by Lena Bourne
“Yes, if I can,” I say. “Though it’s actually her sister’s murder that brought me here.”
She nods. “Terrible business. Just terrible. That poor girl. My husband and brother were both working in Ljubljana at the time. What happened to her is the reason women should never go off by themselves.”
Being someone who’s lived alone and my made my way in the world alone since I was eighteen, I can’t quite agree with her. But I had a scholarship, I left home to go to university, and always had prospects and support of the kind women like Selima, Esma, and Anita never did. The judgmental venom in this woman’s voice as she talks about them rubs me the wrong way.
“Do you know something about Esma’s disappearance?” I ask.
She glances back over her shoulder to check if anyone is watching us and listening in. No one is, but she leans closer to me anyway. “Esma never left this town. She’s still here.”
Her whispered words send a chill down my spine.
“Where is she?” I ask, kind of stupidly muttering the first thing that comes into my mind.
“If I knew that, I’d have told the detectives who looked for her and they would’ve found her,” she says. “Or the private detective that came snooping around a couple of years ago.”
Great, some more non-information posing as a lead. I’m seriously getting sick of it.
“How do you know then?” I ask, more sharply than I should.
She squints in displeasure at my tone. “Esma was going to leave. I know, because she told me. But I owed her some money, and I know she wouldn’t have left without it. Asking for it was the only reason she told me she was going.”
Well, that does sound like something. Although it could’ve just been Esma’s excuse for needing the money.
“OK, that sounds like something,” I say in a more friendly tone. “Do you know if she was going to leave by herself?”
She shrugs. “I doubt it. “Esma didn’t ever do much on her own. She was always with that Milo guy, or one or another member of her family.”
“But Milo said they weren’t planning on leaving together,” I say.
She nods, turns her head sideways and winks at me. “That’s because she wasn’t planning on leaving with him.”
I’m pretty sure I’m getting her drift, but I have to be absolutely sure.
“You think she had another man?” I ask. “Who? Rado?”
“That’s what we all thought, the way he left town too, just a couple of weeks after her,” she says. “But then he came back and stayed and still no one knew what happened to Esma.”
She leans in close again. “I think he told his brother what really happened to Esma and that’s why Milo killed himself.”
“And you think she’s dead?” I ask.
“Yes, I think she’s dead,” she says. “And I think Rado did it. He was always a sullen, angry guy and he still is. I feel bad for Fata that she now has to deal with this.”
She waves her hand in the direction of Fata’s house from which the argument can still clearly be heard.
“Anita left too,” I say. “Was this before or after Milo committed suicide?”
Even after talking to a lot of people, the timeline of events between Esma’s disappearance and Anita’s murders is sketchy in my mind, at best.
The woman looks up, chewing her bottom lip as though trying to remember. Then she looks at me sharply, her eyes wide.
“It was before,” she says. “But only a day or two, maybe even less. It was definitely after Rado had already returned from wherever he went. He must have told them both. Confessed, I’m thinking now.”
She sounds like she had just come up with this theory. But that doesn’t mean she’s wrong.
“Tell me,” I say. “Why do you think this? Do you have any—”
“Proof?” she asks. “No, I don’t have proof. But I know both Rado and Milo were hotheads and could get violent when things didn’t go their way. Maybe Esma wanted to come back and Rado got mad at her. Then he came back here all remorseful, with his tail between his legs, seeking his brother’s forgiveness, and Anita’s. I mean have you seen the Rajić house and how much work he does on it, especially on keeping Esma’s room neat?”
“I did,” I admit. And I’d also have to admit her theory sounds plausible. But so do a bunch of others. Like that Milo killed Esma in a fit of rage because she was leaving him and his brother left because he couldn’t deal with that nor turn his brother in. Or that Esma left on her own as the detectives deduced. Or that…
“Rumor also has it that Rado joined the mob while he was away,” she says. “And that he helped them traffic girls and killed for them and whatnot. Maybe he sold Esma.”
And here she goes, coming up with yet more theories. Though maybe Dino would be able to check this one.
The front door of the house behind her opens and a man wearing baggy grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt steps out.
“What are you doing?” he yells at her. “Get in the house.”
He sounds like she better do as he says or else.
She looks over her shoulder and waves her hand dismissively.
“Who was this private detective?” I ask, since this is the one thing I think she can answer knowledgeably. “What kind of questions was he asking?”
She shrugs. “He was asking all sorts of questions about Esma and Anita, said he was doing so on behalf of their family. But their family was practically all gone by then. Except the older brother. But he never showed much interest in either of his sisters before. He asked a bunch of questions about Rado and Milo. But he was a stuck-up Austrian dude and assumed we all spoke German around here. No one had much to say to him. We protect our own.”
Hardly, I’d say. I almost blurt out that they didn’t do a very good job of protecting Esma and Anita. Or Selima for that matter. Or Renata. But I don’t.
“Just check out what I told you,” she says with a grin that puts me in mind of hyenas.
“Come in now!” the man yells.
She gives me a curt nod, turns, and walks towards the house, arguing with the man all the way, cursing him out for interrupting her, while he demands to know where his dinner is.
Fata and Renata are still arguing, so I can’t go back to the house yet. Most of the neighbors have already lost interest in listening to the argument so the street is empty as I walk down it towards the overgrown field at the end of it. I’m not making much headway talking to people, but I might find something at Anita’s house.
I don’t know if it’s a good idea, but I don’t think it’s entirely a bad one either. It’ll be completely dark soon, and since the house is standing apart from the rest on that street I can probably get in and look around without anyone noticing.
17
Mark
The ride back to the task force office took about half an hour, and the two women spent it talking to each other in hushed voices. Lina was in the passenger seat beside me, and she stared straight ahead the whole time, unmoving, her complexion as pale as before. I debated whether it was a good idea to bring her along, given that I still don’t know if she’s more deeply involved in whatever Leskovar had going on with these women, but in the end, I decided the two women will feel more comfortable if she’s around.
The afternoon setting sun has been in my eyes for the whole ride back, bright orange and blinding, making everything black at the edges and nothing clear. Kind of like this case has been. But I’m hoping tonight will bring at least a little clarity.
The entire team, including Mira, but missing Brina is assembled in the main part of the office, some sitting around the table, some lounging by the big windows. They all stare at us as I enter, followed closely by Lina and the two women.
“What’s going on?” Simon asks, getting up from his seat at the table and taking a few steps towards us, while we take our coats off by the door.
Somehow I get a distinct feeling that I interrupted him telling everyone something he didn’t want
me to interrupt. Or hear. Maybe it’s because his voice sounded shrill and too high pitched as he asked his question. Or maybe it’s the way he came toward me and then stopped, so now he’s just standing there.
I briefly explain what happened this afternoon, sticking just to the parts that Lina was involved in, just in case she can’t be trusted.
“We need to set up an interview room,” I tell Rok. “Can you hook up a camera and microphone in one of the empty offices?”
“Sure thing,” he says, bolting to his feet.
Walter walks in just then, and gets stared at almost as badly as we did.
“What is she doing here?” he asks, pointing at Lina.
She blushes slightly and looks at the floor. At least that’s some color returning to her cheeks.
“She’s a social worker and familiar with these women,” I say. “I figured they’d be more comfortable with her here.”
Simon opens his mouth to say something, but Mira beats him to it, striding over to the women.
“You figured right,” she says in her loud, no-nonsense voice, then turns to the women and says in English, “Would you like some coffee? Maybe something to eat?”
Elira just glares at her, but Drita nods her head. Mira ushers them all, including Lina, to an empty office near her desk by the window, and closes the door behind them.
“Now you can talk,” she tells us, looking mostly at Simon, who nods and walks over to his office, beckoning us to follow.
His office is the largest one here, and we all fit inside it relatively easily. Dino and Slava sit on the black leather sofa, both scowling, and Walter still looks confused as he leans on the glass wall by the door. I just stand in the middle of the room, because I could do without the delay and want this meeting to be over as soon as possible. In the office across from us, Rok is already almost done setting up the interview equipment.
I turn to Simon who has taken a seat behind his glass desk and looks up at me like he now considers it his fortress.
“What’s up, Simon?” I ask, not even trying to hide my annoyance.
He clears his throat and straightens a stack of papers on his desk that don’t need straightening.
“Brina’s boss at the National Police Bureau called me,” he says. “And then his boss called me too. And finally, I got a call from the minister of internal affairs. They all said pretty much the same thing. Leskovar is clean. He died tragically and there is no need to go digging in his affairs. He was a well-liked man who did a lot of good via the various charities he founded. Including the halfway house in Vrhnika.”
“The minister told you this?” I ask sharply.
“Yes, and the others too,” Simon counters.
“It doesn’t look quite so rosy from where I’m standing. Or the swift dissolution of one of his charities I witnessed this afternoon.”
“Or are you just seeing what you want to see?” he asks. “Like Brina.”
“Tell me you’re not saying we should back off?” I say advancing towards him. He leans back and rolls a little away from the desk.
I might be coming on too strong, I realize that. But all I’ve been hearing from him since we started looking into this case is that we should walk away.
A woman died horribly. Hundreds of women were probably sold into slavery via Leskovar’s fake philanthropy. I can’t look the other way.
“We’re investigating the case of Anita Rajić,” Simon says in a stern, but rather squeaky voice. “And so far, all you’ve done is gone after Leskovar. No one is saying we drop the investigation into Anita’s case. And I’m not saying we don’t investigate Leskovar if that’s where the evidence is pointing. But right now, that’s not the case, now is it?”
He asked that question of Dino, who leans forward and shakes his head. ”My mob contact said Leskovar was a huge pain in the ass the way he recruited girls with many years still in them, as he put it, and then hid behind his money and his contacts. To the best of his knowledge, none of the women ever came on the market again. His words, not mine.”
He raises his hands palms up and looks at me apologetically.
“And I’ve spoken to Ida,” Slava says. “The evidence still looks like a murder-suicide, though they’re still waiting for a ballistics report.”
“And the strange man seen with Leskovar on the morning he died?” I ask.
Slava shrugs, as does Dino. “Maybe the old man dreamed it.”
“Like I said, we’re investigating Anita’s case,” Simon says. “We’ve received all the evidence in that case to review and go over.”
I look at Slava. “Have you found anything?”
She scoffs, though not unkindly. “It only just arrived. I’ll start on it tomorrow morning.”
“How about you start right now?” I ask, belatedly realizing it’s past six PM and she’s been at work all day.
“Alright, I’ll start now,” she says, standing up with a groan. “I’ll admit, I am curious. All that mutilation of the body, and the way she was just dumped in the center of a city…I don’t quite understand how so little evidence could’ve been found.”
“Thank you, Slava,” I say and she scoffs again, and nods.
I turn to Simon. “We have witnesses and I plan on interviewing those witnesses. And then I’ll act on the information I get.”
“Has Eva come up with anything?” Simon asks. “Out of all of you, she’s the only one actually looking into Anita’s case, it seems to me.”
Apart from exchanging a few texts, I haven’t spoken to Eva since she left. And realizing just how easily that happened after we’ve been virtually inseparable for the last few months, is not doing much to improve my mood right now.
“I’ll call her now,” I say. “Then I’m interviewing the women. And only then will I discuss your problems with the way I’m investigating this case.”
Everyone else is very quiet but the tension in the room is palpable. On the last case we all worked together, I spent a lot of time trying to ignore everyone’s looks of pity and doubt. This doesn’t feel quite that bad, but it’s not far off either.
“That’s right, talk to your team first,” Simon says, almost scathingly.
I could continue this word sparring with him, but it’s a waste of time. And I want to talk to Eva. Maybe she did uncover something. Or maybe just hearing her voice will help me climb back out of this head-first spiral into the depths of this case, which by the looks of things now might never get solved properly.
Eva
I’d never be able to find Anita’s house via the back roads shortcut Renata took us on yesterday, so I head back the way we came from the bus station on the day I arrived. All the houses I pass are lit up, I hear televisions blaring from more than one of them, but the streets are empty. Dogs bark as I pass some of the houses, sometimes accompanied by chains rattling. I’ve virtually forgotten my childhood fear of chained guard dogs breaking free just as I’m passing since the habit to keep dogs on chains has mostly died out in Slovenia and elsewhere I’ve lived. I’m not a big fan of dogs. They scare me. More than once, I jump away from some fence I’m passing as a dog runs up to it to bark me away.
I wish there were more people on the street, but at least the illumination is more on point the closer to the town center I get and the full moon is already hanging low in the sky and giving off lots of light. There are no long pockets of complete darkness outside, plus I should have no trouble looking around Anita’s house.
My phone starts ringing as I’m almost across the narrow path off the main uphill street, which will lead me to Anita’s house. I stop near the end of it, shielded by the wide bush with meaty leaves that shine black in the moonlight.
“Mark,” I say as I pick up, breathlessly and excitedly.
He chuckles. “Eva. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
I hear that tightness that always creeps into his voice when he’s tired, but also the pleasant, relaxed joy I always hear in his voice too, except when we’re argu
ing. Sometimes even then. I missed hearing his voice. How did I manage not to call him sooner?
“I’m on my way to Anita’s childhood home to do some snooping,” I blurt out, at once afraid that he’ll tell me it’s a stupid idea and kind of wanting him to. “I haven’t been able to find out much about her from the people I’ve talked to. I’m hoping I’ll find something at the house.”
I briefly explain about Rado and how neat and nice-smelling he keeps Esma’s bedroom there. He sighs and I hear leather creaking.
“Are you at home?” I ask, suddenly wishing I was there with him, lounging on the sofa, preferably leaning against him. The sunset I spent trudging along a dusty street must’ve looked glorious from our living room windows.
“No, at the office,” he says. “I’m most likely staying the night.”
Even though I’m away too, not waiting for him at home and hearing he’s not coming, him saying that still cuts deep for some reason. Probably because it brings up all memories of the days and weeks, sometimes as long as a month, I’d lose him to a case. He gets so invested in whatever case he’s investigating, he just disappears in it. I thought and hoped that was in our past.
“Are you making any headway?” I ask past the lump in my throat.
Something rustles and I’m sure it’s him running his hand through his hair.
“Not much,” he says and chuckles wryly. “We have a couple of witnesses, we have a bunch of circumstantial evidence pointing at Leskovar being involved in trafficking women, and now we also have lots of pressure from up high to stop looking into it. So no, not much headway. You?”
“I’ve heard just about every possible theory about what happened to Anita’s missing sister. But no one wants to talk about them much. They all believe they were bad seeds, to put it mildly,” I say. “I’ve also not found anything to prove or disprove any one piece of gossip and rumor.”
“You’re right, maybe you will find something at the house,” he says, making me gasp.
“You’re not even going to suggest it might be too dangerous for me to go there alone at night?” I ask.