Watching the Dark (Inspector Banks Mystery) (51 page)

‘And he’s powerful enough to get away scot-free.’

‘He knows a lot of secrets. But it is not only that. You must understand, Viktor Rebane is really not a bad man. Everyone knows that his son is psycho crazy and feel sorry for Viktor. He has done a lot of good for this country since independence. Much charity work. Many jobs. Remember that. He is a respected citizen. We are close now.’

They had driven from the Metropol and were skirting Kadriorg Park, turning on to the coastal road to Viimsi. Everything had happened so quickly after Ursula Mardna had made the phone call that Banks’s head was still spinning. He was sitting in the front of the VW beside Merike, with Erik and Joanna in the back. Joanna had been very terse and offhand with Banks since they had dinner at Mekk on Sunday evening, and he guessed she was wishing she hadn’t opened up and told him her personal problems in a moment of weakness. That often happened. You tell someone something that shames you, reveals you, makes you vulnerable, then you close up and wish you’d kept quiet in the first place. It feels almost as if they’ve got something on you, got a hold over you, the way Joosep Rebane and Warren Corrigan had over Bill Quinn. He wanted to tell her he didn’t feel that way, but it wouldn’t go down well. Instead, he kept quiet on the subject. If she was still annoyed about trying to solve the Rachel Hewitt case, she was hiding it well, now, and had been as excited as Banks at the latest revelations, and the forthcoming meeting with Viktor Rebane. He felt that she could scent the end, as he could, and the aroma intoxicated her. She might make a homicide detective yet.

Viktor Rebane had agreed to meet the foreign police detectives, who had no power or jurisdiction over him, as a courtesy in a public place of his choice, and they were heading for the restaurant. Apparently he lived in Viimsi, where he had a large modern house in its own grounds, with tennis court and swimming pool.

‘So why has he agreed to see us?’ Banks asked Erik.

‘He is an old man. Sick with cancer. He is tired, and he wants to make amends before he dies. I think he has much on his conscience. He also has assurances from the very top that nothing will come back on him.’

‘Even murder?’

‘We will see,’ said Erik. ‘As a journalist, I would give a lot to be at your meeting, but he specified only you and Joanna. We will wait in the car in the parking lot. Perhaps you can help me with a story later, let me interview you? An undisclosed police source?’

‘Perhaps,’ said Banks. ‘If there is a story.’

Merike pulled into a car park off the road, by the shore. ‘It’s up there.’ She pointed ahead to a path by the beach. ‘It’s called Paat. That means boat. It looks like an upturned boat. Good luck.’

Banks and Joanna walked towards the path. It was another fine day, blue sky striped with milky white cloud, and the sea lapping at the breakwaters. The beach was mostly pebble, with a few sods of grass here and there. Over the other side, to the left, they could see the Tallinn shoreline, and straight ahead was a large island.

The path led them into the restaurant’s outside area, where a few sheltered picnic-style benches were set out against the low sea wall. The restaurant itself was nearby, and it did resemble an upturned boat. Banks, however, found his eyes more drawn to the outside area, where an old man in a windcheater sat alone at one of the picnic tables, a mug of tea or coffee steaming in front of him, while two neckless bruisers stood, hands clasped in front of their privates, scanning the grounds. Probably ex-KGB agents, Banks guessed.

When Banks and Joanna approached the table, the bruisers stepped forward and patted them down. They were gentle and discreet enough with Joanna, Banks noticed, but she clearly didn’t like it, and he didn’t blame her. They were a little rougher with him, but not enough to hurt. When they were satisfied neither had a weapon or a wire, they stood aside, and Banks and Joanna sat opposite Viktor Rebane.

He was a hunched figure, and his chin was tucked into his throat in such a way that he looked permanently on the verge of a particularly noxious burp. His bald head was liver-spotted, as were his lizard-like hands. Frown lines had eaten deep into his brow. He must have been about the same age as Rätsepp, Banks guessed, if they grew up together, but he seemed a good ten years older. The ravages of cancer, no doubt. Or its treatment.

‘First, let me not forget my hospitality,’ Viktor Rebane said. ‘May I offer you both a drink?’

‘Why not?’ said Banks. ‘I’ll have beer, please. A. Le Coq if they have it.’

‘Excellent choice. And the lady?’

‘Just a cappuccino, please,’ said Joanna, clearly still smarting from her patting down.

Rebane snapped his fingers and the closest no-neck went off to the bar. As if sensing Joanna’s mood, Rebane said, his yellowish eyes twinkling, ‘I do apologise about the body search, my dear, but man in my position cannot be too careful. Beautiful woman is often most dangerous weapon.’

‘Is that an old Estonian proverb?’ said Joanna.

Rebane smiled. ‘No. Is old Viktor Rebane proverb. The reason I agree to see you now, so soon,’ Rebane continued, ‘is I have appointment at hospital this afternoon. I am very tired and sick after chemotherapy, for many days. I am sure you understand.’

‘Of course,’ said Banks. ‘And we’re very grateful you took the trouble to talk to us. Perhaps you can help us answer a number of questions?’

‘Perhaps. First thing I tell you is I do not know where my son is, so please do not ask. Joosep and I have not spoken for many years now. He is always difficult child. Wild, unpredictable. Especially after his mother die. He is only ten at the time. He keep very bad company. Perhaps I spoil him. It is fashionable to blame parents, is it not? Do you have a son, Hr Banks?’

‘I do,’ said Banks. ‘He’s a musician.’

‘Is good. In Estonia we love music. My son is drug-dealer, people-trafficker and gangster. But he is still my son. Do you understand that?’

‘I think so,’ said Banks.

‘How far you go to protect
your
son?’

Banks thought for a moment. ‘Probably a long way,’ he answered. ‘But I might draw the line if he raped and killed women.’

An expression of pain passed across Rebane’s face, and immediately Banks felt guilty for being so brutally cruel; it had been unnecessary. No-neck came back with the drinks.

‘Joosep tell me the girl die of a drug overdose,’ Rebane whispered.

‘What girl?’

‘The one you are interested in. I am a father. I have daughter, too, with my third wife. She is twenty-one. I am proud of her, and I love her. That is perhaps the real reason I am talking to you. I feel something for the parents of this girl.’

‘It’s taken you a bloody long time.’

Rebane gave an impatient shake of his head. ‘It is easier to forget when nothing reminds you. There are always many other things to think about. I regret most of all the things I did not do, not the things I did. But now . . .’ He shook his head slowly. ‘Too much has happened. Old wounds have reopened. I am a businessman, Hr Banks. I am not interested in your moral judgements. I have perhaps done many wrong things for my business interests. I have made many enemies. Do you understand?’

‘I think so.’

‘Six years ago Joosep is my beloved son. Now, he is a stranger to me.’

‘Will you tell me what happened six years ago?’

Viktor remained silent for a few moments. Seagulls squealed over a shoal of fish close to shore. ‘Joosep come to see me. He is very upset. Most agitated. When I ask him what is wrong, he tell me a girl die of a drug overdose at his party. An English girl. He tell me he is sitting in nightclub. You know which club?’

‘I know.’

‘He is sitting in nightclub with friends. My nightclub. They are ready to leave, and this beautiful girl comes in. A vision. She has lost her friends. Joosep, he tells me he ask her if she want to go to party, and after he will drive her to her hotel. She says yes, and they go in his car. But at party, girl drinks more and takes drugs, and in morning they find her dead. She has . . . how do you say . . .’ He pointed to his throat, what little there was of it to see, ‘Choke.’

‘Asphyxiated,’ said Banks. ‘Choked will do. Choked on her own vomit?’

‘Yes.’

‘So what happened?’

‘He is in trouble, and he wants me to help him. Then, on Wednesday morning, Toomas, my old friend, telephones to tell me that Joosep’s name, my name, and the nightclub also, have come up in the investigation, and I ask my friend Toomas to stop it, if he can, to make sure it goes no further. It is not too late. Toomas will do that for me. He will help Joosep. And for money, of course. He know I will be very grateful.’

‘Of course,’ said Banks. ‘It’s comforting to know that corruption’s no different here than anywhere else.’

‘Perhaps. I am not so certain. Or you are being ironic, yes? You English.’

‘Maybe just a little bit. So Toomas Rätsepp shut down the investigation?’

‘He close off that direction. Yes. Is easy because not many people know. Barman from St Patrick pub, of course. But he is easy. Threat of beating and ticket back to Australia. And junior investigator who report his findings to Toomas. Also easy if he want to stay in job, have promotion. Beating, too. English policeman is problem.’

‘Bill Quinn,’ said Banks.

‘Yes. We cannot warn him to stop or threaten him. Is madness to assassinate foreign cop on Estonian soil. We need different solution.’

‘And you thought of one.’

‘I have trusted colleague pick out pretty girl from club and give her money. You know the rest. Accidental meeting arranged in the hotel bar. Drinks. A sleeping powder. Dinner. Photographs. Easy.’

Joanna charged in now, as Banks had expected she would. This was the part of the story that interested her the most. ‘So you’re saying that you arranged with the girl to have Bill Quinn seduced, drugged and photographed in a compromising position, then you blackmailed him?’

Rebane nodded, which made him look even more as if he were about to burp. ‘It is only way to save my son. I help him out of many difficulties. Back then I always had hope he would change, that he would stop being wild and foolish. But he has gone other direction. I can help him no more. He is lost to me. But you will never find him. Despite everything, he is still my son, and I will not have him locked in prison or mental hospital.’

‘And when Bill Quinn’s wife died, your blackmail didn’t work any more.’

‘No,’ said Rebane. ‘By then Joosep know what I have done, and he has taken photos some years before. He now has business, criminal business, in United Kingdom, and he think it useful to have policeman . . . how you say?’

‘In his pocket?’ Banks suggested.

Rebane didn’t quite seem to understand but grunted his agreement anyway.

Banks said, ‘But Bill Quinn was going to tell all after his wife died, wasn’t he, so you had to find another way of dealing with him. You sent Robert Tamm.’

Rebane seemed puzzled. ‘Robert Tamm? He does not work for me. He work . . .’

‘For Joosep?’

‘I do not kill Detective Quinn, or order kill. I have nothing to do with murder.’

‘Of course not. But your son does, doesn’t he? He has already used the blackmail against Quinn over the years to smooth his illegal operations in the UK, and suddenly they’re threatened. He finds out that Bill Quinn and an Estonian journalist called Mihkel Lepikson are planning to tell the whole sorry story. So Joosep has them both killed. You might not do it yourself, but you’re quite happy to leave him free to murder and maim and rape and ruin as many lives as he wants, aren’t you?’ said Banks.

Rebane banged his skinny fist on the table. ‘He is my son! What would you have me do? I tell you I am not interested in your cheap morality. Take what you are given and be grateful. Like scraps for the dogs. Georg!’ One of the no-necks came over. ‘Georg. Help me. We will leave now. I am tired.’ Viktor Rebane struggled to his feet with Georg’s help.

Banks and Joanna remained seated. ‘I have one more question,’ said Banks.

Rebane stared down at him, still shaking with fury. ‘You have great deal of nerve, my friend,’ he said through gritted teeth.

‘Where is Rachel Hewitt?’

During the three hours it took to drive to Võrumaa, Banks sat in the back with Joanna and dozed or gazed out on the scenery, going over the whole case in his mind, especially the end of the meeting at Paat where Viktor Rebane had glared at him for so long he was certain the old man was not going to tell him anything. But Rebane finally whispered a location, then hobbled off with Georg’s help.

Erik and Merike sat up front navigating and chatting quietly in Estonian. The radio played quiet jazz.

Perhaps, Banks thought, he had been too hard on Viktor Rebane, but he didn’t like gangsters who pretended to be respectable. Maybe Viktor
was
a respectable businessman who had done a lot for his country, but Banks was willing to believe he had done more than a few things that needed sweeping under the carpet, too, and that Toomas Rätsepp had helped him more than once. You don’t keep company like the no-necks Viktor was with for no reason. But he was untouchable, and that didn’t really matter too much; he was clearly dying. Joosep Rebane was out of sight, perhaps hiding in St Petersburg with his Russian gangster friends, Banks guessed. There would be plenty of police forces watching out for him across Europe, but it was more of a waiting game than a chase or a hunt.