The prodigal spy

Desperate, Nick wanted to say. But had he been, or did it just seem that way now? “I don’t know. I don’t know what he was usually like. He seemed all right to me.”

“So you were surprised, this morning.”

“Of course. It was-horrible.”

There was another exchange of Czech, then Novotny went to the door, said something, and came back with Nick’s canvas bag. By the body. Why had he forgotten? Novotny handed Zimmerman Molly’s passport and the tickets.

“You were going on from coffee? To the station?”

Caught. “Yes, later.”

He opened Nick’s passport. “Your visa includes an entry permit for a car. You are aware that it is illegal for you to sell a car to a Czech citizen?”

“I didn’t sell it.”

“A present, then, perhaps? You were not by any chance leaving it for Pan Kotlar?”

A hopeless tangle now. “No, why would I do that?”

“If you had just met. Yes, I agree. But you were traveling by train?”

Think. “It was acting up. I was going to have it fixed and come back for it.”

“You’re very trusting, Mr Warren. To leave a car.”

“The hotel would take care of it.”

“But you couldn’t wait.”

“No, I had to be in Vienna.”

“What is your business, Mr Warren? You’re a journalist?”

“No. I’m at the London School of Economics.”

“A student?”

“A research assistant.”

“With business in Vienna.”

“I’m traveling with someone. She had to be there.”

He fingered Molly’s passport. “Miss Chisholm,” he said, pronouncing it correctly. “Your friend?”

“Yes.”

“She was not invited for coffee?”

“She had other things to do.”

“It’s a pity you did not join her, Mr Warren.”

He turned to Novotny and reported in Czech, a brief summary.

“You had better think of a better explanation for the car, Mr Warren,” he said, almost confiding. “He’s interested in the car. By the way, the next Vienna train doesn’t leave until late afternoon. I thought you should be aware of that.” Nick stared at him. “Now, quickly please, what did you see in the flat? Had anyone been there?”

“I think so. Furniture was pushed around, as if there had been some kind of fight. Chair moved out of the way. I suppose he might have done it himself, but why?”

“Anything else?”

“Scrape marks on the railing. But there was nothing on him to make a scrape with, so I assume it was someone else.”

Zimmerman nodded approvingly. “If it was made then. How long did you say he’d been dead?”

“I don’t know. I can’t tell. He wasn’t stiff, just cold.”

“All right. Thank you.” He stood up, talking again to Novotny. “Think about the car.”

“Can I go now?”

“Go? Mr Warren, I’m afraid you are in difficulties. Unless of course Pan Kotlar seemed-agitated to you last night. It might have been. Otherwise, the police will be interested in you.”

“I don’t understand. Aren’t you the police?”

He smiled. “Actually, I was chief of police. Until last year. A year can make a great difference here, you see. Today, Chief Novotny. He’s more comfortable with the regime, or perhaps they with him-it depends how you look at it. Now I help him.” Another tram driver. “A research assistant,” he said, his voice ironic. “But I’m glad of the work. It’s hard, you know, to break the habit.”

They brought Molly in sometime after noon.

“Nick. Thank God,” she said, her face drawn and nervous. “What’s going on? I’ve been frantic.” She moved toward him, then looked at the police and stopped. Novotny watched them blankly, shut out by language, but Zimmerman followed her with interest.

“I don’t know. There’s some kind of mistake. The man we met last night, at the concert-I found him this morning, dead. They didn’t tell you?”

“Dead?” she said, stunned, not taking in the rest of it. Her face softened. “Oh, Nick.”

“Mr Warren was with you this morning?” Zimmerman said.

Molly nodded.

“What time did he leave?”

Molly looked to Nick for help. “I don’t know. I was asleep.”

“The maid said very early,” Zimmerman said. “You don’t know exactly when?”

“I didn’t want to wake her,” Nick interrupted. Then, to Molly, “I went to get the tickets. For the train this afternoon. You know. I didn’t want to wait till the last minute.”

“Evidently,” Zimmerman said dryly, still watching Molly, who simply stared, following a game. “And yet you waited there,” he said to Nick. So they’d already checked.

“I had a coffee. It was too early to go to his place.”

“So much coffee,” Zimmerman said. “You have business in Vienna?” he said to Molly. But she seemed not to have heard him.

“Dead?” she said to Nick. “He was dead? How?”

“That is what we’re trying to determine, Miss Chisholm. A fall from the balcony. An accident, perhaps,” Zimmerman said blandly. “But Mr Warren’s presence there naturally raises some questions for us. You understand. You have business in Vienna?” he said again.

Molly looked at him, unsure, then gave a nod, faint enough to be retrieved. He took up her passport, thumbing through it.

“You’ve been to Prague before. May I ask what brings you back?”

“I wanted to show Nick.”

“Not on business then, this time? You did not apply for a journalist’s visa, I see.”

“No. It was a personal trip.”