‘A yeast factory? Sounds bloody awful,’ said Annie. ‘How did she end up living at Garskill Farm and working there?’
This time the conversation in Polish was longer, with a clearly frustrated Nowak asking for more repetitions and clarifications. Finally he turned to Annie and straightened his tie. ‘She went to Katowice, the nearest large town, but there were no agencies there, so she went to Krakow and found someone who took her money and gave her an address in Bradford. I think she said Bradford. It was all phony, of course. These people are so gullible. Anyway, she ended up at the farm with about twenty other hopefuls doing a variety of rubbish jobs until they found somewhere to place her permanently, or so they said. And they kept most of her earnings back for bed and board and to pay off her debt to the agency.’
It was a familiar story. Annie looked sympathetically towards Krystyna. ‘Where is this yeast factory?’ she asked Nowak.
‘Northern edge of Eastvale. That old industrial estate.’
‘Ask her why they had to leave.’ She thought she knew the answer, but she wanted to hear Krystyna’s version, nonetheless.
‘A man came to the farm in the morning,’ Nowak said a while later. ‘Different man. She hadn’t seen him before. He came in a dark green car. A shiny car, I think she said. It looked new. The other two men, the regular ones who drove them to their jobs and back in the white van, seemed frightened of him. He told everyone to pack up, that they wouldn’t be coming back tonight. That was it. She didn’t mind so much because she didn’t like living there. Apart from everything else, men kept trying to mess with her. That’s what she said.’
‘What language did this man speak?’
‘English,’ Stefan translated. ‘At least, she thinks it was English. She actually does know a few words. And then someone translated for the workers who couldn’t understand.’
‘Did he have an accent of any kind?’
Annie saw Krystyna shake her head before answering. ‘She doesn’t know. She couldn’t understand much. She’d hardly be likely to know if he had a Scottish accent or something.’
‘Can you describe this man?’ Annie asked Krystyna. Nowak translated.
Krystyna nodded.
‘Excellent. We’ll see if we can rustle up a sketch artist after our little talk. If the worst comes to the worst, I can always have a go at it myself.’
‘Do you want me to translate that?’
‘No. Don’t bother,’ Annie said. ‘Ask her what happened next.’
Nowak asked Krystyna and translated her reply. ‘They all piled into the van as usual. All except for Mihkel. They held him back. He had told her his name was Mihkel. He was from Estonia. She liked him. He was nice to her, and he didn’t . . . you know . . . want anything.’ Stefan cleared his throat. ‘Some of the men tried to touch her at night. They were very crude. Apparently, there were two couples at the farm, and everyone could hear them when they made love, however quiet they tried to be. These men imitated them, made funny animal sounds and laughed. Mihkel protected her and her friend Ewa. She would like to see her friend Ewa again. She is sorry for leaving her, but she was scared.’
‘That’s probably how Mihkel gave himself away, the poor bastard,’ Annie said. ‘Being nice to people and asking too many questions. At least one of the men in the work gang was probably a plant for the other side. Don’t translate that. Did she ever see Mihkel again?’
‘No,’ said Nowak after another brief exchange. ‘They were taken to work, as usual. She was to be picked up outside the factory at six o’clock, but she says she got out early and ran away.’
‘Why?’
Krystyna seemed confused when Stefan translated the question. She muttered a few words. ‘She doesn’t really know,’ he said. ‘She was unhappy at the farm. She thought she would not see Mihkel again, and the new place would be worse.’
‘Was there anything else?’ Annie pressed.
After a while, Krystyna cried and told Stefan that the regular van driver had been pressing her to sleep with him, and that he wanted her to go on the streets to make more money. He said she could earn money very well that way and pay off her debts in no time, but she didn’t want to do it. She ran away.
Annie found some tissues in her bag and handed them to Krystyna, who thanked her politely in Polish. Even though she had nothing, Annie thought, Krystyna had chosen to flee the work gang rather than stay there and suffer their mauling and end up deeper and deeper in debt, trawling the streets for prospective clients. What had she thought would happen to her, on the run, alone in a strange country? She had been desperate enough not to care. ‘Do you know where they are now, the others?’ she asked.
When she understood Stefan’s translation, Krystyna shook her head. Then she spoke again.
‘She doesn’t know where they were taken,’ Nowak explained. ‘She’s been in Eastvale ever since. She walked from the factory. She has no food or money. Since then she’s been living on the streets, sleeping in shop doorways and alleys.’
Krystyna spoke again. A question, this time.
‘She wants to know if she can have a cigarette,’ Nowak said.
‘Afraid not,’ Annie replied. ‘But tell her I’ll buy her a whole packet when we’ve finished in here.’
Krystyna merely nodded at that.
‘She says Mihkel asked her about herself,’ Annie went on. ‘Did they talk much? How did they communicate?’
‘They couldn’t speak the same language,’ Nowak said, after listening to Krystyna for a while. ‘But Mihkel knew a little Polish, so they managed a few basic exchanges. His accent was funny.’
‘What did he ask her about?’
Annie could tell by Krystyna’s gestures and facial expressions that she wasn’t going to get much of answer.
‘Just her life in general,’ said Nowak finally. ‘She said mostly he asked about her, like you. How did she get there? Where was she from? Why did she come? He wanted to know her story. She asks if he was a policeman, too.’
‘No,’ said Annie.
‘She also asks where has he gone.’
Annie sighed. Bugger it. This just wasn’t fair. Should she tell Krystyna the truth? That they suspected the man in the dark green Ford Focus had tortured and drowned Mihkel? If she did, she risked scaring the girl so much that she might balk at giving a description of the man. If she didn’t tell her, she was being dishonest. She topped up everyone’s coffee and moved on. ‘Can you ask her if she ever saw anyone else around the place who wasn’t part of the normal furniture and fittings?’
Krystyna seemed surprised at the lack of an answer to her question, and the change in direction, but she listened to Stefan’s translation as she sipped her coffee.
‘A man came once who seemed to be in charge,’ Stefan translated. ‘He was dressed better than the driver and his friend, who brought them stale bread and weak coffee in the morning before work. He was wearing a hat and an overcoat with a fur collar. He was English, she thought. Probably half the people there were Polish, and some of them spoke English, so word got around that he wanted them all to know that if they needed money, there was a way. A friend of his would lend them money, and they could pay him back when they got more pay for their jobs, after they had paid off the agency.’
No mention of interest, of course, Annie guessed. She bet the boss man was Roderick Flinders, himself, or one of his men, and that Corrigan was involved somewhere down the line. She excused herself for a moment, reassured Krystyna that she would be back soon and went to her office. She had photographs of both Corrigan and Flinders, which she took back with her and set in front of Krystyna. ‘Do you recognise either of these men?’ she asked.
Krystyna studied the photographs and pointed to Flinders. ‘This one,’ Nowak translated. ‘He was the one who came and told them he could get them money. She hasn’t seen the other man.’
It figured, Annie thought. Corrigan wasn’t likely to venture out into the trenches when he had others to do that for him.
/> ‘Excellent,’ she said. ‘I’m going to see if I can rustle up a sketch artist. We can use Menzies, from the art college, if he’s available. He doesn’t live far away. I’ll send a car. I know it’s upsetting for her, but I don’t want her to leave here until we’ve got sketches we can use. This is the first time we’ve got anywhere close to a description of our man, and I don’t want to lose it. Do you think you can entertain Krystyna for a few minutes while I’m gone? I promise I won’t be long.’
‘Sure,’ said Stefan. ‘We’ll have a laugh a minute.’
Annie gave him a cold look as she stood up. Some people, she thought. Krystyna’s eyes followed her, as if she wanted to go with her, too, but Stefan’s voice was soothing enough when he started to speak Polish, and Annie turned at the door, smiled and gave Krystyna a thumbs up sign.
Erik Aarma said he would be happy to have dinner with Banks and Joanna that evening, and that he would like to bring his wife Helen along. Nobody had any objection to that, so it was arranged for half past seven. In deference to the tourists and the fine weather, Erik said, they would eat in the Old Town, something he rarely did, and a nice treat for Helen, too. She loved pasta, and they didn’t have it very often. They had an apartment in Kristiine and usually ate locally, or at home. Perhaps an evening out would dispel some of the gloom they had been feeling over Mihkel’s death.
It was a Friday night, and getting quite busy, as they took their table at a small Italian restaurant on Raekoja, quite near the main square, and just around the corner from Clazz, shortly after half past seven. The revellers weren’t out in full force yet, but the chain gang was back, and a group of girls dressed as Playboy bunnies tottered by on their high heels, attracting many wolf whistles, searching for a bar in very loud Glasgow accents. Whenever Banks saw groups of girls such as that now, he thought of Rachel. In a way, he felt that since he had been in Tallinn, he had drifted away from his starting point, the murder of Bill Quinn, then the discovery of Mihkel Lepikson’s body at Garskill Farm, and his case had turned into a quest for the truth about what had happened to Rachel. Not that he believed she was still alive, but her body had to be somewhere, even after all this time. Annie was doing the real work, back in Yorkshire, he thought, getting closer to identifying Quinn’s killer with every moment. It would be a great success for her to have on her first case after the injury. A real confidence booster. Banks had not entirely lost sight of Bill Quinn, or of Mihkel Lepikson, but it was Rachel he sought in the winding cobbled alleys and long evening shadows of Tallinn’s Old Town.
Erik seemed pleased with himself, so Banks was hoping for good news. Joanna was chatting happily away with Helen, only pausing to glance at her mobile every now and then. Helen was almost as large as her husband, but minus the facial hair, and quick to laugh. A fresh breeze had picked up during the day, and Erik said it might mark the end of the warm spell. It was still pleasant enough to sit outside, but they definitely needed to wear jackets. Joanna had a wool shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Where did she get these things? Banks wondered. She had the perfect item to wear for all occasions. Every once in a while, Banks caught a whiff of burning tobacco as a smoker passed by.
‘I am not going to beat about the bush, as you say,’ said Erik as they clinked glasses and toasted absent friends. ‘I will not keep you in the suspense. I have found your girl.’
Banks almost dropped his glass. He looked at Joanna, whose eyebrows shot up so far they were almost lost under her blonde fringe. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked.
‘I am sure.’
‘But . . . how?’
Erik tapped the side of his nose. ‘Ah, but we have our resources. People say sometimes we have more files than the Stasi did.’
‘Seriously?’ said Banks.
‘Do you want to know who she is?’
‘Of course we do.’
‘Her name is Larisa Petrenko.’
‘Like the conductor?’
‘Vasily Petrenko? You know of him? Yes, like that.’
‘She’s Russian, then?’
‘It is a Russian name. But that should not be a surprise to you. Forty per cent of Tallinn is made up of Russian-speaking citizens. Helen is Russian-speaking, but we speak Estonian. The most popular last name in the whole country is Ivanov.’
‘I thought people were changing their names to Estonian to have a better chance of getting on here?’
‘You should not believe all you read in the newspapers, my friend. The next thing you know they will have us dragging Russian-speaking Estonians away at midnight and locking them up in Patarei.’
‘You don’t do that already?’
Erik laughed. ‘Not for some time.’
It was clearly a touchy subject, though, Banks sensed. The whole Russian–Estonian thing was beyond his comprehension, though he knew the basic facts, the history of the relationship. He felt it was something you had to live through, grow up with. ‘You don’t happen to know where she lives, do you, this Larisa Petrenko?’
‘Of course. She lives in Haapsalu. She has a restaurant there with her husband.’
‘I can’t believe this,’ Banks said shaking his head slowly. ‘Where is Haapsalu?’
‘On the west coast. About one and a half hours to drive. We will not be able to join you, I am afraid. Family matters. But Merike is back. I have spoken with her. She will pick you up at your hotel after breakfast tomorrow. Is ten o’clock too early?’
It was all moving so fast. Banks glanced at Joanna, who shook her head. ‘Not at all.’
‘Merike is very sorry she could not join us tonight also,’ said Erik, ‘but there you are. You will see her tomorrow.’
‘I’m still rather taken aback by this,’ Banks said. ‘What you’re telling me is that you found the girl in the photo with Bill Quinn, and she lives an hour and a half away, and runs a cafe with her husband, right?’
Erik beamed. ‘That is correct. You pay attention. A restaurant. Haapsalu is a tourist town. Nice. You will like it.’
‘So she’s not a hooker in Budapest, or a stripper in Belfast?’
‘Not at all. She is a most respectable young woman, which makes me think she might not enjoy to talk about her past.’
‘We’ll manage it somehow,’ said Banks. ‘I have to know how you found her, Erik. Come on, you can’t just leave us guessing like this.’
Erik tilted his head to one side. ‘I could,’ he said. ‘You only asked me for the information. Not how I found it. Should I give up my trade secrets so easily?’
‘I’m not asking—’
Erik waved his large hairy hand in the air. ‘It is all right, my friend. I am only kidding. Is that what you say? Kidding?’ He winked at Joanna.
‘Damn right, it is,’ said Banks.
A pretty dark-haired waitress appeared to take their orders. She wore a nametag that identified her as ‘Irena’. Nobody had had a chance to study the menu, as they had all been too busy talking, so they took an extra minute to scan the list, then Irena came back and they all ordered pasta and a bottle of Chianti. It was starting to get dark now, the shadows long and deep in the narrow cobbled streets of the Old Town. Someone was singing in the distance. A glass smashed a little closer. Banks fancied he could hear a zither playing somewhere.
‘We have some very good facial-recognition software,’ Erik said. ‘Perhaps you do not know this, but Estonia is very famous in high technology. We invented Skype.’
‘I had heard that,’ said Banks. ‘So that’s how you did it?’
‘Not exactly.’ Erik pointed to his head. ‘I also have a fantastic memory.’
Helen laughed. ‘He does,’ she said. ‘It is true. He has memory like steel hat.’
‘I think that’s “steel trap”, Helen,’ Joanna corrected her.
‘Yes. That is right. Like steel trap.’
‘So how did you do it?’ Banks asked.
Erik paused for dramatic effect, then he said, ‘I’m a newspaper man. It is in my blood. The ink. The hot lead.
Which we do not use any more, of course. When I first saw the photograph, I knew the face was familiar, but the context was not. I do not know any escort girls or prostitutes. Only through news stories, and that was not where I had seen her. No, it was something else. Two years ago there was a big celebrity wedding in Haapsalu, which is unusual in itself. This beautiful Russian girl, who had just graduated from university in Tartu, married one of Estonia’s most famous artists, Alexei Petrenko. Very handsome. He had a reputation for being a ladies’ man but he seemed to have settled down at last. We reported on the wedding, with photographs. Not me, of course. And not Mihkel. But a reporter who writes such celebrity stories. But I am editor for many different reporters.’ He tapped the side of his head. ‘And that is how I remember.’
He seemed exhausted by his long speech in English, took a long swig of wine and leaned back in his chair.
‘You are certain?’ Banks asked.
‘Yes. As soon as I stopped thinking she was an escort or a hooker, I started to remember and looked through file photographs.’ He pulled a photo out of his inside pocket and slid it over the table to Banks. ‘This is her, is it not?’
Banks studied the picture. There was just enough light at the table to make it out. The happy couple. It was definitely her, all right. There was no mistaking those cheekbones, those eyes, even though her hair was shorter and styled differently. Banks felt a frisson of excitement. He showed the photo to Joanna then made to pass it back, but Erik waved it away. ‘Keep it,’ he said. ‘I made a copy for you. I don’t need it.’
‘That picture was in the newspaper?’ Banks asked.
‘But of course. All the newspapers. It was big news.’
If anyone had been searching for the woman, Banks thought, the photo would have been a giveaway. But if anyone had been after her, he told himself, she would have known not to invite public scrutiny that way. Which meant that she probably had no idea what she had done, or why. The problem was that things had changed over the last month, since Quinn’s wife’s death, and that might include her situation, too. There was no reason why she should become a liability if she knew nothing – if all she had done was play a seduction game six years ago with a man she didn’t know while someone took photographs – but she could be a loose end, and it seemed as if someone had been tidying up loose ends. Banks felt no reason for undue alarm, but the fact that two people had been killed already, and that he had been followed around Tallinn, made him a little nervous. Ten o’clock the following morning hardly seemed soon enough. Still, if she had survived unharmed up until now, there was no reason to fear that tonight she would meet her doom. Banks quelled his concerns and thanked Erik profusely for the information.
Watching the Dark Page 29