‘We have keys,’ he said, not listening. ‘Dougie thinks they belong to the guy. We know about the girl, but we need to find out where he lives and try the flat. See if we can find anything.’
‘Keys?’ Her eyes widened. ‘Where did you find his keys?’
He shrugged roughly, and turned away from her, glowering into the heart of the fire. ‘I don’t ask questions. You can, if you’re brave enough. He must have dropped them up on the road.’
‘Maybe they aren’t his.’
‘We won’t know until we’ve tried.’
To her astonishment, Celina found herself cursed by an unaccustomed softness of heart. ‘They won’t be giving us a second thought. They’re only thinking about each other.’
‘They saw us.’
‘What does your friend think?’ She stroked his sleeve in an attempt to comfort him, and her reward, when he turned away from the fire, was a half smile. But it faded, as soon as she looked him the eye. That was when she knew that at least some of what he said wasn’t true. Yer Man had given up on Jan, if he ever cared about him, and so Cas, by association, had given up on him, too.
So, why were they pursuing this couple if they couldn’t help? The answer was there in front of her, in Cas’s expression, twisted in distaste. He might not be a man to tread a violent course, but Yer Man unquestionably was. ‘He thinks we need to make sure they never tell.’
She caught her breath, her fears confirmed. Could it ever be worth it? The couple were strangers, stumbling over something they didn’t understand, handing it over to the authorities and passing on. They’d never think twice about someone they might have given a lift to, now the matter was in the hands of the police. How might their deaths weigh up against her own freedom, her chances of finding Jan again? ‘But that would—’
He shrugged. ‘I know. But didn’t you hear me? The police detective they were with came to talk to me. Thank God, I was able to put them off.’
‘He came back?’
‘Yes. He came to the café. For background, he said.’ Cas sought a moment’s support in the depths of his glass. ‘I had to tell them who worked on the farm in the summer, though thank God they didn’t follow that up. Rapped my knuckles for not having the proper paperwork, but no-one ever does.’
‘Why? Who were they looking for?’
‘Someone. People. Illegals. Maybe they’ll have heard some reports about something around the place. Just a few questions. But Dougie’s wondering how they heard. And what they heard.’
‘Maybe,’ she said, her voice a timid whisper like the footsteps of a mouse tiptoeing past a sleeping cat, ‘we should own up.’
‘You think that’s the alternative?’ He clenched his fists. ‘We tried to help people, and this is what happened. If they find us, we’ll go to prison and you’ll go back to Poland. Do you want that?’
‘You know I don’t.’ Not without Jan. She thought for a moment about what it all meant. Here with Cas was the only possible place to be, the only possible place where she felt safe. It might not be great luxury, and it might sometimes feel like a trap, but it was better than anything she’d ever known. ‘They won’t send you to prison. You haven’t done anything wrong.’
He laughed. ‘Ah, if only that were true. You must know it.’
She knew, in a confused way, that stealing was wrong. She knew, too, that they hadn’t stolen through choice, but because they had no option. Though she wasn’t naive enough to think that stealing to pay for your keep was anything like a sufficient excuse, she didn’t think it should be treated as harshly as he thought it would. ‘Even what we did isn’t that wrong.’
‘But somebody died,’ he said, staring into the heart of the fire, his beer forgotten. ‘I wasn’t there. I don’t know. But it’s what Dougie says. An old woman disturbed them, and they ran for it. Afterwards, it was on the radio and in the papers. She died.’
‘How did she die?’ she asked, breathless. She might delude herself about theft, but no-one could delude themselves about death.
He shook his head. ‘I only know what I heard on the news. It could have been a heart attack or a fall. It doesn’t matter. Whatever happened, they’ll blame the boys.’
‘Have you asked them about it?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m not a wicked man. There are some things I’d rather not know. Poor kids. We just do what we have to do to survive. I’m not going to judge them.’ He reached down a hand for his beer and forced a smile. ‘Right now, we just keep watching that couple. Until we can think of something else to do.’
Keep watching them. With what purpose? She shivered a little. ‘Was it Jan who killed her?’ He wouldn’t have meant to, but he was as easy a prey to fear and desperation as any of them. ‘Is that why he ran away?’
‘I don’t know. But you must understand that death changes things, Celina. A death raises the stakes. It gives us all so much more to lose.’
She sat a little closer to him, more disturbed than she’d been before. Raising the stakes? That meant risking even more with even less to gain. How could death raise the stakes unless other deaths were involved?
She thought once more of the couple in Edinburgh, walking down the street with their hearts set on one another and their hopes on a rosy future. She envied them, but she didn’t know them. They meant nothing to her. Jan and Roch and Krystian, and even Milek, meant more to her than they did, and they were the people with whose security her own life was ultimately bound up. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to keep herself from being sent back to Poland.
Nothing.
Chapter 23
‘Just the man I was looking for. I have some information for you.’
Marcus turned back from the coffee machine to find Nerissa watching him. Her office opened directly onto the corridor a few yards along from this convenient meeting point, making it handy for her to ambush people, spying them through the glass pane in the door and springing out like a spider on a fly when the moment suited her. ‘Oh?’
‘Yes. I’ve had a call from our good friend DCI Riley up in the Tayside division.’ She flicked expressive eyebrows to the heavens. ‘I’ve no doubt they won’t keep you informed, so I added you to my to do list. And behold. Here you are. Eventually.’
He grinned at her. ‘I don’t live by the coffee machine.’
‘No, but it’s almost noon. You must have been working very hard. I’ve been keeping an eye open for you all morning.’
‘I was in a meeting. With proper coffee.’ He paused, picked the cup out of the machine, and turned again towards her. ‘Well? What’s the news?’
‘It’s interesting. Come on into my office and I’ll run you through it.’ She led the way in, sat down, tapped impatient fingers on a pad on the desk. ‘He’s very brisk, is DCI Riley. I rather got the impression he thinks he has more important things to do than talk to me. I’m afraid I had to remind him that I outrank him. It’s very rare that I have to do that. Sit down.’
‘Let me guess,’ he said, accepting the offer of a seat. ‘They’ve identified the body.’
She nodded. ‘Not a difficult deduction, Detective Sergeant.’ A ghost of a smile mocked the absent Riley.
‘And?’
She looked down at the pad, tapping each note with a pencil as she read down the list. The angry sprawl of her handwriting, along with a sprinkling of exclamation marks doodled in the margins, testified to her irritation with the call. ‘Jan Kowalski. Polish. From Poznan. Nineteen years old.’ She looked up. ‘What we’d call a vulnerable adult. Learning difficulties. Not many social skills. Not at all streetwise.’
‘Did he live in the local area?’
‘Not as far as I’m aware — there’s certainly no record of him living in Perthshire, currently. He left Poland at the turn of last year, telling family he was going to London, although we’ve no definite record that he actually ever got there. He was travelling with his younger sister, who seems to have been very protective of him. Of the two, you’d say she
was the survivor.’
Marcus nodded. Nothing about the tale surprised him. ‘Looking for the streets paved with gold, eh?’
‘I imagine so. There was a very messy family background. The mother was an alcoholic with a string of abusive boyfriends. She died in an accident last year, and the children fled — once she’d gone, there was nothing to keep them. They didn’t get on with the family, and they had no money. And so, as you say, off they went to find a better life.’
‘I can’t say I blame them, under the circumstances.’
She sighed. ‘I blame no-one. The rest of the family lost contact with them after they arrived, but they weren’t either surprised or concerned. I don’t think they had any reason to keep in touch.’
Marcus lifted his coffee. Bronte, failing to understand his normal objectiveness, always lamented what she saw as his lack of sensitivity. It wasn’t accurate. He couldn’t think of that slender, frail body, either dying or living, without a qualm of pity, but pity achieved nothing, now that the man was dead. The only practical approach was in questioning, in meticulously picking the mystery apart, strand by strand, until nothing was left but the only possible answer. ‘Do we know where the sister is?’
‘We don’t. All we know is that they left Poland together.’ She sighed. ‘I dread to think what kind of mess she might have ended up in.’ Her expression was grave. ‘I hope DCI Riley has the insight to follow that up.’
Marcus, reflecting on the outward expression of his Perthshire colleague’s inner certainties, thought it unlikely. ‘Does the sister speak English?’
‘Not a word, as far as I’m aware. Her smartness isn’t of the academic variety.’
‘They may have got separated,’ speculated Marcus, ‘and he was trying to find her.’
‘They may have done. Riley’s theory is that Jan — with or without his sister — came north looking for work in the fruit picking industry, and stayed after the season ended. He has his men making enquiries.’
‘Casual work? That sort of thing?’
‘I expect so, but you know not everybody keeps all the records they should, or asks all the necessary questions.’ A sniff of disapproval accompanied her remarks. She might be a woman who hated unnecessary paperwork, but there were times when some sort of record made all the difference. ‘He reckons that Jan must have picked up the odd bit of work here or there. He’ll have survived the winter easily enough; he certainly wasn’t starving. But wherever he was, the sudden spell of bad weather caught him out, and he was trying to make his way to somewhere where he could find some shelter.’
‘The post mortem results must be in by now. Was it hypothermia?’
‘It was. There were no signs of violence. Look. This is him. And his sister. Celina. In happier days, if there were any.’
She turned the screen of her computer around towards him, and he leaned forward to look. From somewhere, Riley had obtained a family snapshot to complement the Kowalski siblings’ blank-eyed official passport pictures. In front of a Christmas tree, they stood shoulder-to-shoulder and smiled for the camera, but even there, the smiles were guarded.
He recognised Jan Kowalski immediately — the thin face, the shoulder-length blond hair. In animated mood, the smile brought the boy’s face alive, imbuing it with a child-like innocence. Celina’s smile was turned towards her brother. Her hair, also blonde, fell in curls on her shoulders but something about the expression — a hard edge to her face, a suspicious narrowing of her eyes — suggested she’d lived a lifetime of distrust, for Jan and for herself.
‘Yes, that’s definitely him. What does our friend have to say about the rest of the story?’
‘I’m afraid you failed to persuade him about the existence of your mystery men.’
Marcus wasn’t surprised. His brief acquaintance with Nick Riley had suggested that he wasn’t the type of detective to entertain the implausible, or let a pet theory go. ‘So, how does he explain what happened?’
‘By blaming someone else. He’s deeply regretful that somehow the officers who came to the accident scene inexplicably failed to spot the body.’
‘Inexplicable indeed. Because the poor kid was wearing a bright red jacket and was about twenty yards away in full view.’
‘Riley pointed out, reasonably enough, that the body could have been covered in snow. But I don’t know how much snow was left when they came for the car, and given what you told him, I’d argue that they should at least have looked.’
The answer jumped out at Marcus, clear and obvious. ‘Has he considered the possibility of slavery?’
‘Don’t take that tone with me. This isn’t my investigation. I hear what you’re saying, and yes, it seems a useful line of enquiry to me. The fact remains. There are limited resources, and in this case no evidence.’
Marcus clenched a fist in frustration. ‘I saw what happened. Bronte saw what happened. Now we know there’s an innocent victim.’
‘Even if your version of events can be considered evidence under the circumstances, which it realistically can’t, that isn’t the line of the investigation he’s currently choosing to follow. Any thoughts what that might be?’
Casting his mind back to the newspaper article she’d shown him, and marrying it up with what he knew of DCI Riley, Marcus took only a few seconds to arrive at the obvious conclusion. ‘Eastern European immigrant responsible for spate of break-ins in remote properties.’
‘Correct. And a suspect for a murder committed in the course of one of those break-ins.’
‘That’s all very tidy. Suspect found dead. Line drawn. That clears up quite a few crimes. Well done, Nick.’
Nerissa was unimpressed by Riley’s approach, but this level of cynicism pushed her too far. ‘In fairness, he may well have a point. The forensic evidence places this young man on the scene of the death, so I think we have to entertain the probability that he did kill her.’
Marcus thought again about Jan, shivered at the helpless vulnerability of the dying man. Experience had taught him that the least likely people could turn into killers when circumstances trapped them. ‘Murder or manslaughter?’
‘I don’t suppose we’ll ever know. But it does look as if Nick was correct in his fundamental hypothesis.’
‘It won’t have made him very popular.’
‘Exactly. My issue with him is his attitude and his narrow-minded approach to what you and Bronte experienced. I find his theorising completely convincing. Or I would do, if I didn’t know you well enough to know that you aren’t a man for either hallucination or exaggeration.’
‘I don’t suppose there’s a lot we can do.’
‘I’m afraid not.’ She tapped the pad again. ‘I’m not his line manager, and there are lines I can’t cross.’
‘Then I expect that’s the last we’ll hear of it.’
‘I like to think he’ll come and interview the two of you again, now that he’s got a body and can only dismiss half of your story as fantasy. But I wouldn’t hold your breath. And if he does, make sure you don’t let him patronise you. You’d make a far better inspector than he does.’
‘I promise I shall behave impeccably.’
‘Don’t do that. Too much subservience isn’t good for his ego.’ She laughed, and waved him on. ‘I’d better get on. But keep me informed of anything you learn from him, and I’ll do the same.’
Marcus took his leave of her, taking his half-finished cardboard cup of coffee with him, and stood for a moment by the coffee machine to finish drinking it. Nerissa was right, and they couldn’t interfere — but surely Riley ought to know something of the underworld in which people were a currency, and an undervalued one at that? It was all too common for vulnerable adults to find themselves trapped in someone’s power. To Marcus, what had happened to Jan Kowalski was as obvious as a street mugging; something that happened too often, in plain sight. And on this occasion, it had ended in a death.
Convenient as it might be for Nick Riley to tie off the loose ends of his
case, and even allowing for the likelihood of Jan Kowalski being the killer, there was surely more to be discovered.
Chapter 24
‘All right?’ Marcus slid an arm around me as I arrived at the bridge where it was our habit to meet. He’d watched me all the way along the street and I, fighting a rearguard action against the rising tide of my feelings for him, had deliberately pretended not to see him and slowed my steps as I came along Raeburn Place. Then I remembered my parents’ reaction to Eilidh’s blundering announcement, and ran the last few steps as if to prove the point to my absent family. It was my life. I would do with it what I chose, and see whoever I wanted.
‘Perfect.’ Marcus was no Superman, and I was no helpless maiden, but nevertheless I always felt a little more secure in his company. A tide of warmth flowed through my veins as he released me, delight and desire in equal measure.
‘Okay, Comrade O’Hara. What do you want to do? Your place? Mine? Drink, dinner, dancing, bingo?’
‘Get on with you.’ I hugged him again. On principle, I didn’t normally spare Marcus my time on a weekday evening, but he never stopped offering me the opportunity, and this time his patience had paid off. When he’d called at lunchtime to tell me he had more news on our Perthshire adventure, I hadn’t insisted he tell me there and then. I’d held back for a moment and, as I’d hoped, he’d suggested a quick drink to talk about it. I’d accepted like a shot.
Because I could do what I wanted. Because, although I still couldn’t quite bring myself to tell him, I knew at last that I was in love with him. Because a day wasn’t complete without his company, or a night fulfilled that wasn’t spent in his arms. Because of all the men I’d ever met he was the only one worth fighting for, even against the iron shield of disapproval my family were so determined to build between us.
‘Well, which?’ he asked, as I finally let him go. ‘I’m entirely at your disposal.’
I fought, and resisted, the temptation he offered. ‘We could go for a walk through the park. And then a quick drink. But it’ll have to be very quick, because I have some work due for tomorrow.’
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