Ivan Klíma - Judge On Trial

The individual elements of Kozlík’s second statement might have held water, but as a whole it did not present a credible picture. There was no sense in dealing with his second statement. He had withdrawn his confession for understandable reasons. He had nothing to lose; the only chance he had was to start denying his action.

But even if he had committed the murder, he must have spent the night somewhere. He was clearly covering up for someone. And he had already been covering up for them when he made that first lengthy confession.

Could he have gone back to his common-law wife and wanted to spare her needless investigation? It was not his impression that Kozlík displayed a particularly considerate attitude towards women. Besides, he had named her. There was no reason for him to state that he had only gone to her place the next morning instead of saying that they had not parted at all the previous evening.

When I almost went blind which I didn’t report as a protest against my treatment a fellow-prisoner in my cell whose name I don’t recall started to teach me philosophy and English and he explained to me that real strength is doing good…

Only now was he struck by the inconsistency of those details. Kozlík had obviously been referring to the clergyman who had been to see Alena and shown her Kozlík’s naive and vainglorious letters. His name’s Pravda. Even I remember that.

Kozlík had clearly lied in his first statement when he had said he could not remember the name of the person to whom he had sent almost filial letters. He had lied in the middle of a statement in which he was almost amazingly frank. It was possible, for instance, that he had not named him because he was the person who had given him shelter that night. The thought so fascinated Adam that he had to tell himself off for starting to play the investigator, something he detested in himself.

Even if Kozlík had spent the night there, there was no reason for him not to name him. Unless he had confessed to him what he had just done. He might have been afraid that Pravda had failed to report what he had told him and thereby been guilty of a criminal offence. However, that would be to assume that he had come to him and stated: ‘I’ve just turned the gas on in my landlady’s kitchen and here I am. What do you think about it?’

It was hardly likely that a third person, let alone a former clergyman, would listen to such a statement and do nothing. After all, the landlady might still have been alive. If Kozlík had come to see him that night and confided in him, his friend would have made him go straight back there. And most likely would have accompanied him. They would have taken a taxi and driven straight to that apartment house in Žižkov. But what if they had seen the police car or ambulance already parked outside and realised there was nothing they could do to put things right?

What advice would Pravda have given Kozlík? Would he have lent him some money and sent him away to try to find a hiding place? Or, and this was likelier, said: Clear off, I don’t want to hear any more about you! Or: Go and report what you have done and make a full admission, that’s the only hope you have left. In the eyes of your fellow-people and of God. Or he could have just turned away from him and abandoned him without saying a word, and, in the knowledge that he had been spurned by the only person he still clung to, the murderer could then have observed from a distance as they carried the lifeless bodies out to the ambulance. He could almost picture him suddenly running off and then wandering aimlessly through the streets until the next morning when he made his way to the place where they would inevitably find him, until he reached the place where there was no longer any point in trying to defend himself or to lie, not even to avoid punishment.

The telephone rang. His boss wanted to see him.

‘Kozlík buggering you about?’ he enquired as Adam came in.

‘No, not particularly. Why?’ He had no desire to discuss the case with him.

‘But he withdrew his statement, didn’t he?’

He shrugged. ‘He didn’t introduce any new facts.’

‘As far as I know,’ his boss said, ‘the prosecution will be pushing for the rope.’

‘And they expect me to play along?’

‘What did you expect? After all the bastard did away with a child.’

‘It’s possible he really didn’t know about the kid.’

The Presiding Judge stared at him without any sign of emotion. ‘I don’t get you, Adam. You act as if you didn’t understand anything. Do you think I enjoy hearing nothing but complaints about you?’

‘Are there any complaints about my work?’

‘I’m not talking about your work.’ He went over to the window and gazed fixedly at the wall of the building opposite. He clearly preferred not to look Adam in the eye. ‘We’ve all of us had to weigh up our recent attitudes and draw the conclusions. You’re the only one who goes around as if it didn’t concern you: when the plain fact is that it concerns you most of all. But you’re running out of time, Adam, there’s no way you can sit on the fence.’

‘The only place I try to sit is on my own chair.’

‘These chairs,’ his boss said pointing at one, ‘aren’t yours. They belong to the state.’

‘What is the state? I don’t know the colour of its eyes and guessing what it thinks is completely beyond me.’

‘I’ve a fairly good idea what you think about me, but that’s your business. I reckon you’ve got nothing to complain about as far as I’m concerned. I’ve kept you on here. I want to have people here who know what they’re doing. You must realise you’d have been out on your ear long ago, otherwise. With a background like yours. And with the company you keep! Hanging around flats where they read out illegal texts!’

He was extremely well briefed. It wasn’t hard to guess by whom. ‘There were no illegal texts,’ he corrected him pointlessly.

‘I put you on the Kozlík case so you’d have a chance to show willing a bit. I could have given you something that would be far less acceptable to you. You must be able to see that. You’ve got a transcript of his new statement?’

‘Naturally.’

‘I’d like to have a squint at it.’

‘As you wish. I’ll bring you the file.’

‘And think about what you’re doing, Adam! I’d hate to lose you. It’s up to you entirely.’

That was a patent threat.

Anyone who, by force, by the threat of force, or by the threat of any other serious injury, obliges another to do, neglect to do, or to suffer anything will be liable to imprisonment for up to three years. Paragraph two hundred and thirty-five, sub-paragraph one, of the Penal Code.

5

The chapel was situated in an ordinary apartment house, the only embellishment being the front door in the shape of a neogothic arch. She watched from a short way off as some old ladies emerged from neighbouring streets, as well as some families in Sunday best with well-behaved children. People shook hands and exchanged smiles. They all knew each other. Only she knew no one.

She had been invited there by the clergyman with the revivalist name. The last time she had visited him in his warehouse, he had talked to her at great length. He had also lent her a book about the Christian family and finally invited her to attend one of their assemblies for worship. She had asked if it mattered that she wasn’t a Protestant. He replied that people were not born members of a church, they only became members in time, and it made no difference whether she believed or not. No one could declare with certainty that they believed, in the same way that they could not be sure that their soul was forever cut off from grace.