Bathed In Blood

What on earth was going on?

She glanced at her watch, noting that it was almost 10:00 a.m.

Could they have come and gone already?

She didn’t think that was possible. It should have taken them hours to search the surrounding area. Perhaps they’ve only done a cursory inspection and intend on coming back with a full crime scene unit?

Scowling, she pulled an abrupt U-turn. This time she drove slower, watching for the brightly colored climbing rope she’d left behind with the rest of her gear. It didn’t take that long to find; the rope was still anchored to the tree, and its orange color stood out starkly against the dull gray of the tree trunk.

Annja drove well past the scene, not wanting to disturb any evidence, and then she parked by the side of the road. Getting out of the car, she stood by the driver’s door for a moment, surveying the area.

There wasn’t a police officer in sight.

Shaking her head, Annja hurried along the side of the road until she reached the tree she’d used to anchor her climbing gear. She looked over the edge, toward the spot where she’d rescued the injured woman.

It took a moment, things looking a bit different in daylight, but eventually she spotted the rocks that had trapped the woman’s arm.

There wasn’t any evidence that anyone besides her and Csilla had been here.

For a moment she considered undoing the anchor, coiling her rope and taking it and the rest of her gear, but then her good sense reasserted itself. Touching anything at this point would be interfering with a crime scene, and that was just as much a felony here as it was back in the States. While the gear was expensive, it wasn’t that expensive, and it would be easy enough to replace. She had to believe the police would eventually take a look at the scene and they were bound to wonder how the heck she’d gotten down the slope without any gear. Best to leave it right where it was, she concluded.

Frustrated with how the morning was going, she headed back to Nové Mesto. Annja hoped she could see Detective Tamás and ask what was going on, but when she arrived back in town she found a small crowd gathered in front of the police station. She parked down the street and hurried back on foot to see what was going on.

As she drew closer, she discovered that a press conference had just gotten under way. Detective Tamás and a few others were standing on a small platform near the front door. A podium had been set up to his left, and an overweight man in a dark suit was standing behind it, speaking from a set of notes.

Four or five reporters, most likely from the local television affiliates, stood directly in front of the platform and held their microphones up. Behind the press were roughly twenty to thirty members of the general public.

Annja looked out over the small crowd, then stepped next to a young woman of about eighteen.

“Excuse me,” she said, “can you tell me what he’s saying?”

The girl glanced at her, then looked back at the speaker. “He’s talking about that woman they brought in last night.”

“I don’t speak Magyar. Could you translate for me?”

She nodded. “The old guy is Sándor, the—how do you say—police inspector?”

Annja guessed she meant police chief but didn’t bother to correct her.

“He’s saying the case is important and that he has his best detective, Alexej Tamás, on the case. He’s going to give the microphone to the detective, let him speak.”

Sándor stepped away from the podium and Tamás took his place. The detective looked as if he’d had a good night’s sleep, which irritated Annja.

He should’ve been up all night, combing that ridgeline for evidence, she thought sourly. She was starting to dislike Detective Tamás, and what he said next only served to irritate her further.

“The detective claims they are putting the proper resources into place to investigate this tragedy,” the girl said. “He says they’re still uncertain as to whether it was an accident, a crime or a suicide, but they hope to have more information in the next twenty-four hours.”

“Accident?” Annja muttered, feeling her fury rising. “What on earth is he talking about? There’s no way it could be either an accident or a suicide!”

The girl looked at her again, but this time her gaze lingered and Annja recognized the gleam of interest in her eyes.

“You know something, don’t you?” she asked.

Annja grimaced, realizing she’d said more than she’d intended, but perhaps she could turn this to her advantage.

“Keep translating and I’ll fill you in on what I know afterward.”

“Promise?”

“Scout’s honor,” she said, holding up three fingers. The fact that Annja had never even thought about being a Girl Scout was completely beside the point.

There wasn’t much more after that, however. Tamás spoke for another minute—mostly platitudes about doing all they could to get to the bottom of things—and then took a few questions from the press. They still hadn’t identified the woman and asked for the press’s help; photographs of the woman’s face were circulated through the crowd, and Annja took one for herself.

When the press conference wrapped up, she was more frustrated than when she’d arrived.

“I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?”

Annja turned to find the girl staring at her, studying her features more closely this time.

“I don’t think so,” she told her, looking away.

But the girl would not be denied.

“Yes!” she exclaimed. “Yes, I have! You’re that woman from the TV show, the one that was just filming in Prague.”

Annja glanced around, afraid one of the journalists would overhear and take an interest in what was making the girl increasingly excited. She needed to get off the street.

“Not here,” she said, grabbing the girl’s hand and pulling her through the crowd. “Come on.”

Annja led the girl to a café a short distance down the street. They settled into a table in back. Annja ordered coffee for both of them; she really didn’t want any but knew the waitstaff would hover until they ordered.

When she turned back, she found the girl grinning at her, holding up her cell phone. A picture of Annja working with the film crew outside Faust House was displayed on the screen.

“You’re Annja Creed, from Chasing History’s Monsters,” the girl said triumphantly. “My friend is a huge fan, so we went to watch you filming your show in Prague.”

Annja couldn’t deny it now, not with her own picture staring back at her, so she went with the flow, hoping to learn something useful from the situation. The girl had helped her after all.

“You’re right. You’ve caught me. I’m Annja. Nice to meet you,” she said, holding out her hand.

“Brigitta,” the girl replied, shaking Annja’s hand. “My friend is going to flip when I tell her I had coffee with you.”

“Yes, well, about that...” Annja began. “Perhaps you can wait a few days before doing so?”

Brigitta was watching her closely. “You’re not here on vacation, are you? You’re working, and whatever you’re working on has to do with the woman from the press conference, doesn’t it? That’s why you know what happened!”

Brigitta was no slouch, Annja had to give her that.

“Yes, I’m working. And it might have to do with the woman they were just talking about. I’m not sure yet, though, and that’s why you can’t tell your friend about meeting me. If word gets out that I’m here, I’ll have a difficult time finding the information I need.”