Free Lost and Found in Prague by Kelly Jones

apathy, passed over time and time again for promotion. Perhaps he should have retired years ago, but he was hanging on three more months for full retirement. Dal liked the man, if not always his methods.
    “You’re not buying this Gypsy’s confession?” the old detective asked.
    The record showed the man had confessed, but that wasn’t the song he was singing when Dal visited him in jail.
    Silence all around the room as the photo of the deceased Filip Kula made its way around the table. Dal attempted to catch the reaction of Detective Karel Beneš, a chunky, round-cheeked redhead. His first case in homicide as a junior detective had been the Kula case. Several weeks ago, after the detective assigned to the case had retired, Dal had asked Beneš to come in. Dal sensed the young man had concerns regarding the murder of Filip Kula as he sat nervously in the office of his newly appointed chief, though he was reluctant to criticize the former chief investigator or lead detective. He’d told Dal the case had received little attention; a true investigation hadn’t even been initiated. Then came the discovery of the man’s identity and the headlines praising the chief investigator for closing the case. Now, Beneš twitched again, his pale redhead’s complexion burning with what might have been either embarrassment or anger.
    “One shot in the head,” Cerný mused. “One stabbed in the heart. A fallen film star meets his demise while attempting to score some drugs? How does this relate to a philandering senator?” Dal had implied in no way that the two were related. Cerný shot a look toward Beneš, then Detective Sokol, realizing it was he who was attempting to make the connection.
    “Political motivation?” Kristof asked. “The common link between the two? Filip Kula was a dissenter during the Velvet Revolution. Those engaged in the arts—actors, playwrights, musicians—were particularly involved in promoting political reform and the end of Communist censorship.”
    Dal realized the young detective had studied the case. He liked his initiative. Had Kristof, too, sitting silently in the professor’s study with his superior, then following him in his exit like an obedient puppy, caught something in the man’s speaking of this case? Neither Dal nor Kristof had mentioned a possible connection on the drive back to Prague.
    As Dal’s eyes darted around the table, he realized, not for the first time, that, other than Cerný and Detective Zik Reznik, the latter with whom Beneš was now partnered, he was working with a bunch of inexperienced investigators. Tadpoles, he mused.
    “Any evidence he’d become involved in politics in recent years?” Reznik stared down at the photo of a man who had obviously fallen on hard times.
    “Senator Zajic joined the Civic Forum in late 1989,” Kristof replied. A fact that Dal was well aware of since the investigation had been initiated. “Kula had been active since its inception. A Charter 77 advocate.”
    Cerný shook his head. “The Civic Forum, catchall for post-Communist Czechoslovakia. Anyone who wanted to be involved in the new republic joined. Any recent connection between the two men?”
    “No connection.” Kristof glanced sideways at Beneš, whose nostrils flared as he looked down at the table. “Yet,” Kristof added.
    “If there is, I’d certainly like to know,” Dal said, waving a hand over the file, then the table of officers. “I’d like to take a look at Kula’s activities in the weeks preceding his murder.” Damek handed the file to Reznik, glancing at Beneš, who nodded as if ready to get moving on the case, to prove himself. “Every detail. Places frequented, acquaintances. Financial”—he indicated Doubek—“I want to know if he had any income. How he was supporting his drug habit.”
    “You’re reopening the case?” Reznik asked. Detective Reznik had joined the force at the same time as Dal. They’d gone through the academy together. He was