Entanglement by Zygmunt Miloszewski Page B

given up begging him for information. He knew that if the policeman did find anything, he’d still have to ask for the inquiry to be reinstated.
    “So this man rang the police anonymously,” Nawrocki told him in a monotonous tone, which reminded Szacki of an academic lecturer, “and told a very interesting story.”
    “Well?” Szacki didn’t believe in anonymous stories.
    “He said that Boniczka - that was the girl’s name, Sylwia Boniczka - was raped by three boys from another class in her year, one of whom was repeating the year. You remember what
happened - she left a friend’s house on Poznańska Street late at night and never got home. She must have walked past the school on the way. And there are always various guys hanging around outside school, at any time of day or night, you know what I mean. Maybe not nowadays, but at one time that was the case.”
    Szacki started to wonder. Indeed, they hadn’t questioned any pupils apart from her classmates, they’d just relied on the old inquiry files, which hadn’t brought any results. The pathologist had been unable to establish whether the girl had been raped, so they’d spent the whole time conducting it as a murder case, not a rape. As far as he could remember, Boniczka hadn’t been in contact with the kids from other classes. They would have checked at the time.
    “Did the guy who called anonymously give any names?” asked Szacki, not even trying to hide the mockery in his voice.
    “No. But he did give some extra facts. Very interesting ones and, in my humble opinion, demanding a follow-up,” Nawrocki went on in his monotone. “He said it wasn’t the rapists who killed her. That after the incident she went to her father, and he was the one who killed her and buried her in the playground. That he couldn’t bear the shame. That he didn’t want people to find out.”
    Teodor Szacki felt the skin on the back of his neck and shoulders go numb.
    “Prosecutor, do you remember who Boniczka’s father was?” asked Nawrocki.
    “Yes, he was the school caretaker,” replied Szacki.
    “Exactly. So maybe you’ll get the files out of the cupboard?”
    “Of course. Please just send me a message confirming this conversation. Try to find all the pupils repeating a year from the other classes and put the necessary pressure on them, then I’ll interrogate the father.”

    “I can interrogate him myself, Prosecutor,” suggested Nawrocki.
    Szacki hesitated. He had a lot to do, including a huge pile of paperwork, but he didn’t want to give way to Nawrocki.
    “We’ll see,” he said, trying to put off the decision. “First let’s test the theory about the rape. And there’s one more thing, Superintendent.” He paused, but there wasn’t the slightest cough from the other end. “I don’t think you’ve told me everything.”
    Silence.
    “I mean, nowadays you can quite quickly and easily trace anyone who calls the police. Are you sure you don’t know who it was?”
    “Do you promise it won’t have any bearing on your decision?”
    “Yes, I promise.”
    “Well, we did trace the man, and he turned out to be from Łódź. I even went there to talk to him.” Nawrocki fell silent, and Szacki was just about to say “And…”, but he stopped himself.
    “And he turned out to be a very nice old gentleman. A clairvoyant. He’d once read about the case in the paper, then he’d had a dream about what had happened. He’d hesitated for a while, but in the end he’d called. I know what you might think, but you must admit it holds water.”
    Szacki agreed reluctantly. He trusted his own instincts, but not retired clairvoyants who called the police anonymously. Except that this time the old boy’s visions did match one of his theories. He’d always thought it was no accident the girl had been buried in the grounds of the playschool right next to the high school where her father worked. But he’d never had even the shadow of a clue to draw on. Besides, he’d