Cold Courage

by Pekka Hiltunen

The encounter with Elza the previous day had made her cautious. She watched number twelve from further away, from a shadowed spot on a corner down the street. She held her mobile in her pocket with Mari’s number on speed dial.

  Lia watched as Kazis Vanags arrived, parked and disappeared into the building. About half an hour later he came out and left.

  When Elza stepped out a few minutes before eight, Lia felt her pulse accelerate. Once again, Elza headed towards the shop in the next row.

  Instead of following immediately, Lia waited to see whether anyone was following Elza. Then she hurried after her and entered the shop.

  Elza showed no surprise at seeing Lia but also showed no sign of recognition. Her shopping basket contained a fashion magazine, cigarettes and a packet of tampons. When she moved further into the shop, between the aisles, Lia followed.

  ‘Did you read the story?’ Lia asked.

  Elza nodded.

  ‘Who are you?’ Elza asked.

  Lia told Elza her first name and that she was from Finland.

  Elza thought for a moment.

  ‘Did you know Daiga?’

  Lia blanched.

  That was her name!

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why are you asking about her then? Who do you work for?’

  ‘No one. Daiga was murdered brutally. Whoever killed her deserves to rot in prison for the rest of his life.’

  Elza frowned, looking uncertain.

  ‘Now is not the time to talk,’ she said. ‘I can only be outside for ten minutes or I get in trouble.’

  Monday was the only day each week when she and her friends went unwatched for a time. They always went to the Westfield mall. One man did follow them, but he usually didn’t bother to keep up.

  ‘He goes to a pub and sends a carder out to follow us.’

  Lia looked at Elza questioningly: ‘A carder?’

  ‘The boys who paste up our pictures on the walls of bars and phone boxes.’

  Of course Lia had seen cards and stickers around the city advertising female companionship. She hadn’t realised that tart card distribution had its own specialised labour force. The everyday life of a prostitute in London was gradually dawning on her.

  ‘Come to Westfield on Monday,’ Elza said. ‘There’s a café there where we can talk.’

  They arranged to meet at two o’clock. Lia decided to ignore her own work. Maybe she could take another day’s holiday.

  Before Lia left the shop, one more question popped into her mind.

  ‘What was her whole name?’

  ‘Daiga Vītola,’ Elza answered quietly.

  Smiling at Elza, Lia left.

  Daiga Vītola. I’ve found you.

  As she exited the shop, Lia glanced around. No sign of anyone.

  She started walking towards the Tube station. Inside her a giddy, almost dizzying feeling of triumph mingled with the dozens of questions running through her mind.

  The evening had grown darker. All she saw before her was a hint of movement and then it was too late.

  The bald man. The same burly man Lia had fled from at Flash Forward and from whom Mr Vong had rescued her. This was no carder. This was a grown man whose job description Lia had no desire to become more familiar with.

  She had no way of defending herself. And the street was empty except for the two of them.

  The man approached her. He was close. There was no way to escape.

  Lia was distantly aware of her arm rising with her mobile in her hand. Pointing it at the bald man, she snapped a picture.

  The man stopped a few metres away and stared.

  ‘I have a picture of you,’ Lia said, surprised by the sound of her own voice. It was hard, as if she were in control of the situation.

  ‘And now that picture is going to my friend,’ Lia continued and pressed a button on the phone, exaggerating the gesture.

  She knew all too well that the whole trick was a bluff. Pictures like that never turned out sharp, especially in the dark. And no picture went anywhere with just one press of a button.

  But the stunt made the man stop short.

  ‘What do you want here?’ he asked.

  Lia recognised the accent. Elza’s was the same. The man kept one hand in his coat pocket, and Lia didn’t want to think what he was holding there.

  ‘What do you want here?’ the bald man repeated.

  Tell your story. The same one as at the club.

  ‘I’m looking for my sister. She moved to Latvia a long time ago. I heard that she was in London.’

  The man stared at her.

  ‘You’re looking for a whore?’

  ‘I don’t know what my sister is doing here. We haven’t had any contact for several years.’

  Lia heard a car approaching from behind.

  I have to say something. Anything.

  ‘Have you seen my sister?’

  The man snorted.

  ‘You can come with me and we’ll talk about it.’

  When he made his move, Lia guessed that the car was only ten metres behind her to the right. Turning, she rushed into the street.

  A metallic shriek of brakes. Lia did not allow herself to stop, pelting forwards with all her strength. Skidding out of control, the car’s front bumper grazed her leg. Then she was on the other side of the street, running.

  A glance back. The bald man had been forced to dodge the moving car, losing several seconds.

  Lia had never run so hard. She ignored the slipperiness of the street. She took no heed of anyone who might cross her path. One thought only pounded in her head: Get away.

  After passing two side streets, she allowed herself a second look back. The bald man was following her but was rather far behind. That gave her renewed strength to increase her pace.

  Lia saw the lights of the Tube station, with two taxis waiting parked in front. As she jumped into a cab, she turned and saw the bald man stopped a good hundred metres back.

  Lia gestured for the cabbie to drive off. She couldn’t catch her breath to talk, but the cabbie understood, starting the car and driving away. When Lia’s breathing slowed, she asked him to take her to Bankside, Park Street.

  When they arrived, she paid her fare, opened the door to the building with her key, entered the lift and pressed the button for the topmost floor. The lift doors closed, and Lia took a few deep breaths.

  Safe.

  She closed her eyes. What did it mean that in an emergency like this, she fled to the Studio?

  This is my second home now. A strange home that makes me stronger than I am in any other place.

  When the doors opened again on the top floor, she realised another fact. She was not afraid. Once the immediate threat had passed, in an odd way she liked the way she felt.

  I shouldn’t feel like this. I was in mortal danger. But I feel strong. In fact, I feel pretty damn good.

  Lia walked straight into Mari’s office.

  She said she knew the Latvian woman’s name. She told her about the bald man who had chased her once again.

  She sat down on the sofa. Mari came to sit next to her and listened without uttering a single word. Lia showed her the blurry picture taken with her mobile phone: the bald man, coming for her.

  ‘It was completely insane. But it worked. It worked,’ Lia said.

  She was waiting for Mari’s reproach to come. But, without a word, all Mari did was hug her.

  ‘Daiga Vītola,’ Lia said.

  Mari knew who she meant. She squeezed Lia’s hand. Then she stood up and started her harangue. This was to be their first fight.

  ‘You selfish idiot,’ Mari said. Lia had almost ended up at the bottom of the Thames in a pair of cement overshoes courtesy of the eastern mafia. And here she was sitting expecting Mari’s praise.

  ‘That was so fucking dangerous,’ Mari said.

  Lia did not say a word.

  I solved it. She was Daiga Vītola.

  ‘You’ve probably cracked the case,’ Mari said. ‘But what if he
had caught you? What then?’

  ‘Then things would have gone badly for me. But they didn’t.’

  The Fair Rule press conference where they were going to start releasing their revelations about Arthur Fried was only two days away, Mari continued. What could they do with this Elza and the knowledge of the dead woman’s name now? No one had time to focus on it given everything else they had planned.

  ‘Someone does. Me,’ Lia said.

  They needed Lia for handling Fried, Mari argued. They couldn’t risk endangering the operation’s complete success.

  ‘Getting Sarah Hawkins’ story on tape depends on you. You have to be there when we make it. She trusts you.’

  They had to give the information about Vanags, the bald man, the comb, Elza and Daiga Vītola to the police, Mari said.

  ‘No,’ Lia objected. ‘Not yet.’

  She thought Elza would talk to her but not to the police. If the police didn’t arrest anyone for the murder, what would happen to Elza and the other prostitutes? Lia had to keep her appointment at the Westfield London shopping centre on Monday.

  ‘When everything is ready, when we know how the whole thing went, I want to be the one to tell Daiga Vītola’s name to that policeman, Gerrish.’

  As they continued to argue, the volume grew.

  ‘You asked me to solve the Latvian woman’s case,’ Mari reminded her.

  ‘Yes, I did. But I didn’t ask you to decide everything for us, everything I can and can’t do.’

  Can’t you see how hurtful it is that you aren’t excited about what I found? This might be the key to solving a horrible murder, and that’s supposed to be a problem?

  Mari looked at Lia for a long time. ‘OK.’

  Lia could go and meet up with Elza. But first she would help with Fried.

  But Lia was not going to go alone, Mari said firmly.

  ‘We’ll see who can go with you. Probably Paddy. We’re going to be up against the wall with Fried, but we’ll make do.’

  Although it was late, Mari decided to ring Paddy and tell him the situation. Lia guessed he would be angry, but could never have predicted the reaction that poured out from the other end.

  Mari handed the phone to Lia.

  It was her second sermon of the night, but Lia listened without complaint. Paddy and Mari were both right. She couldn’t deny it.

  ‘This ends now,’ Paddy said.

  He would no longer be willing to work with Lia. This startled Lia, and she saw that Mari was worried too.

  Lia had not only endangered her own safety, Paddy said. She had endangered everyone at the Studio and the prostitutes on Vassall Road.

  ‘The same thing happened once with Mari,’ Paddy suddenly said.

  A few years before Mari had been accompanying him, learning shadowing technique. They had been following a particular man all day. In the middle of everything, Mari decided to go and talk to the target’s neighbour.

  ‘I said no, but she went anyway. Mari happened to be right that time. The neighbour told us a critical piece of information about the target, which saved us several days. But Mari could have just as easily been wrong.’

  Lia breathed deeply, but did not say what she thought.

  Mari knew she was right. She saw it in the neighbour’s face. I don’t know whether I was right. Clearly I have to learn to analyse risks better, but I also need to figure out how to trust my own instincts.

  ‘No one else has done that,’ Paddy said. ‘Why you and Mari?’

  ‘Because we’re Finns?’ Lia suggested. Mari grimaced: this was no time for making jokes.

  ‘You both have a problem accepting other people’s authority,’ Paddy said coolly. ‘In Mari’s case there might be good reason. She seems to have what it takes. She knows how to balance risks. You don’t.’

  Lia became aware that her entire future at the Studio was at stake. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  Talking Paddy down took time. He started softening when he heard in her tone that she really did want to try again, with a new attitude.

  When Paddy finally believed that Lia was serious, he put the whole argument behind them.

  ‘I’ll see you on Monday. Let’s talk before we go to the shopping centre, and I’ll decide how we go in.’

  It was already past ten o’clock, but neither Lia nor Mari wanted to go home. Mari stayed to work on her own research, and Lia went to see what she could find online in relation to Daiga Vītola’s name.

  There were plenty of Daigas and lots of Latvians with Vītola as their last name. But she couldn’t find a single Daiga Vītola.

  Going to the kitchen and fetching two glasses and a strong Syrah from the wine cabinet, she returned to Mari’s office. The warmth of the wine coursed right through Lia’s body as she sat on the sofa.

  ‘My life has changed,’ she said.

  Lia was running around talking to Eastern European prostitutes and the battered wife of a redneck politician. Instead of hoping something interesting would happen at work each morning, she looked forward to getting back to the Studio. Having escaped the bald man twice now, she felt stronger than she ever had.

  Her experience moving around London had changed as well. She had never felt in control of her environment before. The rivers of people agitated her. Now she felt as if the city was there for her. On the bus or on the Tube she wasn’t just along for the ride – she had a goal, a mission. She knew something that others didn’t, and she had seen more than they had or ever would.

  ‘I understand why you want to do this now,’ Lia said. ‘It makes you feel powerful.’

  Mari nodded.

  ‘It comes and goes. But usually it’s there.’

  Mari filled their glasses and raised a toast. ‘To Daiga Vītola.’

  ‘To Daiga Vītola.’

  32

  Sarah Hawkins was waiting at the door of her terraced house.

  When Lia arrived in her taxi, a completely different woman was waiting from the one she had met before. Sarah was dressed in a two-piece suit and high heels. A packed suitcase waited at her side.

  She said she had not used the suit or the luggage in years.

  ‘Haven’t had any money for trips. And I never like staying the night anywhere, not even at my sister’s house, because I can’t sleep in strange places. That started while we were married.’

  Sarah had tidied up the front garden and moved the shabby plastic chairs out of sight.

  ‘I cleaned up a bit. Just in case the press comes,’ she explained.

  After locking her front door, she walked with Lia to the cab.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Lia asked.

  ‘I am.’

  To her sister, Sarah had said that she was going for a two-week retreat organised by a women’s refuge. Her sister had been overjoyed to hear that Sarah was finally getting out.

  After a ten-minute drive, they switched from the taxi to the Studio’s grey delivery van.

  ‘We found a place to do the taping that isn’t far from your hotel,’ Lia said.

  Driving the van was Rico, whose laid-back conversation helped Sarah relax and feel at ease. They took a circuitous route, and Sarah was seated on the middle bench, where she couldn’t see much.

  Only one day remained until Operation Arthur Fried was scheduled to start. They had to get Sarah onto tape and then into hiding.

  The set for the taping was an industrial hall Berg had rented, and he was waiting in the car park. Lia was amused to find that this was the first time she had ever seen him without his overalls. Although today’s outfit was not all that great a change: baggy khaki trousers and a waistcoat full of tiny pockets. He looked like a jungle explorer.

  ‘Welcome!’ Berg said while they were still a way off. Lia knew that Berg’s warm manner would do Sarah Hawkins good. Making the video would be emotionally draining.

  Berg took Sarah’s suitcase and led the group into the nearly deserted, cavernous hall. In one corner was a small cubicle, some sort of office space with a co
ffee machine, and at the other end of the hall they had built a set.

  Maggie was waiting there, also impressively transformed. In her denim outfit and enormous jewellery, she gave Sarah the impression that she was in the hands of a true professional. When Maggie spoke, Lia knew she was hearing the dozens of make-up artists and hair stylists who had prepped Maggie for the stage over the years.

  ‘Dearie, now you just trust me. You look fabulous, but I’m still going to wash all that off. Taping under these powerful lights requires special materials and secret tricks.’

  An hour later, Sarah looked as though she could walk into a business meeting or official reception anywhere.

  The hairdo suited her, and Maggie had softened the jacket suit with a sheer scarf at the neck. She looked style conscious. The heavy studio make-up was skilfully done, and Sarah could not help but stare at herself in the mirror. She looked younger than before, like a woman her own age.

  They ran through how the taping would progress. Lia would ask Sarah the questions she had written up beforehand, which Sarah had received a week earlier. Rico would remove Lia’s voice from the video. They could do as many takes as they needed.

  Sarah sat in a chair with a white backdrop behind. Rico and Berg arranged and metered the lights and then checked the sound levels. Rico was in charge of the audio and Berg the video, which was being filmed simultaneously with three cameras.

  Sarah sat and waited. Lia let her concentrate. In the end she received the signal from Rico that it was time to start. Lia smiled at Sarah reassuringly.

  ‘To start off, could you tell me who you are and why you’re making this video?’

  ‘My name is Sarah Hawkins. I’m Fair Rule party leader Arthur Fried’s first wife. We were married for seven years. For the last four of those years, Arthur Fried abused me. He beat me regularly, systematically and brutally. I want to tell my story publicly because constant abuse nearly destroyed my life, and I know that many other women live in that same hell. No one needs to put up with it. I’ve never got over what Arthur did to me. Arthur, I’m sure this is going to cause you problems but nothing like the ones that you caused me.’