"Did your mother have trouble with her eyesight?"
"Not that I remember. Anyway, when we got married, Mrs. Habgood and I thought we might have a baby. We never did, but we bought a book of names, just in case. My mother was wrong. The book said Kenneth means Royal Obligation."
"What on earth does that mean?"
"I've never been able to find out, but it sounds good. See you later."
Matt waited until he heard Ken's car start up, then he logged on. At home he'd found a couple of sites in Czech, and ignored them. Maybe he'd missed something important. After twenty minutes he felt like giving up. Sites in the Czech language were no use. And Ken's computer was so slow.
The next search was a lucky one. Here was exactly what he was looking for: a site showing Czech surnames and their meaning in English.
He found Kovar and confirmed that it did indeed mean Smith. It wasn't possible to search from English into Czech so he had to look down the list, picking out names that described a job. Bednar meant Cooper, Dudek meant Bagpiper, Krejci meant Taylor ... He carried on, and there it was.
Carpenter.
Just wait till he told Zoé. He decided to print it off.
It sounded like Ken's car in the yard. He went to the window and saw his boss whistling cheerfully. Since he had no intention of calling his child Zápotocký, the last name in the list, meaning From Beyond the Brook, and didn't want Ken to have the slightest suspicion he was doing a job for Blake, he closed the search engine and went to his own desk in the outer office.
Ken came in through the door smiling for a change. "Remember that job we did for the butcher, when we discovered his daughter's boyfriend had a criminal record? Well, I've got good news. His payment has cleared at long last, which means there's enough in the bank to pay you this month."
"You're right, that is good news."
"It's not the only good news I've got, kiddo. I met your French priest outside the bank. The one from the Homeless Anchor Trust."
"Father Alban?"
"The very same. He said he's been hoping you'd call in to see him sometime. Anyway, I told him about the man who attacked Zoé outside that restaurant."
"He didn't exactly attack her. Just bruised her arm when he caught hold of her."
"That's not how you told it to me. Anyway, he said it could be one of his crew. He calls them his crew. Something to do with anchors I suppose. He wants to drop in here this afternoon and see if you can identify the man."
"Look, Ken, I don't want to make trouble. You've probably made it sound much worse than it was. But it's good of you to be worried about Zoé, so thanks."
"I worry about both of you, kiddo. Anyway, I need you here with me, not home nursing a sick wife."
"You really do want me, don't you?" It had never crossed his mind that Ken might be concerned for him.
Ken went to his desk and settled into his red leather chair, looking a little uncomfortable. "I can't pay you as much as you deserve, and I know I keep telling you to go back to the police, but we've got a good partnership going."
Did Ken know something about Blake's offer? Almost certainly not. Ken wasn't likely to keep quiet if he suspected disloyalty. "Thanks for saying it, Ken."
"And I mean it. I've been thinking about your car. I might be able to replace it."
"Another of your clients got an old banger he'd rather give away than pay to have it scrapped?"
Ken reddened slightly. "It's not quite like that, but I do have one or two contacts in the trade. Don't count your chickens. We'll have to see if how it works out."
Matt began to feel bad about moonlighting for Blake. And Father Alban was due to appear in the office. The last thing he needed was a morality lecture from a priest.
*
FATHER ALBAN arrived just after three.
His whole image had changed considerably since Matt had last seen him, not long after the French wedding down in the Auvergne. Gone was the black clerical suit, its place being taken by jeans and a dark red sweatshirt with the letters H-A-T on the front, arranged around a gold anchor; and the swept back hair had been changed to an informal mess.
"You look different," Matt said in French. The priest still looked more like a teenager than a thirty-year-old.
Father Alban grinned widely. "I can speak your language much better now," he said, proving it by speaking English, with a strong French accent. Far stronger than Zoé's. "I do not think anyone from my parish in the Pas de Calais would recognize my new image."
"Is that why you did it?" Matt asked, glad to be able to communicate in English. For the past few months he and Zoé had been speaking mostly English to each other, and he was starting to get rusty with his French.
The grin changed to a loud laugh. "I have too much of the work here in England with the homeless. I cannot think about going back to my France. My bishop has given me his blessing to stay here. Perhaps he does not want me back in the parish. He is a good friend of the local chief of police -- and they do not speak to me because I help you escape from the courthouse."
Matt was uncertain whether to laugh or shake his head in commiseration as he remembered his time in France soon after he first met Zoé. He shook hands instead. "It's great to see you again, Father. It was Ken's idea to get you here. He's bothered about a man we met outside Le Perroquet Bleu."
"Ah yes, the homeless man who attacked Zoé."
"I think Ken's panicking unnecessarily. I was more worried when we found the man outside our house when we got back."
"You didn't tell me about that." Ken looked up from his paperwork.
"You must tell me what this man appears like," Father Alban said.
Matt was starting to wish he'd said nothing. It wasn't as though the man had bothered them again. "It's not important. He was ... mid twenties, very short dark hair ... "
Father Alban nodded. "Did he have the scar under the eye to his left?"
"His left eye? I didn't notice. I just wanted to get Zoé away quickly."
"Next time you must ask if he has one of our cards of identity," Father Alban insisted. "We call it the Anchor Card. It has the picture of an anchor, and a photograph of the holder."
Ken put down his papers and seemed to be taking an interest. "The Homeless Anchor Trust? What's an anchor got to do with helping the homeless, Father?"
"We provide safety for those who are drifting into the danger."
Father Alban pulled a card from his jacket. "We invite the homeless to register with us, and then we give them an Anchor Card, like this. They use it to get the help from our supporters in the town. The food and the charity shops for clothing."
"And drugs?" Matt asked, wishing immediately that he'd kept his mouth shut. Father Alban's English was perfect at times.
The young French priest shook his head and waved his arms in typically Gallic fashion. "Impossible," he said, using the French pronunciation. "We view the drug taking extremely seriously. Alcohol abuse as well. Do you think this man was on the drugs?"
"He seemed to be on something," Matt said. "And he sounded Russian. Certainly East European. Does that help?"
Father Alban smiled. "I know exactly who it is. He is Salman. He is a harmless refugee from Chechnya."
Ken was already returning to his paperwork. "He doesn't sound very harmless to me, Father."
"He has strong views about people who have the wealth," Father Alban said.
Matt laughed. "Tell him, Ken. Tell him how little you pay me."
Father Alban didn't even wait for Ken to answer. "Matt," he said gently, "if you have suffered in the conditions that Salman has been through, anyone who can eat even a small meal in a restaurant is doing well."
Ken nodded. "There you are, Matt. You're not so badly off after all."
Matt ignored the comment. He'd just caught sight of his page of Czech names and their meaning in English, still in the printer tray. He had to retrieve it -- without Ken asking if it was something for him.
Chapter Nine
MATT SAUNTERED over to the printer and picked up the page. He waved it vaguely in Ken's direction. "Names," he said.
"Matt and Zoé are having a baby," Ken explained, grinning broadly. "I expect they'll be wanting you to do the christening."
Father Alban went forward and shook Matt's hand firmly for the second time. "I did not know. Give my wishes of the best to Zoé. And of course I will be delighted to arrange the christening. Maybe I will see you and Zoé in church one Sunday. It is ... necessary."
Matt simply nodded, completely taken aback.
"Now perhaps you can see why I was worried about Zoé, Father," Ken explained.
"Of course, of course," Father Alban said. "But if it is Salman, maybe there is not too much for the worry."
Matt glanced at the sheet of paper. The thought of there being a mix of nationalities at HAT had given him an idea. It would be worth downloading pages from the Czech websites -- if he could get them translated into English. "Do you have many foreigners in HAT?"
Father Alban smiled. "We have a few economic migrants; people like Salman."
"Anyone from the Czech Republic?"
Father Alban frowned. "From Slovakia. Her name is Olga. Why is it that you ask?"
Matt wished Ken would get on with his work so they could retire to the outer office and talk confidentially. Even when he seemed to be engrossed in paperwork, Ken could be relied on to overhear everything. "Father Alban," Matt said, "your English is much better than my French. How about we talk in French now, and I get some practice?" He nodded towards Ken. "We'll leave you in peace, Ken."
Ken sighed with relief. "Just keep the noise down and answer the phone if it rings. You know what they say -- time is money, and I've got a couple of letters to see to." He stood up and shook hands with Father Alban. "Thanks for coming. You've brought a breath of sanity to the place. This office has been like a madhouse the last couple of days. I've had a dog in here trying to eat a hole in my floor, and a young man whose mother talks to the dead."
"Talks to the dead? Perhaps you would like to tell me about this man?" Father Alban suggested.
"I'm trying to forget." Ken waved them away and opened a file. "Don't let Matt keep you talking too long. I'm sure you've got important work to do -- even if Matt hasn't."
As soon as they were in the outer office Matt decided to stick to French just in case Ken could hear through the door. "I'm trying to trace a family in Prague," he explained. "There are pages on the Internet that could be useful, but they're in Czech. Is the Slovakian language the same as Czech?"
"I will find out," said Father Alban. "I will ask Olga tonight. Do you have anything I can show her?"
"Not yet, but I'll bring you some examples when I've downloaded them."
"I am sure Olga will help if she can." Father Alban pointed to Ken's office. "But I think maybe your boss is unhappy about something. There is an ... atmosphere. Yes?"
"Yes, I'm sorry about Ken. We got involved in a surveillance job that went wrong. People have been round here giving him a hard time about it."
"What is this about the dead?" Father Alban asked. "Has one of your clients passed on?"
Matt laughed. "Ken sometimes wishes they'd all pass on. We photographed a man with someone else's woman, and he's one of the people who came to complain. He says his mother's a medium, and he thinks she'll be too upset to hold any more séances."
"Then that is a good thing, Matt. I would never advise anyone to get involved with trying to contact the dead."
"Surely you believe in the survival of the soul."
Father Alban smiled. "Yes."
"And you presumably believe there's a God in heaven, and the dead are with him."
"Some of them are, of course. But trying to contact the dead is something I cannot possibly encourage. The Bible warns against it most strongly. If you want to talk to someone in heaven you could always try praying."
"Who do I pray to?" Matt knew he was sticking his neck out. You don't ask a priest a question like that and not get a mini-sermon in return.
Father Alban smiled. "You could try talking to God's Son, Jesus Christ. Prayer is like a door. You open it and he is on the other side, waiting for you. I am sure he would like to hear from you."
Matt felt embarrassed. This was a bit more personal than he'd expected. "I might. One day. If I'm ever in trouble."
"Do not think that prayer is a magic wand," Father Alban added. "It is a way of getting to know God."
The time had come to change the subject. "So you don't think séances work."
"Sometimes it is, I think, telepathy. The medium may not even know that he or she is reading your mind."
Matt shrugged, not entirely convinced. "Occasionally a medium must make contact with something."
"Oh yes, a medium may contact something, but how can you tell it is not an evil spirit pretending to be the person?"
"By asking it?" Matt suggested.
"Evil spirits tend not to tell the truth."
Matt bit his lip. Sure, he'd laughed at the idea when Zoé had jokingly suggested it this morning, but Hana was dead, and a séance would be one hell of a way to find the answers to Blake's questions. And it would certainly beat the Internet.
"Who do you wish to contact?" Father Alban asked.
"There's a young girl who died in Prague in 1942. She might have the answer to the location of ... some missing items."
"And you do not speak Czech?"
"No."
"If you contact this girl, do you think she could talk to you in English?"
He hadn't thought of that one. "You mean she might only speak Czech?"
"I doubt if the dead learn foreign languages in heaven. And I very much doubt you could contact her anyway. Be careful, Matt, a séance might stir up dark forces. Dark forces of evil."
It certainly sounded a bit spooky. He'd have to see what Zoé thought. But there was a new problem: the one Father Alban had identified. If Hana spoke only Czech, how could he understand what she was saying?
"I hope you will listen to my warning, Matt."
He didn't reply. He'd just realized he had the answer. Martin Smith's mother was a medium, and Martin Smith's mother originally came from Prague. She was sure to speak Czech, and could translate the questions and answers as she went along. But this job for Blake was confidential. So how could he persuade Mrs. Smith to hold a séance -- without her son finding out?
Chapter Ten
1942
Masaryk Railway Station
Prague
Czechoslovakia
HANA IS watching the German soldiers as they question the passengers getting down from the train. Masaryk station is the end of the line for trains from Bohemia. The captain orders his men to spread out and search every compartment. Maybe he thinks someone is hiding in one of the carriages. Suddenly there is a commotion. A man wearing the brown clothes of a country worker is bundled off the train and pushed to the ground. One of the soldiers kicks the man in the chest while the others shout rude words. The passengers waiting to board the train all look the other way, pretending not to see what is happening. Hana doesn't look away. She cannot take her eyes off the soldiers. One of them is studying her and now he starts to come closer.
Chapter Eleven
ZOÉ WASN'T home from the hospital when Matt got back after work. He opened the freezer and pulled out two gammon steaks and a pack of sausages. He decided on the sausages, defrosted them in the microwave then looked up at the kitchen clock. Zoé should be back soon. He turned on the oven and sprinkled some frozen chips on a baking tray. It wasn't going to be the healthiest meal ever but he was hungry, and it was a sort of thing Zoé liked from time to time. He'd even heat up a can of baked beans.
A few minutes later the outside door opened. The timing was perfect. "Ten minutes," he said, giving Zoé a kiss. "You've just got time to get ready."
"Merci," she said. "I will be quick."
As she ran up the stairs Matt went to the hall to call up.
"You told me that Smith means Kovar in Czech."
Zoé stopped at the top of the stairs. "And you are going to tell me I am wrong?"
"No, you were absolutely right. And when you come down I'll tell you what Carpenter is in Czech."
Zoé started back down the stairs. "Tell me now," she demanded.
Matt shook his head. "Get ready for tea."
Instead of the usual fifteen minutes that Zoé needed to wash and change, she was back down in five. "Tell me about Shelley Carpenter," she said.
"In Czech, Carpenter is the same name as Tesar. I've got the proof here, on this sheet of paper."
"Is that important?"
He was expecting a better reaction than this. "Of course it is. Blake wants me to find what Hana Eisler did with some music manuscripts. Hana's grandmother and great-grandparents were called Tesar."
"I do not understand."
"I love conspiracy theories. I bet Shelley Carpenter is a descendent of Vasek Tesar, and Blake wants her out of the way."
"Yes, I see now what you are thinking, Matt. Monsieur Blake does not want Miss Carpenter to know that he is looking for some music. You think that if she is a Tesar she may be able to claim it." Zoé opened the oven door and sighed. "Sausages and chips? We would be better eating fish. It is good for your brain. You are, I believe, going a little crazy. You think everybody is acting suspiciously."
"We can easily see if I'm right or not. We'll go round after we've eaten and confront Shelley Carpenter. I'll ask her straight out if she's descended from the Tesar family."
"And then you will forget all about this ridiculous idea? "
He reached into the cupboard and pulled out two plates. "Two sausages or three?"
"I think I will start with one. What other silly ideas have you dreamed up today?"
"I saw Father Alban this afternoon," Matt told her as he served up the evening meal. "Where's the ketchup?"
"In the refrigerator, where it should be. Tell me about Father Alban."
"Ken was worried that the man outside Le Perroquet Bleu might hurt you again, so he asked Father Alban to call at the office. But according to Father Alban the man's harmless. His name is Salman, and he comes from Chechnya."
Zoé picked up her small glass of wine. "I did not think there was a problem. All we have to do is to give the man some food when we see him next time, and he will leave us alone."