Watching the Dark (Inspector Banks Mystery) (43 page)

‘I did not know he was a detective. This Quinn man. He did not talk about his work. And my brain did not make link.’

‘OK,’ said Banks. ‘Can you remember whether Juliya disappeared before or after you went to the hotel to meet Bill Quinn?’

‘I think it was just before. Can we go back now?’ Larisa asked. ‘I do not know any more. I cannot leave Kaida alone for too long.’

‘Of course,’ said Banks, standing up. ‘We’ll walk with you. It’s a lovely town.’

Larisa smiled. ‘Yes. Is very small, but in summer many tourists come. There is much business. Much to do.’

‘Perhaps we can eat at your restaurant before we return to Tallinn?’ Banks said.

Larisa looked alarmed.

‘Don’t worry,’ he went on. ‘I only say that because we’re hungry. If I think of any more questions, I will be very discreet. We have no intention of spoiling the life you have made here.’

Larisa gazed at him seriously for a while, as if trying to decide whether he was telling the truth, then she said, ‘Yes. Yes, that will be nice. I will cook for you myself.’

Annie and Winsome managed to fit in a quick sandwich at Pret with Blackstone and Gwillam before they got a call from Leeds General Infirmary saying that Gareth Underwood wanted to talk to them. It took a moment for the penny to drop: Gareth Underwood was Curly.

There was a police guard on the private room in which Curly was being kept for observation after a bullet had been removed from his left side the previous evening. As far as the doctor was concerned, it was nothing but a flesh wound, having missed all the important organs, though it had done some minor tissue damage, and one always had to keep an eye open for infection.

Curly was lying propped up on his pillows, connected to various machines that displayed his heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen levels and other bodily functions comprehensible only to doctors and nurses. Annie swallowed as she walked into the room, her mouth dry. It brought back too many memories, most of them bad. Curly was also hooked up to an MP3 player, with his eyes closed. He had a large glass of water with a bent straw on his bedside table.

Neither Curly’s doctor nor Blackstone wanted to crowd the room, so only Annie and Ken Blackstone went in, leaving Gwillam and Winsome outside. Gwillam seemed put out by his exclusion, perhaps because he felt it was because he wasn’t a real copper, being Trading Standards, but Winsome took it in her stride.

Curly seemed to sense someone in the room. He opened his eyes and took out the earbuds. ‘Woz is a goner, isn’t he?’ he said, as they sat beside the bed in the hospital chairs.

‘Woz?’ said Blackstone.

‘Mr Corrigan. Warren. It’s what I called him. Woz.’

‘Yes, Curly, he’s a goner.’

‘Would you mind calling me Gareth? I always hated Curly.’

‘What do you want, Gareth? We’re busy.’

‘It’s that copper who came to see Woz on Monday I want to talk to. Where is he?’

‘DCI Banks?’ said Annie.

‘That’s his name.’

‘I’m afraid he’s out of the country,’ said Annie. ‘I’m his partner. You can talk to me.’ She checked with Blackstone, who nodded. Her dry mouth had turned into a tightening sensation in her chest when she entered the hospital room, and she wondered whether it meant the onset of another panic attack. They happened sometimes when she skirted too close to her recent experiences. Careful, slow breathing soon brought it under control. This was nothing like what happened to her, she told herself. Curly, or Gareth, seemed fine. He’d be back out in a day or two, right as rain, not spending months in and out of places like this, having operations, fearing for his legs. But she was past that now, she told herself. It was over; she was fine. And Gareth might well be spending the next few months and more in a place even less pleasant than a hospital room.

‘First off,’ said Gareth, ‘before I tell you anything, I want to do a deal.’

‘What sort of deal?’ Blackstone asked.

‘I want immunity. I know all about Woz’s business. I even know where he keeps his books. I can name names. I know a lot, and I’m willing to tell it all, but I don’t want to go to jail. And I want protection. A new identity.’

‘I don’t know about all that, Gareth,’ said Blackstone. ‘It’s not up to me. We can put in a word for you.’

‘You’ll have to do better than that.’

‘Gareth,’ said Blackstone, ‘you haven’t been charged with anything yet. You’re not even under arrest. No doubt you have done many bad things, but they’re not our concern at the moment. Corrigan’s shooting is.’

‘It’s not as if you don’t know who did it, and why.’

‘Tip of the iceberg, Curly, tip of the iceberg.’

‘Gareth. And some of these bad things you think I’ve done might just become your concern if I start talking.’ He rested back on the pillow and grimaced with pain. ‘Bloody painkillers they give you around here are useless.’

Annie could certainly relate to that. There never seemed enough painkillers available when you were really in pain.

‘Why don’t you just tell us, Gareth?’ Blackstone pressed on. ‘You know it can only count in your favour. Otherwise, you’ll be spending countless hours in detention, in smelly interview rooms. No painkillers there.’

‘You can’t fool me, Mr Blackstone. I know my rights, and medical attention is one of them. But I’ll admit you’ve got a point. See, the thing is, I want to go straight. I’ve had enough of this.’

‘Of what?’

‘This life. Woz, and what he was doing. Robbing the poor to pay the rich. It’s disgusting. He was scum. I’ve got a conscience, you know.’

‘A bit late for that, isn’t it?’

‘It’s never too late to repent.’

‘Don’t go all religious on us, Gareth.’

‘Don’t worry, I won’t. I just think that every man should be given a second chance, that’s all. I want to go straight. I want to go back to my old line of work.’

‘What was that?’

‘Club bouncer.’

‘That’s a step up in the world.’

‘At least it’s honest work.’

‘That’s debatable.’ Blackstone leaned forward. ‘Gareth, I appreciate your change of heart, I really do. But I’ll appreciate it a lot more if you actually tell us something useful.’

‘What did you want to talk to DCI Banks about?’ Annie added.

Curly paused for a moment. The mental turmoil was clear for even Annie to see, as he debated whether to open up or not. ‘I want a lawyer first,’ he said. ‘I’ll make a deal, but I need some guarantees. On paper.’

‘So what do you think of it all,’ Joanna asked Banks that evening. They were dining alone this time, and as it had been a long day, and the weather had turned a little chilly, they had decided to eat at the hotel, but changed their minds when they heard the noise from the Karaoke Bar. Instead, they skipped over to the steakhouse at the bottom of Viru, near the gate, away from most of the parties and noisy groups. They found that wearing jackets or sweaters, and with the help of the well-placed heaters, they were fine outside, and plenty of others seemed to agree. The steaks were a bit more pricey than Clazz, but excellent quality.

‘I liked her,’ Banks said.

‘I expect most men would agree with you.’

‘Hey, now, wait a minute before you start getting all women’s lib on me. I admire what she’s done. She was on a downward slope – drugs, sex clubs, bad boys, the lot – and she pulled herself up by the boot strings. She’s got guts, and a fair dollop of common sense. Not a bad-looking broad, either.’

Joanna nudged him playfully. ‘Bastard,’ she said.

Banks drank some more wine. ‘You don’t believe her story?’

‘Most of it,’ Joanna said. ‘I’m inclined to think she abridged it, and censored it a little here and there for general consumption.’

‘Oh, you’re such cynics in Professional Standards. Don’t you believe anybody?’

‘I’ve always found it’s a good starting point.’

‘So what are you going to put in your report?’

‘Which one?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The one on Bill Quinn, or the one on you?’

‘If you’re planning a report on me, I can guarantee you’ll have met with a mysterious accident before you get to the airport.’

Joanna laughed. ‘Oh, you’re not as bad as you like to make out. There’d be no point doing a report on you. Nothing to put in it. Boring.’

‘I don’t know what’s worse,’ Banks said, ‘being a fit subject for you or not.’

‘Oh, take my word for it, not is best. As for Bill Quinn . . . I don’t know. He’s dead. I think that whatever I have to say, I’ll do my best to make sure it remains internal, depending on how far he went. Unless anyone else, anyone still alive, that is, turns out to be involved. There’s still the possibility that someone was manipulating him, though, that he was a rotten apple.’

‘Do you think that’s the case?’

‘I don’t know. Tell me what you think. Instruct me, oh great homicide cop.’

Banks finished his glass and poured another. Joanna held her glass out, too. He emptied the bottle. They were both a little tipsy, partly with the success of the day, and partly with the wine. ‘Larisa worked at that club I saw just around the corner from St Patrick’s. A waiter in the pub said he thought he saw Rachel turn the wrong way when she went out after her friends, but later he said he wasn’t certain.’

‘She didn’t even know where her friends were going.’

‘Let’s assume she went the wrong way. The others turned right. Rachel turned left.’

‘OK. I’m with you so far. But after that?’

‘After that, it gets a bit speculative, of course, but I think I’m assuming that Juliya’s boyfriend was involved somehow, by the sound of him. Joosep. Perhaps Rachel wandered into the club, intrigued by the sign, the lack of a name, whatever, and she bumped into him. He liked blondes, remember.’

‘He liked anything in a skirt, according to Larisa.’

‘But blondes especially. Rachel was a very pale blonde. And very lovely. I think he turned on his charm, or he did the caveman routine, one or the other, and he got her away from there, back to his flat, or wherever. Maybe she felt she was in a new exciting city, so she should have an adventure. Everyone seemed to think she was an impulsive and spontaneous sort of girl. I don’t know the details. But I think she soon realised what a big mistake she’d made, and perhaps she struggled. He didn’t like to let her go. He liked his own way. I think he had it, and then he got rid of her.’

‘How? Where?’

‘I don’t know the answers to that yet.’

‘How does DI Quinn come into it?’

‘I think Bill Quinn and Toomas Rätsepp came to the club asking questions. That’s the link we’ve been missing. That’s what Rätsepp lied to us about. They ruffled too many feathers somehow, got too close, and Joosep Rebane had to think what to do pretty fast. I think he bribed Rätsepp, but he couldn’t do that with Bill Quinn. He was a foreign cop. Another kettle of fish entirely. So he made a few enquiries. No doubt friend Rätsepp would have helped, for a fee, and found out that Bill Quinn was a happy family man with a wife and two kids he adored. But Bill Quinn was also human, and you’ve seen Larisa. So Rebane got the club manager to pick the prettiest girl in the club to set a honeytrap for him. The rest is history. They showed him the photos, told them what they wanted of him, and that was that. He didn’t like it, but what could he do? When Quinn’s wife died, word got back that the hold was broken, and perhaps that Quinn had been haunted by guilt at not being able to do anything all those years. We know Joosep Rebane likely has connections with a rough crowd, gangsters, whether in St Petersburg or Tallinn, Russian or Estonian, and he sent one of them over to deal with Bill Quinn and Mihkel Lepikson, who was going to help Quinn get his story out without incriminating himself.’

‘But how did this Joosep Rebane come to have so much power over a senior police investigator?’

‘That I don’t know,’ said Banks. ‘I don’t know how the system works here, but I can guess there’s just as much corruption as there is back home. Maybe you should get a job here?’

‘No, thanks. Do you think the Prosecutor, Ursula Mardna, was involved?’

‘Probably not. I don’t think she would have told us about the young cop Bill Quinn went out investigating with if she was involved. Aivar Kukk. I’d like to talk to him. There must be something there. Rätsepp omitted to tell us about that. But there are obviously a lot of connections we don’t get yet.’

‘And what about Mihkel Lepikson?’

‘Mihkel was the journalist on the original story, and he became friendly with Quinn. He’s an investigative reporter and contributes to a column on crime in
Eesti Telegraaf
called “
Pimeduse varjus
”. Watching the dark, or something along those lines. Joosep Rebane would have known this. He would also have kept an eye on him. Mihkel didn’t know anything, not at the time. Quinn didn’t confide in him about the photos and the blackmail. He didn’t tell anyone. Joosep Rebane nipped the investigation in the bud when it had only got as far as Rätsepp and Bill Quinn. But when Rebane found out Lepikson was also in England, he got nervous and commanded a double act. No point only killing Bill Quinn, if Mihkel Lepikson was going to blast the true story on the front page of
Eesti Telegraaf
.’