Bathed In Blood. Alex Archer

the mention of funding, Doug’s over-the-top enthusiasm was suddenly replaced with a miser’s attention to details. “Funding? For what?”

      “I need to eat and sleep, Doug.”

      “Okay, fine. I’ll wire you some money tonight. Where are you staying?”

      She told him.

      “Three days. That’s all you’ve got. After that I want you back here in New York with the footage so we can have the boys in the editing suite start putting it all together.”

      Three days. That should be good enough.

      “Thanks, Doug. Got to go.”

      “Annja, I want...”

      She hung up the phone before he could finish the sentence. The less she heard about what he wanted, the better. She could get back to the episode tomorrow; right now she needed to see what Detective Tamás was doing to solve the woman’s murder.

      Putting the phone back on the nightstand, she took a quick shower before getting dressed and headed out the door.

      Annja was halfway across the parking lot before she remembered that her SUV had been confiscated. She went back into the hotel, asked to use the lobby phone and spent the next half hour explaining what had happened to the rental car, finally cajoling the clerk on the other end of the phone into sending another vehicle to her hotel until the first one was released by the police. When the car finally showed up it was a beat-up-looking sedan that spouted small clouds of gray exhaust at regular intervals like a mechanical whale spitting water through its blowhole. Annja didn’t care; all she wanted was something to get her from one place to another.

      She signed the paperwork, handed it to the clerk and settled behind the wheel. A crank of the key, a sputtering rasp of the engine until it caught and then she was wheeling the car around and dashing out of the hotel parking lot, retracing the route she’d driven so frantically last night.

      Annja was fully expecting to come upon the police combing the cliff side, so she was surprised to make it almost all the way to Csejte Castle without coming upon the crime scene. Thinking that perhaps she’d gotten the distances mixed up in all the excitement of the rescue, she continued driving, only to find herself entering the village of Čachtice less than five minutes later. She hadn’t seen a single police car or found anyone standing watch by the side of the road.

      What on earth was going on?

      She glanced at her watch, noting that it was almost 10:00 a.m.

      Could they have come and gone already?

      She didn’t think that was possible. It should have taken them hours to search the surrounding area. Perhaps they’ve only done a cursory inspection and intend on coming back with a full crime scene unit?

      Scowling, she pulled an abrupt U-turn. This time she drove slower, watching for the brightly colored climbing rope she’d left behind with the rest of her gear. It didn’t take that long to find; the rope was still anchored to the tree, and its orange color stood out starkly against the dull gray of the tree trunk.

      Annja drove well past the scene, not wanting to disturb any evidence, and then she parked by the side of the road. Getting out of the car, she stood by the driver’s door for a moment, surveying the area.

      There wasn’t a police officer in sight.

      Shaking her head, Annja hurried along the side of the road until she reached the tree she’d used to anchor her climbing gear. She looked over the edge, toward the spot where she’d rescued the injured woman.

      It took a moment, things looking a bit different in daylight, but eventually she spotted the rocks that had trapped the woman’s arm.

      There wasn’t any evidence that anyone besides her and Csilla had been here.

      For a moment she considered undoing the anchor, coiling her rope and taking it and the rest of her gear, but then her good sense reasserted itself. Touching anything at this point would be interfering with a crime scene, and that was just as much a felony here as it was back in the States. While the gear was expensive, it wasn’t that expensive, and it would be easy enough to replace. She had to believe the police would eventually take a look at the scene and they were bound to wonder how the heck she’d gotten down the slope without any gear. Best to leave it right where it was, she concluded.

      Frustrated with how the morning was going, she headed back to Nové Mesto. Annja hoped she could see Detective Tamás and ask what was going on, but when she arrived back in town she found a small crowd gathered in front of the police station. She parked down the street and hurried back on foot to see what was going on.

      As she drew closer, she discovered that a press conference had just gotten under way. Detective Tamás and a few others were standing on a small platform near the front door. A podium had been set up to his left, and an overweight man in a dark suit was standing behind it, speaking from a set of notes.

      Four or five reporters, most likely from the local television affiliates, stood directly in front of the platform and held their microphones up. Behind the press were roughly twenty to thirty members of the general public.

      Annja looked out over the small crowd, then stepped next to a young woman of about eighteen.

      “Excuse me,” she said, “can you tell me what he’s saying?”

      The girl glanced at her, then looked back at the speaker. “He’s talking about that woman they brought in last night.”

      “I don’t speak Magyar. Could you translate for me?”

      She nodded. “The old guy is Sándor, the—how do you say—police inspector?”

      Annja guessed she meant police chief but didn’t bother to correct her.

      “He’s saying the case is important and that he has his best detective, Alexej Tamás, on the case. He’s going to give the microphone to the detective, let him speak.”

      Sándor stepped away from the podium and Tamás took his place. The detective looked as if he’d had a good night’s sleep, which irritated Annja.

      He should’ve been up all night, combing that ridgeline for evidence, she thought sourly. She was starting to dislike Detective Tamás, and what he said next only served to irritate her further.

      “The detective claims they are putting the proper resources into place to investigate this tragedy,” the girl said. “He says they’re still uncertain as to whether it was an accident, a crime or a suicide, but they hope to have more information in the next twenty-four hours.”

      “Accident?” Annja muttered, feeling her fury rising. “What on earth is he talking about? There’s no way it could be either an accident or a suicide!”

      The girl looked at her again, but this time her gaze lingered and Annja recognized the gleam of interest in her eyes.

      “You know something, don’t you?” she asked.

      Annja grimaced, realizing she’d said more than she’d intended, but perhaps she could turn this to her advantage.

      “Keep translating and I’ll fill you in on what I know afterward.”

      “Promise?”

      “Scout’s honor,” she said, holding up three fingers. The fact that Annja had never even thought about being a Girl Scout was completely beside the point.

      There wasn’t much more after that, however. Tamás spoke for another minute—mostly platitudes about doing all they could to get to the bottom of things—and then took a few questions from the press. They still hadn’t identified the woman and asked for the press’s help; photographs of the woman’s face were circulated through the crowd, and Annja took one for herself.

      When the press conference wrapped up, she was more frustrated than when she’d arrived.

      “I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?”