Erno leaned forward, fixed Balthazar with his gaze. ‘Look, Detective, I will trust you with this. But it is not to be made public in any way.’ He glanced at Balthazar’s notebook. ‘Nothing in writing, by hand or by email. Agreed?’
Balthazar shut his notebook. ‘Can I tell my colleagues? They are absolutely trustworthy.’
‘I leave you to be the judge of that. Elad had a high-level source, he told me. Someone with direct knowledge of what happened, even evidence that they might share. He would not tell me who, or what, said it was too “sensitive”. But Elad told me, if what he suspected was true, and he could confirm it, it would cause an earthquake.’
Erno paused. ‘There’s something else you might be interested in. I have a friend who works in Reka’s office, in the foreign relations department. A big part of the agreement that Alon Farkas will sign on Monday is to do with scientific and technical cooperation. There is a confidential annex. Something to with an Israeli computer company and the technical research department of Nationwide. All high-tech stuff. I don’t know the details. I didn’t think anything of it when I heard, but now I’m starting to wonder. You might ask about that.’
Balthazar said, ‘Thank you, Erno, all this is really useful. Is there anything else I should know or you would like to tell me?’
‘Yes. Someone came to take a look at us,’ said Erno as he started typing, his fingers surprisingly nimble as they skittered across his keyboard. The monitor switched on and a video file opened. ‘This is some CCTV footage from Tuesday morning. This gentleman came to the attention of our security staff. Now, I doubt this is a coincidence. See what you think.’
The video file showed a man in a black parka wandering around the museum. He was shortish and well built with light-brown boots and a grey woollen hat pulled down over his head. He affected interest in the exhibits, but was clearly more interested in who was in the room. He kept looking around, sweeping the space until it was empty.
Once nobody else was around he walked across to the door marked Private, for staff only. He opened the door and peered inside, looking from side to side for several seconds, then staring straight ahead until a security guard quickly walked over. The man apologised and quickly left the museum.
A camera caught his round face and broken nose for a moment. It was the former gendarme that Balthazar had seen at Klauzal Square the previous afternoon.
EIGHTEEN
Boho Bar, Klauzal Street, 11 a.m.
Ilona Mizrachi sipped her café latte, her brown eyes assessing Balthazar. He could sense her calculating: What does this guy know – and how am I going to get it out of him? In the time-honoured fashion, it seemed. Ilona wore a close-fitting white blouse that was open to the top of her bust, where a silver pendant inset with a brown stone rested. Her olive skin and black curls seemed to almost glimmer in the bar’s dim light.
She leaned forward, her voice warm and concerned as she spoke. ‘How are you, Detective? You weren’t hurt yesterday?’ She tilted her head to one side, her hair rippling around her face, eyes holding his, not giving him a chance to answer. ‘A shootout, in broad daylight, in Budapest. It’s shocking. I’m so glad you are OK.’
Balthazar smiled inside. He had hoped for a less-obvious gambit. ‘I’m fine, thanks. I was still in Klauzal Square when they opened fire. By the time I got there, it was all over and the motorcyclist was at the other end of Dob Street.’
They were sitting in the upstairs gallery of the Boho Bar where they were the only customers. The Boho Bar was a classic District VII establishment that would have sat happily in Brooklyn or Hoxton: bare-brick walls, second-hand furniture and recycled chairs salvaged from school classrooms. Soft jazz drifted through the space. Several pieces of toast smeared with a white paste rested on a plate in front of Balthazar.
Ilona asked, ‘And your colleagues, Anastasia and the other girl, what was her name?’
‘They are fine.’ Balthazar did not reply to Ilona’s question about Vivi, instead offered her the snacks. ‘Would you like to try one?’
She looked down at the plate then at Balthazar, doubt written large on her face. ‘What is it?’
‘Vegan lard bread,’ he replied as he picked up another piece of toast and bit in. Zsiros kenyer, bread and dripping, was the poor person’s meal in Hungary: a thick smear of animal fat – goose, duck or pork – on bread or toast, sprinkled with paprika and topped with a slice of red onion. The Boho Bar’s version was made out of tofu, laced with chilli, spread on sesame crackers. It tasted better than he expected, the chilli giving the tofu a nice bite. One of the house craft beers would wash it down nicely, but Balthazar was sticking to sparkling mineral water. He knew he needed all his wits about him for this encounter.
Ilona asked, ‘Are you a vegan, Detective? You don’t look like a vegan.’
Balthazar smiled. Why not play the game a little? ‘What do vegans look like?’
Ilona’s eyes opened slightly wider. ‘Thin, pale, weedy.’
‘No, I am not. Not even a vegetarian.’ He offered the plate again. ‘Try one.’
Ilona shook her head. ‘No thank you.’ She sat back, still looking at Balthazar, a slight frown on her face, clearly trying to work out who he was and how to deal with him. ‘Tell me about yourself, Detective. Are you from Budapest? How long have you been a policeman? I’ve seen that footage of you on the internet, taking down the Gardener, stopping the attack on Kossuth Square. I’m having coffee with a celebrity. A celebrity detective.’
Balthazar obliged with a potted history of his life so far – growing up in District VIII, university, starting a PhD on the Poraymus, his work as a detective, but leaving out his marriage and divorce. Ilona listened and, as far as he could tell, was genuinely interested. The atmosphere began to ease, although he knew that this meeting was business rather than social. Still, she was a very pretty woman, and sometimes it was fine to just appreciate the attention, whatever motivation lurked in the background.
Ilona asked, ‘And being a Gypsy and a cop, how is that?’
‘Do you want the long version or the short one?’
Ilona smiled regretfully. ‘I would like the longer one, but today I only have time for the short.’
‘Overall, it’s fine. My boss looks out for me. I am not always loved, but I believe I am respected.’
‘Vitamin P, we call it. Proteksia. And when you have to arrest Gypsies?’
He gave her a wry smile. She was as smart as she was attractive, he realised. ‘That’s always interesting. Sometimes they yell at me, call me all sorts of things, question whether my parents were married, or suggest various farm animals I could connect with.’
Ilona laughed. ‘May I?’ she asked, gesturing at the plate of snacks. Balthazar nodded. She took one and bit into the cracker. ‘You’re right. Not bad.’
Balthazar continued talking. ‘Or they just laugh and give me their hands for the cuffs. Prison sentences here are not usually very long. They know what’s coming.’ He paused for a moment. ‘So, you’ve heard about me, now tell me something about you. Where is your family from, originally, before Israel?’
‘The two Bs, Baghdad and Budapest. My father’s family left Iraq in the 1940s, my grandmother escaped from here in late 1944, somehow made it to Romania, then Turkey and Palestine. She lived around the corner, on Wesselenyi Street, number 36.’
‘So you are Hungarian?’
‘One quarter, a very proud quarter.’
‘Do you speak Hungarian?’
‘A few words, not much more. I’d like to learn.’ Ilona blinked for a second, sat up straight, as if realising she was opening up too much. Her tone changed, turned businesslike. ‘Detective, I wanted to meet you today to find out more about the attack on Klauzal Square. We are obviously very concerned about this, a gunman on the loose a couple of days before our prime minister arrives, and the smoke bomb attack on a Jewish-owned café, followed by a gunman shooting up a car parked outside. At the same time, as you know, an Israeli citizen has gone missing. This changes the security situation. Do you think the gunman was after Anastasia and the other girl?’
‘I think it was a warning. If he wanted to kill them, he would have, or at least tried to. He hit the windscreen then drove off. But still, this is very serious.’
Ilona considered this for a moment. ‘Yes, it is, even if thankfully nobody was hurt. I’m curious, though, why was Anastasia there? Why this bar, Javitas, of all places?’
