by Lena Bourne
“The evidence seems to point that way,” he says and starts eating again too, that faraway look in his eyes that he always gets when he’s thinking getting deeper and deeper. But it’s not as deep and dazed as it usually got when he was still working for the US Military.
“I just got through telling the team that we shouldn’t jump to any conclusions yet,” he says and chuckles. “We shouldn’t either.”
“I think some kind of darkness followed Anita and I think her death is closely connected to her sister’s disappearance,” I say. “That side of the case was never properly investigated, which is why I think it was never solved.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “You got all that from Anita’s file?”
I shrug. “Yes. And possibly a healthy dose of imagination thrown in. Or something along the lines of a gut feeling, maybe. While doing deep research for my books, I read thousands of background reports on the victims. Often smoke was visible long before the fire was discovered, if you know what I mean.”
“You think her sister’s disappearance was the smoke?” he asks. “But that happened years before Anita was killed.”
“I think it very well could be, is what I’m saying,” I say, maybe a little too edgily. “And I want to go there to see if I’m right.”
“Alright,” he says lazily and leaves it at that.
“Her brother was also killed a few days before her,” I add. “That’s another reason I think all those deaths are connected. Do you see my logic?”
I hate how desperate I sound for him to get me. To see things as I do.
He nods. “I think it’s definitely a good idea to check all that out.”
“But?” I ask, because I just know there is one.
“But Anita died years after her sister’s disappearance,” he says. “I’d sooner assume the reason she was killed is in what she did after she left home. Plus, you’re assuming her sister’s disappearance involved foul play. And as far as I could tell from the mention of it in the file, the official verdict is that she simply left.”
“The official verdict is that she’s gone and no one knows where,” I say, my cheeks growing hotter. “I just have a feeling, alright?”
He shakes his head and chuckles. “Alright, then you should definitely follow it.”
He’s not mocking me. In fact, I’m sure he finds my wild hotheadedness endearing. But it’s still a little annoying.
“Where will you stay in Bosnia?” he asks. “As far as I know tourism isn’t exactly at its height there and they have a big land mine problem.”
“Not where I’m going, I don’t think,” I say. “I called one of the girls I interviewed for my article on prostitution in Berlin. You know, the one we helped return home? Renata.”
The smile is gone from his face and his eyes, replaced by that dark, deep haunting look that only thinking about The Fairytale Killer brings. I didn’t want to remind him. I didn’t want to call that darkness into this softly lit cozy restaurant.
“She’s from the same town as Anita?” he asks in a choked voice.
“Yes, and she’s there now, taking care of her grandmother,” I say. “She said I can stay for as long as I want. There is a hotel there, but I think staying with one of the locals will be better for getting all the gossip and other info about Anita’s family from the neighbors and friends.”
“Good,” he says and eats some more in silence, the haunting look lingering in his eyes. I focus on my food instead of getting swallowed up in it.
“You sure you want to go alone?” he finally asks.
I’ve been working on not flying off the handle every time he shows any sign of wanting to protect me from the big bad world. It’s getting easier. The urge is there now, but it’s neither strong nor pressing.
“It’s a small town and I’ll be staying with a friend. I’ll be perfectly safe,” I say.
“When’s your bus?” he asks. His jumping between supporting me in this and showing concern is giving me whiplash.
“Ten tomorrow morning,” I say.
“Then I suggest we don’t spend the whole evening talking about the case,” he says and finally smiles again after what feels like years. “I’m sure we’ll be doing plenty of that from tomorrow onwards.”
I can’t really argue with his logic and wouldn’t if I could. For the first time since I made plans to visit Anita’s village I realize it also means I’ll be spending time away from Mark.
These last few months with him have been the happiest and most calm and peaceful time I’ve ever lived. I’m itching to find Anita’s killer. But I’m not eager to let go of the peace and comfort of our quasi-honeymoon either. So I nod, squeeze his hand and tell him to eat up. The sooner we get back to the cottage, the more time we’ll have together before we have to say goodbye.
Eva
The sky outside was starless and a deep, almost black indigo when the alarm clock woke us. The strong bora wind that picked up overnight was rattling the shutters and making the glass windows chime while Mark showered and I packed my suitcase for the trip. We both agreed that last night wasn’t long enough and that dawn was too early to be up, but beyond that, we didn’t speak much.
Nor have we said much to each other on the drive to the office, which took us clear through sunrise and the morning gridlock caused by people going to Ljubljana to work.
When we finally made it just before eight, the rest of the team was already gathered at the large glass conference table in the office, each with their own colorful cup of steaming coffee.
A pink pastry box is open in the center of the table, but no one’s eating. Mark walks to the table without taking his jacket off first and turns to me when he reaches it.
“Eva will be helping us on this case,” he says. “She’s going to Anita’s village today to try and find out more about her from friends and relatives.”
“I think it’s possible whoever killed her knew her from back home,” I say as I join him at the table.
The rest are nodding to my words politely, even the new guy, Walter, whose cheeks are red like he just got done shaving with an exceptionally sharp razor. All except Brina, who looks like she hasn’t changed her clothes in a while, or combed her hair, for that matter. She’s shaking her head at me.
“I doubt you’ll find anything there,” she says. “Her family’s all gone. Her only surviving brother moved away years ago, her grandparents are dead, and…what I’m trying to say is that I’ve already been there five years ago and uncovered no new leads. I think we should focus on the Leskovar connection.”
“And we will do that here,” Mark says, surprising me by not jumping on the chance to persuade me not to go to Bosnia. Or not really. He probably knows there’s no way he’ll sway me to change my mind once it’s made up. “And Eva will find out what she can from the people in the village. As I understand it, the place is very small, so I’m sure everyone knows everyone there.”
I give him a grateful smile and sit down next to Brina. He takes a seat too and looks at Walter.
“Did you get the CCTV footage?” he asks. “We might as well check that first.”
Walter nods and stands up so fast he sends his wheeled office chair rolling about a meter away from the table.
“Yes, I got it,” he says. “It’s already loaded up into the computer.”
The reason he got up so fast was so he could rush to the computer that controls the big overhead screen. Mark and I roll our chairs in opposite directions and away from the screen to better see it.
“I already watched it,” Walter says. “And I only saw one thing that could be of interest to us.”
The black and white footage that he’s now called onto the screen is separated into three squares, one big one on the left side and two smaller ones on the right, one over the other.
“Feeds from different cameras,” he explains, quite unnecessarily.
“The big one is the front door, and the smaller ones are the back door and the side door,” he adds.
&
nbsp; What we’re seeing is an empty area in front of each of those doors. The timestamp reads 18.00 and the video is paused.
“Should I fast forward and show everything?” he asks Mark, who winces.
“Did the mayor go in and out at all?” Mark asks.
Walter shakes his head. “No, he left at around five, like the security guy said, and didn't come back again. At least not via any of these doors.”
“What’s the interesting thing you found?” Mark asks.
Walter clears his throat. “A car leaving the parking lot at the back of the building at just before three AM. It looks shiny and black, but that’s about all. I thought it could be the mayor’s black Lexus.”
He rolls the footage and there the side of a car leaving the lot is indeed visible on both of the smaller screens. But it’s impossible to tell what kind it is, let alone who is driving it.
Mark must be thinking the same thing, I can tell by the look in his eyes as he fixes them on Walter.
“Is this all the footage they have?” he asks. “There’s no cameras pointing to the parking lot?”
“There has to be,” Slava says. “It’s the town hall. I bet they even have cameras in the hallways.”
Walter turns even redder. “This is what the security guard gave me. But I did see there’s a ramp to get into the parking lot. So whoever was driving that car had to have had the access key, or whatever they use.”
Mark rolls his chair back to the table. “You’ll go back there and ask if there’s any other footage. You’ll also find out which of the employees have access to the back parking lot, and if any of them were parked there the night before last. Dino will go with you. And then, when you get back, you’ll go over the footage with Rok, frame by frame. On second thought, ask for the feed of the last two weeks. Everything they have.”
Dino groaned and flashed Mark a slightly annoyed look, but didn’t protest.
“Brina and I will go speak to the ex-wife and try to find the daughter,” Mark says. “And Slava, please check in with Ida and the ME to see how far along they are in processing the evidence.”
They all nod, except Walter who is looking at Mark with his mouth slightly ajar. “I thought I was looking for the daughter,” he blurts out.
“We’ll take over,” Mark says and I can just sense he’s not best pleased with Walter’s performance, but Mark being Mark, he’s not reprimanding the man in front of everyone. Knowing him, he probably already has a whole plan made on how to get the most out of the kid. For someone as used to working alone as he is, Mark is actually a very good leader. A natural, I suppose. I bet he’d disagree if I said that to him though.
He turns to me. “And I’ll take you to the bus station now.”
Telling him I can just walk there by myself since it’s only about ten minutes away is on the tip of my tongue, but as soon as our eyes lock I know I want to spend these last forty-five minutes before my bus leaves with him.
“Great, we can walk there,” I say and stand up.
Dino catches up to us in front of the elevator.
“I’m meeting a couple of my informants today,” he says. “Do you really need me to babysit the kid?”
I know for a fact that Mark appreciates the way Dino never beats around the bush. But judging by his wince, I think he’d prefer if Dino hadn’t been quite this honest right now.
“We need that information and I don’t trust Walter to get it,” Mark says. “For now, I plan to have him tag along with one of us. You’re up first.”
Dino sighs. “You know best, Boss. So you want me to give him some pointers?”
Mark shrugs. “Can’t hurt.”
“No, it definitely can’t,” Dino says, chuckles, and walks back to the office, where Walter is waiting for him just inside the glass doors.
“Walter just needs some practice,” I say once we enter the elevator, even though I don’t really know much about these things.
“I hope you’re right,” Mark says as he presses the button for the lobby.
The office building is right by the Ljubljanica River, which is flowing fast and dark green today. A chill is rising off it, but otherwise, it’s another pleasant sunny spring day. Perfect for a stroll along the not-so-crowded streets.
He’s wheeling my suitcase with one hand and has the other one around my shoulders as we walk. I love how natural it is for us to move that way, as one.
“The next time one of us goes somewhere, we’ll go together,” he says and it’s a statement of fact and a promise all rolled into one.
“I’d like that,” I say. “I hope it’s soon.”
He hugs me tighter as we walk on in silence. And by the time we reach the bus station, I’m not at all sure I want to get on that bus.
Mark
In most ways, Slovenia is much neater and more organized than the rest of the former Yugoslavian countries, but Ljubljana’s main bus and train station has got to be up there with the worst of them. The train terminal is all right if dated, but the buses that leave from here are just parked on a wide section of sidewalk, packed together like sardines, and there’s no good place to say a proper goodbye. Or know which bus is the right one, for that matter. We kiss for a while anyway, despite being watched from all sides, and I tell her to call me as soon as she gets there.
Once she boards her bus I can’t even see her anymore because the windows are nearly black. I still wait until it takes off before heading back to the office.
Brina is waiting for me by the entrance to the office building, eating a sandwich which, judging by the grimace on her face, must be disgusting though probably isn’t. The circles around her eyes are maybe a little lighter than they were last night. I doubt she slept much, but at least she’s eating.
When she sees me approaching, she stuffs the sandwich back into the paper bag it came in, bunches it up, and tosses it.
“Come on,” she says. “I just spoke to the ex-wife. She’s showing a house now, but says she has time to meet with us now.”
I fight the urge to tell her she could’ve finished her sandwich in the car as I lead the way to the garage entrance.
“The ex-wife is a successful real estate agent, right?” I ask once we’re in the car.
“Yes,” Brina says, checking her phone. “She says she’ll meet us in front of the Rožna Mall at 11.45.”
“I figured she’d be home,” I say. “With Leskovar dead and everything.”
Brina keeps her eyes fixed dead ahead. “I don’t know if there was any love lost between them. They started dating early on in high school and were married for almost forty years. The last time I spoke to her, she pretty much told me she didn’t want much to do with him at all.”
“This was concerning his involvement with Anita’s murder?” I ask. “What do you think that was? From the case notes, it seems he was just one of several patrons of the strip club she worked at.”
Brina looks at me sharply. “That’s what everyone thinks. And that’s because he and his friends made sure of it. But I know he and Anita had a much more complicated relationship than that. I’m pretty sure they were dating I’m hoping his wife will finally confirm that for us today. She more or less did the last time I spoke to her.”
“I’ll take the lead on this interview,” I tell her and get another sharp look which I ignore.
If she hadn’t set up this meeting right now, I’d be sitting down with her to go over all she has on this case. Not doing it before now was an oversight on my part. I’m hoping it won’t prove too big a mistake. I have to weed out what she has and what she thinks she does.
In my whole career with the US Military, I only had one case which took years to solve, mainly because of red tape. I know how frustrating that can get. I also know how easy it is to start seeing connections everywhere in a situation like that, even in places where they don’t exist.
Brina is certain Leskovar is deeply involved in Anita’s case. I think she believes he killed her. But as far as I can tell, t
hat’s just her suspicion at this point. That’s why drawing conclusions in a case without hard evidence can be so damaging. Then again, he did ask Anita’s forgiveness right before he died. So she could be right.
There’s almost no traffic so we reach the mall in less than fifteen minutes. It’s a sprawling, two-story rectangular building made of concrete and metal. Very 1980s and kind of cool in a retro way.
“That’s her,” Brina says, pointing at a tall woman in a pink skirt and matching jacket standing next to a tan-colored SUV.
I park in the space next to her, and as soon as I exit the car a cloud of thick, musky perfume envelops me, almost making me gag with its oriental undertones. I hope we can conduct this interview outdoors or I’ll walk away from it with a headache.
“Mrs. Leskovar?” I ask and she frowns.
“I go by my maiden name now—Kolar,” she says.
I introduce myself and end it with an assertion that she already knows Brina.
“I do,” she says, frowning even worse now. Maybe I should’ve come here alone.
“Come, we’ll have a cup of coffee while we speak,” she says in a tone that clearly says she’s used to having things her way. There’s no point disagreeing, so I tell her to lead the way. Her long blonde hair is perfectly curled and it bounces as she walks in front of us, leaving a trail of her perfume behind.
She leads us to a small café at the corner of the mall and thankfully takes a seat at one of the outdoor tables—a metal top spindly affair with matching chairs. An older man is sitting at a table at the other end of the café’s outdoor area, reading the newspaper, but apart from him, we’re alone.
The waitress comes as soon as we sit down, and I get an espresso, while the two women order cappuccinos.
“I already spoke to your colleague yesterday, so I don’t know why we need to speak again,” Mrs. Kolar says as soon as the waitress leaves. She has one of those loud, carrying voices and it makes the old man look up from his newspaper and stare at us.
“We have a few more questions, if you don’t mind,” I say in a friendly voice, since there’s no point antagonizing her. She seems to be looking for a fight.