mind.”
I didn’t know what to say. “How long was this going on?”
“Six months. Imre’s cover was simple enough-he was a militiaman in need of money. He kept the truth from everyone, even his wife. Even you. We didn’t know who in the Militia was involved.”
“Six months7.”
He leaned into a turn but didn’t bother answering.
“So they killed him,” I said. “Despite the secrecy, they figured out who he was and executed him in the Canal District.”
“I wish,” said Brano.
“What?”
He drove another block before explaining. “He was killed by a Ministry agent who didn’t know Imre’s true role.”
I couldn’t find any air for a moment. Then: “He had five bullets in him.”
“I know.”
“Where is he? Where’s the man who killed Imre?”
“Transferred.”
“To where?”
“It’s not important.”
That was all I could get out of him, but by the time we returned to Friendship Street, I’d gone over it all many times. I knew where to place the blame.
“If you’d told me, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“Not necessarily, Emil.”
“You know it’s true. I would’ve had Bernard watch his back. He would still be alive.”
“Or they’d both be dead.”
“I’m telling Dora.”
“No,” said Brano. “That’s a bad idea.”
“Why? Why shouldn’t she remember her husband as a hero?”
He shook his head. “Emil, listen to me. Everything I’ve said is only for you. Remember: Our country has no organized crime problem. Nor do we have serial killers. Those are capitalist diseases.”
“Oh, Christ,” I said.
“The truth doesn’t matter,” he said. “If Dora Papp starts telling her son about how his father died a hero, then he’ll tell the story at school. Dora will tell Imre’s mother; she’ll tell other people. And what happens then? You’ve got a crowd of people slandering our workers’state. And that, last I checked, was a crime. A punishable one.”
“You’re a shit,” I said and got out.
Next time I saw Brano was at his retirement party, a year later. Then, like all bad dreams should, he disappeared.
It was two when Katja and I reached the station, but there was no sign of Lena. I was suddenly worried about her. I didn’t know why I should be; I was just worried about everything and everyone. I called home but after ten rings gave up.
Katja leaned into my doorway. “Who’re we pissing off next, Chief?”
“I was thinking about searching Kolev’s house.”
“Fine,” she said.
I rubbed my aching temples. “No, forget it. You heard him. Case closed.”
“That’s a load of shit.” She sometimes talked that way.
“It is what it is.”
She took the chair by my desk as she always did-as if she owned it. “But you have some idea why it is the way it is. Tell me.”
We all have our flaws, and one of mine is that I find it difficult to keep too many things going on in my head at once. I’m at my best when I’m staring at a single thing for a long time, and only then can I figure it out. But now, I had to worry about a colonel who might or might not be a murderer. A man named Rosta Gorski had my file; he might be interested in killing me, as well as Brano Sev. Despite our relationship, I didn’t want him murdered. Gavra was finding dead men in other countries. All of this connected to a forty-year-old case that had nearly meant Lena’s death, and so I feared for her. Add to that a revolt bubbling under the surface of the Capital, and it was too much to keep in my poor head.
Katja was staring at me. I’d always been fond of her. So I told her. I told her that I suspected Romek was connected to the murders of Yuri Kolev, Dusan Volan, and Lebed Putonski. I told her that, based on the stolen files, I felt pretty sure that he also wanted to kill me, Brano Sev, Jerzy Michalec, and Tatiana Zoltenko.
“But why?” she said.
“That’s the question. It looks like we’re all connected to a forty-year-old case.”
That explained nothing, though. Why would anyone care about an old Gestapo agent sentenced to hard labor? “Why,” I said aloud, “would Romek call us to investigate Kolev’s death, when he could’ve just signed off on it himself? It makes no sense.”
“It might,” said Katja.
I looked at her.
“Your name,” she explained. “Not his. Maybe he didn’t want anyone in the Ministry signing off on it, just in case there was an investigation later. Nothing to tie him to it.”
That was good, and I wondered why I hadn’t seen it before. “Maybe.” Then something occurred to me. “I need to make a call.”
Katja nodded, as if giving me permission, but didn’t move.
“Alone,” I said. “Please.”
She was plainly dissatisfied, but she got up anyway and closed the door behind herself.
When I tried to call direct, I got a busy signal, so I talked to a local operator and demanded she put me through to Ferenc’s house, and if necessary cut into his conversation. She told me she couldn’t do that. The national operators had, since five that morning, been ordered to refuse all connections into the Sarospatak region. I rattled off my Militia number, then told her-by now I’d done it often enough that it made no difference-that this was business for Colonel Romek of the Ministry for State Security. It took a few minutes, but finally I heard Agota’s voice. “Hello? Hello?”
“Agi, it’s Emil. Where’s your father?”
“I was in the middle of an important-”
“This is important,” I told her.
“Did you do what I asked?”
“It’s done.”
“Thank God,” she said, then called for her father.
Since the previous night, Ferenc had regained his swagger. “Welcome to the end of the world, Emil!”
“I need your help again.”
“What about?”
“Tatiana Zoltenko, Ministry colonel. She’s working in Patak. You know her?”
“I’ll ask around. If she’s running any of their units, then we can find her. What do you need?”
“I need her to stay alive.”
“What? You think we want to-”
“Not that,” I said. “I think someone’s going to kill her, and I want you to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“It’s a tall order without more information.”
All my information was too speculative to make any sense, so I just said, “If we don’t save her, it’s possible I’ll be killed too. Or Brano Sev.” Neither of us cared about Jerzy Michalec’s life, so I didn’t bother mentioning him.
Silence followed, but I could hear him breathing. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do. I’ll call you at home tonight.”
