Watching the Dark (Inspector Banks Mystery)

by Robinson, Peter

  ‘What did she want?’

  ‘I think she was looking for someone. She kept saying a name. Sounded like Eva. I told her to come in out of the rain and sit down for a minute and I’d try to find out for her.’

  ‘And you phoned Flinders.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘To keep her there, and he’d be over as soon as he could. He only lives about fifteen minutes’ drive away. I gave her a fag and a cup of tea. She seemed content enough. A bit nervous, maybe.’

  ‘And Flinders took her away?’

  ‘She went with him. He nodded when she said Eva, to let her know he knew what she meant and he could help her, like.’

  ‘Where did he take her?’

  ‘Now, how the hell should I know?’

  ‘So, am I to understand that Joosep Rebane is something of a celebrity?’ said Banks, lowering his voice. Joanna had stopped sulking and pricked up her ears now.

  ‘Celebrity criminal, you might say,’ Erik answered, scratching at his bushy beard. ‘Nothing proven, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Banks.

  ‘It does not harm his reputation that he looks like a rock star and has the lifestyle to match,’ Erik went on.

  ‘But I’ll bet he doesn’t play an instrument.’

  ‘He plays many. The gun. The knife. The baseball bat.’

  ‘A veritable symphony,’ muttered Joanna.

  Banks sipped some coffee. It was cold but strong.

  ‘Thirty-one years old, and for the past four of them, he’s been the leading man in the drug-dealing and people-trafficking rackets and, clearly, also is involved in these migrant labour schemes that your friend and Mihkel have been investigating. Baltic Mafia. Estonia is not a destination, you understand, but it is a route. Rebane is a skilled fac— what is the word?’

  ‘Factotum? Facilitator?’ Banks suggested.

  ‘Facilitator. Yes. He has connections with all the organised criminal groups in Eastern Europe, especially the Russians, but in some ways he stands very much alone and aloof. Very Estonian.’

  ‘Have the cops ever got close to him?’

  ‘It is possible,’ Erik said. ‘But I do not know. My guess would be that he always has someone powerful on the inside. He greases the palms. Is that how you say it?’

  ‘That’s how we say it.’

  ‘We have corruption here, like everywhere. Police, local government, parliament, for all I know.’

  ‘You say he’s been in the business for about four years?’

  ‘Yes. Before that he was just another wild, spoiled, rich kid who got away with far too much, and spent his time with the wrong sort of people. He came to prominence in his own right when a storage container full of illegal immigrants was found at Southampton docks. A container that was discovered to have shipped from Tallinn. You may remember the incident. Two of the people inside were dead. Of course, there was no evidence to link him to the crime, but his name was whispered in many circles, and it soon became something to fear.’

  ‘Was the newspaper involved?’

  ‘We could not name him, but we came as close as we could without risking a libel suit. His father is Viktor Rebane, a very famous and powerful businessman. He was fortunate enough to be able to buy into utilities after the Soviets left and everything was privatised.’

  ‘I wonder what he thinks of his son.’

  ‘Viktor Rebane has never spoken publicly on the subject. He is a very well respected figure, himself, but he must be aware of his son’s activities. Sources, however, say he becomes furious every time Joosep’s name is linked to some crime or bad behaviour, but he can do nothing to stop him. Joosep is headstrong.’

  ‘Did Mihkel write about Joosep?’

  ‘Yes. In “Pimeduse varjus”.’

  ‘So there was no love lost between them?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I mean, they didn’t like each other.’

  ‘I do not know if they ever met. I do not think so. But no. Mihkel recognised Joosep Rebane for what he was, a thug come into power. And Mihkel could be merciless in his attack, so that everyone knew who he meant.’

  ‘Does Joosep have a reputation with women, too?’

  ‘There have been complaints. Rape. Violence. All withdrawn.’

  ‘Any deaths?’

  ‘None that could be directly linked to him.’

  ‘His name comes up six years ago,’ Banks explained, ‘when Larisa worked at the club, and her friend Juliya was Joosep Rebane’s girlfriend for a while. Juliya left town rather suddenly around the time Rachel disappeared. Larisa thinks she went back to Belarus. His name has also come up more recently in connection with Warren Corrigan, Roderick Flinders, and their migrant worker scheme. Rebane probably runs the agencies here, Flinders does the staffing and accommodation in northern England, and Corrigan puts them all in debt. Nice little scam. Robert Tamm is probably Rebane’s enforcer, or one of them. Can you search around for any links?’

  ‘I can try,’ said Erik. ‘But as I told you, he’s low profile. He manages to keep his name out of the newspapers. Even ours.’

  ‘Yes, but people know things. You, for a start. You know things you can’t print. I’m not after evidence I can use in court, just something that might help me sort this whole mess out and find out what happened to Rachel. I’d also like to know where I can find Joosep Rebane.’

  Erik laughed. ‘That is very unlikely to happen,’ he said. ‘Rebane has the money and contacts to disappear, and if he has any sense that is exactly what he will do the way things are now.’

  Joanna sighed. ‘The case is over,’ she said again. ‘Or it will be when the Scottish police pick up Robert Tamm and deliver him to Eastvale. My priority, after what you just told me, is to get back home and interview this Gareth Underwood.’

  ‘Fine, then,’ said Banks. ‘Why don’t you go home? Be my guest. You’d have found out more if you’d stayed there in the first place, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Maybe I will go back if you keep playing the tough guy, going off hunting hardened criminals. What is this, a pissing competition?’

  ‘My job.’

  ‘Well, don’t expect me to scrape you up off the street.’

  ‘Please,’ said Erik. ‘You must stop quarrelling. People will think you’re in love. And while you’re here, you should try some real Estonian food. It will help you make peace. There is a very good restaurant on Vana-Posti called Mekk. Have you tried it?’

  They both said no.

  ‘Go there tonight, eat some smoked eel and roast duck and bury the hammer.’

  ‘It’s hatchet,’ said Joanna. ‘And I don’t like eels.’

  ‘Whatever. Veal cheeks, then. I will make a reservation for you myself. Seven o’clock.’ He wagged his finger. ‘Do not be late. And be thinking of me having dinner with my mother-in-law.’ He picked up his newspaper, put on his cap and waved goodbye. ‘I will be in touch.’

  Joanna gathered her shopping bags, and they followed Erik down the stairs and out of the Viru Keskus. They were just across the road from their hotel, but it was a wide road and the system of traffic lights was a little haphazard.

  Banks stole a glance at Joanna as they waited for a light to change, a tram rumbling by. ‘What do you think?’ he asked.

  ‘You know what I think.’

  ‘I mean what Erik said. Mekk. Burying the hammer. Seven o’clock.’

  ‘I suppose I’ve got to eat.’

  ‘Once more with enthusiasm.’

  They arrived at the hotel. Joanna favoured him with a small smile. ‘I’ll meet you in the bar here at half past six,’ she said, and headed for the lift, manoeuvring her packages. Banks made for the bar, but before he got very far the receptionist called his name. ‘Hr Banks?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I have message for you.’ She took a small envelope from under the desk and handed it to him.

  ‘Did you see who delivered it?’ he asked.

  ‘No.
Sorry. I just come on.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Thank you.’ Banks tapped the envelope against his palm thoughtfully as he took a stool at the bar and ordered a beer. Who was it from? Rätsepp? Merike? Ursula Mardna? There was only one way to find out. He was thirsty from the day’s walking and from the sticky, unpleasant taste of cold coffee. When he had taken a few sips of chilled beer, he turned the envelope over in his hand and opened it. There was no signature, just a short message in block capitals. ‘MONDAY 1400 PATAREI. COME ALONE.’

  Stefan Nowak lived in one of the new luxury apartments about half a mile outside town, down by the river. The building used to be an old monastery, but it had been gutted and converted into a number of apartments of all shapes and sizes. Stefan’s was one of the smaller units, but he had a balcony and a fine view down to the riverbank and the woods beyond.

  His answer to Annie’s message had been brusque and clipped, but he had agreed to see her if she would drop by. This she did after she left the yeast factory. His flat was, as she expected, immaculate and tasteful, with framed prints of art exhibitions and classic movies on the wall, module or Ikea-style furniture, and not a speck of dust to be seen. She had to admit, whatever he had been doing last night and this morning, he didn’t seem at all the worse for wear. Casually dressed in jeans and a black polo neck, he looked every bit as cool and elegant as ever. The room smelled vaguely of cinnamon, and Annie wondered if Stefan had given his date cinnamon buns for breakfast before kicking her out. Did he bake them himself? That would be too good to be true. The smell reminded her that she hadn’t eaten anything since last night. She had been so worried about Krystyna.

  Stefan frowned as he read over the notes. ‘I’m afraid the grammar and spelling aren’t very good,’ he said. ‘And her handwriting . . .’

  Annie was sure her mouth flapped open. It felt as if it did. It was hard to get the words out. ‘You bloody complain about the spelling in a language that as far as I can see has nothing but consonants with funny squiggles on them?’

  ‘It matters,’ Stefan said. ‘And if you understood anything at all about the Polish language, you would know it’s not as simple as that.’ He waved the note. ‘This girl is barely literate.’

  ‘What do you expect?’ Annie said. ‘She’s from a poor working-class area, and she ran away hoping for a better future here and ended up working in a bloody yeast factory. I’ve been there. Believe me, Stefan, you wouldn’t want to set one Camper-shod foot in the place. Can you just please translate the fucking note.’

  Stefan stared at her, perplexed and annoyed, but he started to translate, anyway, stumbling and correcting himself here and there to make his point. ‘This first one’s quite easy,’ he said. ‘It says “I owe you thirty-two pounds sixty. Sorry. I will pay back.” In the other note she says she’s very sorry and she thanks you for all you’ve done for her. Also the clothes and money that she promises to pay back. She stole money from you, Annie?’

  ‘Borrowed. The poor creature couldn’t even go to the shop and buy a chocolate bar or a packet of fags, for Christ’s sake.’ Krystyna must have seen Annie take some cash from an old cocoa tin in one of the kitchen cupboards to pay for the takeaway, and she had stolen the rest, but she wasn’t going to admit that to Stefan. ‘Carry on.’

  ‘There’s not much more,’ Stefan went on. ‘She wants to find out what has happened to her friends, to Ewa particularly, and she can’t sleep until she knows they are all right. She was foolish to run away without saying goodbye. She will be in touch with you when she can. There’s a heart and—’

  ‘Yes, I could read that bit, thank you,’ said Annie, snatching the note back.

  Stefan shook his head. ‘Annie, why are you getting so involved? It’s not like you. Do you know what you’re getting yourself into? You’re letting this get to you, you know. It will only end badly.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The girl. She’s a user. Probably a junkie as well as a thief.’

  ‘She’s no junkie.’

  ‘But she is a thief, isn’t she? She stole that money from you, didn’t she?’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Her words. The way she says it in the note. I didn’t translate exactly, but she says something about being sorry for money she took.’

  ‘You bastard!’ Annie felt her face burning. She had no answer for Stefan’s questions. Had no idea why she was going out on a limb for this pathetic young girl, who had lied and stolen and taken advantage of her hospitality, and left without so much as a by your leave. Perhaps it was because she had watched the way she ate the Big Mac and fries in the interview room, and then cleaned up after herself with the serviette. Or the way she had watched the American cop shows intently while eating her takeaway, although she didn’t understand a word. It was true that she was unsophisticated, but that didn’t mean she had no manners or breeding. Or feelings. It was true she was a thief and liar, but those are habits that are easy to come by when you are exploited and have nothing of your own. Did Annie want to change her? Maybe. But all she had really wanted to do was offer the hand of friendship in a world that had so far proved unfriendly.

  She grabbed her jacket, thanked Stefan grudgingly and went back down to the car. After she had sat down and taken a few deep breaths, gripping the wheel tight, she phoned Winsome who, as she had guessed, was at the station. ‘You did say to call if I needed anything,’ she said. ‘Are you up for an adventure?’

  ‘I know you don’t approve of my direction on this,’ Banks said, between tastes of delicious smoked eel, ‘but I just feel that we’ve got so close to solving the mystery of Rachel Hewitt, it would be a disservice to her parents, for a start, if we just turned away now.’

  ‘I’m not as heartless as you think I am,’ said Joanna. ‘I’m just not used to the ways of . . . the ways you . . . I mean, I haven’t been involved in this kind of investigation before. When you explained it to me the other night, that finding out what happened to DI Quinn might depend on finding out what happened to Rachel Hewitt, I understood. It made sense. But we know who killed Bill Quinn now. It’s just a matter of finding him and bringing him in. Rachel Hewitt isn’t your case. Never was. We should go home. But you’re all over the place. Usually things are a lot more focused and straightforward in my job.’

  ‘True. But you’re here to learn, aren’t you? You do want to make a move out of Professional Standards. We do things differently here.’

  ‘You’re telling me.’

  ‘What I was going to say back at the coffee shop was that you lack breadth of vision. That’s the difference between your job and mine. And if you want to make a move, you’re going to have to learn to think in a different way. Yes, you could argue that you’ve solved your case. Or Annie has. We know who killed Bill Quinn and Mihkel Lepikson, and he’ll no doubt soon be in custody. There’s probably enough forensic evidence to put him away even if he doesn’t sign a confession. We also know that Quinn was bent, in thrall to Joosep Rebane, and through him to Warren Corrigan. For you, it stops there. That completes your chain of thought. But Rachel Hewitt hasn’t been found, and we have several leads on what might have happened to her. Now, you might worry about expenses and justification, but I’d pay my own hotel bill and airfare to stay here and settle my curiosity about what happened to Rachel and, with any luck, give her parents a bit of peace. That’s the difference between us.’

  ‘What? You’re a romantic, a knight in shining armour, a tilter at windmills?’

  ‘I’ve been called worse.’

  ‘I’ll bet. But isn’t it someone else’s job now?’

  ‘Probably. Technically. Officially. But I’m doing it. You can either come along with me, or go back to Eastvale and write your report.’

  Banks ate some smoked eel. It was delicious. He had to admit that Erik had done them proud. Not only a reservation, but attentive service, a table for two in a quiet corner far from the kitchen and toilet doors. He must have told the maître d’
that they were VIPs. The restaurant was a joy, with its modern decor, dark orange walls, muted lighting and unusual food. Banks’s smoked eel came with potato cakes and a horseradish sauce, among other things. Joanna Passero’s artichoke soup came with pork crisps and rye bread.

  ‘What do you think about your precious DI Quinn, now you know a bit more about what happened?’ Joanna asked.

  ‘Bill Quinn let himself get compromised. He was a fool. He should have known to stay away from Larisa, that she was a honeytrap. It’s not the first time that trick’s been used. They caught him off his guard, just like Robert Tamm did at St Peter’s. Do I feel sorry for him? Yes. Do I condone what he did? No. There were other ways out.’

  ‘Like telling the truth?’

  ‘That’s one strategy. Not necessarily the best in his case.’

  ‘But whatever strategy he used, it got him killed.’

  ‘Yes. Like too many other people in this case. But we also have to think of the good ones left alive. Rachel’s parents. Erik. Merike. Larisa. Even Curly, if what Annie tells me is true about him wanting to go straight.’

  They finished their starters and sipped some more wine, then the mains came: duck fillet for Banks and baked cod for Joanna. Much as Banks spent far too much of his time microwaving Indian takeaways, eating fish and chips on the move and munching on Greggs pies, he loved a fine meal when he got the chance. Joanna made sounds of delight at her first mouthful, then stopped to check her mobile. Whatever it was she saw, it made her frown.

  ‘What is it with that?’ Banks asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Your mobile. I know people get obsessed with checking their email on the go, and all that – it makes them behave rudely at dinner parties – but you’re never off it. It’s as if you’re waiting for the announcement of the end of the world or something. What is it that’s so important?’

  Joanna gave a sound halfway between a sniff and a snort. ‘It’s nothing,’ she said, snapping the case and putting her mobile away. ‘It’s personal. Private.’ She wouldn’t meet his eyes. ‘None of your bloody business.’