A Blind Eye: Book 1 in the Adam Kaminski Mystery Series (5 page)

T
en minutes later
, Adam and Sylvia ascended a short flight of marble steps up to the yellow stone building on
Ulica Wilcza
that housed Warsaw’s central police station.

“
Nie! To nie prawda!
” A man’s angry shout greeted them as they entered the cramped space. The man slammed his fist down on the gray countertop as he shouted at the uniformed officer standing behind it.

Adam and Sylvia stopped short in the entranceway.

“What’s going on?” he whispered in her ear.

She put a hand up to touch his shoulder. “I don’t know, something happened to that tall man and they seem not to believe him.” She kept her attention on the scene as she spoke.

“What are they saying?” Adam asked again.

“It does not concern us.” Sylvia shook her head as she spoke.

Adam watched the interaction without understanding a word.

The man confronting the officers was tall and well dressed, though his elegant clothes were well worn. He rubbed his hand across his forehead as he talked and when he did, Adam could see that he favored his right side, as if he had been recently injured. After the outburst Adam and Sylvia had walked in on, he had not yelled again. But his voice held a tension and anger that did not need translation.

The response of the two officers behind the desk made Adam question their training. In a similar situation at home, the uniformed officers would take steps to calm and reassure an angry member of the public, either to elicit accurate information or just to get him out of their hair. These officers smirked up at the tall man, rolling their eyes in response to his statements. One leaned heavily against the cracked countertop and rolled a rubber stamp around between his fingers as he spoke.

A glint of metal from around the collar of the shorter officer caught Adam’s eye, and he jerked his head to the left as he recognized the pendant the officer pulled out from behind his shirt. As the officer fingered the small gold medal of Saint Casimir, the patron saint of Poland, Adam stiffened. His hand reached out for Sylvia’s shoulder, looking for something real. A human touch to keep his mind here, in the present.

He could see the other Saint Casimir medal as if that Philly cop were standing in front of him. Smell the scent of the lilies. That cop had thought the kids deserved it. Adam could tell by the way he swaggered toward the grave. The way he glanced at the parents out of the corner of his eye. Black kids, center city Philadelphia, of course they deserved it.

But Adam knew better. And he knew that cop, and others like him, were the reason too many kids were being hurt in the city. With no one to defend them. No one to look out for them.

Adam felt himself falling. Knew he was at risk of losing himself in the memory. The shame. The anger.

Finally, a third uniformed officer approached from a back room and said a few sharp words to the two behind the counter. He turned to the tall man. “
Nie możemy pomóc, Panie Kamiński
.”

The words were enough to pull Adam back to the present. Back to the station where the tall man had stopped speaking and was now nodding. Adam tore his eyes away from the medal, trying to forget the past and focus on the present. “What did that officer just say?”

Sylvia shook her head and frowned but didn’t answer.

The newly arrived policeman reached under the counter. Producing a sheaf of papers, he pulled off the top sheet and handed it to the officers at the counter. These two shared a look. Adam wasn’t sure of its meaning. Was it derision? Concern? The officer who had been leaning on the counter slammed the rubber stamp down on the paper, leaving a blurry red mark. He then handed this stamped sheet to the tall man. The man glared at him as he took it, along with a clipboard and pen, and turned toward a chair against the far wall.

As he turned, his shoulder brushed roughly against Adam’s. The man looked toward Adam and nodded, only slightly. His green eyes seemed to glow in his face, though it was probably the contrast with their redness that gave this impression. Adam nodded in return, and the man continued toward the chair, where he sat and started filling in the form.

Sylvia turned to Adam. “I think that is over now. I shall introduce you.”

She moved forward as she spoke and Adam followed her up to the counter. The third officer, who seemed to be in charge, still stood there and Sylvia addressed her words to him.

Adam focused his attention on this officer as well, avoiding eye contact with the shorter officer who reminded him far too much of his Philly counterpart. His interaction with his Polish colleagues, however, was limited by the language barrier. None of the officers present spoke much English, just a few words between them, so Sylvia served as an interpreter for the brief conversation.

Adam was greeted warmly by these officers, but the awkwardness of their responses to his basic questions made it clear to him, even without understanding their words, they were at a loss for how they could work with him in any meaningful way.

After five minutes of this, the lead officer suggested that perhaps Adam could come back another day.

“He says there may be someone on duty another time who can speak in English,” Sylvia translated for him, “to show you around the station and explain the processes they use here.”

Adam nodded, almost grateful this meeting was coming to a close. As they shook hands to take their leave, the tall man returned to the counter with his form completed. He glanced toward Adam and Sylvia, then spoke harshly to the men behind the counter.

They simply accepted his paper without speaking, tucking it into a folder on the countertop already overflowing with similar forms.

“Bah.” The man waved his hand disdainfully toward the officers as he turned back to the door.

“What was that all about?” Adam asked the officers, hoping Sylvia would translate. When she stayed silent, Adam looked toward the officers, raising his eyebrows and his shoulders in what he hoped was the universal sign for a question, pointing toward the departing man.

The lead officer responded, his disbelief painted plainly on his face. “He says he was attacked,” Sylvia translated the response. “But he does not remember where or by whom. The officer says they do not believe he was attacked, they think maybe he got drunk and got in a fight but has forgotten.”

She turned to look up at Adam. “It has nothing to do with us, we should not be involved.”

“Okay, I understand.” Adam shrugged and expressed his thanks once again to the officers, promising to return another day to try his luck.

As he held the door for Sylvia, Adam saw the tall man outside, standing on the sidewalk with his hand to his face as if deep in thought. Adam felt the eyes of the Polish police officers burning a hole through his back as the door lumbered closed behind him, but he couldn’t help himself. Descending the steps, Adam walked toward the man.

“Good afternoon. Do you speak English?”

The man looked at him without responding for so long Adam was sure he hadn’t understood. Just as Adam was about to wave Sylvia over to help with translating, the man spoke. “I do, of course. How can I help you?”

He spoke with a strong accent, but his voice was low and melodic and he clearly knew English well. Adam reconsidered what he was going to say. “I couldn’t help overhear you in the police station just now. I understand you have some problems.”

“You speak Polish?” the man asked, sounding surprised.

“Only a little, not much. I understand all the same. I’m sorry the police aren’t able to help you.”

“There is much going on in Warsaw for them to be concerned with. An attack I cannot even remember… I can understand their disbelief.” The man shrugged and looked up and down the street, heavy with cars, buses and trams. “I will manage.”

He looked back at Adam and smiled. “Thank you, all the same, for your concern. Łukasz Kaminski.” He held out his hand as he introduced himself and Adam caught a whiff of simple soap and sandalwood.

“Kaminski?” Adam asked, then added under his breath, “Like Basia.”

“What was that?” The man’s face darkened, his shoulders stiff. “What did you say?”

“Nothing, sorry,” Adam shook his head, smiled. “My name is Kaminski, Adam Kaminski.”

“Kaminski? From the United States, I gather from your accent?”

“Yes, that’s correct. Philadelphia.”

“Aha.” Łukasz’s eyes lit up. “I think we might be related.”

“I’m sure it’s a common enough name, at least here in Poland. It probably means nothing.” Adam forced thoughts of the bloated corpse away.

“No, no, I think it might.” Łukasz nodded as he spoke. “Are you the son — or more likely the grandson — of Witold Kaminski, whose family moved to Philadelphia from Poznan in 1940?”

“I am.” Now Adam was smiling. “How did you know?”

“My grandfather was Jan Kaminski, cousin to Witold.” Łukasz laughed and slapped Adam on the shoulder. “So you are my… what would that be?”

“Second cousin, maybe?” Adam ventured.

“Yes, when I was younger I heard stories about this cousin who moved to America, but I think not so much recently. The family that got out.” Łukasz’s brow furrowed as he looked at Adam. “The ones who didn’t have to endure the war. What a pleasant surprise this is.”

A movement at his side reminded Adam he was not alone. “I’m sorry, I’m being so rude. Łukasz Kaminski, may I introduce Sylvia Stanko, my Polish colleague.”

“
Pani Stanko, bardzo mi miło
,” Łukasz took her hand in his and held it as if to kiss it rather than shake it. Sylvia smiled at him and retrieved her hand.

“Sylvia, we’ve just discovered we have distant relations in common,” Adam explained. “What an amazing chance to run into each other like this. Though in unfortunate circumstances, I think, at least for you.” He looked questioningly at Łukasz.

Before Łukasz could respond, Sylvia jumped in. “I am very pleased to meet you as well,
Pan
Kaminski, a great pleasure.” She turned her attention to Adam. “I am sorry, but I must make it to my office before we all meet for dinner this evening. Adam, I’m sorry to tear you away. Can I show you the way back to your hotel?”

“That’s not necessary Sylvia, I’m sure I can find it on my own.”

Sylvia glanced briefly at Łukasz before turning back to Adam. “If you are sure. I am sorry to leave you. I hope you do not find yourself in any trouble.”

“Absolutely not, no problem at all.” Adam paused and took her hand. “And Sylvia, thank you for your help.”

She smiled and gave a small wave as she walked back down the street toward the tram stop.

“Beautiful lady, no?” Łukasz asked Adam, a glint in his eye.

Adam dragged his eyes away from Sylvia’s retreating form and turned his attention back to Łukasz. “Yes, she is. But I’d like to hear more about you… if you’re interested, that is. I don’t want to impose.”

“Ah yes, it would be interesting to find out more about this American branch of the family.” He glanced at his watch, then back up at the door to the station, which remained closed. “But not today, I fear. I have other obligations I must see to.”

“Of course, I understand.” Adam gave a casual wave of his hand. “It really was a pleasure meeting you, Łukasz, I hope I have the chance to see you again. If you find you have the time, I am staying at the Newport Hotel. You can always reach me there.”

The two men shook hands again and Łukasz strode down the street, away from the direction taken moments before by Sylvia. Adam watched him go, then turned toward the tram stop. As he turned, he saw the door to the police station closing. No one had gone in or out while he was standing there. Someone must have opened the door to look out.

Adam frowned as he glanced back up the street at Łukasz’s receding back, wondering what kind of trouble Łukasz was in.

“
P
lease have
your passports ready
,”
Sylvia announced to the group. “The security team will check your identification and run any bags you are carrying through the scanners.” She indicated a pair of conveyor belts at the far end of the room, bumping and grating as they carried visitors’ personal belongings past the scrutiny of the guards.

After a morning spent visiting a local school and history museum, the team from Philadelphia planned to spend Thursday afternoon at the
Sejm
, home to one house of Poland’s legislature. Security was tight, as they had expected, but they had been assured by Sylvia that the building was open to the public and there would be no problems getting in. While they were there for scheduled meetings with specific legislators, they hoped to find some time at the end of the afternoon to observe a committee meeting from the public balcony.

The
Sejm
inhabited a plot on
Ulica Wiejska
, a quiet street in a diplomatic neighborhood near the center of Warsaw. The classically designed and well-kept building was tucked away from the street, creating an enclave of peace and harmony.

The main visitor entrance was just as grand as the rest of the white marble building. Plush red carpets left only small squares of wooden parquet floors exposed while thick golden curtains hung before large windows.

Guards in the drab olive uniforms of the Polish military stood at every entrance or interacted with each guest trying to gain access to the building. Small monitors revealed the contents of visitors’ bags as they passed through the scanners, and guests were asked to stand, crucifixion-style, while a metal detecting wand scanned their person.

Adam smiled at a guard as he held out his passport for inspection, but the man did not smile back.

As Adam waited behind Angela while her bag ran through the scanners, he heard a familiar voice. Turning to look over his shoulder, Adam saw Łukasz engaged in a conversation with two guards near another scanner.

Łukasz leaned against one of the conveyor belts, which had been immobilized. His satchel sat upright on the surface, its top flap flung open to expose its contents. Small items that had been safely ensconced in their proper places now lay scattered along the belt.

Łukasz’s attention, and that of the two uniformed guards leaning toward him from the other side of the conveyor belt, was focused on the object one of the guards now held in his hand.

As the guard waved it in his hand as he spoke, Łukasz reached over and pushed a button on the side of the device. He spoke rapidly to the guard in a tense voice, only stopping when he pushed another button. Łukasz’s recorded voice floated back across the room.

Adam smiled again and moved to take his turn through the inspection, thinking that would be the end of it. When he turned after passing through the inspection, Łukasz was still engaged with the two guards. Other visitors who had lined up behind him had all moved over to the line Adam and his colleagues had used, like shoppers in a grocery store trying to choose the fastest queue.

Adam paused as he passed through the doorway leading to the halls of the building, resting his hand against the door jamb and allowing the others to pass by him. Łukasz was now leaning forward over the conveyor belt, his head falling down between his shoulders. He seemed to be listening to what one of the guards was telling him as he nodded periodically.

“
No… no…
” Łukasz nodded as he addressed his words to the belt below him. “
Tak… wiem…
” Adam knew enough Polish to understand that Łukasz was acquiescing to whatever the guard was saying.

The guard continued his monologue in a brisk, authoritative voice. Łukasz simply nodded and mumbled his affirmative responses.

It seemed like this exchange could go on forever. The guard holding Łukasz’s bag gave no indication he was ready to return it to its owner. Łukasz wasn’t going to be let in.

Adam took a step toward the scene. Not that he could do much. But he could at least try to intervene. There was no good reason why Łukasz should be kept out of the building.

He held back when a fourth man appeared. His wire-rimmed glasses caught the light as he approached the trio and spoke quietly into the ear of one of the guards.

The stranger was young, wore a suit rather than a uniform, and ran his hand over his short brown hair as he spoke. But the guards nodded as they listened to him. The uniformed guard glanced at Łukasz with dislike clearly painted across his features, then handed his satchel back.

Łukasz took the bag. Without saying another word, he gathered the other items that had been set aside on the conveyor belt.

Adam examined the young man who had made such an immediate impact. Despite his confident dress and style, the man conveyed a sense of nervousness. Perhaps it was the way he kept smoothing his hair, or the way his eyes flitted about while he spoke, never settling for long on any one object or person. Or perhaps it was simply a reflection of his youth and something he would grow out of.

“Adam, are you joining us?” Adam’s thoughts were interrupted by Sylvia’s call. She and the rest of the team were already moving up the long hallway toward the stairs that would take them up to the private offices on the second floor.

“Of course, sorry.” Adam glanced back into the entrance area.

Łukasz had restored all of his items to his satchel and was turning toward the door where Adam stood. Adam ducked through the doorway to follow Sylvia before Łukasz could see him, forcing himself to focus on the people he was about to meet.