A Blind Eye: Book 1 in the Adam Kaminski Mystery Series (15 page)

E
arly Saturday morning
,
the small van waited in the drive of the Newport Hotel. The day was surprisingly sunny, given the recent weather, though still bitterly cold.

Stepping out into the brisk light, Angela raised her hand to shade her eyes and took one last look at the city around her. Shrugging her shoulders slightly, she stepped into the van where the other members of the team were already waiting.

The streets of Warsaw were crowded, as they always were on All Saints’ Day. Some city streets were closed for processions and parades, which meant heavier traffic on the streets that remained open.

All Saints’ Day brought out not only city residents but also visitors from around the country, who came to Warsaw to see the famous cemeteries within its boundaries.
Powązki
Cemetery held the remains of some of Poland’s greatest figures while
Okopowa
bore memorials to the millions who had been killed on Polish land.

The van made its way slowly through the city streets, winding its way to the airport on the outskirts of town. The driver cautiously navigated the busy streets, weaving through traffic as cars pulled over to let passengers disembark or stopped suddenly to avoid hitting one of the many pedestrians that swarmed over the sidewalks and sometimes out into the streets.

The driver stopped at a red light and glanced in his side view mirror. A black sedan had pulled up next to him, which meant nothing, until he noticed a second, similar vehicle pull up a little too close on the other side as well.

The attack took less than three minutes.

A man dressed in black with a balaclava pulled low over his face jumped out of one of the sedans and reached for the van door. The driver tried to drive forward, but he couldn’t maneuver the van around the second car.

The man moved swiftly, professionally. The doors flew open, the man pushed his way violently inside. Witnesses heard the screams, but stood rooted to the ground in fear. In the blink of an eye, the man was back out of the van and in his sedan. Both cars screeched into motion, blowing through the still-red light, forcing other cars off the road.

Within minutes, sirens could be heard approaching the scene. Three police cars surrounded the van, which now sat still and silent at the intersection. An ambulance approached with a little more caution and stopped a few cars back.

By now, a crowd of people stood on the sidewalks and pushed out into the street near the van. Harsh whispers filled the air as people described to each other what they had seen and heard, and what they had not seen.

As the police approached the van slowly, the doors opened once again. The police halted their progress, weapons drawn. Angela stumbled out of the van, her glasses hanging awkwardly from her face, her coat covered in blood. She gasped and fell onto the pavement.

The police and medics jumped into action. One moved forward to support Angela, leading her carefully back to the waiting ambulance. More moved into the van to offer what help they could to the other passengers.

Leaning heavily on the arm of the technician, Angela shook her head. “No, no, I’m all right, I wasn’t hurt, just pushed a little. But… he’s dead… he’s dead.”

“Who’s dead,
Pani
, what happened?” the young man asked fearfully in English, carefully wrapping a warm blanket around Angela’s shoulders and offering her a drink from a steaming thermos. “What happened to you?”

“It was an attack. They were there specifically to kill him. It doesn’t make sense… why him?” She started to sob softly, and the technician looked away, back at the van where other passengers were being led away.

The last two police to leave the van stepped slowly down and shook their heads at their commanding officer. “One dead.”

Their words carried to the technician, who unconsciously pulled Angela’s blanket tighter around her shoulders, as if to protect her from the words. Words she couldn’t translate.

“Who is it, what can you tell me?” the senior officer asked.

“American man, reddish-brown hair, tall, more than six feet.”

“How was he killed, was it an accident?”

“No accident, he was stabbed in the heart. One stab, strong and sure. The killer took the knife.”

“Okay.” The commander looked around at the gathering crowd. “We need to start taking statements, talk to all these people. Someone must have seen the attackers, seen the cars they came in. We need a witness who can tell us what he saw.”

The police moved off to start their investigation as two medical technicians stepped out of the van. Between them they held a stretcher, the form of a large man on the stretcher fully covered.

Angela gasped and put hand over her mouth. “It doesn’t make sense,” she said again, “Why him?”

T
he breaking news
story interrupted
the regular BBC broadcast in the hotel dining room where guests were eating breakfast. Some sort of attack had taken place on the streets of Warsaw not too far out of the center of town.

Adam put his fork down as he recognized the van in the pictures. When he saw Angela sitting in the ambulance, he rose from his seat and walked closer to the television.

“Can you turn this up?” He gestured to a waitress. “Is there volume?”

She nodded and reached over to adjust the set.

Adam stood transfixed, watching the scene as his friends and colleagues were taken one by one into ambulances and driven from the scene.

All but one of them. All but Jared.

“No,” Adam said aloud to the startled diners, “no that’s not right. That should be me.”

If he hadn’t received a note from Łukasz last night, urging him to stay in Warsaw a few more days, he would have been in that van with the rest of them. And there was no doubt in his mind he was the intended victim of that attack.

Adam crumpled, leaning against a table for support, the empty dishes on its surface rattling under the pressure. It had been so easy to change his plans. A quick call to the airline’s Warsaw office was all it took to delay his flight by a few days. He had plenty of vacation days to use.

He had spent the evening with his team, watching out for them, keeping them safe — or so he thought.

He was scheduled to meet Łukasz that afternoon in the Polish Army Field Cathedral, on the corner of
Ulica Miodowa
. He had to get to the hospital first. He brushed past another waitress as he ran for the door.

N
ovosad’s
weathered face and bushy white hair stood out through the dark glass. Even before he stepped into the vestibule, Adam recognized the man walking toward him out of the hospital.

Adam stopped in the narrow entranceway, but Novosad didn’t seem to recognize him.

Adam cleared his throat. “Minister Novosad.”

“What?” Novosad looked up, his expression distracted. Distant. “Oh, yes?”

“Adam Kaminski, we’ve met a couple of times. I’m on the delegation from Philadelphia.” He paused, watching as Novosad first recognized him, then frowned.

“
Pan
Kaminski. Terrible, this. Terrible.”

“I’m glad you’re here. Perhaps you’ve heard something about what really happened?”

“Me? No, no.” Novosad’s right hand seemed to tremble and he pushed it into the pocket of his coat. “No. Young Laurienty is inside. Perhaps he can help you.”

Novosad turned away, walking out the sliding glass doors to a car parked in the curved drive.

Adam watched him go, then stepped into the hospital. Just ahead he could see the admittance desk, the best place for him to find out where his friends were. And how they were. But to his left, down a hallway that ran along the front of the building, Laurienty Szopinski stood shoving a sheaf of papers into his briefcase.

Adam turned left.

Laurienty seemed focused on his efforts, which were not going well. What should not have been a difficult task was taking an inordinate amount of time, as edges of the paper kept getting caught on the side of the briefcase, folding the sheets over. He finally got the last piece in neatly when Adam stopped beside him.

“Laurienty. I’m glad you’re here. Do you have any news about what happened?”

“
Pan
Kaminski.”

Adam reached out and grabbed the briefcase just as Laurienty dropped it. After the effort he had put into filling it, it would be a shame to have it all spill out over the floor.

“Thank you.” Laurienty took the case back from Adam, closed the clasp and tucked the case up under his arm.

“I came to see how they are.” Adam thought that should be obvious, but Laurienty seemed surprised to see him.

“Yes, of course. But weren’t you with them? In the van, I mean.” Laurienty’s eyebrow twitched as he spoke, the sweat budding on his top lip.

“I was not.” Adam chose his words carefully. “I decided to stay in Warsaw for a few days. With my cousin.”

“Right. Right. Of course, your cousin.” Laurienty adjusted his glasses and a shaft of reflected light blocked the view of his eyes when he spoke again. “The cousin with accusations of murder.”

Adam turned his head, tipping it to the left. “You don’t take his claims seriously? You’re not concerned about Basia’s death?”

“Basia’s death?” Laurienty shook his head with quick, tight shivers and the lines on his forehead deepened. “I am always concerned about death,
Pan
Kaminski. Now
Pan
White’s death. I’m sure you’ve heard.”

Adam closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. “I thought as much.” He stepped to a bench that lined the wall and sat heavily. “Jared’s dead.”

Laurienty said nothing, just watched Adam and fiddled with his glasses, waiting.

Even with his eyes closed, Adam knew Laurienty stood still in front of him. He heard the tread of doctors and nurses at the far end of the hall. He heard the sound of traffic from the street outside, muffled by the thick walls, frosted glass windows, and wafts of disinfectant that hung in the purified air.

“Dammit.” Adam punched the bench next to him, sending vibrations that traveled along the wall, displacing two Styrofoam coffee cups abandoned farther up the bench. He opened his eyes. “This was my fault. My fault.”

“Yes, it probably was,
Pan
Kaminski.” Laurienty nodded violently, his glasses shifting again on his nose. He didn’t adjust them. “It probably was your fault. Running around asking about murder. About death.” The mottled pink of his cheeks grew darker as he spoke. “You of all people should know we have had enough of that here, in Poland.” He paused and took a shaky breath.

“What do you mean?” Adam shot out of his seat, suddenly standing toe to toe with Laurienty. “What’s going on here that I don’t know about?”

“Hah! That you don’t know about? Everything.” Laurienty threw his hands up at he spoke, forgetting about the briefcase tucked under his arm. It hit the ground with a thud, its clasp holding tight. “You know nothing,
Pan
Kaminski. Nothing about our country, about our history. You have no authority here, no role. What do you think you can do here?”

Adam’s voice was tight, his lips drawn close together. “Then you can tell me.”

“Oh, I can tell you. Oh, yes.” Laurienty’s glasses shifted again and this time he put a hand up to adjust them. “Murder happens,
Pan
Kaminski. Murder, killings that nobody ever solves. And now nobody even cares.”

“What are you talking about?” Adam took a step back.

“I’m talking about murder,
Pan
Kaminski, which you seem so interested in.” Flecks of spittle shot out of Laurienty’s mouth as he spoke, the patches on his cheeks now a dark red. “You care so much about poor Basia, but what about all the others? Hmm? Where have you been? Safe in America, reading about the deaths in the paper. Something distant. Something that happens to people far away. I know about your family, you see. I know they left the country, sneaking away like cowards.”

Adam gripped the windowsill, focusing on the feel of the cold steel in his hands. He took a breath and the scent of lilies faded, the image of a line of three coffins blurred. “What deaths, Laurienty?”

“People died,
Pan
Kaminski, fighting so that I could be here. So you could be here.” He took a breath. “People died fighting the government. They didn’t run away, they stayed to fight. Fighting for freedom.”

“You’re talking about the war? About Solidarity? But that was years ago.”

“Phaw,” Laurienty spit out a sound of derision. “For you, perhaps. But not for us. Not for the survivors.”

Adam looked at Laurienty in a new light. “But you’re too young, aren’t you? You couldn’t have been alive during Solidarity. And what do you think you know about my family?”

“I hear the stories,
Pan
Kaminski, and I do my own research when I need to. I know many things. About the war. About Solidarity. It is true, I was young. I did not fight. My grandfather, though…” Thoughts of his grandfather seemed to have purged his anger, and Laurienty sat, staring at his briefcase that still lay on the floor below the window.

Adam sat next to him. “What happened to your grandfather?”

“He died.”

Adam waited, thinking. He knew many Poles had fought for political freedom. There may not have been a war, but there was a fight. A battle fought in the newspapers, in the schools, in the coffee shops and bars, and even in the courts. He knew people had been arrested for their activities, but he hadn’t realized there had been casualties.

“Tell me what happened.” Adam repeated his question.

“He was found. At the bottom of a staircase.” Laurienty turned his head to look at Adam, his fashionable tie now loose and twisted. “They said he fell.”

“And you don’t believe that?”

“He fell. And hit his head three times on the way down. And broke the fingers of his right hand. And somehow took a deep hit in his kidney.” Laurienty smiled down at his hands. “No, I don’t believe that. Neither did my mother. But what could we do?” He raised his eyebrows. “What could we do?”

“Why do you think he died?”

“He was part of the fight against the communist government. He published articles, using a false name. He helped organize underground meetings. Somehow they knew.” Laurienty’s frown deepened. “Not just somehow. Someone. Someone who knew.”

“Are you saying someone betrayed him?” Adam asked. “Who?”

Laurienty shrugged. “How can I know? I can’t. I don’t. I will never know.” He looked back at Adam. “But someone gave them his name. Someone told them what he was doing. Someone informed to the secret police. And then my grandfather died.”

Adam paused before responding, considering. “I’m sorry that happened, Laurienty. I’m sorry you and your mother had to go through that. But what does that have to do with Jared? Or with me?”

Laurienty smiled and blew out a sound that in another place might have been a laugh. “Nothing, I am sure. Nothing. Just more death.” He stood, patting off his pant legs and adjusting his glasses. “Just more unexplained death. We all feel guilt,
Pan
Kaminski, over the death of those close to us. We all seek a way to move on. To get away.” He smiled again.

“So you want the government to pursue more lustration cases?” Adam pushed, knowing once Laurienty regained control he would be less inclined to talk.

“More? No.” Laurienty waved away the suggestion. “We must move on. We must move past this. I simply tell you this so you understand.” He leaned forward toward Adam as he spoke, and Adam still saw the glint of anger in his eyes, despite his efforts to calm himself. “You must understand we all have sadness, we all have guilt. We all have deaths we cannot explain. But we must move on. We must. Or we will not survive.”