Siren of the Waters: A Jana Matinova Investigation, Vol. 2 Read Online Free PDF Page A

to locate the landlord of the “pimp’s” third-floor apartment on Strakova. They assumed that was what he was, as he had been in the car with six probable prostitutes. Unfortunately, there were no keys to the apartment among the dead man’s possessions. And no landlord meant no passkey, and that meant they had to use a crowbar to snap the double lock combination on the heavy door. Not a problem by itself, but the neighbors had to be assured that they were police officers on official business.
    As usual in Slovak culture, no one ever gives information to the police unless their lives absolutely depend upon it. Once the obligatory identifications were made, immediately after their denials of ever seeing anyone living in the pimp’s flat, the tenants’ doors shut. As far as the neighbors were concerned, the apartment had never been rented.
    Inside, the place was filled with the cheap modern furniture sold by places like IKEA to furnish the expensive rentals in Slovakia. In the cheaper rentals all you got were heavy furnishings, dark remnants of the prior Eastern bloc status, which hulked about in a grim way to remind the user that any place else would be more cheerful.
    “Expensive.” Seges nodded his approval at the look of the apartment. “Must be a thousand dollars, maybe twelve hundred dollars a month.” The landlords all took their tenants’ money in dollars or Euros, cash only, so they wouldn’t have to declare it on their income tax. Ownership was an attractive investment for those who could afford the initial cost. “I’d like to have a few rentals like this. Give up police work and live the easy life.”
    “You would be an instant target for the Tax Police. Ex-police officer, no other source of income. And then they’d ask where you got the money to buy the properties in the first place. Good-bye apartments, hello prison.”
    “Hell,” Seges complained. “Half the force is taking graft.”
    “Consider it carefully. They get away with it; you wouldn’t.” She finished her first look around, then took a quick tour through the apartment: living room, kitchen. Seges followed her, oohing and ahhing at the conveniences.
    Everyone hides things in the bedroom or the kitchen. This time the bedroom was their first choice. Seges searched the clothes in a freestanding armoire; Jana took the dresser.
    Neat and tidy. So neat and tidy, it bothered her. There was nothing out of place, socks were paired neatly, shirts arranged by color; every piece of underwear bore the same label. All the brand names were foreign. She smelled the drawers’ contents. No cologne scent, no aftershave. She checked the collars on the shirts. No abrading or discoloration. Everything was new or nearly new. She walked over to the armoire as Seges finished.
    “Anything?”
    “Good-quality clothes. Italian suits. They cost money.” He shrugged. “My dream life isn’t this good. Tonight I’m going to shake things up, make my fantasies richer.”
    “Richer doesn’t mean better.”
    “You could fool me.”
    “His expensive suits didn’t keep him alive.” She reconsidered her conclusion. “If they were indeed the dead man’s clothes.” She checked the cuffs on the trousers of the suits.
    “No wear. Again, new or nearly new.” She inhaled. Unlike the drawers, there was a faint bouquet of cologne in the closet. She checked each of the jackets until she identified the one giving off the aroma. She pulled the jacket and matching pants off the hanger, laying them on the bed. From inside the breast pocket she took a single coin, from Croatia. All she knew about that country came from a Dubrovnik woman who bragged about how nobody in the world could cook fish like the Croats and told elaborate stories about the beautiful Dalmatian coast and its islands.
    Seges began stripping the bed as Jana walked through the living room into the kitchen. She began searching through the drawers and cabinets. Again, everything was neat. Nothing in