Murder In Steel

Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

 I had now decided that enough was enough. In fact, much more than enough. I had enough of being called a murderer. I was fed up with being accused of lying, of fabricating a story of kidnapping, torture, and being ridiculed for having an overactive imagination. What happened to me happened, and all that was needed was some actual proof, a smoking gun. Holloway’s information gave me the incentive to clear up the mess, even if there was some danger. Danger was OK as long as I was aware of it. I decided to go to Hungary, taking an experienced private detective with me and attempt to establish beyond doubt who was trying to get me and why. Was it really the Colonel and was this really her revenge for taking me to be the killer of her uncle? I knew that a private detective would be expensive because the detective, if I should find a suitable one, would ask for a hefty daily fee and expenses. I also knew that even if my background in analyzing apparently disconnected events might very well be useful, the brain of another person, the proverbial extra two eyes, might also be very advantageous. I needed to make certain that any further danger to me would be removed permanently. 

       I called my friendly reporter, told her where I was going, debriefed and promised to call again. Discarded the phone right after the call, as agreed. Planned to get another very soon.

      Of course, the detective should be near my age so we could pass as friends and should be a native Hungarian so he - or she - could blend and not attract immediate, undue attention. Also, I needed someone who I could trust absolutely. It proved to be a challenge to find the appropriate person but a lucky break led me to another elderly Hungarian, a swimmer who I met at a Masters’ swim meet some time ago. Even better, in addition to the language and the heritage, he was born in Budapest so he knew the city and, of course, we could go swimming together, time permitting. He also spoke German quite well, as many older Hungarians do. His English was acceptable, a bit of an accent, much like mine, but OK. My detective-swimmer partner asked not to have his identity revealed so I will call him James.

      We discussed the strategy. The basic reason was to find out, was the Colonel after me and if so, why. Did she really think that I killed her uncle? Was this her motive? We knew that we needed the usual combination of hard work and lots and lots of luck, the emphasis on the latter. There was little to be determined before getting there. Once in Budapest we hoped to find people who were willing to talk to us provided their names were not revealed and the extra income warranted a small betrayal of their friends and acquaintances. We would try to convince them that no harm would come to them and their revelations would only be beneficial, psychologically to me, financially for them.  We had euros, dollars and Hungarian currency, forints, and I worried a bit that my funds would start to deplete fast.

       We booked flights to Budapest on MALÉV, the Hungarian airline, the only non-stop flight between Toronto and Budapest at the time, taking 8-9 hours, depending on the winds. I had taken the flight before and while it was long, the need to change aircraft and the wait at the connecting  airports for a change was removed and that was worth the long sit and the small, or maybe not so small, risk of deep-vein thrombosis. James and I chose not to fly on the same day but several days apart.

       The flight wasn’t worse than usual and in fact it was surprisingly pleasant. I sat beside a lady who kept me entertained. She was a non-stop talker, which was good because she took my mind off the length of the flight and the discomfort of sitting so long. She was Hungarian, of course, as were most of the passengers. She told me that she was an excellent cook which I believed. She told me that she was meeting her husband in Budapest. I told her that I liked to eat and she promised to invite me for a real meal, to eat hot paprika plus lots of other spices on something which really didn’t matter much as long as the spices were there. I accepted her invitation with pleasure. I recalled the basic objective of this trip, however. I was also thinking of her place in Budapest as a possible refuge should trouble begin and trouble would surely begin when James and I started asking too many questions, potentially at the wrong places, at the wrong times, of the wrong people.