A Blind Eye: Book 1 in the Adam Kaminski Mystery Series (19 page)

S
ilent rows
of pale metal shelving
marched forward as far as the eye could see, filling the vast hall that comprised the newspaper’s old archives. Brown cardboard boxes stacked on the shelves seemed to absorb the white lights that shone down from the ceiling, creating strange shadows along the narrow aisles.

Łukasz grunted as he raised his arms to pull down another box, shifting his posture slightly to keep his weight on his left side. A puff of dust escaped from between the boxes and Łukasz sneezed.

He carried the box back to the table along the wall, placing it next to the five other boxes he had already gone through. Some of the material he was looking for had already been digitized, and scanning through that had been quick. The archivists were working their way backwards through the old materials. Anything from within the past five years was digital, anything before that was still in the boxes.

Łukasz sneezed again as he lifted the lid off the next box and started rifling through the papers neatly filed inside.

Adam hadn’t supported Łukasz’s decision to come back to the newspaper archives this afternoon, and Łukasz fumed as he thought of Adam’s comments over lunch just an hour earlier.

“Cousin, we need to find out who’s behind this. Without support from the police, we have no other choice. We cannot simply sit back and wait for the next attack.” Łukasz replaced his spoon in his soup bowl and wiped his lips.

“I know you’re right, Łukasz. I just know that you’re putting yourself in unnecessary danger. Wait until tomorrow. Wait until the offices are open and there are other people with you. There’s safety in numbers. Today is not the day to go wandering into closed, empty spaces, is it?” Adam raised his spoon to his lips as he spoke and his face puckered at the first sour sting of the barley and kielbasa soup.

Łukasz grinned. “And what will you do while I am hiding away, trying to stay safe, hmm? Will you also be protecting yourself? Staying in hiding?”

“I want to go back to the embassy. I think that’s the only place I can find help at this point.” He glanced at his watch, then looked up at the entrance. No one came through. “I just don’t know if I’ll be able to get hold of anybody on a Sunday afternoon.”

Łukasz considered his cousin. “It’s not your fault. You can’t protect everyone. You can’t control everything.” He paused, but when Adam didn’t respond he continued, “If anything, this is my fault, for dragging you and your colleagues into my investigation.”

“I should have seen it coming.” Adam’s response was sharp. “I should have been able to protect Jared. Now I have to protect Sylvia.”

Most of the tables in the milk bar where they ate were occupied and the noise of multiple conversations grew as the lunch hour progressed. The hum of voices surrounded them, covering up their conversation. Łukasz put his spoon down in his
żurek
and looked at his cousin over the plastic table.

“Was your work this morning not productive?” he asked.

“Ha.” Adam’s laugh came out as a bark. “I got ahold of my partner, Pete, at home, so that was good. He hadn’t even heard about Jared’s murder yet. Can you believe that? Our friends at the State Department didn’t see the value of bringing the Philly PD into the picture.”

“You told him, so now he can help?”

“I hope so.” Adam shrugged. “He’ll be able to reach out to the folks at the Philadelphia International Council, too, to see if they can help me get into the national archives.”

“And is there something else bothering you?” Łukasz pressed, as Adam continued to frown down at his soup.

“I caught Pete at home because of the time difference… it was still early morning in Philly.” Adam spoke softly. “But Julia, my sister, I couldn’t reach her. I guess she wasn’t at home.”

“You cannot protect everyone, cousin,” Łukasz repeated, shaking his head. “No one can.”

“I can’t stop you, can I?” Adam asked, looking up. “From continuing your own research?”

“No, cousin, you can’t. You know I must find the truth, simply for this to end. I cannot stop now. I will not.”

Adam nodded. “Fine. Do what you have to do. But be careful. Please.”

As they left the restaurant, Łukasz turned right toward the newspaper offices. It was a long walk, but he needed the time, and the air, to focus his thoughts and figure out the best way to organize his search through the paper’s archives.

The walk had worked for him. He arrived at the archives with a mental list of exactly which old stories he should start with, which files he needed to revisit. As soon as he had entered the darkened building, he moved quickly to the room that held the files he wanted, turning on only the lights he needed.

Cones of white light tapered off into pools of darkness, highlighting sections of shelves, parts of tables. In the darkness, Łukasz could hear the floorboards settling. A book shifted on the shelf, finally succumbing to someone’s placement earlier in the day. Muted sounds of traffic filtered in from the street outside.

Łukasz focused on his work, ignoring the sounds of the empty building.

Three hours later, cardboard boxes were piled high on the floor around the table. He jerked his head at a noise hinting of a door closing in the distance. He waited, but no footsteps followed. No colleague appeared out of the darkness that surrounded him.

Łukasz returned his gaze to the table and squinted his reddened eyes as he read the last of the files.

A series of articles covered the table in front of him. Some were stories that had been run years before in the paper. Others were notes from stories that had never run. They each had one element in common: Tomek Malak.

“Stavos Foundation Announces Malak Fellowship” announced the first headline, ten years after the fact. The Stavos Foundation had opened their Warsaw offices twelve years ago. The nonprofit supported an international exchange program for university students and ten years ago, two years after arriving in Warsaw, had created a scholarship in Malak’s name.

The story covered a press conference held by the organization to announce the new program. Malak was being recognized for his efforts to help the foundation. Buried within the article was the fact that the organization had succeeded in a tight competition against other institutions, each looking to acquire a government grant for their work. Whoever had written the article hadn’t gone into detail about that competition, but it caught Łukasz’s eye. Mostly because he knew one year after this story had been published, Malak’s daughter Sonja had spent a year at Oxford on just such an international program.

Other articles Łukasz had pulled included the headlines “Hilltop Hotel Announces Expansion and New Hires” and “Ener-Tech to Open Warsaw Branch.” Each article was an example of a new, successful business venture in Warsaw, an international company making its way through the murk of the government bureaucracy. Each also mentioned Malak as instrumental in their success. The article about the Hilltop expansion listed Jerzy Malak, Malak’s son, as a new manager. Ener-Tech had hired Sonja Malak as a vice president.

Five articles covered the successes of a series of corporations lucky enough to have established their businesses in Poland only days before acquiring lucrative city contracts. Malak was involved with each of these businesses. A real estate company had purchased land, cheap, immediately after Malak led an effort to rezone the land.

There was no evidence of graft, yet each article included subtle hints — gifts given to the city of Warsaw in return for its support, for example. CEOs saying they were pleased with the cost of doing business in Poland. Łukasz knew enough about the “cost” of doing business in Poland to read between the lines.

Łukasz could picture the Bernini statue of the Virgin Mary, the Chippendale chairs, the Wedgwood cut crystal glasses in Malak’s house. These were the “gifts” these companies had offered, he was sure. That was the cost of doing business in Warsaw.

Łukasz rubbed his eyes and glanced at his watch. It was already after five. He had been lost in these files for hours. He had found suggestions that Malak might be corrupt, might be accepting inappropriate gifts. So what? None of this was truly criminal, nothing that couldn’t be explained. Or justified. It was corruption, yes, but hardly worth killing over.

He closed his eyes to focus on what he had found. Could Basia have been killed because she threatened to expose Malak as a thief? As using his power for personal gain?

He sighed and shook his head. It wasn’t likely. Worse, he wasn’t sure Basia would have even tried to expose this. There was too much corruption in Poland now for her to be worrying about small gifts like these. Exposure might generate some bad publicity for Malak, and it might not. There must be something more. But what?

He turned his attention back to a second pile of papers on the table. These were newer records. They would never be digitized. These were notes collected by journalists who had tried to cover stories about lustration. The
Sejm
and the courts were strict about keeping the details of these cases out of the public eye, and journalists were not free to cover them or write about them. Every journalist worth his salt did anyway. And the notes slowly started piling up, notes of stories they each hoped they would be able to write one day.

Page by page, he started reading.

As he read about private individuals whose lives had been ruined by neighbors’ lies or friends’ indiscretions, Łukasz was reminded of the power of the previous regime. Its tentacles still reached into Poland, even now.

What had become of the people who collaborated? Some were good people, Łukasz knew. Some were trying to do the right thing, others were just trying to save themselves. But their lives were ruined, jobs lost, friends gone, when the truth about their collaboration came out.

And the agents of the secret police who would listen to these lies, to these secrets, where were they now? Some had gone to jail, convicted for their crimes against the people of Poland. Some had gone to Russia, to join forces with comrades there. And others had simply vanished, hidden themselves deep within Poland, anonymous and dangerous.

Łukasz shook his head and kept reading. Someone had a secret, a secret he had killed Basia to protect, and Łukasz would keep reading, keep digging, until he found it. He focused on the papers on the table, ignoring once again the sounds of the darkness that surrounded him.

“
S
ir
, that’s simply not possible
.
Please step back.” The guard repeated his warning, clearly annoyed at Adam’s persistence.

The American embassy loomed behind the guard standing in a small gatehouse at the main entrance. Its windows were dark, but Adam hadn’t seen much light in them when he had visited during the week either.

“I have to see Sam Newman, sir. An American has been killed and I need Sam’s help.” Adam didn’t care how stubborn the guard was, he wasn’t giving up. And the guard seemed to realize it.

“I can give him a message from you, sir, that’s the best I can do. He doesn’t work on Sundays, I don’t even know where he is.”

Adam thanked the guard and told him he’d wait for the answer, then walked back down to the sidewalk. It was a bright winter afternoon and even in this quiet neighborhood, pedestrians roamed the streets. Some strolled, window shopping, while others moved with determination toward whatever outdoor activity awaited them. The cold wind that had returned to cut across the Sunday afternoon wasn’t going to stop the residents of Warsaw from enjoying sunny November weather.

He was still considering his next step when he heard footsteps jogging down the drive behind him. Turning, Adam saw the guard coming toward him.

“Mr. Newman asked me to give you a message, sir,” the guard called. “I caught him at home, and he said he’d meet with you.”

“Thank you,” Adam responded with feeling, “I really appreciate this. Thank you.” Adam took the note the guard was waving. It listed a place and a time — an hour away. Adam didn’t wait. He headed for the tram that would take him to Łazienki Park, the meeting place Sam had suggested.

The sounds of children playing carried across the lawns. Even bundled against the November chill in their thick, puffy parkas, the children ran and jumped, making the most of this afternoon outdoors, not locked behind warm walls. Tiny marshmallow people bounced up and down on the swings and merry-go-round in the playground.

Parents, also bundled in darker, woolen coats, waited patiently around the borders of the playground or walked along the paths that ran around the lake and through the trees. Łazienki Park was a place for children to play and a place for grown-ups to see and be seen. Women in high-heeled boots sashayed along the paths, their short skirts exposing more leg than Adam expected in November. Men walked beside them, a proud arm resting on their backs, smiles on their faces.

Young couples stopped to throw breadcrumbs at the giant carp that bubbled at the surface of the pond in front of the small palace. Teenage girls skipped and laughed, pointing at the teenage boys who sulked against the stone walls of the gardens.

Adam waited under the gray marble statue, its solid bulk carved into gently waving willow branches hovering lightly over the figure of Poland’s best known composer, Frederick Chopin. A concrete patio stretched out before him, a space filled during the summer with residents enjoying piano recitals and ice cream. Today, the concrete pad sat empty, and Adam watched the people flowing by.

A family passed, a man and a woman wrapped in scarves and coats pushing a pram as a second child walked slowly next to them. The walking child paused periodically to pick at the rocks along the path, and the man spoke gently to her, encouraging her to run ahead to the playground to join the other children.

As she ran, the man looked over at Adam and caught his eye. Adam nodded at Sam, who leaned over to say something to his wife, then walked to where Adam waited.

“Adam, I was so sorry to hear about Jared. This is terrible, simply terrible. How are the others on your team holding up?”

“About as well as you can imagine,” Adam responded. “They’re scared, confused, and they’re being told by the police they can’t leave the country.”

“I know, we’re working on that,” Sam assured him. “We’ve been in constant contact with DC since this happened, and we’ll get you all out of here, safely back home, as soon as possible.”

Adam nodded. “Thank you. I appreciate that.” He looked out at the playground, where Sam’s daughter had joined the other bouncing marshmallow men. “You have a beautiful family.”

“Thank you.” Sam smiled. The smile faded again as he turned back to Adam. “Why did you need to see me, Adam? Were you just checking that we were involved, looking out for you?”

“Perhaps.” Adam frowned. “And perhaps because I need you to know that I’m looking out for me, too. I need to know who did this.” He looked at Sam. “Because I believe they were aiming for me.”

Sam looked at Adam, surprised. “That’s quite a statement. What makes you say that?”

“I told you, I’ve been helping my cousin on an article he’s writing.”

“About political corruption. Yes, I remember.”

“Corruption, yes… but there’s more to it than that. We’re going to find out who killed his daughter.”

“We?” Sam raised an eyebrow.

“Me. Łukasz. Sylvia.”

“Ah… that was ruled a suicide, Adam. How can you blame someone else for that?” Sam asked quietly.

“It wasn’t suicide. Łukasz knows it, I know it, and at least one other person knows it — the person who killed her. We’re going to find him, Sam, and expose him.”

“This is a dangerous game you’re playing, Adam.” Sam’s voice held a note of warning. “Jared White is dead now. Is that really because of you?”

Adam let out a long breath of air and it floated visibly in front of him before slowly dissipating. He felt the weight of what he was about to say sink heavily down upon his shoulders. “I believe so, yes.”

Sam frowned again, becoming much more serious. “What have you done? You must leave this. You must.”

“I can’t, Sam. I have to know the truth. The police aren’t looking. You’re not looking. Sylvia is the only Polish official willing to believe us. Willing to help us.”

“We’re looking now, believe me. We are offering the Polish police any assistance we can to find whoever killed Jared. It’s a horrible crime. We cannot let this go unpunished.” Sam looked over at his family. “I’m telling you nicely, Detective Kaminski, leave this alone. Let us do our job. Let the police do their job. Keep your cousin and your new friend safely out of this.”

Adam followed Sam’s eyes to where his wife sat with their infant son on her lap, bouncing him up and down, laughing with him. “I can’t, Sam. Łukasz’s daughter is dead. You have children, you can imagine how that must feel. He can’t let it go, so neither can I.”

“You don’t know what you’re doing.” Sam’s voice was as harsh as his words now. “We have relationships, carefully built relationships. You could jeopardize these.”

“Yes, relationships. You told me this before. And I still don’t like it. Do you know the men you have these relationships with, Sam? Really? And don’t you want to know if one of them is a criminal, maybe even a killer?”

“People make difficult choices for difficult reasons, Adam.” Sam’s eyes were hard as he stared at him. “I don’t always support those choices, but if their choices help the United States, I accept them. Without question.” He paused, licking his lips. “Stay away from our connections, Adam, don’t go digging into things you don’t understand. If we have a source in the
Sejm
willing to help us achieve our goals, that’s important. More important than you.”

Adam raised his eyebrows at the words, but Sam was smiling again, his genial facade once more in place.

“You’ll only make it worse, Adam.” Sam’s voice was kinder now. “I understand how you feel. Stay out of it. Don’t make things harder than they already are.”