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

more and more.” She got up, handing the book to him. “We must find someone who can decode the thing. Maybe the Americans in Austria? The FBI in Prague?” She tossed the sausage to him. “Rewrap the kielbasa and put it in evidence.”
    “It will smell up the file.”
    “They have a small refrigerator in the evidence room.” She tried to keep a straight face. “Tell the custodians that it’s poisoned so they won’t eat it.”
    Jana took a last look around. No ashtrays. Not an ashtray in the entire apartment. No smoking inside. Unusual for a Slovak household. She walked over to the French doors leading to a balcony, stepping outside.
    Seges was right about one thing, at least. The apartment, by Slovak standards, was a jewel. The wind had died down and there was a clear panoramic view of Bratislava: Maria-Theresa’s castle on the hill to her left; the tall Soviet war memorial on the hills across the valley celebrating the Russians driving the Nazis out of the city in the Second World War; Michalska Gate, the last gate standing of the old city’s defensive wall, directly in front of her. And below, the winding streets with their air of decay almost hidden by coats of snow. And the occasional new building, with the hope it represented, stretching up out of the soiled snow.
    Jana looked down. There was a man at the corner gazing up at the building. From the angle of his head, Jana could swear he was focused on this apartment, on her. The man turned, then went around the corner and out of sight. For some reason, Jana visualized the man wearing the jacket with the cologne smell and the coin from Croatia. No proof, but for some reason she thought it was his. She shrugged it off. Just a feeling; nothing to act on.
    Seges stuck his head outside. “You ready to go?”
    There was a large planter on the balcony, the ice-covered vegetation it contained long dead. Jana checked the dirt. No cigarette butts. People sometimes came outside to smoke, then put their cigarette butts in a planter. Here, nothing. Again, lack of real habitation, the apartment almost like a stageset built to fool the audience. Jana was ready to believe there was a stage manager orchestrating events. Except, the dead bodies were real, Jana reminded herself.
    “Too many people to track, too many dead bodies, too much of nothing,” Seges grumbled. “Where’s the writing on the wall?”
    “The writing is there.”
    “Invisible ink, then?”
    “We find out how to make it visible.”
    They left, Seges still grumbling. More problems, he thought. This case was going to wind on and on and on. Working the pickpocket patrol was better. Even if they did try to put their hands in your pockets, with them things came to a quick conclusion.

Chapter 6
    T he call rang on Jana’s mobile when she was eating a late lunch at Hrubulas, the small soup and sandwich place she frequented. The proprietor shrugged at her in sympathy. She was always being interrupted. His shrug was even broader, accompanied by a roll of the eyes, when the minister’s black BMW sedan, one of the ubiquitous BMWs that ministers in Slovakia have a penchant for, picked her up.
    As she left, the owner added a nod of approval to his shrug. Jana was moving up in the world. “Next, a helicopter,” he yelled after her, as the sedan roared off.
    Government cars get to places very quickly in Slovakia. They simply dare pedestrians to get in their way. When it is a minister’s car, the chauffeur’s hubris is intensified, the driver appearing to aim at pedestrians who even look like they are going to cross in front of “his” limousine.
    The interrupted lunch and the near-suicidal jumping of the traffic lights by the chauffeur did nothing for Jana’s spirits. So, arriving at the Ministry, she was already irritable when she was directed to a conference room, and became just a touch angry at not being told about a scheduled meeting which she had had no time to prepare for.
    Jana entered the room to