Siren of the Waters: A Jana Matinova Investigation, Vol. 2 Read Online Free Page A

the interior. Unfortunately, the president, who approved all promotions at that level, disliked the minister of the interior because of an imagined slur he was thought to have uttered about the president’s party in Slovakia’s coalition government. So he refused to sign the promotion, sealing Trokan in his colonel’s rank until this government fell or the president died. Since the president was a born survivor and the next government might be even worse for Trokan, he had decided to stop being ambitious, at least for the moment.
    Not that Trokan, a robust man despite his bureaucratic responsibilities, was disheartened enough to become angry or frustrated, or ready merely to let the years go by until he retired. He shrugged it off as a part of life and decided to enjoy the job he had. Which was good for everyone he supervised: No anger was directed their way. Although a fearsome reputation as a martinet continued to follow him, his subordinates were now surprised to discover that he had a sense of humor. Jana walked into an example of it when she entered his office: He had a London bobby’s cap perched on his head.
    She took a seat, ignoring the cap, as Trokan pretended to finish something he was writing until she noticed. Finally, to break the stalemate, Jana reached over and took the cap, putting it on her own head.
    “It’s mine,” Trokan mumbled, pushing the papers away. He looked up to take in her appearance wearing the cap, then gave her a fleeting smile. “It came from a British cop who is over here with the EU to tell us how bad our police practices are and how we have to become more like the English, or the Italians or the Germans, in order to catch more criminals.”
    Trokan leaned back in his chair, ogling her. “Women do look better in hats than men. However, if one of our officers should walk through the door, they would begin inventing stories about us to explain why you look a little strange.”
    She took the hat off, carefully laying it on the desk. Trokan immediately put it back on his head.
    “Police colonels are allowed to be a little strange.”
    “The face below the hat is too Slavic. You would never pass as British.”
    “Nothing wrong with looking Slavic.”
    He placed the cap on a shelf behind him, in line with a number of police caps he had collected from other countries. “The English always look too prissy.” He swung back to face her. “They know they can’t bribe me with money, so they try to get me to change by offering these little gifts I have to take.”
    She eyed the shelf of caps. “Dust catchers.”
    “Spoken like a housewife, not a police officer.”
    “I’ve not been a housewife for a long time,” she reminded him.
    “I know.” He cleared his throat. “How is our daughter Katka?”
    “My daughter is still my daughter.” Trokan was not her daughter’s father, but he had seen so much of her when she was in her pre-teens that he liked to pretend she was his.
    “You haven’t heard from her in a while?”
    “A year.”
    “No cards, letters, phone calls?”
    “One, from her husband, when she had the baby. I sent presents. I called. She wrote back once, a standard store-bought thing with her name written under the printed ‘Thank You.’ I think her husband forged her signature. Americans are very polite. The family is in France. He’s the American consul in Nice.”
    “Very warm in Nice; sunny most of the time. Good sea air.”
    “They eat lots of fish.” Jana hesitated, then asked, “How is your wife?” It was no secret that his wife and Trokan did not get along.
    “Always a madwoman.”
    “Too bad.” She laid the papers, collected from the bodies that had been in the burning van, on his desk. “I thought Seges would have filled you in on the details of the case by now. And informed you, because of all his brilliance, how he was close to clearing it.” They both knew that Seges had come to her with a reputation for going behind his supervisor’s back