.
“About your Michalec. He’s up for a vote in one week.”
Emil started to ask for clarification, but quickly understood. “Politburo?”
Leonek stopped just past a butcher with gutted lambs hung up to dry. “You think he’s untouchable now? Just wait”
Emil remembered Smerdyakov s explanation: We, as members of the Political Section, have very specific duties. And these duties confer upon us specific rights.
“How did you learn this?”
Leonek smiled and leaned close to his ear. “Your favorite informer, Dora with the girl’s name.”
That name brought back everything-the suspicion and abuse of his first week in Homicide, the shooting and the two dead children in Republic Park. He hated this man he had never met, who had nearly killed him without even knowing who Emil Brod was. “Can you trust him?”
Leonek shrugged. “Eighty percent of the time.”
Emil started moving again, and finally told him what he’d done with Lena. “She’s safe for now,” he said, but felt the doubt swell in his gut. “If something happens you’ll have to get her. I’ll give you directions.”
Leonek smiled broadly. “I can vacation in the provinces while you’re vacationing in Berlin.” They were out of the market and in the narrow, winding alleys. “Bring an umbrella. I hear things are dropping from the sky.” He nodded at a Russian soldier who passed them. The soldier, surprised, smiled and nodded back.
He gave his grandparents silence for their concern, and the next morning the chief gave him an angry frown. He called Emil into his office and closed the door. “Sit.” Emil did. Moska walked around him, looking down, and settled on the edge of the desk. His form arched over Emil. “I hear you’re working on a dead case.”
“A dead case?” He spoke with measured stupidity.
“Maybe you’ve forgotten,” Moska began again. “In the hospital-you certainly weren’t yourself, were you?”
“Hardly.”
“I specifically told you the Janos Crowder case was closed.”
“Yes,” Emil nodded. “Of course that’s a closed case. You told me.”
The chief pursed his lips and looked at the thick, barklike nail on his right thumb. He spoke quietly. “You’ve been with the Crowder woman, Inspector Brod. She called here and left a message, and you met with her.”
“That’s true.”
“And now she’s apparently gone missing.”
“Who reported her missing?”
“None of your concern,” said Moska, “because the Crowder case is closed.”
“Agreed,” said Emil, nodding. “Janos Crowder’s case. But Lena Crowder has been the victim of burglary and threats.”
“Until she’s dead, it’s no concern of yours.” The chief stopped looking at his nail. “Tell her to call the district police, Brod. Burglaries are their jurisdiction.”
