Alex Archer - Bathed In Blood

“No,” she answered, brushing off the memory as a figment of her imagination. “She looked at me and seemed to understand what I was saying, but that’s all.”

The doctor nodded to show he’d heard her, but his attention was mainly on his patient. He began giving instructions to the orderly as they wheeled the stretcher toward the door. They were met by a pair of nurses and the little group quickly disappeared inside. To Annja’s surprise, Csilla followed them.

As she watched them go, someone beside her said, “You should get that looked at.”

Annja turned to find the police officer pointing at her leg. Looking down, she was surprised to find a nasty scrape across her right calf leaking blood into the top of her boot. She hadn’t even been aware she’d cut herself, the adrenaline rush masking any pain she might have been feeling.

“Lovely,” she said as the pain finally hit. It wasn’t a serious injury, but it stung like a son of a gun. She glanced toward her SUV, then back at the police officer. He was a young guy, in his midtwenties or so.

“Don’t worry, miss. I’ll keep my eye on it while you get that taken care of,” he said, standing a bit straighter under her scrutiny.

She gave him a smile. “Thanks. I appreciate it,” she said, and then limped into the hospital after the others.

5

“Why don’t you tell me your side of the story?”

Annja was sitting in an interview room at the police station with a fair-haired detective named Alexej Tamás. He was in his midthirties, and might have been attractive if he didn’t have a permanent scowl plastered on his face. He’d found her at the hospital after she’d had the cut on her leg cleaned and bandaged, no doubt summoned by the officer outside. Tamás had asked her to accompany him to the station to give a statement, and she couldn’t think of a good reason not to.

Now she was starting to question that decision.

Annja had been in more police stations than she liked to admit, had given more statements than she cared to recall, but still bristled at the insinuation that she was telling a “story.” She might bend the truth occasionally, especially in situations that involved the sword, but this time around she was telling the whole story, and the detective’s pessimism annoyed her. Still, she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt for the time being. Getting upset would only make her appear suspicious, and Detective Tamás already seemed predisposed to find the worst in people.

Better to be as cooperative as possible, Annja decided.

Smiling, she said, “Of course, Detective. I’d be happy to.”

She told him about filming at Csejte Castle earlier that afternoon, being flagged down by the woman named Csilla and then climbing to help the other woman.

Tamás let her talk, making occasional notes on the legal pad in front of him, but didn’t interrupt. Annja tried to read what he was writing, having gotten pretty good at reading upside down over the past few years, but the detective was writing in his native language, which might as well have been Egyptian hieroglyphics.

Then again, she probably could have translated the hieroglyphs.

Several long moments later she sat back and waited for Tamás’s response. When it came, it was on a tangent she wasn’t expecting.

“What were you filming at Csejte?”

She frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“I asked what you were filming at Csejte.”

“Oh, just some filler for a piece we’re doing on Elizabeth Báthory.”

What else would someone be filming at Csejte?

“We? There are more of you?”

“Ah, no. I’m here alone. I meant ‘we’ in the sense of the television series I work for.”

“Ah, I see. What television series would that be?”

“It’s called Chasing History’s Monsters . We look at historical figures and try to...”

He waved her explanation aside. “So you claim you didn’t know the other woman—” he checked his notes “—Csilla Polgár, until she flagged you down.”

This time Annja let her irritation show, but just a little. “Yes. I said that.”

“So you didn’t meet her here in town? She wasn’t helping you with your television shoot?”

Meet her? Helping me?

“No, of course not. I told you, I’m here on my own.”

“Is there someone who can vouch for what you’re doing here? A producer, perhaps?”

Annja spoke without thinking. “Of course my producer can vouch for me, but what is this about? Why are you...?”

“His name?”

Annja stared at the detective. What was going on here? Did they honestly think she had anything to do with what happened to that poor woman?

She couldn’t think of any other reason for the detective’s questions.

“Doug. Doug Morrell,” she told him flatly, showing her displeasure without actually saying anything.

Tamás was undeterred. He rose, stepped over to the door and opened it, speaking to someone in the hall outside. After a moment he came back to the table and took his seat. In his hand was Annja’s cell phone, which she’d been asked to leave with the desk clerk when she’d arrived at the station.

“Let’s call Mr. Doug, yes?”

She almost said, Look, I’m not calling anyone until you tell me what on earth is...

Annja smiled. “Of course.”

She picked up the phone, started to dial Doug’s office in New York and then stopped. It was close to 9:00 p.m. here in Nové Mesto. The six-hour time difference would make it 3:00 a.m. in New York. Even Doug wasn’t that much of a workaholic.

One thing was for certain. He wasn’t going to like being woken up at this hour.

Couldn’t be helped.

Tamás was staring at her, so she stopped thinking and got to doing. She dialed Doug’s cell phone and waited.

One ring. Two. Three.

“Do you have any idea what time it is, Annja?” Doug asked.

Annja couldn’t tell if he was irritated or just half-asleep. With Doug, they were often the same.

“I know it’s early, Doug, sorry about...”

Tamás stretched out his hand, waiting for her to give him the phone.

“Annja? What’s going on? Why are you calling me at...”

“Got someone who needs to speak with you,” she said, and then handed the phone to Tamás.

“Mr. Morrell? My name is Detective Tamás, Slovak Police. I wondered if you would be willing to answer a few questions about Ms. Creed?”

Annja sat there and fumed as Tamás asked Doug to confirm just about everything she’d told him, castigating herself the whole time for opening her mouth without thinking about the implications. She hadn’t told Doug about the episode she was shooting; she’d intended on surprising him with it when she got back. If he told Tamás he didn’t have any idea what she was doing in Hungary, that would set the detective’s alarm bells ringing and he might want to keep her here for a lot longer than she intended.

Thankfully Doug had covered for her before. He must have answered the detective’s questions to the man’s satisfaction, because after several minutes Tamás handed the phone back to her.

“All I can say is that you’d better have a good explanation for being wherever the hell you are when I thought you were in Budapest.”

There was no mistaking his tone; this time he was ticked.

“I do, Doug. And I guarantee you’re going to like it. Let me finish up here and I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Harrumph.”

That was it—a grunt and then a dial tone. Sometimes Doug could be the worst kind of prima donna. Then again, she tended to be less than pleasant when woken up at 3:00 a.m.

She hung up the phone and slipped it back in her pocket, staring at Tamás the whole time, all but daring him to challenge her. She’d had enough of being treated like a criminal. Now she intended to get some answers.