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The apartment building overlooking the crime scene is very similar to most others I’ve visited in this city, and the rest of Slovenia—sturdy, socialist-era construction and design, that favor functionality over form. There are four columns of doorbells to the right of the metal-framed thick glass front doors and, going by experience, it’s either the third or fourth column that rings in the apartments overlooking the river. And the top ones are the ones on the top floors.
I’m just about to ring the top bell in the third tower—the last name written on the bell is Vitan—when a short, stocky man with unruly grey hair appears at the glass door. He’s wearing a thick dark blue jacket over a light grey tracksuit and clutching a trash bag that looks only half-full.
“Are you from the police?” he asks as he opens the door. “About what happened last night?”
“Yes,” Eva says while I’m still patting down my pockets to find my bright gold Europol badge. “Did you see anything last night?”
“I did, but the other cops dismissed it,” he says and comes all the way outside, letting the door click shut behind him. “I’m glad they saw sense. Is that why they sent you two?”
He looks at each of us, giving us a head to toe, appraising sort of look, his eyes catching on Eva’s belly.
“Though you look like you’re ready to pop,” he adds and chuckles.
“We’re Europol, actually,” I say, showing him my badge and introducing myself, letting too much annoyance at what he said and how he said it into my voice. He’s an old man making old man jokes. I’ve heard it all before. “What did you see last night?”
“Not just last night,” he says and shifts the bag he’s holding from one hand to the other. “I was sound asleep last night until the lights and the sirens woke me.”
“But before last night?” Eva asks.
“I kept seeing this guy in a long coat, just standing among the trees,” he says. “Very creepy looking. He just stands there, looking at the river, and he’s been doing it on and off for weeks.”
“Did you see him last night?” I ask.
The man nods. “Yes, I think so. I think I saw him in the trees across the river while the cops were here.”
It was very dark last night with the sky as overcast as it was. Even the brightest reflectors could not have penetrated the darkness across the river, it’s too wide.
“What did he look like?” Eva asks in a very hopeful voice.
The man looks up at the steel awning over the doorway and slightly to the left.
“Tall, even taller than you, and wider in the shoulders,” he says and glances at me. “He looked huge in that coat he was wearing. It looked like the coats fishermen wear, the thick, oiled kind. Every time I saw him, he had a cap on and the collar turned up, so I never got a good look at him. And he wore rubber boots too.”
Eva nods, flashes me a wide-eyed look, then turns to him. “And how many times did you see him?”
“A few,” the man says. “At least three or four over the last month or so.”
“And he was just standing there in the trees by the river every time?” I ask, and I know I sound skeptical, but I can’t help it.
He’s describing the villain from every mystery and horror TV series I’ve ever seen. Next he’s going to say the guy was wearing a mask of some sort.
“I saw him walking along the path by the river once,” he says. “But yes, most of the time he just stood there, in the trees,” the man says. “Sometimes on this side of the river, sometimes on the other. Scary dude.”
“Or just a guy who wanted to do some fishing,” I hear myself say, and it earns me very nasty looks from both Eva and the man.
“Can we get your name? In case we need to ask you some more questions?” I ask and the guy nods, rattling off his surname, followed by his name. Vidmar, Ivan. “And I live on the fourth floor.”
“Would you mind letting us into the building so we can talk to some of your neighbors?” I ask and get another nasty look from him.
“You’re not going to write down my name?” he asks indignantly. “You don’t believe me?”
“I have a good memory for these things,” I tell him, and it’s the truth. I rarely write anything down when I’m investigating a case. I find it distracts me from focusing on the interviews and such. Like in this case, it might distract me from noticing that this guy really wants to feel important.
“You’ll want to talk to anyone who lives on the left side of the staircase as you walk up,” he says gruffly and unlocks the door. “But I doubt many of them are home right now. Try Mara Vitan first. Top floor. She’s always home and doesn’t miss much.”
I thank him and hold the door open while he shuffles out of the way, then say goodbye as Eva enters the building.
“You don’t believe him?” she whispers as soon as the door the thick glass door closes behind us.
