by Lena Bourne
She laughs harshly. “Men like that are a dime a dozen around here. Only an idiot falls for their stories anymore. I’d like to think Esma wasn’t an idiot.”
We’re past the last of the houses on this street and there is virtually no street illumination here at all, just a huge field of tall grass and a narrow path leading across it. The moon is supposed to be almost full, but it’s not in the sky yet. The only light is an orange glow in the distance. It must be from the town center, and it doesn’t look far at all, maybe a kilometer tops. The darkness could be the reason my stomach is a ball of fear and anxiety now. I never felt safe in the middle of nowhere. Or maybe it’s Renata’s silence.
She laughs again. It’s still not a happy sound. “If Esma left on her own, I think she left just like I did, and then something happened to her. Just as something could easily have happened to me if I hadn’t come to you for help in time.”
I smile at her, but I’m not sure she can see it in the dark. The orange glow given off by the town center is drawing nearer as we walk, but it’s still quite far.
“This boyfriend of hers, the one who raised the fuss over her being missing…could he have had something to do with it?” I ask, since I know there’s something behind that silence that followed my question, and the tight way she tried to laugh it off.
She stops dead and turns to me. I can hardly make out her face. The cool wind is rustling the grass growing tall in the field all around us, making it hiss. My heart starts racing even though I’m certain I have nothing to fear.
“I don’t much like talking about Esma or Anita, and I’m sorry I haven’t mentioned anything sooner. I mean, I could’ve ended up like her, couldn’t I?” she says, shuddering. “But you helped me a lot in Berlin, so I’ll answer your questions and tell you what I know if you want. It’s not much though.”
“OK, thanks,” I say feeling a little mean for asking her to talk about something that clearly bothers her.
She doesn’t resume our walk, so I don’t either. And maybe the middle of a dark field, eerie though it may be, is the best place to get this information out of her.
“Esma’s whole family isn’t well-regarded around here,” she says. “Her father turned into a violent angry drunk after his wife died, and his children were pretty wild, like I already said. The girls carrying on with their boyfriends, drinking, and smoking and not going to school, that kind of thing. And the sons and father not doing anything to stop them. It rubbed a lot of people the wrong way.”
“Including Fata?” I ask as she pauses for breath.
“Yes,” she says wryly. “I remember that growing up, she’d often scoff at the Rajić sisters, telling me not to ever act like them. They were something of a disgrace in the neighborhood since they lived so close to us. I remember Fata and her friends gossiping about them back then, but not everything that was said. I do remember it was the first time I heard that you could go into bigger cities and there’d be bars and clubs open all night there.”
She chuckles at the memory.
“So after Esma disappeared, they talked about how she must’ve run off to a city? With a man?”
She nods. “And what a slut she was. And how now she’d become a proper whore. Most of the older women don’t have a very good opinion of the ones that left. I got harassed some after I returned, but Fata and her friends put an end to it. Thankfully. The bullying got so bad, I almost left again at one point.”
She sounds so bitter as she says it I can’t help but take her arm and squeeze reassuringly. Not enough is done to help women like her reenter society. I’d planned to write that as a follow-up article to my famous prostitution article, but it fell to the wayside after The Fairytale Killer struck again and all that happened afterward. Maybe I should do it now, though.
“Anyway, Esma’s father did actually discipline his children, too much if you ask me,” she says. “I heard he locked them in the basement for days when they misbehaved. I always thought that was terrible, but Fata and her friends kind of thought it was good. I remember being afraid she’d do it to me for a while. That scary story is part of the reason I didn’t want to go into the house earlier. Imagine being locked in the basement.”
She shudders again.
“No wonder they all wanted to leave,” I say. “I would too.”
“Only the oldest brother left though, Tarik,” she says. “The rest stayed. Just not long after Esma disappeared.”
“About five years, right?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No, I think it was less. But they were still here when I left. Another reason why Fata dislikes the Rajić family so much is that before Anita left, she went around all the neighboring houses and stole all valuables she could find. She stole my grandma’s wedding ring, which is all the jewelry she had.”
“That’s terrible,” I say. “It sounds like she was desperate.”
Renata scoffs. “Must have been, but who steals from people who already have nothing?”
“It’s unforgivable, I agree,” I say, since she’s waiting for a response from me.
“And then she just left?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says. “And never came back. Not even for her father’s funeral.”
“So it was the brother in Austria who arranged that?” I ask.
“I suppose,” she says.
“And he’s the one who makes sure their house doesn’t collapse?”
My eyes have adjusted to the darkness enough to see her shrug. “You’d have to ask Rado, the guy who keeps the house from falling down. But I’m not sure he actually gets paid for it.”
“So he’s related to them too?” I ask. “Like a cousin or something?”
She shakes her head. “His brother was Milo, Esma’s boyfriend. He dated Anita, I think. Or that’s what it seemed like. The four of them, they were always together, getting up to no good. Plus Rado’s cousin, Marina, and Anita’s other brother. They were like the cool six in town. A gang. Now only Rado is left. And Marina too, I guess, but she’s married with children and has a good job. I don’t think they speak.”
“Do you think you could introduce her to me?” I ask, maybe a little too excitedly. But I’m thinking she must have the best firsthand knowledge about Esma and Anita of anyone in town.
“Sure,” she says.
“Why doesn’t Esma’s boyfriend care for the house?” I ask.
“Because he killed himself two years after she disappeared,” she says. “The way Fata tells it, he was ridiculed something awful for holding a candle to the slut Esma for so long. And shunned for loving a whore too, since everyone also believed that’s how she was earning money wherever she was. He traveled all over Europe for months looking for her. But he had no luck. So he came back and hung himself in the oak that grows at the back of the Rajić house. That’s the second reason I find that house so creepy.”
She chuckles nervously again.
Whoa, that’s a lot to take in. It takes me a few moments to sort it all out in my head. So many lives were ruined here.
“What a sad story,” I finally say.
“I wouldn’t ask Rado too many questions about it, though,” she says. “He really doesn’t like talking about it.”
“You already told him I’m here asking questions about Anita and Esme?” I ask.
She chuckles. “I texted him, yes. We’re friends. I felt bad about how I stopped you from going into the house earlier. But I just find it all so creepy and sad.”
I think she feels the same about this conversation we’re having. So I wrap my arm around her shoulders and hug her tight. “Let’s go back to the house? Hearing all these sad stories really put me off being outside tonight.”
“Talking about it did the same for me,” she says, sounding relieved. “It’s just so tragic, isn’t it?”
“It sure is.”
I keep my arm around her shoulders as we start walking back, and she puts hers around my waist. The moon is starting to rise in the distance, about half o
f it visible above the roofs of the houses there, one of which could very well be Anita’s.
I wasn’t exaggerating when I said the tale gave me the creeps, and I’m surprised at just how much I’m looking forward to being back behind the thick walls of her grandma’s house. I don’t usually react that way to hearing tragic tales, so I’m not sure what’s going on. Maybe it’s just Renata’s fear rubbing off on me.
I came here looking for answers about Anita’s death, but I don’t think I’ll find them. The people here, with the possible exception of Rado the caretaker, have written her and her family off a long time ago.
12
Mark
The entire team minus Mira, our secretary, is gathered around the glass conference table when Brina and I return to the office, ready for the evening meeting which had become standard practice during the last case we worked on. Even Rok, the tech guy is here today, hunched over his black laptop with rainbow-colored lights under the keyboard. He’s so into whatever he’s doing on it, he doesn’t even notice us walk up to the table.
I ask them to report what they found out that day, while I take off my coat and head to the little alcove kitchen to pour myself a cup of the coffee I smelled when walking in.
Unfortunately, they don’t have much to report. None of them made much headway in their investigations, though Dino had uncovered a contact who knew a guy who had worked with Leskovar back in the day.
“And this guy wasn’t someone Leskovar would know from any kind of legal endeavor either,” Dino asserts. “He’s deep in the mob. I just hope he’ll talk to me.”
“Do what you can,” I tell him, then ask Rok if he found anything interesting to share with us, since he’s the only one who hasn’t spoken yet.
He clears his throat, nods, clicks a few keys on the keyboard and the large screen TV behind me comes on, showing a grainy, black and white video, on pause.
“Dino and Walter brought back some more footage today,” Rok says, his stutter barely noticeable. “From the convenience store across the street from the town hall.”
“Good initiative,” I tell Dino, but he chuckles and points at Walter.
“It was the kid’s idea,” he says and Walter’s cheeks turn a peachy red color, though he seems very pleased with the compliment.
“I just thought their cameras might have caught the car we saw leaving the parking lot as it entered,” he says.
“And they did,” Rok says. “But I can’t get the license plate number, because the video quality is too low.”
It would be nice to get an actual, tangible lead in this case. Very nice indeed.
“Show us,” I tell him and he rolls the clip. It’s of a dark sedan rolling rather slowly past the town hall, but it doesn’t show it actually entering the parking lot. The timestamp reads 02.05 on the day Leskovar was killed.
“Is that it?” I ask once Rok pauses the video again and looks at me expectantly. “How do we even know it’s the same car?”
“You didn’t see it?” he asks, stuttering just a little.
He clacks away on the keyboard for a bit and the video comes back on, this time showing a close-up of the left side of the car. The screen is split down the middle now, and the other window shows the car from the original, town hall parking lot video, also showing a close-up of the side of the car we saw in it. A white square with some undecipherable writing is visible in the corner, on the car’s silver rear bumper. It’s there on both of them.
“The sticker, do you see it?” Rok asks. “It’s the same.”
“It couldn’t just be dead pixels or something?” I ask. “There really isn’t much there.”
Rok shakes his head. “It’s the same car, I’m sure of it. The measurements all add up. And I don’t think it’s a Lexus, or anything close to that class of car. It’s an old model and something cheaper.”
How he can get all that from these grainy images is beyond me, but then again, I’ve never been super techy and I trust his work.
“See if you can find anything else to go on, “I tell him. “But show me the license plate first.”
He does and it’s as he said, grainy beyond being even a little legible.
“It doesn’t look like a Slovenian one, though, does it? I’d expect there to be at least a dot there,” I say, pointing at a spot about one-third from the edge. “You know, the coat of arms.”
As far as I know, Slovenia is the only EU country that has a coat of arms as part of their license plates. And there are at least fifty different ones, depending on the region, county, city, or I don’t know what, the car is registered in. Ljubljana’s is a dragon sitting atop a castle against a red background, depicting the dragon that, as legend has it, lived here in antiquity and was killed by a brave knight, or prince or something. The dragon is also Ljubljana’s main symbol.
Rok peers at the image on his screen, his nose almost touching the screen. “You make a good point. Something should be there if it’s a Slovenian license plate. Though Austrians also have a coat of arms on their license plate.”
Well, that’s me corrected.
He looks up at me. “Give me some more time, I have some ideas on how to maybe make it a little clearer.”
“Will you be able to though?” Slava asks. “This video looks too grainy to do much with to me.”
“I just got this fancy new program,” Rok says, stuttering badly again. It’s definitely connected to being put on the spot for him.
“Do what you can,” I tell him. “And you, Slava, have you uncovered anything evidence-wise?”
She scoffs. “I had some trouble being there, while they processed it. Basically, they wouldn’t let me in the room. Bureaucracy. Things I thought were taken care of.”
She gives Simon a very pointed look and he sighs loudly.
“I’ve been working on getting you the clearance all day, as well you know,” he says. “It’s taking longer because Leskovar was such a VIP, and also because the case is already officially closed.”
“That was fast,” I blurt out. “They’re not even waiting for all the evidence to be processed.”
Slava shrugs. “As far as I’m aware, they found nothing out of the ordinary so far. Ida said she would go over it all and keep me posted, but so far she hasn’t been in touch.”
I nod and turn to Brina. “How about you tell them what you told me over lunch now.”
She looks stricken, but then clears her throat and starts talking. A few sentences in and she has their full and undivided attention. But Simon’s frown keeps growing deeper and darker the longer she speaks.
She also presents all we learned today. By the time she’d done, Simon is sitting straight as a board in his office chair.
“This is the line we want to take?” he asks breathlessly. “Going after all these prominent people on the word of an old man who likes to look out his window and gossip? I think we need more than that.”
“Do we though?” I ask. “I mean, we can start slow and verify his information first. But we should go ask the Derganec brothers a few questions. And the ex-wife. Something is definitely going on there, you can’t deny it. I mean, we’re either investigating this case or we’re not.”
Now, I have no intention of dropping the case, and as far as I’m concerned it’s not Simon’s call who we speak to, it’s mine, since I’m heading this task force. But we’re going to need to have this conversation eventually, so it might as well be now.
“That’s not what I’m saying,” he says defensively. “I just think we should tread lightly.”
“I’m afraid you and I might have different ideas about what that means,” I say and grin at him. “The only thing I can promise you is that I won’t antagonize them unduly.”
“They’re involved in Anita’s case, Simon,” Brina says harshly. “I understand it’s a nuisance from your bureaucratic perspective, but it is what it is. She deserves justice. And if they’ve harmed more girls, then they do too.”
“I wasn’t imply
ing we let them walk,” Simon hisses, his cheeks bright red now.
“No? Because it kind of sounded that way to me,” Brina snaps back.
“Alright, this isn’t productive,” I say. “Simon, we’re following the leads as they come. Brina, I’m sure Simon wants this case solved as much as you do.”
Simon nods curtly and she just shrugs.
“I say we call it a night now,” I suggest before either of them can say anything more to resume their fight.
Slava, Dino, Walter, and Rok all stand up practically at the same time.
“That’s a good idea, Boss,” Dino says. Brina gets up too, grabs her coat off the back of her chair, and stomps to her office. Simon looks after her, then retreats to his own office without saying anything. I bet they’ll go at it again as soon as they’re alone here, but they’re both adults and I’m not going to sit around and babysit them.
As soon as they’re all gone, I put my coat on too. I’m not relishing the long drive back to my cottage, which will be cold, dark, and empty tonight. Eva still hasn’t called me like she said she would, but I hope that happens soon. I didn’t think I’d miss her as much as I do, but I’m seriously considering just bunking down on the sofa in my office rather than face sleeping in our bed without her. But that’s something the old me would’ve done. The one who couldn’t separate his work and his private life, and I’m determined not to walk down that path ever again.
13
Eva
Fata’s house is a boxy, two-floor plus attic, brick and mortar place, with large hallways and small rooms. The downstairs has the kitchen, living room, and small bathroom, while the upstairs, accessible via a set of narrow stairs, has two bedrooms and another bathroom. A large section of the upstairs is unfinished and there’s room there for at least two more bedrooms. I’m sleeping in the living room, on the lumpy sofa made from a scratchy, dark green polyester fabric. The sheet we put over it does little to keep my whole body itching from it. The heavy wool blanket isn’t much better. That and the fact that I’ve eaten more fatty food in a couple of hours than I usually do in a week, has kept me tossing and turning all night.