Lost and Found in Prague (16 page)

“Okay,” he said, puzzled. “There, right there!” he added. His flashlight shone on the little medal now visible near the base of the altar.

“Oh, thank God,” Dana said with a brief thought of the irony in her words. She picked it up and secured it back on the key chain.

Borelli was already folding the ladder. Dana wondered what time it was. It had been almost eleven when they left the hotel for the church.

Dana led the way with a path of light, lifting the front end of the ladder, Borelli following with the back. They proceeded slowly, and she could tell he was very tired. As was she.

When they arrived at the sacristy, she opened the closet. Again they turned on the light. She asked Borelli to tilt the ladder so she could see the bottom. She got down on the floor, examining it carefully with the added light of the flashlight.

“What are you looking for?” Borelli asked.

“This,” Dana replied, pointing. She glanced up at the priest, who hovered over her. A questioning look flashed in his eyes and across his brow.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Dried blood.”

“Sister Claire’s?”

She nodded and stood.

They replaced the ladder and she motioned him to follow as she flipped the closet light off. They started out of the sacristy, into the church and toward the side exit.

“What does this mean?” Father Borelli asked.

“If Sister Claire heard something—voices—I’m guessing there were two or more involved in the theft. Possibly they didn’t even need a ladder. One might have hoisted the other up on his shoulders.”

“Now, why didn’t we think of that?” Borelli said dryly.

“The ladder wasn’t there when the police arrived—at least, not in the photos. But it was moved after Sister Claire fell. I see several scenarios. If the thief, or thieves, killed the nun, which Damek claims didn’t happen, would they have taken the time to remove the ladder, leaving the not-yet-dead nun bleeding on the floor? If she interrupted them, they most likely fled, leaving the ladder. Maybe they never even knew she was in the church.”

“But if her words have meaning, she heard something.”

“Exactly. But any way you look at it, it’s likely someone else removed the ladder other than the thieves.”

“You think it was Father Ruffino?”

“I’m thinking, not saying.”

“I’m sure he would not have taken the statue. You believe he placed the fake in the altar box after the thieves took it? But why? Why would he cover for the thieves? It makes no sense that he would call for my help and then withhold such important information.”

“I’m not sure,” Dana said as she opened the door. They both stepped out, the air damp, though the rain had stopped completely. She took the keys from her pocket and relocked the door. As she turned back to Borelli, a dark figure stepped into their path.

“Good evening,” he said. “I ask that you both come with me.”

Investigator Damek grabbed Dana by one arm, Borelli by the other, and escorted them down the street to a parked car. He had followed them, Dana was sure, but had known to park away from the church so they wouldn’t hear the motor or notice as it came to an abrupt halt nearby.

The car was an older model, with a dent in the left fender, not an official car, not one of the silver, blue, and yellow she’d seen moving about the city. As an investigator, Damek wouldn’t be driving a marked car anyway, Dana realized, but she didn’t think he was on the clock now. There was something very personal in the way he was going about this investigation, in the way he gripped her arm. And he was alone. Detectives generally worked in pairs.

When he opened the back door and motioned them to get in, Dana said, “Where are you taking us?” Neither she nor Borelli had protested as they walked, both perhaps too stunned, but now neither of them budged, feet planted firmly on the sidewalk. “You have no right to take us anywhere,” she said.

The generally loquacious Borelli said nothing, but he shot her a look that told her to shut up. They all stood outside the car for a moment before the priest closed the door with a slow, careful motion, letting the Czech investigator know they weren’t getting in.

“Perhaps we could go somewhere, sit, and talk,” Borelli said in a surprisingly congenial voice as he glanced down the street. “It seems we all have similar goals, and we are all attempting—independently, unfortunately—to solve the same puzzle.” Now he shot Damek a look that seemed to say,
Let’s all be reasonable here
. “As Ms. Pierson said, I don’t believe you have valid legal reason to transport us anywhere.”

Damek responded in Czech. Dana shivered. It was well after midnight now, and the spring evening air carried a sharp, damp chill.

“Breaking and entering?” Borelli replied in English, shaking his head dismissively.

Dana wrapped her arms around her quaking body. Even in her fleece hoodie she was freezing.

“We have a key to the church,” Borelli said calmly. He motioned for Dana to show the inspector, which she did, pulling the keys from her jeans and dangling them in the air like a wind chime. Her hand trembled and she hoped the investigator took this as her being cold, not nervous or frightened, though she realized she was all three. She was a foreigner, a tourist, and she’d just entered a church in the middle of the night with keys she’d stolen from a convent. A church where a valuable religious icon had recently been stolen. She might have reason to be frightened. She studied Borelli, suddenly angry. They shouldn’t even be here. He should have confronted his friend, insisted that Father Ruffino take him to the church to examine the Infant, to explain why he did not reveal the icon had been stolen and confess his part in the theft.

“Why are you in the church at this hour?” Damek demanded. “What do you look for?”

“Same as you—Pavel Novák,” Borelli said, which shocked Dana, though she knew this was one of the two facts they were all working from—all three of them were searching for Pavel Novák.

“You are out of luck, as the Americans say,” Damek shot back, glancing at Dana. “This man, he disappeared years ago, and I do not believe he would seek refuge in a church at this hour.”

No one said anything, until finally Dana asked, “Disappeared? Is he dead?”

“Something was taken from the church?” Damek asked.

Her gaze shot from the investigator to Borelli. “Could we go somewhere warm?” she asked, burying her hands deeper in the fleece pocket of her hoodie.

Damek motioned down the street.

Within minutes, they were sitting in a café, hot cups of coffee before them. “I will not take you to headquarters,” Damek said, “if you agree to surrender your passports.”

“You can’t . . .” Dana started in, then stopped herself. She suspected he could.

Damek’s subtle smile let her know he was aware he had control. “Your choice. We have a jail cell where you can wait.” His voice carried a heavy weariness, and his accent seemed more pronounced.
Ver
you can
vait.

Dana wondered if this was nothing more than a scare tactic to get them to reveal what they knew, which she guessed wasn’t much more than the investigator knew.

Borelli had been surprisingly quiet on the walk from church to coffee shop. No words had been exchanged between the two men, and Dana, too, had held her tongue, attempting to determine if Damek was serious, if he had any legal reason to confiscate their passports. Borelli was a priest, and for all the investigator knew, they
might
have obtained the keys legally.

“My passport is back at the hotel in the safe,” Father Borelli said.

“Mine, too,” Dana said. She usually carried it in her handbag, but she’d brought nothing but flashlight and keys along tonight.

“I will escort you,” Damek said.

Borelli nodded, but Dana could see he was in no hurry to leave. He called to the server, a bored-looking young man who gave the impression he had better things to do. The priest spoke to him with his usual animation and enthusiasm as he placed his order. The waiter glanced from Dana to Damek, but they both shook their heads.

“It seems you’ve taken a special interest in this case,” Borelli told Damek as the young man left. “We all know there is more to this than what Father Ruffino is sharing. Something happened in the church the morning Sister Claire died. Something which possibly frightened Father Ruffino. Frightened him to the point that he is withholding important information. You have a prior relationship with the priest?” he asked Damek. “A personal connection?” His voice had shifted and a roughness scratched about his tone, as if he were attempting to turn things around, trying to scare or threaten the police investigator.

Damek didn’t answer. He looked down at the table, eluding both Dana’s and Borelli’s stares. When he looked up, his entire face had shifted; his features, his eyes, the line of his mouth had somehow become softer, almost vulnerable.

“Please, tell us about it,” Borelli said. His voice, which could morph from harsh to kind in the blink of an eye, had taken on the timbre of a father confessor, a kind, helpful priest, perpetually ready to extend a hand of forgiveness.

No one said a word. Dana and Borelli sat quietly, waiting. Damek lifted his head, straightened his shoulders, but Dana could see he was not about to reveal anything, that in fact he was attempting to regain his composure.
What is going on?
she wondered, glancing from the investigator to the priest, then back again, waiting for someone to say something.

The waiter delivered a chocolate torte for Borelli and refilled coffees around the table. Dana guessed they were all here until the priest finished eating. Then, it seemed, they were going back to their respective hotels to give up their passports. She wasn’t sure what was happening after that. But she knew one thing for sure. Someone had stolen the Infant of Prague.

They sat, Borelli enjoying his midnight snack, Dana’s stomach twisting with nerves as her hands slid up and down her coffee cup in an attempt to warm herself, Damek studying the two of them while giving up nothing in response to Borelli’s question about his connection to Father Ruffino.

“We all know,” Borelli finally said slowly, as if he had thought this through, “that the Infant was stolen from the church that morning.” His willingness to share this shocked Dana, and Damek seemed simultaneously surprised and calm. She didn’t think he knew about the theft, though he was obviously attempting to give them the impression he did.

“Pavel Novák is involved?” the investigator asked coolly.

“According to what Father Ruffino said,” the priest continued, lifting a piece of chocolate cake to his lips, chewing slowly, deliberately, then touching his napkin to his lips. “According to what Sister Claire told him before she died.”

Again, Damek remained unruffled, but he paused for a moment as if adding this revelation—if that was what it was—to what he already knew. “The old nun spoke to Father Ruffino before she died?” Dana was certain now that the prior of Our Lady Victorious had not shared this with the Czech police investigator. “Pavel Novák?” Damek asked. “Laterna Magika?”

Borelli nodded, and Dana thought of Pavel Novák’s CD, the receipts she’d found at the convent, her belief that someone had stolen a church key from the nuns. Now Damek claimed Pavel had disappeared years ago. Caroline had said he left Prague, and this had been confirmed by the cousin to whom Borelli had spoken, but this was quite different from claiming he had
disappeared
. She took a swallow of coffee, then another.

“Perhaps if we worked together,” Borelli offered, “we might obtain better results.” He stared directly at the investigator, who said nothing.

“You followed me to the Internet café last night?” Dana asked Damek, though she knew he had.
And you were in my hotel room tonight,
she realized. He’d opened the safe, but she’d come in before he could remove anything. Had he been hiding in her bathroom? Behind the drapes? Had he watched as she slipped off her skirt and blouse, pulled on her jeans, T-shirt, and hoodie, stuck the flashlight in her pocket?

He didn’t deny it. Finally he asked, “What did you discover on the CD?”

She was sure he knew Pavel Novák was a musician, maybe from her Internet café research, or maybe he’d figured this out on his own—he was a police officer with access to information unavailable to her or Borelli. She guessed he’d seen Caroline’s CD on her nightstand and wondered if it was still there.

The priest’s scraping the frosting off the plate with his fork made an irritating grating sound. The man could simultaneously be refined and so terribly uncouth. “There was a woman connected with this Novák,” he said.

Dana felt a tight compression in her chest.
No,
she wanted to scream,
don’t bring Caroline into this.
But before she could get the words out, Borelli said, “She was a performer, a dancer, perhaps an actress.” Dana felt the knot of tension relax. The priest was talking about Lenka. “If we can locate this woman, this Lenka,” he explained, “with whom Novák had a child many years ago, she might lead us to Novák, to the missing Infant of Prague.”

“You believe she is still in the city?” Damek asked, looking directly at Dana.

“I don’t know,” she replied.

“An actress?”

“A performer. Possibly a dancer,” Dana said. “I’m not sure.”

She could see Damek was thinking this over, and then, something in his eyes, in the shift of his body, changed, as if he’d just had a revealing thought pass through his mind. Yet he shared nothing.

Borelli wiped his mouth with his napkin, refolded it neatly into a triangle, placed it on the table, and shoved the empty plate aside. He leaned back, scratched his balding head thoughtfully, and said, “I’m visiting with Father Ruffino tomorrow after Mass. It is my intention to confront him with what we have discovered. I think it best that we get it out on the table, try to determine why information is being withheld, attempt to bring some calm and reason to this.” He picked up the bill, set money on the table. “If you will please escort me back to my hotel,” he said, rising, brushing crumbs off his slacks, “I will relinquish my passport.”

They walked back to Damek’s car, Dana hoping, since they all seemed to be getting along so well now, that he might reconsider confiscating their passports.

The priest and Dana sat in the backseat. Borelli gave the police investigator directions, though it seemed he was turning the steering wheel before any instructions were given. He knew where the priest was staying. When they arrived at the hotel Borelli went inside while they waited.

“You were in my hotel room tonight,” she said to Damek.

He stared out to the street in front of them but said nothing for some time. “I believe, as Father Borelli does, that we should work together.” He turned and looked directly at her. “You must trust me.”

She remembered he’d told her something similar when he followed her home from the theater.

Father Borelli returned to the car. Damek rolled down the window and Borelli handed him the passport. “I’d like to accompany you to Ms. Pierson’s hotel,” the priest said.

“You have had a long night, Father,” Damek replied kindly. “I promise to return Ms. Pierson safely to her hotel.”

Borelli looked at Dana. She attempted to roll down the window, but Damek had evidently set the lock.

“I will return her safely,” the investigator repeated. “But if you wish to accompany us, you may.”

Surely she would be okay, Dana thought. If anything happened, Borelli knew she was with the police investigator. He’d hardly leave a witness if he intended to harm her.

Damek reached for the glove box and pulled something out, so small it fit in the knot of his fist. He handed it to Borelli. “Keep this until tomorrow. I will contact you.”

Borelli looked into his hand and nodded, though Dana could not see what he held.

“Are you comfortable with this?” the priest asked Dana, his hand gripping the edge of the open driver’s-side window.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, leaning forward. “After you speak with Father Ruffino.”

He hesitated for a moment, considering, and then said, “Tomorrow.” Standing back from the car he watched as they pulled out and headed to Dana’s hotel.

Strangely, the nervousness she’d felt since she rose early that morning, which had escalated through the day in her search of the convent, the church break-in, and then Damek’s unexpected arrival on the scene, had all but disappeared. She felt oddly calm as they drove on in silence. In her exhaustion, she wondered if she was too drained to be afraid. And maybe there was no reason to think that Damek was anything other than what Borelli had evidently determined he was—a good cop doing his job.

“What did you give him?” she asked.

“A religious medal.”

“Oh,” she said. “You’re a religious person? You offered this to Borelli as a symbol of your spiritual bond?” She wasn’t quite tired enough to lose the sarcasm.