Part 13 (1/2)
”Could I at least have a rifle that doesn't jam?”
Father Paczek laughed.
”You'll have to ask for that yourself. But I can give you something else. I don't know if it'll be useful - we found it yesterday in the chapel. I would have called the police, but I thought that as you were going to be here, I could pa.s.s it on to you. I think it belonged to the unfortunate victim, because it has the name Henryk Telak inscribed on the back, and I recall from the papers that the poor man was called Henryk T.”
As he said this, he handed Szacki a small red-and-silver digital Dictaphone.
As the prosecutor took it, he glanced spontaneously at the cross above the door.
You don't want to believe it, he thought.
III.
In the interview room at the police station on Wilcza Street were: Szacki, Kuzniecow, Telak's Dictaphone and some spare batteries.
”Do you know how to work it?” asked the policeman, turning the electronic gadget in his large hand.
Szacki took the Dictaphone from him.
”Anyone does. It's a tape recorder, not a CAT scanner.”
”Really?” Kuzniecow leaned back on his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. ”So where do you insert the ca.s.settes?”
Szacki gave a half-suppressed smile. Just enough to show he got the joke. The policeman rolled his eyes and reached for a sixteen-page notebook lying on the table with a dachshund on the cover. He opened it at the first page and in nice neat letters he printed: ”Lesson One. Subject: Listening to the tape recorder without a ca.s.sette”.
”Can we start now?” asked Szacki. ”Or do we have to go to IT cla.s.s first?”
”f.u.c.k the IT cla.s.s,” whispered Oleg conspiratorially. ”We'd be better off going to the changing rooms. The girls have got PT. Anka promised to show me her t.i.ts with no bra in exchange for a bar of chocolate.”
Szacki did not respond. He raised his eyebrows questioningly. Kuzniecow just sighed and nodded.
Szacki pressed ”play” with great force, as if at least a confession by the murderer were recorded on the Dictaphone. First came some rustling noises, then Telak's surprisingly high voice: ”Twenty-third of May 2005, ten o'clock. Meeting of Polgrafex representatives and printing-inks wholesaler Kannex. Present on behalf of Polgrafex: Henryk Telak...”
The recording went on for an hour, and was full of incomprehensible printing terms, such as CMYK, pantone, trapping, knockout fonts, etc. Despite Kuzniecow's prompting, Szacki was afraid to wind it on, in case of missing something. The policeman ostentatiously yawned and drew abstract patterns and naked women in his exercise book, both equally crudely. However, when the next item on the tape turned out to be a company meeting on marketing and sales, Szacki yielded and fast-forwarded, checking every three minutes to see if something was happening. He knew that even so he'd have to listen to the whole thing later on. Maybe he'd come across an argument about money, maybe he'd accidentally find out about pressures at work. That sort of motive couldn't be excluded.
However, while listening cursorily to this and several more boring business meetings he found nothing to interest him. He felt drowsy at the very idea that he'd have to play it all back again. He needed a coffee. Oleg was happy to leave the room, and came back a few minutes later with two cups of dishwater the colour of the River Vistula.
”The espresso machine's broken,” he explained, presenting Szacki with a plastic cup.
The display showed there were three more files left on the tape. Szacki had already reconciled himself to the idea that there'd be nothing in them and the Dictaphone would turn out to be a dead end, just like everything else in this inquiry.
He pressed ”play”.
”Sat.u.r.day, the fourth of June 2005, eleven a.m. Constellation therapy with the partic.i.p.ation of...”
”Excuse me, but what are you doing?” Szacki recognized the voice of Rudzki, this time not calm and therapeutic, but aggressive and resentful.
”I'm recording on a Dictaphone,” replied Telak, clearly surprised by the attack.
”Please switch it off immediately,” said Rudzki firmly.
”Why? You're recording our meetings, so surely I can too.”
”Out of the question. You are not alone here, your recording would infringe the privacy of the other patients. The entire therapy will be recorded on video anyway, and the only ca.s.sette will remain with me. I repeat: please put it away at once.”
At that moment Telak must have switched the Dictaphone off. Kuzniecow glanced at Szacki.
”Our doctor's rather nervy,” he said.
Indeed, Szacki was surprised. Also by the fact that none of the other partic.i.p.ants in the therapy had said a word.
Two more files. He pressed ”play”.
Silence, just quiet rustling, as if the Dictaphone had switched itself on by accident in his pocket. Then came Telak's terrified voice: ”Sat.u.r.day, the fourth of June 2005, about... eleven p.m., I'm not sure. I'm not sure of anything any more. Somehow I must check this is not a dream, not a hallucination, and I'm not going mad. Can I have lost my mind? Is this the end? Cancer? Or maybe I'm just exhausted? I must record this, after all, it's not possible... But if I'm dreaming this, and I'm dreaming that I'm recording it, and soon I'll be dreaming I'm listening to it, then... But anyway...”
There was a knock, as if Telak had put the Dictaphone on the floor. Then there was a sc.r.a.ping noise. Szacki turned up the volume. They could hear rustling and Telak's rapid breathing, also a strange smacking noise, as if the man were nervously licking his lips. Nothing apart from that. Maybe he really was seeing things, thought Szacki; maybe he went nuts after the therapy and tried recording his hallucinations. Suddenly the prosecutor froze, and his neck muscles tensed painfully. Out of the tiny speaker came a quiet, girlish voice.
”Daddy, Daddy...”
Szacki pressed ”pause”.
”Is it just me that's screwed up or can you hear that too?” asked Kuzniecow.
The prosecutor looked at him and pressed the b.u.t.ton.
”Yes?” wheezed Telak.
”Daddy, Daddy...”
”Is that you, Princess?” The voice sounded as if Telak were dead already. Szacki felt as if he were listening to the conversation of two ghosts.
”Daddy, Daddy...”
”What is it, darling? What's happened?”
”I miss you.”
”I miss you too, Princess.”
A long silence. All they could hear were rustling noises and Telak smacking his lips.
”I've got to go now.”