Dark Dreams (8 page)

Chapter 11

G
iles lived and worked at his furniture store on Obchodná Ulica near Postová. They sold legitimate furniture at the store, but his real business was dealing in high-priced stolen antiques and anything else not nailed down by its original owner, from jewelry to high-end cameras to stolen luxury cars, particularly Mercedes.

Jana had been involved in the only investigation that had ever taken Giles off the street and put him in prison for a time. A body had been found in the back seat of one of Giles’s stolen cars being shipped to Albania. Giles would send the cars there for corrective surgery: specialists would remove the vehicle’s real motor and chassis numbers, stamp false numbers on the car, and provide false registration, all to allow Giles to resell the car for a large markup in the Czech Republic, Austria, or Italy.

In order to obtain a lighter sentence, at Jana’s urging, Giles had given the police evidence that proved who had committed the murder. The killer was the elder of the two Guzak brothers, both ordinarily smugglers with a penchant for violence that had resulted in the dead man in the Mercedes. Both brothers had run to Ukraine to escape prosecution. Both had vowed to kill Giles in retaliation, a threat not to be taken lightly when it came from one of the Guzaks, neither of whom was above practicing any form of brutality that had ever been thought of.

Of course, the brothers were not the only ones who wanted to eviscerate Giles. Long-term criminals make lots of long-term enemies. And Giles had made so many of them that he lived in his headquarters above his furniture store, and left the premises only in the direst of emergencies.

When Giles was released from prison, he had come back to his old haunts and begun his activities again. He and Jana had stayed on relatively friendly terms. Giles had refrained from violence, at least in Slovakia, and his other games were not played in Jana’s jurisdiction, so she had no urgent need to take him down. Besides, he was a good source of information. But every so often Jana was required to help him in return for his knowledge of the criminal world. As the saying goes, “One hand washes the other.”

Jana drove to his block, saw the large sign over the store reading “Antiques of the Golden Ages,” parked the police car, crossed the street to the store, wiping her feet at the entrance, then walked through its baroque, carved-wood-framed doors into the shop. Jana’s eyes adjusted to the dim lighting as she threaded her way through its inventory of fake Louis Treize tables, Thonet chairs, Restoration chairs, Rococo framed mirrors, heavy Biedermeyer armoires, Empire busts, Art Nouveau lamps, mixed pieces from Limoges and a hundred other porcelain works, along with a thousand other exemplars of the faux antique business.

The furniture occupied the floor space except for two narrow parallel paths that led through the objets d’art facsimiles to the rear of the store. Giles did not sell his genuine antique pieces with their questionable chains of title through the front door. They were reserved for people who had real money and were willing to spend it without asking questions to get the piece they wanted. That form of business was consummated upstairs, where Giles had his office and living quarters.

Jana paused to admire a pair of pretty crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, wondering, for a brief second, if they were truly antiques, then laughed at herself for not knowing better.

One of the two salespersons on the floor came over; then, recognizing Jana’s uniform, quickly pretended she did not exist and beat a retreat. As expected, Giles was not on the main floor. Jana walked to the back, avoiding the furniture encroaching on the aisle. A stairway led up to the loft area, the way barred by a gate that was ornate enough to have previously belonged at the entrance of a bordello. There was also a German-made steel-and-titanium U-bolt sealing the gate, which would have taken very heavy equipment to open if you did not have the lock combination.

Spis, Giles’s bodyguard, a man of medium height with an incredibly thick-trunked body, stepped out of the shadows behind the stairs. He carried an old heavy-caliber Webley pistol in one hand; the other held a cell phone dwarfed by his large fingers. The cell was raised to a cauliflowered ear, the most apparent effect of one too many street fights. Spis grunted into the phone, then pocketed it, standing his ground, even more solid and formidable than the gateway he was protecting.

“He told you to open the gate, didn’t he, Spis?”

The tree trunk pretending to be a man continued to stare at her without moving. Jana opened her greatcoat to display her holstered Makarov.

“I have a gun too, Spis.” Jana kept her voice low. “My gun is better. It comes with a license that allows me to kill people, particularly when they have a weapon. If I have to shoot you to get in, I will tell my supervisors that you were threatening to kill me, and they will thank me. But if
you
shoot
me,
you will go to jail forever—if one of my fellow officers doesn’t kill you first. Which I think would happen. ‘Spis Commits Suicide’ will be the headline. Now, open the gate, Spis.” She waited a second, then unsnapped her holster.

Spis opened the gate.

“Thank you, Spis.”

Jana mounted the stairs, the gate closing behind her. At the top, she looked down. Spis was gazing up through the bars at her, wishing he had killed her. She made a pistol of her thumb and forefinger, pointing down at him. “Bang,” she said. “Spis is dead.”

She strolled to the back of the loft where Giles’s office was located.

He sat on an overstuffed red couch, a small table with a demitasse of coffee in front of him. He was a little man, his hands always moving, his appearance immaculate, even dandyish. He stared at Jana, stroking his carefully brushed-back hair, his too-big mouth simulating a smile, his slightly pop eyes peering a little uneasily at her through jeweled women’s glasses. The eyeglasses were a prop Giles had affected throughout the years Jana had known him. Giles was not gay. He made regular use of a steady stream of middle-aged prostitutes whom Spis would bring up to his office. When he had gone out in public, he had worn the bejeweled frames as an eccentricity to attract attention. It made up for his small stature and lack of a commanding presence.

Giles carefully poured Jana a cup of coffee from a carafe, holding the cup out to her when she sat in one of the chairs across from him.

“I assume you are bringing trouble? You always bring trouble, you know. It’s the essence of being a police officer, which is the reason most people don’t like them.”

Jana nodded.

Giles took a quick taste of his own coffee. “It’s always a milestone in my life, an event of importance . . . no,
major
importance, when you appear at the top of my stairs.”

Jana nodded again, looking at his glasses. “Still wearing the spectacles. Add any new gems?”

Giles got excited. “Yes, a new sapphire.” He took the glasses off, pointing to the sparkling blue stone mounted just above one of the lenses. “I got it from an old piece of jewelry that nobody seemed to know the value of, so it was a steal.”

“You’re sure you didn’t just steal it?”

He slipped the glasses back on, a little irked. “Of course not. Prison cured me of those bad habits. I do everything legitimately. I’m very careful about what I buy now.”

They sat in silence, each sipping coffee. Giles liked to settle in with his visitors. When he put his cup back on the tray, it was a signal that he was ready to talk business.

“How can I help you?”

“First, a complaint: your man downstairs didn’t want to let me in. I told him I would kill him if he didn’t.”

Giles shifted uneasily. “Forgive him. Police make him angry. He still thinks he’s a criminal gang member.”

“He still is.”

“But, he’s
my
gang member,” Giles half apologized. “I’ll talk to him about it.” He fiddled with his glasses. “You want information?”

“Yes.”

“I take it you are prepared to make it worth my while?”

“As always.”

“What’s the payment to be?”

“You go into my ‘future favors’ book. When you are in trouble, and you will be, I’ll be there for you. Or you get a small piece of information in return now, and forget the future favor.”

He thought about it. “I’m not into long-term investments. So, payment now.”

“I want information from you first.”

“You have no trust! A typical policeman. But go ahead. I’m magnanimous. I shall forgive you for not believing in me. Ask your questions.”

Jana took the diamond out of her pocket, dangling it in front of the little man. The gem pulled Giles in as it had Jana. Giles’s eyes seemed to get even bigger, and he began gnawing on the knuckle of one of his hands. “May I . . . hold it?”

Jana nodded, bringing it closer to Giles. He took it, pulled a loupe from his jacket pocket, blew it free of lint, then inserted it in his eye socket, inspecting the diamond. “Lovely. A lovely thing,” he murmured to himself.

He took the loupe out of his eye and held the diamond out above him, watching the jewel twist on its chain. “Look! It lights up the space. It’s as if the full moon has come into this room.” He let out a long sigh. “Are we at all interested in selling this piece of the heavens?” He hesitated. “By any chance, is it stolen merchandise? Less money, but for this one I am willing to make an exception. How much?” He took his eyes off the diamond, glancing at Jana, wincing when he saw the expression on her face. She was not going to sell him the diamond.

“For this stone, I had to try,” he mumbled by way of an apology. “I will give you the particulars. It’s blue-white, clear, class G, no faults. Approximately five and a half carats, beautifully cut, about a hundred and seventy-five thousand plus in U.S. dollars.”

Jana nodded, stunned by the price.

“A very nice bauble.” Giles kept turning the gem over and over in his hands, an avid look on his face. Reluctantly, he handed the diamond back to Jana. “Another few minutes and I would probably be willing to murder you for it. A gem that cut and size, that color, with no faults . . . is rare.”

“I would think so.”

“Very high-quality goods,” he murmured. “So, why did you bring it here?”

“Tell me about the gem market in this area of the world.”

“Not much to tell. Diamonds like these are hard to come by locally. With some exceptions, they’re too expensive for Middle or Eastern Europe.” His face took on a wan look. “Surely too expensive for most Slovaks. Maybe one of the fine jewelry outlets in Austria? Vienna would be the place to ask.”

“You think it came from Vienna?”

He turned the question over in his mind, taking his glasses off to wave them in her direction. “Since you made my day by bringing me the diamond, you can now have an additional contribution from me for an entry in your ‘future favors’ book. It is my belief the chain is probably Indian. The weave is not European. The gold is too soft, probably 22 or 24 carat. Most Europeans would not want to use such soft gold for such a big stone. They would be afraid it might work its way loose. There is also a small flower mark on the clasp. I have seen it on goods that came from the East. It could have been cut and set in Europe, but I don’t think so.”

“I thought diamonds came from South Africa.”

He laughed. “Most good diamonds still do, but they have to be cut and polished. The Indians are taking over from the Dutch Jews. It’s no longer the old India of the Raj. Indians have computerized and brought diamond cutting to a high art, and a cheap art. Everybody else is being eliminated.”

“Can someone track this diamond back to its source?”

“Maybe. But I would think, at the moment, no.”

“Why not?”

He ran his fingers through his hair, then wiped them on his jacket. “Because you came here, which means you are looking for a lead. I assume your Customs or Europol or Interpol would have told you the diamond was not declared in the normal course of business. So my guess is it was brought in under the table.”

“Who is handling under-the-table business besides you, these days?”

He frowned at her. “I told you I’m no longer in the business.”

“That will be the day the Slovak police celebrate.”

He decided to ignore her jibe. “Are you asking about volume pieces?”

“At the moment, just quality merchandise, like this.”

She held the diamond so that it swayed on its chain, both of them watching it glitter. “Odd how a piece of aged, compressed carbon can make people yearn so much.”

Giles continued to stare at it. When he managed to break away, he was out of breath from the effort. He held up a finger. “No more from Giles.” He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Time you furnish the information you have for me.”

Jana nodded. It was time to pay the little man. “The Guzak brothers. Rumor has it that they have come back from Ukraine and are on their way to Bratislava.”

Giles sat back on the couch. His face took on a gray cast; his shoulders slumped. Then a visible shudder passed over his body.

“They are coming after me?”

“Whatever business they have here, some part of it will always include coming after you. I’m sorry, Giles. Perhaps we can get them first.”

Giles looked up. “Besides you, who else on the police force in Slovakia can take care of the Guzak brothers? Nobody. And I should know: I’m on the other side.”

Jana put the diamond in her pocket.

“We have some good officers, Giles.”

“Not likely.” He took a deep breath, finally managing a wan smile. “How about giving old Giles something to pick up his spirits? Euros, not dollars: 150,000 Euros for the diamond.”

“You know I am not going to sell it to you, Giles.”

“Just a thought. It’s my nature,” he shrugged. “An animal cannot change what he is.”

Jana nodded at him, turned, and walked to the stairs, descending without looking back.

Chapter 12

J
ana phoned the office the next morning. They told her Peter had called the night before. Since he was a procurator, they had given him her number. Jana’s elation overcame her anger at seeing Kamin back in Slovakia. She called Peter at the number he had left, but his phone was turned off.

She dressed, hoping he would try again while she was home, and just as she was slipping on her shoes, her phone rang. Jana jumped to answer it. Her heart racing, she forced herself to swallow, and wet her dry lips, calming herself before picking up the phone. To her disappointment, it was one of the legislators, wanting to ask a few more questions about issues raised by members who had not been at the committee meeting the previous day. Fighting back the urge to hang up to leave the phone free for Peter, she managed to remain polite and patient enough to answer his questions, then sat staring at the phone after she had finished the conversation, wondering how long she could hold out before she tried Peter again.

Jana finished getting ready, walked to the door and this time locked it behind her. She had not taken two steps when the phone rang again. Fumbling with the key, Jana opened the door and darted to the phone.

“Hello, I’m here,” she blurted out. “Jana Matinova,” she mumbled, compelled to keep talking. “How can I help you?”

“Hello, Commander.” He addressed her formally. Even so, and even through the distortion of a telephone, Peter’s voice had an instantaneous effect on her. “I don’t know if you remember me?” he asked. “I’m the procurator you met at the parliament building yesterday.”

Jana took a deep breath. Then she had a moment of disquiet. He had used her title so easily. Was he trying to tell her that this was the level at which he wanted to keep their relationship?

“Of course I remember you.” She tried to think of something encouraging. “You spoke very articulately yesterday before the members of the committee.”

“I wondered if you might like to . . . ?” He hesitated. “I gather you like music.”

“How did you find out I liked music?” she asked, surprised.

“I . . . well . . . I asked the . . . head of the Traffic Police. I thought he might know you. He asked around, and called me.”

Oh, God, she thought. Everybody in the police department, the inspectors, the street police, all of them would now know that a man was interested in her, and not just as a police officer. She was about to reprove him, then managed to stop herself. He had cared enough to go through the trouble of finding out something personal about her. He was romantically interested.

“Yes, I like opera,” she got out. “There is a good one at the National Theatre tonight. Puccini’s
La Bohème.
They even have an Italian tenor singing Rodolfo.” Jana wondered if she was being too eager. “Or perhaps you would rather not?” Hesitate, she told herself. Show him that you’re not too eager. “There might be trouble getting tickets at this late date.” She regretted saying this as soon as she uttered the words.

“I have them.”

He had the tickets already. Why was she playing coy? She was no longer a girl who had to put on a performance. “You bought the tickets. Lovely of you to do that.”

“I could only get balcony seats. The tourists had already snapped up the rest.”

“The balcony is perfect,” she gushed, angry at the flutter in her voice. “You can see everything from there.”

“Dinner before or after?”

She almost ground her teeth in frustration at having to turn him down. “I won’t be able to have dinner. I will need time to change after work.”

“Drinks, and a snack after the opera?”

“I would love that.”

They decided to meet at the opera.

Jana didn’t want the conversation to end. She had no choice. He had to go . . . and there was the matter of Kamin to attend to.

Jana had to assume her objective, tough police mentality, so she used a method that was radical but always worked. She had learned it from another policewoman who used it when personal events interfered with her job. It was not hard: She thought back to the time she had first learned how to swim. At the beginning, at one time or another, she would go underwater and almost drown. She couldn’t breathe, suffocating, going down and down, trying to fight her way back up. She finally made it to the surface, gasping for air, but forgetting everything except the here-and-now of survival. Live it again, now, she told herself. Choke on the water, frantic with the need to take in air, feel the fear, then come up and out of it, taking deep breaths.

The exercise worked. Peter was, for the moment, pushed to the back of her mind. She was free to focus on Kamin.

Jana drove to her office and began making phone calls, personally speaking to ranking officers in each of the directories of the police, issuing queries about Kamin. The state had never filed charges against him for any crime. Not enough proof, no one would testify, books missing, investigations coming up empty when it came to vital evidence. Kamin had always covered himself, an eel slipping through the fishing nets. Now, Jana heard the same thing again. The only difference was that Jana wanted current information; she wasn’t interested in past investigative problems. Kamin was back in the country. What had he been doing all this time?

It was time to talk to Sofia, to share last night’s events with her. Jana headed toward Sofia’s house, realizing she should have called first. She hadn’t because she was too concerned about Sofia’s reaction if Jana told her on the phone that she had seen Kamin. Jana had to be there to stop Sofia, as she’d done before, when they had first run into Kamin years after the assault on Sofia. Sofia had been prepared to kill the man, and damn the consequences.

Jana drove to Čunovo, where Sofia was now living. Her parents had added a second story, creating an apartment for their daughter, a common practice in the country when the young could not afford to buy a house on their own. There was even a small office in the apartment where Sofia did much of her parliamentary business. A separate entrance allowed the people she worked with to come and go without interfering with her now-widowed mother downstairs.

Jana climbed the stairs. There was a sign on the door that said COME IN in big block letters; then, in deep blue lettering,
Nech So Paci,
AT YOUR SERVICE, and Sofia’s name and parliamentary title. The door was kept open, day and night, to show Sofia’s constituency that she was always there for them. Jana rapped lightly at the door, then entered.

Sofia was sitting on a small couch in the room. Next to the couch, in an armchair, sat Kamin.

Shock slowed the moment into a tableau. Then it began to accelerate into separate timeframes; then there was an abrupt explosion into action as Jana started to draw her gun. Sofia bolted up, rushing toward her friend.

“No, Jana!” Sofia interposed her body as a shield between Jana and Kamin. “It’s all right. Mr. Kamin and I are talking about the country’s interests. Government needs.” She turned to Kamin. “
Prepacte.
If you would excuse us for a moment?” She nudged Jana back through the door, then down to the bottom of the steps.

“Sofia, that is Kamin, the man who assaulted you.”

“I know who he is, Jana. And I can hardly stand to be in the same room with him.” She paused, choosing her words. “I was asked to meet with him by our party leader in parliament.”

“The party leader? To meet with that monster? What kind of a Slovak National Council catastrophe is pending that would require this of you? Unless Kamin is preparing to be the savior of Slovakia, and I know he isn’t, he should be locked up and the key thrown away.”

Sofia rubbed her forehead, as if trying to marshal her thoughts. “He’s apologized for what he did to me. Truly, contritely apologized for all the misery he caused me. He’s begged me to accept his apology, and I’ve done so.”

“How can an apology make up for his horrific attack on you? You were a young girl. How can you invite him into your office and sit down next to him without vomiting?”

“It’s over! I’ve done what I could. I’m the victim, not you, Jana. It’s my decision, not yours, to make. I believe he’s a changed individual.”

“There is no way he’s changed.”

“You can’t know that.” Sofia took several steps, then slowly returned to Jana. “There is a problem between the political parties in the coalition. They have asked me to work out an agreement so that the government will survive an upcoming vote. I intend to do that. And this man, if I can call him that, is vital to any agreement. He can influence a number of votes.”

“Do they know what this man is?”

“I’ve let them know. Not in detail, but enough so they understand how hard this is for me.”

“Why not a hundred other people instead of you? Why should you be put through this?”

“I have to go back upstairs, Jana, and talk to him. Please go.”

Jana focused on Sofia’s face, then carefully took in her whole appearance. She was wearing a crisp business suit, her face was carefully made up, not a hair was out of place. Only her eyes betrayed that she was under strain, and it was doubtful that anyone but Jana could have seen that. Sofia was very much in control of herself, and not afraid.

“You’re sure you want me to go?”

Sofia nodded. “I need to get back to work.”

“Yes. I guess you do. What’s the expression? Ah, yes, I remember: ‘Politics makes strange bedfellows.’”

“That’s not appropriate, or kind, Jana.”

“Go upstairs, Sofia.”

Sofia very calmly walked up the steps and into her office.