A Blind Eye: Book 1 in the Adam Kaminski Mystery Series (26 page)

O
nly a small
light
over the sink was lit
,
the kitchen in semi-darkness, looking out over an even darker back yard. Behind him, lights shone through the doorway from the living room he had just left, casting shadows from the table and chairs midway through the room. On the far wall, another doorway, another room in semi-gloom.

A shadow moved in that room. Adam heard a door open and shut. He saw the shadow moving in the dark yard.

He followed with caution, stepping slowly into the side room, seeing the back door resting lightly on its latch, not fully closed. More shadows loomed here, bizarre shapes created by the distant light blocked by high-backed carved mahogany chairs, marble busts on turned wood pedestals, a dark porcelain vase on a low shelf that jutted out into the room.

He pulled the door toward him, then leaned to the side, careful not to stand in the doorway, exposed to whoever might be out there. Though he had a pretty good idea who he was following.

Stefan Wilenek scared him, Adam could admit that to himself. A man trained to kill, a man with a lot of experience to back up that training. He had never killed a man. And he didn’t want to start now — not when he was acting as a civilian. A civilian already wanted by the police for a different murder.

Seeing nothing in the shadows outside, Adam stepped quickly through the door. He paused with his back up against the house. The rich scent of the juniper again caught at his throat and he coughed.

“I could kill you right now.” A voice floated out of the darkness, thick, Russian, menacing.

“I have no doubt,” Adam responded in an even voice. “That’s what you have been paid to do.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” The voice carried a smile in its tone.

Adam shivered involuntarily and stepped to his right, away from the door and deeper into the shadows cast by the large bushes that lined the walkway away from the house. The cloying scent grabbed at him again. He listened carefully, but the silence was broken only by the distant sound of a bus on the main street blocks away. So far away.

Adam heard a footfall. Soft, treading in the dirt that lined the path. Only a few feet away.

Adam moved again, crossing the path in front of him in a single stride then moving through a dormant flower bed to a grove of small trees that stood off to one side. Blending in, he hoped.

“What do you think is going to happen here tonight,
Pan
Kaminski?” the voice asked.

“I think we are both going to live through this,” Adam answered. “I think you are going to walk away and I am going to expose Tomek Malak for what he has done. For what he is.”

A sharp laugh like a brief explosion. “Why would I walk away, when I have you now?”

“Because the truth is out there. I found the documents that you failed to destroy in the archives. They prove Malak’s guilt, his trail of lies. They are safe, and they will be published. No matter what happens to me.”

“Ah yes, your cousin. The journalist. The one who refuses to die.”

“It’s too late, Wilenek. The truth is out. You can kill me… kill Łukasz… keep killing, but it won’t matter. It won’t be hidden any more.”

“And what if I just want to kill you for the fun of it? And walk away.”

Adam shrugged. “I guess that’s your choice. It will be one more murder to hold against you when the police finally catch up with you.”

“One more… I have killed so many,
Pan
Kaminski, one more will make no difference to me. No difference to the court of law.”

“When Malak is arrested — and he will be arrested, I assure you — he will squeal. Just like he informed on his compatriots before the fall, he will inform on you. He will tell everything he knows just to save his own skin.” Adam spoke quickly. “You know him. You know I’m right.”

There was silence. Adam took this as a good sign.

“He will be arrested soon — tomorrow, probably. You need to get away, to save yourself. And you need to go, now. Every minute counts. The police will track you. They know your techniques, they know your style. They will find you. You can’t afford to waste any more time here, serving a master who is already destroyed.”

Silence. No response. Then Adam heard the light puff of air that he knew was the back door being gently opened and closed.

H
e moved carefully
. Slowly. Too carefully, it turned out. He was too late.

Malak lay back in the same gilded chair. He leaned awkwardly to one side, one arm dangling down to the ground, the other propped on the arm of the chair pointing toward the heavens.

His tumbler had come lose from his grip and rolled uselessly on the ground. The scotch seeped into the thick woven fibers of the carpet and the room reeked of it.

The knife was still there, protruding from his side, as if one of the dark branches from the garden had somehow materialized here, in this room of wealth and safety.

Adam paused at the doorway, seeking out the shadows in the corners of the room, listening for Wilenek’s breathing. He saw nothing, he heard nothing. Malak blinked, and Adam moved.

He went first to the phone on a polished walnut desk beneath the window. After calling for help, he went back to Malak and knelt at his side.

Malak was moving his hands, without full control, trying to grab at the knife. “Wilenek,” he mumbled, “Wilenek.”

“Stop, leave it.” Adam put his own hand gently on Malak’s arm. “You should leave it in, until the medics arrive. They’ll take care of you.”

Malak shifted and grimaced with the pain, then turned his blood-red eyes to Adam. “It is better this way, perhaps. I could not have lived with the truth. I could not have looked my people in the eyes knowing that they knew what I had done.” He groaned slightly and licked his lips.

“People will know, Malak. The truth will still come out.”

“Perhaps.” Malak spoke softly. “Perhaps.”

“Łukasz will publish what he found. He’s seeking justice for his daughter — a daughter you had killed. He’ll make sure everyone knows what you did. The people of Warsaw, the people of Poland. The people you work with — Sylvia…”

Adam stopped himself when he saw a light smile play on Malak’s lips at Sylvia’s name.

“Sylvia,” Adam repeated, almost to himself. His chest constricted. “She knows?” He whispered the question.

Malak smiled. “My Sylvia. She trusts me. She has always trusted me.” His eyes sprang open and he stared madly at Adam. “You must protect her. My Sylvia. You must take care of her. She is an innocent. She will only be hurt by this.”

Adam’s thoughts were flying wildly. He stood from where he had been kneeling by Malak’s chair and paced around the room.

“How much does Sylvia know? Does she know you killed Basia?”

Malak groaned again, and once more reached for the knife. Adam grabbed his arm, more sharply this time. “Tell me what Sylvia knows.”

“You must protect her,” Malak said, “she knows nothing, you must protect her from this, from what will happen when the truth is told. No one will believe that she is innocent, no one will believe her.”

Sirens cut through the night, growing louder as the ambulance approached the house.

“I can’t protect her if I’m in jail.” Adam spoke slowly, watching Malak.

Malak nodded his understanding. “It was Wilenek. Wilenek killed Basia. Wilenek killed small Jurij in the street, to try to frame you. And now Wilenek has killed me.”

The ambulance pulled into the driveway. Adam heard running steps on the path, then hands on the door. He stepped quietly out of the room, heading for the backyard.

As he rounded the side of the house, he saw Malak carried out on a stretcher, two medics by his side, a uniformed police officer following closely behind, his notebook open.

“Stefan Wilenek,” Malak was repeating, “you must find Wilenek.”

T
he sky hovered low overhead
,
a dark gray pressing down on him as Adam moved through the city streets. He shivered beneath his coat and dug his bare hands deep into his pockets, but he kept moving.

Trams and buses had long since stopped running for the night and wouldn’t start up again for a few more hours. He picked up his pace, knowing it would take over an hour to cover the distance back to Sylvia’s apartment.

He stayed on the main streets and hugged the buildings as he walked. The rough gray concrete that covered most of the city reflected the Soviet-era regime’s plan to create a city that would withstand the tests of time. They had thought only of wind and rain, snow and ice, not of the disdain of architects and artists.

Square block after square block of apartment buildings, stores, schools, barely distinguishable one from the other. Here and there, new construction stood out, colorful, round, angled, glimpses of joy and creativity against the dull background.

As Adam walked, he felt the hope of the city around him and he thought about his own hopes. He hoped that Sylvia was safe at home, away from the danger he had faced that night. Hoped she wasn’t part of Malak’s plot. Hoped she hadn’t known of his attempts at Łukasz’s life, his success at robbing Basia of hers.

The wind bit into his face and broke through the defenses of his woolen coat. He turned his shoulder as a cold blast blew across a wide intersection, stinging his ears with its bitter chill.

As he got closer to the Old Town, the buildings gradually changed. More and more new construction stood along the street, blotting out the dull grayness of the older architecture. Buildings designed to look like historic structures, designed according to the tastes of Poles generations ago. Buildings reclaiming Warsaw’s identity and style.

The sun had barely tinged the sky with streaks of orange and pink when Adam reached
Ulica Miodowa
, when he saw the giant metal men crawling out from their concrete bunker. Pausing, he searched for the police guard that had been present the past few days. He finally found the uniformed officer, sitting in a doorway a few doors down from Sylvia’s, his head lolling against the stone wall. Asleep.

He ran the last few yards to Sylvia’s door, then leaned on the bell. Glancing up, he saw that her apartment was dark, the curtains pulled tight.

He rang again. And again. And again.

Still there was no response.

He leaned on the bell for almost thirty seconds. He saw a curtain twitch in the apartment above Sylvia’s, but he didn’t care. He leaned on the bell again.

He was still pushing it when the front door flew open. Sylvia stood there wrapped in her pink robe. She started shivering as soon as she opened the door. Glancing quickly up and down the street, she grabbed Adam’s arm and pulled him into the building.

Without saying a word, she turned and ran up the stairs to her apartment. Adam followed closely behind.

Inside, she threw herself onto the sofa and wrapped herself in a thick, sheepskin rug. When all Adam could see was the tip of her head, she spoke.

“Well? Where have you been? What have you found?” she asked quietly.

Adam looked at her — at what he could see of her. He trusted her, he told himself again. She had helped him. She had been the one who suggested going to Malak for help. She wouldn’t have done that if she had known he was involved. Would she?

“Tell me about Malak, Sylvia. Tell me what you know.”

She peered out at him over the blanket, her blue eyes questioning. “What do you mean? You know Tomek, you know about him.”

“Do I? Do you? What do you really know about him, Sylvia? You must tell me, this is important.”

He sat on a blue-striped chair near the head of the sofa and leaned toward her. “Do you know about his past?”

“Ah… You are interested in the past. Yes, you always have been, haven’t you? Why is Tomek’s past of concern to you, Adam?”

He paused before responding, considering the answer. Why was Malak’s past important to him? The United States government seemed okay with it, willing to deal with him and his party, even knowing that Malak had been siphoning off profits that weren’t his. Businesses were happy to work with him, knowing he would ask for a little bit extra when the deal was done, gifts for himself or his family. No one else seemed to care, so why did he?

He didn’t, was the simple answer. He cared only for the present. For the people Malak was hurting now. Basia. Łukasz. And Sylvia.

“Tell me, Sylvia, how much do you know?” he asked again.

She nodded. “I know. I know that he has made some difficult choices. Choices that have helped him support his family even while he was helping Warsaw. Bringing good businesses into Warsaw. Perhaps leaving some of his history out of his lustration statement… it is not so unusual, we all have secrets. Like you” — she peered out at him — “like your great-grandfather.”

“What are you talking about? What does my great-grandfather have to do with this?”

“Nothing, Adam, nothing.” Sylvia’s voice was soothing. “I simply point out that we must all make decisions. Using the resources we have available.”

“Resources?” Adam’s mind was swimming. Malak. Wilenek. Sylvia. And now his grandfather’s father.

“Do you not see how difficult it would have been to leave Poland during the war? To leave safely? Difficult, that is, unless you had connections.”

“What kind of connections? What are you suggesting?”

She shrugged, a gesture burdened with meaning. The blanket shifted up and down with the movement. “Connections with people in power. Connections with the occupying forces. Connections with people who could make things happen, who could get him and his family out.”

Adam took one step back, shaking his head. “No, I don’t believe that.” He shook his head again. “No. And it doesn’t matter, that’s not why I’m here. This is about Malak. About what he’s done. And how much you know.”

Sylvia’s lips turned up into a weak smile. “About Tomek? I know, yes. I don’t care. It is done, you see. That is how business in Poland is done. The first time had been a mistake, he told me. He wished he could give it all back. But he couldn’t. No one can, you know. You can’t take back the past and do it again. He was sorry for what he had done. Once it had happened once, it was easier to do again. And again. These were small mistakes, a small price to pay for what he has to offer. His ideas. His strength. His dedication to this country. Yes, I know, but I am proud to work with him anyway.”

She stopped and took a breath, as if the speech had worn her out. “Now that you know of Tomek’s corruption,” she asked, “what will you do? And remember, my career is linked to his. What you do to him, you do to me.”

“There’s nothing left for me to do, Sylvia. Malak has done it to himself.”

She saw the sadness in his eyes and jumped from the sofa, still holding the blanket around her shoulders. “What’s happened? Where’s Tomek?”

“He’s in the hospital, Sylvia. Wilenek turned on him, finally. One killer turning on another.”

“What are you talking about?” She was almost crying. “What are you saying? Tomek was attacked? What did he have to do with any of this?”

“It was Malak all along, Sylvia. He was the one who killed Basia. He was the one who attacked Łukasz.”

“That’s not possible, I work with him. His crimes are only on paper. He is not violent, he would not attack anyone.”

“Not personally, perhaps. But he was responsible. He was a desperate man, Sylvia. The truth was becoming too dangerous for him. He couldn’t risk being exposed for what he really was.”

“For his corruption? No, I don’t believe that.” Sylvia shook her head. “The people will understand. He will explain to them the way he explained to me, and they will understand.”

“Maybe he could have, Sylvia. Not now, it’s too late. It wasn’t just corruption. It was his past, what he did. He hired a killer.”

“What he did? What does that mean? No…” She shook her head and looked at him as if he were an alien just landed from Mars. “That wasn’t Tomek.”

“It was Malak. He’s responsible for Basia’s death. He was trying to hide the truth, and he went too far. His killer —Wilenek — turned on him in the end.”

“Where’s Tomek, Adam?” Sylvia whispered. “I must go to him.”

“I told you, he’s in a hospital. I don’t know which one. They came and took him from his home.”

Sylvia nodded and moved toward the bedroom. “I know where he is. I will go to him.”

“Sylvia.” Adam grabbed her arm as she passed and the blanket fell down around her feet. She hadn’t asked him why — why he would be willing to kill, what secret he was trying to protect. “Sylvia, you really didn’t know about this, his role in the killing?”

She looked up at him in wonder. “How can you ask me this? Do you really not know me?”

She leaned in toward him and kissed him gently on the cheek. “I have worked with Tomek for so long, he is like a brother to me. A brother I care about. I hear what you are saying, that he has done terrible things. But I must go to him. I must see him.”

With that, she walked into her bedroom and shut the door. Adam let himself out of the apartment.