said. He was round-headed, solidly built, in suit trousers and a short-sleeved shirt. He wore no tie. His light-coloured and thinning hair was cut like a military man’s. He came at della Torre the same way he might have approached a suspect. There was nothing friendly about him.
Della Torre stood up.
“No. It’s about horses and sex. Maybe sex with horses. I don’t know, I haven’t gotten that far yet.” He held out his hand. “Chief Rejkart?”
“’Fraid not, sir. The boss is tied up this afternoon. You’ll have to do with me, Captain . . . ?”
“Della Torre.”
“Of course. Slipped my mind. I’m Lieutenant Boban, one of the chief’s deputies. And I’m afraid I can’t spare you much time either. We’re a bit busy these days, with everybody wanting to shoot everybody else. Maybe a quick coffee. I’ve got to go down to Vukovar to sign off on some of our guys for the end of the day. Locals keep cutting the phone lines, and you can’t say anything on the radio without having half the world listen in, so one of us has to drive down to check things out once a day. But first I’ve got to find a car, and I’m already running late.”
Boban gave della Torre a curt smile. As friendly as a fish on a marble slab, della Torre thought.
“Coffee it is, then,” he said to the lieutenant.
They went to a corner café. The sun bore down on them from the west, the air creased with heat and suffused with dust and the smell of warm asphalt and hay from the not-too-distant countryside. Towards the east, clouds had piled higher. They passed the bodybuilder in the black T-shirt and fatigues, still leaning against a tree, smoking, watching them.
Boban walked with broad strides, silent the whole way. It was clear to della Torre they didn’t want him underfoot in the police station. Normally, a coffee would have been brewed by a secretary while they chatted in a private office.
“So, what might Zagreb be interested in?” Boban asked once they’d sat at the bar and ordered. He glanced at his watch.
“Oh, just to get a measure of how things are going. Captain Rejkart’s thoughts on the state of the world. That sort of thing.”
Della Torre hated going to these far-flung stations and asking banal questions. At least this time he sort of knew what he was expected to find out. He’d have to sidle into it backwards.
“Well, the local Serbs aren’t very happy and neither are the local Croats,” Boban said, his blue-green eyes sharp and cold. “And on top of that, we’ve got people coming here from god knows where with big sticks that they poke into wasps’ nests.”
“So I hear.”
“Zagreb sends someone who over an afternoon makes the Serbs crazy, and then we spend the next three weeks trying to calm them down. Be nice if they left us alone to keep the peace for a change.” Boban looked at his watch for the third time in as many minutes.
Della Torre figured he wasn’t going to get anywhere as a dignitary, so he tried another tack: honesty.
“Lieutenant, I haven’t been sent from Zagreb to give you a hard time. To tell you the truth, this is just a side trip, a favour for a friend of Rejkart’s to see how he’s getting along. This friend’s worried about him. I’m really here to see a guy called Horvat in Vukovar. You’ve probably heard about him.”
Boban drew back a little and his eyes narrowed. Not much, but enough to tell della Torre it was probably a mistake to have mentioned Horvat’s name.
“I’m sorry, I can’t really help you, Captain. I’m sure there are formal channels . . .” Boban edged off the bar stool, having emptied the thimble-sized cup of its contents.
“You said you’re looking for a car. Haven’t you got a driver?” della Torre said quickly.
“If there’s a car free, I take the car. If there’s a driver, I let him drive and I get to do a bit of work.”
“What do you guys use here, Zastavas?”
“What else? As far as I know, only the UDBA have
Della Torre stood up.
“No. It’s about horses and sex. Maybe sex with horses. I don’t know, I haven’t gotten that far yet.” He held out his hand. “Chief Rejkart?”
“’Fraid not, sir. The boss is tied up this afternoon. You’ll have to do with me, Captain . . . ?”
“Della Torre.”
“Of course. Slipped my mind. I’m Lieutenant Boban, one of the chief’s deputies. And I’m afraid I can’t spare you much time either. We’re a bit busy these days, with everybody wanting to shoot everybody else. Maybe a quick coffee. I’ve got to go down to Vukovar to sign off on some of our guys for the end of the day. Locals keep cutting the phone lines, and you can’t say anything on the radio without having half the world listen in, so one of us has to drive down to check things out once a day. But first I’ve got to find a car, and I’m already running late.”
Boban gave della Torre a curt smile. As friendly as a fish on a marble slab, della Torre thought.
“Coffee it is, then,” he said to the lieutenant.
They went to a corner café. The sun bore down on them from the west, the air creased with heat and suffused with dust and the smell of warm asphalt and hay from the not-too-distant countryside. Towards the east, clouds had piled higher. They passed the bodybuilder in the black T-shirt and fatigues, still leaning against a tree, smoking, watching them.
Boban walked with broad strides, silent the whole way. It was clear to della Torre they didn’t want him underfoot in the police station. Normally, a coffee would have been brewed by a secretary while they chatted in a private office.
“So, what might Zagreb be interested in?” Boban asked once they’d sat at the bar and ordered. He glanced at his watch.
“Oh, just to get a measure of how things are going. Captain Rejkart’s thoughts on the state of the world. That sort of thing.”
Della Torre hated going to these far-flung stations and asking banal questions. At least this time he sort of knew what he was expected to find out. He’d have to sidle into it backwards.
“Well, the local Serbs aren’t very happy and neither are the local Croats,” Boban said, his blue-green eyes sharp and cold. “And on top of that, we’ve got people coming here from god knows where with big sticks that they poke into wasps’ nests.”
“So I hear.”
“Zagreb sends someone who over an afternoon makes the Serbs crazy, and then we spend the next three weeks trying to calm them down. Be nice if they left us alone to keep the peace for a change.” Boban looked at his watch for the third time in as many minutes.
Della Torre figured he wasn’t going to get anywhere as a dignitary, so he tried another tack: honesty.
“Lieutenant, I haven’t been sent from Zagreb to give you a hard time. To tell you the truth, this is just a side trip, a favour for a friend of Rejkart’s to see how he’s getting along. This friend’s worried about him. I’m really here to see a guy called Horvat in Vukovar. You’ve probably heard about him.”
Boban drew back a little and his eyes narrowed. Not much, but enough to tell della Torre it was probably a mistake to have mentioned Horvat’s name.
“I’m sorry, I can’t really help you, Captain. I’m sure there are formal channels . . .” Boban edged off the bar stool, having emptied the thimble-sized cup of its contents.
“You said you’re looking for a car. Haven’t you got a driver?” della Torre said quickly.
“If there’s a car free, I take the car. If there’s a driver, I let him drive and I get to do a bit of work.”
“What do you guys use here, Zastavas?”
“What else? As far as I know, only the UDBA have
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