Vera was in a mood when she arrived. She didn’t tell me what it was, but the mood was evident by her silence, and the way, in bed, she held my big hand up to her face and turned it to see it from every angle. She brought the palm up close to her eyes, as if to read my future, and kissed the hair on the back of it. She smiled, then quickly sank her teeth into my middle finger. The pain shot through me, and I instinctively slapped her, harder than I would have wanted. When she got up on her elbow there was a bright red spot on her cheek. But she was still smiling.
At the station, Leonek was busy struggling through Kliment’s interview of Boris Olonov, in Russian. “Why didn’t he translate it?” Leonek muttered to himself. “He could have translated it.”
“Get Kaminski to do it,” I muttered.
Leonek looked up at me, unsure if I was joking. In case I wasn’t, he said, “Kaminski’s got the flu. That’s what Brano says.”
Brano didn’t seem to notice his name being said.
Leonek tried a smile. “Maybe we can get Kaminski for sabotage.”
Through his open door, I saw Moska eating a sandwich at his desk. “Come in, Ferenc. Haven’t seen you much lately. A bite?”
I shook my head.
He set the sandwich down and cocked his head. “I heard about the Woznica woman.”
“What about her?”
“That she was found dead in her home village.”
“Who told you?”
“Brano,” he said as he lifted the sandwich again. “She was officially one of ours, so Moscow sent a report. Brano didn’t think you’d tell me. Was he right about that?”
“I don’t know. I would’ve gotten around to it.”
“Are you going to follow up on it?”
“Any reason I shouldn’t?”
“Of course not, Ferenc. It’s your job. I’ll see if I can get some clearance for you to work on international cases. It’ll take a week or two, so wait before arresting him. He won’t go anywhere.”
“Okay.”
“And I’m closing down the other investigation. I told Brano this morning. I know you didn’t touch Stefan. He knows it, too.”
“Thanks,” I said, then looked at him. “Really.”
He took a bite, pulling his lips back to expose the two holes where teeth had once been, then dropped the sandwich again. “Is there anything you need to talk about? You seem a little weird these days.”
“You know about Magda and me.”
“That’s been going on a long time.”
“It’s worse.”
His sympathetic smile made me wonder if he, also, knew about Leonek. But he said, “Ferenc, everyone’s marriage is rough. Don’t think you’re alone in this.”
“I didn’t say I was.”
“I never told you about Angela and me, did I?”
“I knew you had some problems.”
“I don’t gab about it, but it wasn’t pretty. It got bad enough that I started sleeping with some young girl from the administrative typing pool. Exceptional girl. She’s married now, with two kids. Very happy.”
“Good for her.”
“The point is, Angela and I finally sat down and talked. There were a lot of things she had never said to me, and a lot of things I hadn’t said to her. Nothing easy about it, marriage. You’ve got to make some sacrifices. How long have you been married?”
“Seventeen years.”
“Not long at all. We’ll talk again when you get to twenty-five years, and I’ll have some more advice for you.”
I grinned. “I can’t wait.”
68
Emil asked where I had been the previous day, but didn’t wait for the answer I didn’t want to give. “You should’ve come out with me. I had a grand time talking to old women who didn’t want to say a thing.”
“In Stefan’s building?”
“Yeah. And Antonin’s. Nothing of use. But then,” he said, sitting on the corner of my desk, “I started thinking about this Frenchman. This Louis Rostek.”
“Did you?”
He looked at me.
“Go on.”
“There’s a French school over on Yalta Boulevard.”
“The one I’m going to send Agnes to.”
“Exactly. The head didn’t know anything about Louis, but he suggested I check with their consulate. They host parties for French nationals.”
I sat up. He’d actually been working while I moped in the Canal District. “And?”
“And I haven’t been there yet. Want to come?”
It was west of Victory Square, along the tree-lined streets of the diplomatic area. Three identical Mercedes were parked behind the gate, and the guard, a local boy, picked up the telephone in his little guardhouse for permission to let us enter. Then he opened the gate and watched us walk up the stone path to the front door, where another guard stood waiting. This one was French. He took us into a large marble entryway with a board covered by posters for upcoming events and a front desk where we signed in. Another man arrived: thin, white hair, an eye that twitched. His name was Jean-Paul Garamond. He shook our hands. “Good to meet you, Inspectors. Please, please.”
He waved us down a marble corridor to his office, then waited until we were inside before entering and closing the door. The chairs opposite his desk were old and comfortable, and he held out an open box of cigars. I shook my head, but Emil, intrigued, took one. “Thank you.”
Garamond lit it for him, then settled behind his desk, looking very pleased to have us both there. “Now what is it I can do for you gentlemen?”
Emil was puffing frantically on the cigar to keep it lit, and the smoke began to bother me. I said, “We’re here in connection with a homicide investigation. Evidence has turned up a connection to a French national who frequents our country. A Louis Rostek.”
Garamond didn’t seem to know the name. “Rostek?”
“His family was from here originally, years back.”
“I see,” he said, eye twitching. “And you think he killed someone?”
“No. But he’s connected to our suspect, and he certainly has information that could help us.”
Emil was finally satisfied with the ember at the end of his cigar, and began waving smoke away. “Do you have,” he said, then blew some smoke from his face. “Do you keep records of your citizens when they’re here?”
Garamond smiled, but this was a smile I didn’t trust. “Well, we don’t run things your way.”
“Our way?”
He shrugged expansively. “We don’t follow our citizens down the street taking notes.”
“And if you did,” I said, “you wouldn’t give such notes to the local authorities.”
“That would be our prerogative.”
Emil had gotten rid of most of the smoke. He took a normal draw of the cigar, crossed his leg over his knee,
