Judgment on Deltchev (16 page)

I did not sleep well that night.

It was on the fourth day of the trial that the evidence connecting Deltchev with the Brotherhood was given.

When the court opened, a man named Kroum was called into the witness box. He was about fifty, with a bald head and glasses and an erect military appearance. He looked shrewd and brutal. He described himself as a Brigadier of Police in the detective department of the Ministry of the Interior. He was carefully washed and brushed and his manner was irritatingly complacent.

Prochaska began his examination in what was for him an unexpected way.

‘Brigadier Kroum, how long have you been a member of the police?’

‘Thirty years, sir.’

‘How long have you held your present appointment?’

‘Twelve years, sir.’

‘Are you a member of any political party?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Have you any political affiliations?’

‘No, sir.’

‘None at all?’

‘I do not interest myself in politics, sir. I have my work to do.’

‘An excellent citizen! Have you ever arrested a man or ordered his arrest for political reasons?’

‘The only reason for any arrest, sir, is that a man breaks or is suspected of breaking the law. I do not make the law. It is my duty simply to enforce the law under the constitution. That is the duty of every police officer,’ he added.

Someone near me sniggered at this; but my impression was that Brigadier Kroum meant what he said.

Prochaska glanced at a paper. ‘In March,’ he said, ‘were you concerned with the arrest of eight persons on the charge of trading illicitly in prepared opium?’

‘I was responsible for the arrests, sir.’

‘Did you also examine the prisoners?’

Kroum hesitated. ‘Unofficially, sir, and solely for the purpose of obtaining information about other members of the gang. The examining magistrate was responsible, of course, for the official interrogation.’

‘You were not usurping the magistrate’s function, but merely doing your duty as a police officer. Is that correct?’

‘Yes, sir. That is correct.’

‘But you gave the prisoners the impression that they were making official depositions?’

‘It is sometimes necessary, sir.’

He had a blubbery mouth with bad-tempered creases round it. Interrogation by Brigadier Kroum would not be an agreeable experience.

‘Was one of those arrested a man named Rila?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Did you interrogate him?’

‘I did, sir.’

‘Tell the court about this interrogation.’

‘Yes, sir. This Rila is a criminal well known to the police. He is an old man who has served many prison sentences. I knew that his eldest granddaughter was pregnant
for the first time. I told him that this time he would surely die in prison and never see his great-grandchild, but that if he assisted the police by telling all he knew, a permit might be obtained for the child to be brought for him to see.’ He looked doubtfully at the Prosecutor. ‘It is customary to offer such inducements to prisoners. No regulations would be broken, sir.’

‘No, no. Continue please.’

‘At first he refused to talk. Said he knew nothing. The usual.’ Kroum was gaining courage. ‘But the following day, when I saw him again, he was in a better mood. He had thought over my offer and he was worried. After a while he asked if I would protect him from any consequences there might be of his talking. That, too, is usual with criminals informing,’ he added confidentially.

‘Yes. Continue please.’

‘I asked him for the names of the other members of the gang. He said there were no other members and that we had them all and that there was no information he could give about that case. But he wanted to see his great-grandchild and there was other important information he could give in return for the concession. I said that if the information was valuable it might be possible.’

‘Continue.’

‘He then told me that there was in existence a conspiracy to assassinate Minister Vukashin and that the conspirators were members of the Officer Corps Brotherhood.’ He paused.

‘And did you believe him – this criminal who wished to purchase a concession with information?’

‘No, sir. At first I thought it was merely an impudent lie and sent him back to his cell. But on thinking it over I
decided to question him again. Even though I thought that what he had said must be fantastic, the suggestion was so serious that I felt it necessary to make quite sure. I felt it my duty,’ he added virtuously.

‘Yes, yes. So you questioned him again.’

‘Yes, sir, and again he began by asking for protection. Again I reassured him. Then he told me a strange story. He lodged in a house in the Maria Louisa quarter. One of his fellow lodgers was a man named Pazar.’ He paused. He was at his ease now, talking more as an experienced policeman and less as an applause-hungry functionary. ‘We know that house,’ he went on, ‘it is a place for crooks; and because we do know it we let it be; but anyone living there is automatically suspect. Pazar, however, was new there. Rila was curious about him. For Rila there was always the possibility that a stranger might be a police spy. So he took note of this man’s movements and was watchful. All he discovered to begin with was that on certain evenings Pazar would be visited by three or four men unknown in the Maria Louisa quarter. They did not look poor, and Rila wondered what they were up to. It is probable, I think, that all along he had an idea of joining in what he thought might be a profitable racket, but this, of course, he denied when I suggested it. He gave another explanation. However …’

‘Just a moment, Brigadier. What was the explanation he gave?’

Kroum looked embarrassed, ‘He said, sir, that he was an old man and only interested in human nature.’

There was some laughter. Prochaska frowned. ‘Go on,’ he said shortly.

‘Yes, sir. Rila said that Pazar had been living there for
about a month when one day he stopped Rila on the stairs and asked to speak to him privately. Rila agreed and they went to his room. After a lot of talk Pazar came out with what he wanted. Someone had told him that Rila dealt in illicit drugs and Pazar wanted some heroin for a friend. Rila’s first thought was that Pazar was a police spy after all and he pretended to be shocked. But after a little more talk Rila became convinced that Pazar himself was a heroin addict and needed the stuff badly. Now Rila is quite frank about what followed. Pazar had little money and asked for credit. Rila refused. With heroin addicts one might as well give the stuff away as give credit. Instead he referred to Pazar’s well-dressed visitors and said that if he, Rila, could afford smart clothes like that he would be very grateful to the person who had helped him. In other words, he asked for a share in the profitable business he thought was being done by Pazar’s friends. Pazar refused angrily and went away. Rila shrugged and waited. Pazar would have to have his stuff, and if he had been driven to asking Rila for it, that meant that his old source of supply had for some reason been stopped. Two days later Pazar came again to Rila, who repeated his price. Pazar again refused, but this time he did not get angry; he pleaded with Rila. His friends, he said, were nothing to do with any trade. They were political. He went on pleading and Rila went on refusing until Pazar became desperate. He begged on his knees, and when Rila told him to go away he broke down and wept. Then it came out. Pazar and the friends who visited him were members of the Brotherhood.’

Kroum paused. He had his audience now. There was dead silence. He went on, ‘At first Rila did not believe him. When he did believe, he was worried. Our criminals
have never liked the Brotherhood. They have been resentful of the extra vigilance it has caused, but also they have been afraid. It is curious,’ Kroum went on thoughtfully, ‘a man who kills for money they understand, but the Brotherhood killer troubles them. This old criminal Rila talked about the Brotherhood as a boy might talk about ghosts and demons.’

‘Yes, yes. Continue.’

‘Pazar worried him very much, for he knew the ways of heroin drug addicts, as I have said, and he knew that they were treacherous and spiteful. If he refused Pazar and Pazar told his mysterious friends of the Brotherhood that their secret was known to Rila, then Rila would be in danger. So to keep Pazar quiet he gave him some heroin. After a few days Pazar came back for more, and soon Rila was supplying him regularly. Pazar would come into his room and stay and talk and gradually he became more indiscreet.’

That word! I glanced at Pashik next to me. His face was quite impassive, but his hands were tense.

Kroum had paused again. Now he went on very slowly, ‘One day – Rila cannot remember which day – Pazar began to tell him of something he called the secret of power. He was very mysterious about this secret, but Rila let him talk and after a while Pazar took a round of machine-pistol ammunition from his pocket. “This is the secret of power, my friend,” he said, “for this beautiful little thing can make a revolution.” Rila was afraid to ask him what he meant, but Pazar told him eventually. The Brotherhood were planning to assassinate Minister Vukashin.’

The prosecutor nodded and looked up at the judges. ‘The man Rila made a deposition to the effect of what the
witness has told the court,’ he said. ‘The deposition is signed by him and properly witnessed.’ He picked up a bundle of papers. ‘I submit it to the court in evidence, together with three certified copies.’

The copies were passed to the clerk of the court, who handed them up to the dais. The centre judge glanced at the top paper, nodded gravely, and said something.

‘The Presiding Judges accept the documents in evidence,’ said the interpreter’s voice, ‘and call upon the Prosecutor to continue.’

Prochaska turned to the witness box again. ‘Brigadier Kroum, what action did you take as a result of what you had heard?’

Kroum had prepared this answer. ‘I considered it my duty, sir, to inform the Minister of the Interior at once so that those responsible for the protection of Minister Vukashin might be warned.’

‘And then?’

‘Then, sir, I set about investigating the truth of the story.’

‘You doubted it?’

Kroum very nearly permitted himself a tolerant grin. ‘The police, sir, are obliged to think suspiciously of persons who wish to help them,’ he said, ‘especially if they may gain an advantage by doing so.’

‘Very well. You investigated. What did you discover?’

‘That there was a man named Pazar at the house in Maria Louisa, that he did occasionally receive the kind of visitors described, and that he had a reputation for drug-taking. He was not known as a criminal. He was believed to have been at one time a schoolmaster. He had also made a living as a language tutor.’

‘And then what did you do?’

‘There were three possible explanations, sir: first, that Rila had made up the rest of the story or that Pazar had invented it to impress Rila and get drugs from him; second, that Pazar was mentally unstable as a result of drug-taking and not only invented the story but also believed it to be true; third, that it was in fact true. Although we believed this last possibility unlikely, we decided that no harm would be done by acting upon it. We therefore set a watch on the house with the idea of identifying Pazar’s visitors and possibly confronting them in Pazar’s room. On the evening of the third day Pazar did not return to the house at the customary time. That same evening a man arrived at the house and was identified by the woman who kept it as one of the regular visitors. He went straight to Pazar’s room, which was on the second floor. He received, of course, no reply to his knock and waited for a time. Then he decided to go. When he was stopped by one of my men, he immediately drew a revolver and began to shoot, wounding two policemen. He then attempted to escape, but was shot down. He was identified as a man named Eftib, a university student with a reputation for fanatical views of the kind associated with the Officer Corps Brotherhood.’

‘He was killed?’

‘Unfortunately he died before we could question him, sir.’

‘Continue.’

‘The fact that Pazar had not returned and that only Eftib had arrived for a meeting suggested to us that Pazar had been warned of our activity and had passed the warning to the other conspirators. This view was confirmed
by the fact that Eftib had been visiting his parents in the country and had only that evening returned. He, therefore, had not received the warning. In any case, our interest in the house was now exposed. We therefore entered Pazar’s room and made a search of his belongings.’

‘And you found?’

‘The complete dossier of a conspiracy to assassinate Minister Vukashin on the occasion of the anniversary celebration, including a plan of the operation and detailed orders for the five men participating in it.’

A stir ran round the court. Prochaska looked up at the judges. ‘I ask the court for discretion in this matter,’ he said. ‘I have the dossier here and will with permission proceed to offer it in evidence. I ask leave, however, to withhold that part of it concerned with the actual plan of the attempt. It is of great ingenuity and, for reasons that will appear in a moment, unsafe for publication at present. It is in any case not essential to the prosecution’s case.’

‘The permission asked for is granted by the Presiding Judges.’

A bulky file was handed to the clerk of the court. Prochaska continued, ‘The witness is, of course, not quite accurate in describing what he found as a dossier. He found the operation plan concealed under the floorboards of the room and in other hiding-places a number of documents. These things were later collected into dossier form.’

The centre judge nodded.

Prochaska turned to Kroum again. ‘I will ask you now to identify the various items. Item one.’ He nodded to the clerk, who handed Kroum a clipped wad of papers.

Kroum looked at it.

‘Do you recognize those papers?’ asked Prochaska.

‘I do, sir. I identify them as those I found concealed beneath the tiles of the stove in Pazar’s room.’

‘Have you ever seen papers like that before?’

‘Yes, sir. These are pledge forms used as part of the initiation ceremony of the Officer Corps Brotherhood. I recognized them at once. They were secretly printed by a member of the Brotherhood now dead. His name was Markoff. He was arrested, tried, and hanged in January ’45. But these were his work.’