The Amber Knight (4 page)

‘Your passport, you must have it. You wouldn’t have been allowed to play in the casino without it.’

‘You can’t be serious? Come on, this is an open and shut case. It’s Kaszuba you should be looking for.’

‘We don’t need to look for Kaszuba. We’ve got him. Took him into custody five minutes after he was thrown out of the casino.’

‘You bastard! You’ve been wasting my time asking questions you already know the answers to.’

‘Not exactly. That corpse was alive when the locals picked up Kaszuba. If you left the casino shortly after Kaszuba, he must have been killed during the time you cashed in your chips and bought a drink. How long was that?’

‘It was five to two when I left the casino.’

‘You’re very sure of that, considering you couldn’t remember how long you were out on the terrace.’

‘I looked at my watch. I remember thinking Helga only had five minutes of her shift to go.’

‘And we logged the call at half past two. So if you were out on the terrace for ten minutes – say quarter of an hour at the most, the murder must have taken place in the five to ten minutes that elapsed between us picking up Kaszuba and you walking outside, unless he was murdered while you were on the terrace.’ Josef looked back at the hotel. ‘You were on the terrace outside the bar?’

‘I’ve already told you I was.’

‘You would have heard something if the murder had happened then, don’t you think? A scuffle? A cry?’

‘That depends on how much noise they made about it.’

‘I don’t think Rat would have died easy if he saw his killer beforehand. Perhaps the murderer knew Rat was in the casino, lay in wait and took him by surprise.’

‘Unless he had an old score to settle and came across Rat by chance.’

‘That’s the Mafia for you. Cross them, and they never forget it.’

‘If I were you, I’d ask Kaszuba how he acquired fifty thousand American dollars. If he and Rat stole it, it’s my guess there’s one pissed-off person around somewhere.’

‘Perhaps more pissed off than you know. Kaszuba insists the money belonged to Rat.’

‘Perhaps whoever Rat stole it from, got to him. As they couldn’t collect their money, they collected his life. A warning to anyone else who has an eye on Mafia money.’ Adam thought for a moment. ‘Do you really believe Rat stole the money and gave it to Kaszuba to gamble away?’

‘No, but I can hardly ask Rat where he got it.’

‘So you’re harassing me.’

‘Harass is a strong word,’ Josef countered. ‘So far you’re our only witness.’

‘I didn’t see a thing.’

‘You found the body.’

‘And now I’d like to go to bed. Goodnight, doctor, Jankiel…’

‘Papers?’ Josef blocked his path. Adam crossed his arms and stared back belligerently. ‘I could find you and the lady cells in Piwna Street for the night.’

Adam reluctantly put his hand in his inside pocket and pulled out his passport.

‘Thank you.’ Josef’s thin-lipped, chiselled features creased in a rare smile. ‘Just one more thing, Adam. Don’t stray too far from Mariacka Street. I take it the lady’s going home with you?’

Not trusting himself to answer, Adam turned on his heel.

‘And do yourself a favour,’ Josef called after him. ‘Don’t expend all your energy before morning. You may need it for official questioning.’

Adam pulled a fistful of notes from his pocket. Peering under the light of a street lamp that was more decorative than functional, he handed the taxi driver a wad of zlotys that looked a lot more than the twelve dollars it was, and added a tip.

‘…If the killer saw us and it was a Mafia killing…’ Helga speculated after the cab drove off.

‘One more word about murder, killers, Mafia, blood or bodies and I’ll abandon you right here.’ Pausing to remove his remaining shoe and socks, Adam walked barefoot down the Fishmarket towards the Long Riverside walk that bordered the Mottlau Canal.

Helga’s stiletto heels clattered over the cobblestones behind him.

‘I’ve had a terrible shock and you threaten to leave me here, when there could be dangerous…’

‘I’ll be dangerous if you don’t close your mouth.’ Too weary to console her or offer soothing flattery, Adam closed his ears to Helga’s mindless prattling and immersed himself in the sights and sounds of the medieval quarter of Gdansk. No matter how many times he walked alongside the canal past the buildings studded with ancient gates that opened into picturesque streets crammed with meticulously restored houses, he always found something new. A different angle on a familiar building; a baroque carving over a door or window he hadn’t noticed before; a quirk of light that brought fresh perspective to the streets he had grown to love. Even the night was perfect. On their right the moon dappled the waters of the Mottlau canal with silver beams, the stars shone brighter than they ever had stateside; the outlines of church spires and secular tower cast inky silhouettes against the navy blue sky. Random lights sparkled like jewels through leaded- and stained-glass windows…

‘How much did you win tonight?’ Helga enquired shrilly, shattering the romantic world of cloak and doublet, velvet gowns and secret assignations in the narrow alleyways that he had been creating in his mind’s eye.

‘Not enough to cover last month’s losses.’

‘You always say that.’ She squeezed his arm hard to let him know he wasn’t forgiven.

‘I am bone weary.’

‘Me too.’ She took his admission as an apology and broached a subject that had preoccupied her all evening. ‘I called in Feliks’s workshop this afternoon. He’s working on a stunning pair of gold and sapphire earrings.’

‘Probably a commission.’ Adam found Helga’s flagrantly mercenary attitude refreshing after the devious, money-grubbing tactics of his ex-wife.

‘They were, but he said if he was paid upfront he could make another pair just like them. It’s my birthday next month.’

‘And how old will you be this year?’

‘Twenty-one, same as last.’

‘Did you ever see anything as lovely as that?’ He halted before the low archway of the Mariacka Gate. Cut into the façade of a five-storey tower it offered a picaresque glimpse of the narrow street beyond. Moonlight cast cold, gleaming spotlights across the cobblestones and gothic stonework. Dragons with gaping mouths jutted out above carved stone panels on which strange beasts and angels vied for supremacy. Above them towered the tall, narrow, casement-studded facades of the twin medieval terraces that led down to St Mary’s church. A breeze stirred, sending the leaves of the few trees that grew on the terraces shivering and trembling. Before he could return to his dream world, Helga interrupted him again.

‘When the light catches the sapphires they shine the exact same shade as your eyes. If you bought them for me, I’d think of you every time I wore them.’

‘Even when you’ve moved on to a fresh victim?’ Adam teased.

‘Victim! You…’

He silenced her by placing his mouth over hers. She bit down viciously on his lower lip.

He jumped back. ‘That hurt.’ He dabbed the blood from his lip.

‘It was meant to. Do I get my earrings, or not?’

‘I’ll think about it.’

‘Not good enough.’

‘I’m too tired to argue.’

‘I can see Feliks if you’re busy. He can send you the bill.’

‘Not before I know what it is.’ Conscious of his neighbours sleeping behind the walls, Adam crept down the street to the last house on the right. ‘We’ll go in the back way. And no noise on the stairs, I don’t want to wake Waleria.’

Helga stamped all the louder up the short flight of stone steps that led to the back door.

Adam turned the key. Mixed odours of cinnamon, goulash, paint fixative, wax polish and washing soda wafted out to greet them. ‘Stop behaving like a spoilt child, Helga.’

‘I don’t know how you put up with living in her house,’ Helga hissed as they passed Waleria’s apartment door on the first floor. ‘Having to see her wrinkles every day.’

‘Youth isn’t everything and Waleria’s conversation extends to more than eulogies on sapphire earrings.’

‘Living on the fourth floor is bad enough. But with no lift…’

‘I like foreplay in the stairwell.’ He pinned her against the wall. ‘Saves time when we get inside.’

‘It’ll be more than foreplay, if you don’t get a move on,’ she gasped, worming out of his arms.

The lights clicked off on the time switch before they reached his apartment door. Floundering in the dark, Adam dragged Helga up the final flight of stairs and fumbled for his lock. Grabbing her by the waist he burst through the door.

Lights shone through the uncurtained windows from the top floor apartment across the street illuminating a surprisingly large room given the narrow confines of the house. Pushing Helga on to a huge, squashy, calico-upholstered sofa, Adam sank down beside her.

‘The door,’ she mumbled, trying to avoid his kisses as his hand slid up her skirt.

‘Burglars are too tired to climb up here.’

‘Waleria…’

‘I pay my rent.’ He kicked out. Catching the edge of the door with his foot, he slammed it shut.

Adam woke to blinding light and air filled with birdsong. He hadn’t needed an alarm since he had dispensed with curtains and there were other advantages; like not having to pull, open or wash them, or decide what colour they should be. All he had to do, to ensure the neighbours couldn’t see in, was keep the lights off when it was dark and all private activity below windowsill level in daylight.

He turned his head and gazed at Helga. Her looks had definitely been designed with artificial light and evening wear in mind. His bedding as well as her face was adorned with streaks of black mascara, passion-red lipstick and chalk-white foundation and, as he didn’t have a maid, that meant changing the bedclothes himself. Still, he permitted himself a smug smile as he threw back the covers, last night had been worth a little inconvenience. Then he remembered the sapphire earrings and realised inconvenience wouldn’t be the only price he’d have to pay for Helga’s passion.

He stepped out of bed and padded over to the wardrobe. Sliding open the mirror doors that reflected the steep-sided gabled rooftops of the house opposite, he flicked through his clothes. He recalled yesterday’s heat and selected a silk shirt, lightweight linen suit and clean shorts and socks before walking down the spiral staircase that led from the mezzanine sleeping area in the attic into the living room. The apartment was small, but it held everything he needed. An upper section to sleep in and house his wardrobe, desk and computer, a living area to get drunk in, preferably with friends, and a tiny bathroom and kitchen. The living room took up three-quarters of the floor space and anything out of place constituted a mess in his eyes.

He tossed the cushions he and Helga had dislodged back on to the sofa and went into the bathroom. Showered, shaved, and dressed, he left Helga to her dreams, and ran down the stairs to Waleria’s gallery on the ground floor.

‘Heard you and your lady friend banging about in the early hours.’ Waleria’s well-preserved features tensed as she wrestled a large shapeless bronze from a plinth.

‘I tried to keep the noise down.’

‘You didn’t succeed.’

‘Sorry.’ He rescued the bronze from her wilting arms. ‘Where do you want this?’

‘In the packing case. It’s been sold.’

‘Glad to see you’re still servicing the local art industry by fleecing the tourists.’ He heaved the sculpture into a wooden box.

‘Thankfully some people have taste discerning enough to appreciate modern art,’ she countered.

‘Who bought it?’ He was unabashed by her gibe. ‘Nouveau riche Russian or pretentious German?’

‘Swede, actually.’

‘It’ll go with their furniture.’

‘If you’re going to insult the exhibits, clear off.’

‘No offer of coffee?’

‘She still here?’ Waleria quizzed, filling a mug from the jug in the filter machine.

‘Is who where?’

‘Don’t play innocent with me. Lady croupier. She still upstairs?’

‘Why do you want to know?’

‘Because if she is, I need to lock the silver in my safe and it’s inconvenient to lose the use of my teaspoons for a morning.’

‘It’s my silver not yours she’s after.’ Adam took the coffee she handed him.

‘With all the girls in Gdansk on the lookout for Americans to buy them a ticket out of Poland, why did you have to pick her?’

Adam sipped the coffee. ‘Because Helga wears her price on her sleeve, and unlike every other woman I’ve met, I know that’s all I’ll have to pay.’

‘Ever thought there could be a hidden tax?’ she called after him as walked out.

‘If there is, it’s got to be less than my ex-wife levied.’

Even the thought of last night’s murder and the occasional whiff of foul air from the sewers failed to dampen Adam’s spirits as he strolled along the length of Mariacka Street in the bright spring sunshine. The last building on the right, adjoining the gate, had been commandeered by the town’s Archaeological Museum, and the young curator, Edmund Dunst, had been delighted to lease the top floor to the Polish branch of the Salen Institute. Without Salen Institute rent, loans and project funding, there would have been fewer exhibits in both the town’s Historical and Archaeological museums.

Unlocking the door, Adam raced up the three flights of stairs to his office. After opening the windows on the Mottlau Canal side, he ground coffee, filled the machine and switched it on. Only then did he sit behind his desk and gaze at the daunting mountain of mail.

‘Regretting playing truant?’ Edmund Dunst walked in and added more offerings to the pile.

‘Truant! It was hard work.’

‘I heard there wasn’t anything worth looking at. All fakes and forgeries.’

‘That was the problem.’ Adam slit open an envelope with a paper-knife fashioned into a miniature Roman sword. ‘In my opinion, that particular rural museum should have closed years ago.’

‘Well, it’s closed now. Did you buy anything?’

‘A couple of pieces of amber.’

‘Good ones I hope.’ Edmund sat in the visitor’s chair.

‘Who said you were going to get them?’