A Blind Eye: Book 1 in the Adam Kaminski Mystery Series (11 page)

T
he police station
was quieter today, no one standing yelling at the counter. Adam smiled to himself as he remembered Łukasz’s barely controlled anger at the way the police had treated him.

Whistling softly under his breath, he leaned against the counter. The entrance area was empty. Through an open door beyond the front desk Adam could see a hallway, and every so often, a police officer would pass by the door.

He waited for over five minutes before a uniformed officer came to the desk.

“
Słucham
?”

“Yes, hi there,” Adam answered with a smile. “Does anyone here speak English, by any chance?”

The officer said nothing, just turned and headed back the way he had come. Adam waited patiently, once again whistling under his breath.

Eventually his patience paid off. A second man came through the door to the counter, this one in plain clothes. “You speak English, I understand?” the man asked.

“Yes, perfect, thank you.” Adam smiled and extended his hand, but the man did not take it.

“How can I help you, sir?”

“Adam Kaminski,” Adam introduced himself. “I’m a police officer as well, from Philadelphia… in America,” he added as he failed to see any recognition in the man’s eyes. “I was in here the other day to introduce myself, and I was invited to return when there was someone here who spoke English.”

“I see. And why are you here?” the other man asked without smiling or introducing himself.

“I’m in Warsaw as part of a delegation. We’re visiting with some of your officials as we make plans for forming a sister cities relationship between Warsaw and Philadelphia.”

The man was examining him with clear distrust, so Adam continued, “Yesterday we met with Minister Kapral, for example. Very nice guy, he told us a lot about Poland, your country and your history. So I’m just hoping you can fill me in a little bit on the more day-to-day stuff, the things that really matter. Things like law enforcement.”

The man’s eyes had softened slightly when Adam had mentioned Kapral, and now he nodded. “Of course, professional courtesy.” He raised a flap on the counter and motioned for Adam to follow him through.

“Szczepański,” he introduced himself as he walked.

Adam didn’t try to repeat the name, simply nodded and smiled.

Szczepański led Adam back to a small lounge where a few other officers sat reading reports and drinking black coffee out of plastic cups. It was an all-too-familiar scene. Adam breathed in the stale smoke, the aroma of coffee so strong he could taste it, and felt immediately at home.

His comfort level dropped when he recognized a portrait of Saint Casimir on the wall. The far-too-familiar image of Casimir holding lilies, a pious expression gracing his saintly face. Adam shuddered, trying not to lump Szczepański in with that other cop from Philly, just because of the Saint Casimir connection.

It wasn’t easy.

Gesturing for Adam to take a seat, Szczepański leaned against a worn wooden table and folded his arms. “So,
Pan
Kaminski, what can I tell you?”

His words were friendly, but Adam still heard caution in his voice.

“I have a few questions I’d like to ask you, to get a sense of how you do things here. To compare with our methods at home.”

“Go ahead.”

“Okay.” Adam took a breath. “Let’s start with statistics. What are your crime rates?”

From there, Adam proceeded to inquire about a variety of procedural, statistical and legal aspects of law enforcement in Poland, each drier and less interesting than the first.

After thirty minutes, Szczepański slouched in a chair at the table, his chin resting heavily against his hand.

“Is there anything else,
Pan
Kaminski, that you need to know about law enforcement in Warsaw?” he asked wearily.

“Well, there is just one more thing,” Adam responded, choosing his words carefully. “I read an article in the English-language paper about a young woman who committed suicide. Basia Kaminski.”

Szczepański looked at him expectantly, saying nothing, so Adam continued. “Her name caught my eye, as you can imagine.”

He waited again, but Szczepański just nodded.

“So I was curious to see the file on that case. Just to see how you handle something like that, how an investigation is conducted over here.”

Szczepański studied Adam for a moment, then stood and walked across the room. A rickety wooden desk was pushed up against the wall, perhaps leaning against the wall for support. A sleek computer balanced on its surface, precariously out of place, and Adam winced as Szczepański pushed the power button, actively willing the desk to stay upright. It shook, but it stood.

The computer came to life with a soft whirring. Szczepański leaned over it, hitting a few keys. Another noise farther along the wall drew Adam’s attention to a laser printer, spitting out paper.

When the movement stopped, Szczepański brought a few sheets over to Adam.

“The report you ask about,” he said, reading over it. “You think this may be useful for you?” he asked with a smile, handing it to Adam.

One glance told Adam it wouldn’t be any use to him at all. While Adam could pick out a few words here and there, his grasp of the Polish language wasn’t enough to gain anything meaningful from the report.

Adam smiled back at Szczepański. “I can’t read that, of course. Maybe you can fill me in?”

Szczepański glanced over the sheet one more time. “It says here she jumped off the bridge. There are detailed reports about the scene, about the temperature of the water, about the current. All the things you would have in your reports in America, I am sure.”

Adam nodded and reassured him it sounded like a very thorough report. “And what did you find about the body itself? Anything useful there?”

“The body? It was dead.” Szczepański laughed, a cross between a bark and a cough, and Adam frowned.

“Yes, I know. But cause of death?”

Szczepański looked hard at Adam. “She jumped off a bridge,
Pan
Kaminski. The cause of death was drowning, as you would expect.”

Adam shrugged, focusing on keeping his anger in check. “You never know. Jumpers sometimes die from wounds inflicted in the fall. Hitting her head, for example?”

“Yes, she hit her head.” Szczepański pointed to the report. “She hit it on the rocks in the river, this says, when she fell. Then she drowned, that is quite clear.”

“So she was alive when she went into the water. The injury on her head didn’t kill her? And are you sure the injury on her head was made in the water, not before?”

“Why do you ask these questions,
Pan
Kaminski?” Szczepański had put the report down now and was glaring down at Adam, leaning against the wall next to the image of Saint Casimir, his arms folded across his chest. “What do you suggest, that we do not know how to handle our cases here? Because we are Polish?”

“Not at all,” Adam tried to reassure him, now angry at himself for handling this so badly, trying not to look at the image of the saint. “On the contrary, I’m sure I could learn some things from your approach. Maybe questions you ask that we wouldn’t think to ask, details you look at that are important. Did you talk to the woman’s friends or family, for example?”

“Of course, this would be necessary. She was working very hard, it seems. Her job was quite difficult. Stressful. Her friends think that is why she died. It was too much for her.”

Adam nodded, thinking. “Thank you so much for your time,
Pan
Szczepański.” Adam knew he had butchered the name when he saw Szczepański flinch, but he continued. “I just have one more question. Did you test her blood? Was there anything in it, any drugs?”

“You think maybe she was drunk or on drugs when she killed herself. Yes, that would be normal, I know.”

Adam had been thinking about very different kinds of drugs, but he didn’t correct Szczepański, instead letting him continue.

“We did not test her blood,
Pan
Kaminski. Once it was clear she had killed herself, there was no reason to spend more time or money on this. Just to show she had one more weakness? One more thing for her family to regret? No, that was not necessary.”

“And what about her shoes? Did you ever find her shoes? Doesn’t it strike you as odd that she would walk out of her apartment in the middle of the night with no shoes on? A coat, yes, but no shoes?”

Szczepański’s anger flared again. “This does not concern you, Mr. Kaminski. It cannot be of interest to you in your work here. It is time for me to return to work now, you must leave.”

Szczepański walked toward the door, holding it open as he waited for Adam to follow.

“It may be very important.” Adam took a gamble. “This may not have been suicide. It might be murder. I just need to find out who’s involved, and I think I can do that if you let me review your files. With someone who can translate it for me.”

“There was no crime, Mr. Kaminski, except suicide, a crime against the church,” Szczepański said darkly. “And I repeat, it is none of your concern. Go back to America, conduct your police work there. Not here.”

Adam walked toward the door. Before leaving he turned back to Szczepański. “She was just a kid — a student. We owe her the truth.” When Szczepański’s expression didn’t change, Adam added, “If you can’t help me, I will find other ways to get the information I need. I just wanted to come here first, since we are colleagues, of a sort.”

“I am not your colleague,
Pan
Kaminski. I am not here to help you. If you need help, go to your fellow Americans, go to your embassy. Don’t come here.”

With that, Szczepański closed the door behind Adam.

T
he large concrete
,
steel and glass structure loomed twenty yards back from the street, a fortress behind well-tended gardens. The landscaped entrance created a sense of gentility, though the security of the cubed citadel couldn’t be in doubt. An iron fist in a velvet glove.

Adam’s request on entering the US embassy to meet with Sam Newman had met with an immediate positive response. His team from Philadelphia had been hosted by embassy staff at dinner their first night in Warsaw. Adam had spent that evening sitting next to Sam, the Consular Officer for the embassy in Warsaw.

After passing through the security screening, Adam was invited up to Sam’s office, a bright corner room on the second floor. It was comfortable and appointed like a typical American workspace, but the narrow windows that broke through the wall in spaced intervals reinforced the feeling of being within a fortress. Or a prison.

“Come in, come in,” Sam welcomed him. “Please, have a seat.”

Sam indicated the two office chairs arranged in front of his desk. When Adam chose one, Sam took the other himself, turning it to face Adam, creating a feeling of two friends chatting rather than an official visit.

“So, how are you enjoying your visit to Poland, Detective Kaminski?”

Adam chatted with Sam for a few minutes about his time in Poland. He shared some details about the various visits the team had made with businesses, schools, and politicians. Sam listened intently, taking it all in. He didn’t write anything down, yet Adam was left with the feeling that he would be able to repeat their conversation almost verbatim if asked to later.

After ten minutes of small talk, Sam paused and looked expectantly at Adam. He waited for Adam to speak. Adam admired the man’s interrogation skills. He could learn a thing or two from him.

Adam launched into his story. “One of my successes on this trip has been reconnecting with my family here. I met a cousin — one I hadn’t met before.”

Sam smiled, and Adam found it hard not to believe that he was genuinely pleased at Adam’s good fortune. “How nice for you. I’m always happy to hear about people finding connections between our country and others. I always say, the best diplomacy begins in the home, in the family. The more international ties American families have, the more international security America has.” He smiled again, encouraging Adam to continue.

“I’m interested in learning more. About my family, about recent events here. My grandfather’s family left Poland during the war, in 1940. He has some stories he shared with me when I was a boy, but I’d love to read more about what’s happened in Poland since then.” Adam glanced around Sam’s office as he spoke. “In fact, I would really like to get access to the national archives. I believe I could learn a lot that would interest me there.”

Sam frowned for the first time during their conversation and seemed to consider Adam’s comment. “That’s some fairly in-depth research you’re talking about. Not your typical American reading the family’s old diaries.”

Adam smiled. “I know. I was a historian before I became a cop. I guess I still have some of that historian inside me. I look forward to opportunities to go through old records, old books.” He thought of his bookshelves at home, stacked high with books he’d spent years delving into, others he hadn’t yet found time to read. “Hey, is that something you can help me with? Getting into the national archives, I mean.”

“I’m sure you could learn some fascinating things in the archives about your family, yes,” Sam said, then added as if an afterthought, “There are some very sensitive materials there as well, you may not know that. It has an impressive collection of historical documents, of course. But the archives are also used by the Polish government to house some political records that are classified as sensitive.”

“I had heard that, yes. I hope it doesn’t cause a problem for me.”

“Well, it simply means that there is no free access to the archives, so it will affect your research. You must request the documents you want to review, you see. And when you submit your application to review those documents, you also set a date for your appointment to visit the archives and review them.” Sam smiled at Adam and Adam once again felt that Sam was being sincere. “And of course you must review all these documents in place. They cannot be removed from the premises.”

Adam smiled in return. “That all sounds very reasonable. I can work within those parameters.”

Sam stood and walked over to his desk, where he opened a file drawer and flipped through the folders hanging there. Pausing in his search, he looked up at Adam with a start.

“Kaminski… this cousin you mention, he’s not Łukasz Kaminski, is he, the journalist?” Sam leaned over his desk and picked up a copy of that day’s
Nowy Początek
. “Łukasz Kaminski… I’m a big fan of his writing. His articles always seem to hit home for me.”

Adam blinked, caught off guard by Sam’s knowledge. “Yes, that’s him,” he admitted. “He’s the grandson of my grandfather’s brother.”

Sam laughed lightly. “Ah yes, the tangled web of family relations. I never could wrap my mind around all the terms. In my family, we just call everyone cousin.” Even as he spoke, Sam’s face became serious. “I heard about his recent loss, though. I’m so sorry. His paper was thoughtful enough not to cover the story, of course, but competing papers did. His daughter committing suicide. Very sad… very sad.”

Sam had not resumed his search of his files, and Adam watched his face closely. All Adam saw there was real concern for Łukasz’s well-being and sadness at the loss of a promising young woman.

“What is he working on now, your cousin?” Sam finally asked. “I imagine he uses the national archives for his research?”

“Yes, he does. He also relies on his newspaper archives. Right now he’s working on a story about political corruption. He tells me that in these types of stories, the same characters seem to keep cropping up.”

“Ah yes, sadly, that’s rampant here.” Sam laughed without humor. “At least it’s not as bad here in Poland as in some other former Soviet countries, though.”

Adam and Sam examined each other for a few seconds, Sam with an expression of acquiescence to the political problems faced by Poland and other Eastern European countries. Adam hoped his expression was equally opaque, though he was sure Sam had had more practice at hiding his true feelings.

Someone passed by in the hall outside Sam’s office, and Adam listened as the footsteps approached then faded away again without a pause. The air in this building was warm and dry, and Adam could feel a warm breeze blowing against his ankles from a hidden vent. This was the first building Adam had been to in Poland that didn’t rely on steam radiators for heat. How American.

Sam coughed, as if somehow acknowledging the dry air Adam had been pondering, and looked back down at his files.

“Poland is a great ally of the United States. And an important one, strategically. There are a lot of changes in this part of the world, Detective Kaminski, and it’s important to us to have an ally we can count on.” He looked up at Adam. “That’s why you’re here, you know, you and your team. To strengthen the bonds between our countries. I hope you are still working on that?”

Adam nodded. “As you said, family ties can help strengthen that bond. Make our relationship with Poland that much more secure.”

“Of course, I did say that.” Sam smiled and started running his fingers through his files once again as he spoke. “There are some members of the Polish government who believe we, the US, are their best friends. Their saviors, even. And then there are others who are not as enthralled with us.”

Adam thought of some of the comments he had heard yesterday at the
Sejm
. “Yes, I see what you mean. Are we willing to use those who support our relationship, at any cost, regardless of who they are or what else they might be doing?”

Sam shrugged and raised his eyebrows. “Of course not. We must choose our friends carefully. Very carefully. Weighing the pros and cons, you know. Before we decide who we will work with and who we cannot. We must go into any political relationship with our eyes wide open.”

“And do you believe you have all the information you need?” Adam asked directly.

“For now, yes.” Sam smiled confidently at Adam. “We know who our friends are. We know who we can trust to support US interests — even if we can’t trust them in other ways. As long as we know this, we can manage the relationship. And it’s an important relationship. I can’t stress this enough, Detective Kaminski. We can’t support any activity that would jeopardize it, you understand.”

“I understand what you’re saying,” Adam answered. “Can you help me get access to the archives?”

“I can, yes.” Sam returned to his files. After a few seconds he stood. “I don’t seem to have the right application forms here. I thought I did. Please excuse me for a minute while I dig them out, will you?” He smiled engagingly as he left Adam alone in his office.

What was going on here? Sam was friendly and open, but it was clear that he — or someone in the US embassy — didn’t want Adam or Łukasz digging into Basia’s murder. That didn’t make any sense to Adam. Political relationships were important, sure, but would his government condone murder, just to preserve a strategic relationship? Adam laughed to himself when he realized the truth behind what he was thinking, then closed his eyes and sat back to wait for Sam’s return.

The embassy was quiet. Maybe most staff took Fridays off. Even the sounds from the street outside didn’t make it into this protected space. This American space. Adam hadn’t heard anything else in the building beyond the lone footsteps earlier. Sam’s tread as he returned sounded loudly in Adam’s ears and he sat up in his chair as Sam entered the office.

“Here you go.” He handed Adam a form. “Fill this out, specifying what documents you want to see. There’s a general list there, on the third page. You can select from that using topic and date. You’ll have to come back in January for your appointment, I’m afraid.” Sam smiled apologetically. “I realize that might not be what you were hoping, but it was the earliest appointment I could schedule. I did try to see if we could find time while you’re still here. They have cut staffing, I’ve been told. Part of the economic trouble. And that only leaves so many appointments available each week.”

Adam stood and took the proffered forms. “That’s not a problem. Thank you, Sam. I appreciate your help, I really do. This has been a beneficial meeting for me. I’ve learned a lot.”

The two men smiled warmly at each other as they shook hands, then Sam escorted Adam back down and out into the Warsaw street.

The sun fought valiantly against the clouds that hung low in the sky. Adam turned his face toward it as he walked, trying to absorb any bit of sunshine he could. Any warmth that would have been provided by the sun was diminished by the cold wind blowing between the stone buildings. A bus belched black, acrid smoke as it went by, and Adam coughed and turned his attention back to the street before him.

Tucking his face down into his collar, Adam headed toward the
Sejm
. He had a little more time before he had to meet up with his group for lunch, and he intended to make the most of it.