Free Masaryk Station (John Russell) by David Downing Page B

this for a few moments. ‘What could you tell the newspapers, Eva? What do you know?’
    ‘Well, nothing much. Nothing definite anyway. But I was with her, a few days before she died.’
    ‘Were you in a relationship?’
    Eva smiled sadly. ‘Not then. We were for a short time. Last year. Sonja was … well, she wasn’t really a lesbian. She was fed up with men, and she was willing to give it a try. That’s what she told me—almost word for word. And she did, but it didn’t feel right. Not to her.’
    But it did to you, Effi surmised.
    ‘We stayed friends,’ Eva went on, ‘and we used to see each other every few weeks, usually somewhere like this, but she couldn’t get a babysitter that evening and so she invited me round to her apartment. And that’s when I overhead the telephone call. Someone—I don’t know who—was trying to get her to do something, and she kept trying to refuse. But whoever it was wouldn’t take no for an answer, and eventually she agreed. But I could see she was frightened, and she wouldn’t talk about it, which wasn’t like her.’
    A tear was rolling down Eva’s cheek.
    ‘Have you told all this to anyone else?’
    ‘I went to the police, and spoke to a kriminalinspecktor . And he wasn’t unsympathetic. Women like me usually get very short shrift from men in uniforms—somehow they know—but this one promised to look into it. He warned me not to expect too much, which seemed fair enough. Since I didn’t have a name for the caller, or any idea what the call was about, I hadn’t really given him anywhere to start.
    ‘That was before the funeral. I went back to see him last Wednesday, and he more or less fobbed me off. He said he’d looked into it, and that there was nothing to suggest foul play. Which might have satisfied me, if he’d seemed like the same man I’d seen earlier. But he wasn’t. He was more aggressive and more defensive, if you know what I mean, as if dealing with me was something he resented having to do.’
    ‘As if it made him feel guilty?’
    ‘Perhaps. But maybe I was just imagining it. I mean, he was right the first time—I hadn’t given him anything, not really. And I had more or less decided to let it go, when this other man came to see me.’
    ‘A German, right?’
    ‘Well, he wasn’t Russian. And he wasn’t nasty or anything. But after he’d gone, I felt—I don’t know—I felt as if I’d been threatened, even though I hadn’t.’
    Effi remembered having the same feeling after meeting the man from the Propaganda Department. And though Eva mightn’t actually know anything, someone might fear that Sonja had confided in her. But what about? And what could it matter if Sonja had killed herself? Volker Heldt had no doubts about that, and it stretched credulity to imagine him as a creature of the Russians. And even if there was something behind all this—which still seemed far from certain—there seemed no point in pursuing the matter. They couldn’t bring Sonjaback, and in the unlikely event that they uncovered evidence of a crime, the likeliest sufferers would be themselves.
    But how could she convince Eva of that?
    ‘I asked a friend—someone with access to the Russians—to see what he could find out,’ Effi said. ‘Discreetly, of course. And maybe he’ll hear something. But for the moment I really think you should let this go. Think about it, Eva. If you’re wrong, and the call you overheard had nothing to do with Sonja’s death, then making a fuss is going to hurt and anger others who loved her. And maybe that’s all the unknown man was trying to tell you. If you’re right, and there is something terrible we don’t know about, then someone might decide to really shut you up. Either way, you’ll be the loser.’
    ‘I know,’ Eva said, looking utterly miserable.
    ‘So you’ll let it alone.’
    ‘Yes, yes, I will. Thank you for talking to me.’
    ‘It’s good to see you.’
    ‘I’m usually better than this. But Effi,