Watching the Dark (Inspector Banks Mystery) (40 page)

‘It could help,’ said Banks. Their food arrived, and there was a short break in conversation while everyone got settled with serviettes, side dishes and knives and forks. Irena smiled at Banks and refilled their wine glasses.

‘I think she fancies you,’ joked Joanna.

‘Get away with you,’ said Banks. ‘My charm only works on the over sixties.’

‘I don’t know. She may have visions of an English husband, an English passport, an English country house.’ She turned to Erik. ‘Irena? Is that a Russian name?’

‘Probably,’ Erik said. ‘Could be Polish, too. Or Slovakian. Many names are common to more than one country.’

‘There you are,’ she said to Banks. ‘An exotic Eastern European bride.’

Banks twirled up a forkful of spaghetti and smiled at her. ‘Rather like an exotic Italian husband.’

Joanna seemed to freeze for a moment, then she blushed. ‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘Not at all like that.’

‘Anything on Toomas Rätsepp and Ursula Mardna?’ Banks asked.

‘The prosecutor’s clean as a whistle. High-flyer. Tipped for even bigger things. The Rachel case set her back a bit, but she’s more than made up for it since then. Feared and respected.’

‘She seems so young.’

‘It is a young woman’s job.’

There were plenty of young women around the CPS offices, too, Banks realised, but he had never really thought about it that way. ‘What about Rätsepp?’

‘Nothing definite. No dirt that sticks, so to speak. There are those who think he mixes too closely with the wrong elements. Not real gangsters and criminals, you understand, but businessmen, rich and powerful people who might need occasional favours, who sometimes move very close to the edge.’

‘“Businessman” is a word that covers a multitude of sins, I’ve always thought,’ said Banks.

‘He has a very nice apartment in Kadriorg, which is most unusual for a retired police officer. It is an expensive area.’

‘Wouldn’t he be more careful if he had something to hide?’

‘Of course. That is why there is no dirt that sticks. He would not dare to be so open, as you say, if he could not explain the money.’

‘How does he explain it?’

‘Inheritance. It is true that his father was quite wealthy. He began with one small shop and ended up running a chain of electronics stores. He died around the time Rätsepp retired. Rätsepp didn’t get everything, of course – he had brothers and sisters – but he ended up with a decent share.’

‘And that explains the flat, the money?’

‘To the satisfaction of most people,’ said Erik. ‘You must draw your own conclusions.’

‘Was Rätsepp involved with anyone who might be responsible for what happened to Rachel Hewitt, for Bill Quinn and Mihkel?’

‘“In the right circumstances don’t you think, everyone is capable of anything.”’

‘
Chinatown
,’ said Banks. ‘Or close enough. Is there any way of finding out more?’

‘Not without ruffling too many feathers. The wrong feathers to ruffle. We have a free press, but with freedom comes responsibility.’

‘That’s a lesson we’re still learning back home,’ said Banks.

‘Yes. I know.’

‘Thanks for all you’ve done.’

‘You are welcome. As I said, it is for my friend Mihkel. And now to other things. Vasily Petrenko. Is he still with the Liverpool Philharmonic?’

Joanna pulled a face, and Helen started questioning her about her job, investigating bad cops. ‘Yes,’ Banks said to Erik. Yes, he is.’ And as he went on to talk about the young conductor’s successful career, he noticed a familiar figure sitting outside across the small square. It was the man who had been following him the previous night.

Banks returned to his conversation, and when he looked again a few minutes later, the man was gone. But Banks knew he was around somewhere, watching, watching the dark.

It was getting on towards the end of Friday afternoon, and the working week for most people would soon be over. It wouldn’t be much of a weekend for Annie – she would still have plenty of tasks to keep her busy – but things slowed down when the people you relied on weren’t around. It was hard to get any lab work done, for a start, let alone a rush job. Thankfully, they had Stefan Nowak and Vic Manson and the team next door, but they weren’t equipped to do everything, and they liked to keep as normal hours as possible if they could.

The question of what to do with Krystyna remained paramount in Annie’s mind. They had got Rick Menzies, their sketch artist from the art college, and between them, Rick, Krystyna and Stefan had come up with a good description, which Annie thought translated into a more than usually clear sketch, from the five o’clock shadow to the cropped hair and crescent scar by the hairline, the bulbous nose and ears slightly sticking out, to what Annie could only describe as a cruel mouth.

Annie glanced briefly at the notes and message she had received throughout the afternoon. The most interesting item was that Vic Manson had managed to get a couple of fingerprints from the inside of the glove compartment of the Ford Focus they thought the killer had hired under the name of Arnold Briggs. Of course, there could be no guarantees they were his at this point. Like the DNA, the fingerprint was not on any of their databases.

AC Gervaise poked her head around the door. ‘Got a minute, Annie?’

‘Of course,’ said Annie, following her out into the corridor. She was surprised when Gervaise led her towards the staircase down to the ground floor and the exit, rather than up to her office. She was even more surprised when they crossed to the corner of Market Street, heading straight for the Queen’s Arms.

‘I guessed you might feel like a break,’ said Gervaise. ‘It’s been a long week.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘And you can stop that. I enjoy it about as much as you do.’

Annie grinned and followed her through the door. The place was busy, a popular destination for the post work crowd on a Friday, but a lot of people liked to stand at the bar and relax, so they found a quiet round, copper-topped table by the window looking out on the market square, which was in that in-between twilight period, after work, so few shoppers were around, but before play, so the young revellers hadn’t arrived yet. The chairs and tables were outside, on the wooden stand, but nobody was sitting there at the moment. A brisk wind was blowing, and if Annie wasn’t mistaken she could see a drop or two of rain on the windows.

‘My shout,’ said Gervaise. ‘What’s it to be?’

‘Am I off duty?’

‘As far as I’m concerned you are.’

‘Right, then. I’ll have a pint of Cock-a-Hoop, please.’

‘Excellent.’

Gervaise came back a few minutes later with two pints. Judging by the colour, Annie guessed them both to be Cock-a-Hoop. The name made her think of A. Le Coq, and of Banks and Joanna Passero, no doubt enjoying another nice open-air dinner in Tallinn.

‘Where’s DS Jackman?’ Gervaise asked.

‘She’s talking to some of the other girls who were at the hen weekend, to see if they remember anything Pauline Boyars didn’t.’

‘I’m not sure about this sudden concentration on Rachel Hewitt. I hope you remember we’re looking for the man who killed DI Quinn and this Estonian journalist.’

‘Of course. And we’re getting close. But they’re connected.’

‘Hmm. We’ll see, no doubt. Anyway, how was your first week back at work?’

‘Fine,’ said Annie. ‘Busy, of course, but it’s great to be back.’

‘I did advise you to take it easy.’

‘With all due respect, I’ve been taking it easy for long enough already. It’s time to get back in the saddle.’

Gervaise sipped some beer. ‘You’ve got a point. How did you get on with the Polish girl?’

‘Krystyna? We got an excellent sketch of the suspect,’ Annie said. ‘I’ve sent it off to everyone I can think of. NCS, Trading Standards, Force Intelligence Unit, SOCA, the Human Trafficking Centre and Interpol. Not to mention the county forces nationwide. Wanted: handy with a crossbow, interested in waterboarding.’

‘That should do it,’ said Gervaise.

‘I’m not too sure,’ said Annie. ‘I mean, there’s definitely foreign involvement in this. Estonian and Polish for starters. If our man was sent to kill Quinn and Lepikson, there’s every chance he doesn’t live in the UK, and if that’s the case, the odds are that he’s left the country. Who’d hang around after a double hit? He could be anywhere.’

‘Interpol’s got pretty good data these days. They’ll pull something up on him if there’s anything there.’

‘Let’s hope so. They drew a blank on the DNA. Anyway, I’m not expecting a lot until after the weekend, but I’m trying to stay hopeful.’

‘What have you done with Krystyna?’

‘That’s the problem,’ said Annie, leaning forward and resting on her elbows. ‘She’s down in the cells right now. She’s not under arrest or anything – she hasn’t really done anything wrong except yell at an old woman in Polish – but I want to keep her around until we find our man, then see if she can make a positive identification. Besides, she’s got nowhere to go, poor thing. She’s got no fixed abode, and if immigration get their hands on her, they’ll whisk her away from us.’

‘I see your problem. We might be able to stretch to a B & B for a couple of days.’

‘I’m not sure she’d stay. She’s scared. It took me and Stefan a while to put her at ease and convince her she wasn’t going to be locked up. She’s got no clean clothes to wear, either. I mean, you can only get so far in an Elvis suit.’

‘A wha—’ Gervaise said, then stopped herself. ‘Oh, I see. That’s what you call them. Well, no. You’re right about that. You could take her to Oxfam or Sue Ryder and buy her a few things.’ She checked her watch. ‘Though you’d probably have a job at this time.’

‘And then what?’

‘Well, short of taking her home yourself, lending her some of your cast offs, I don’t really know.’

‘Don’t think I haven’t thought of that. She doesn’t speak any English.’

‘People get by. I had a Spanish roommate once, when I was at police college. She didn’t speak a word of English, and I know no Spanish, but we managed all right. I’m not saying you should do it, if the idea bothers you, though. I suppose we can accommodate her in the cells for a few days at the taxpayers’ expense, though let’s hope it doesn’t get leaked to the local press, or we’ll have swarms of homeless heading up from the cities.’

Annie laughed at the image. ‘Think what the press would say if a female police officer took a young girl home with her. Not that I care.’

Gervaise paused. ‘Do we know for certain she’s illegal?’

‘We know nothing except that she’s Polish, and Poland is a member of the EU. I don’t know if she has the right documents or filled in the right forms. She has no identification now, no passport, no money, nothing. God knows where they are. I’m thinking of ordering a raid on Roderick Flinders’ business offices and home. Krystyna identified him from a photograph as someone who came around with offers to lend money, so that clearly links him with Corrigan’s nasty little business. He’d probably be too canny to keep anything incriminating there, but I might just do it anyway, just to put the jitters up the bastard. And for my own pleasure, of course.’

Gervaise finished her pint and glanced at Annie’s glass, still about a quarter full. ‘Another?’

‘No, I shouldn’t. I’d better—’

‘Oh, come on with you. How often do we get a chance to take a break from the station and have a good old natter?’

‘Well, seeing as you put it like that.’ Annie drained her glass and handed it over. ‘I’ll have the same again, please.’

As Annie sat waiting for Gervaise to come back with the drinks, she thought of poor Krystyna shut in the cells. Though an inner voice warned her about getting involved, perhaps, she thought, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to take Krystyna home. Just until the dust settled and she could get her life sorted out. They could communicate through sign language. She could sort out some clothes for her. Nothing would fit her well, of course, as she was so thin, but there were ways of making do, a little nip here and a tuck there. Anything was better than the oversized Elvis suit. Best of all, Krystyna would be in a clean and comfortable house, not a cell. Annie would order a pizza. They would watch television. Krystyna could sleep in the spare room. Annie saw Gervaise talking into her mobile at the bar. When she came back her hands were empty, and her face was serious.

‘I’m afraid that second pint will have to wait,’ she said. ‘I’ve just received notice from West Yorkshire. Warren Corrigan’s been shot.’

Chapter 10

Saturday morning was a little cooler than it had been earlier in the week, with a fresh wind off the Baltic bringing in a few ponderous clouds. Merike was wearing a patterned jumper that reminded Banks of Sarah Lund’s sweater from
The Killing
.

‘Haapsalu is a spa town, right?’ she was saying, as they drove through the outskirts of Tallinn on a major road, all apartment blocks and shopping centres. ‘Like Harrogate and Bath.’

‘I understand,’ said Banks, sitting next to her in the front of the messy yellow VW Bug. He was keeping an eye on the rear-view mirror. It was perhaps too early tell, but he didn’t think they were being followed.