Dave Hobbs managed a smile that was a mixture of contempt and delight. His eyes sparkled and his teeth glistened as he grinned. He stood by the photocopying machine, waiting for it to finish spewing out reams of paper.
He’d got my attention and I waited, knowing he was willing me to ask a question. I turned to Boyd who had followed me up the stairs.
‘Boyd, have you got those reports?’ I said. ‘DI Hobbs can do that photocopying for you.’
For a moment Boyd stood rooted to the spot, unable to decide how to react.
‘Fuck off, Marco,’ Dave Hobbs hissed.
On my desk there was an urgent message waiting, for me to see Cornock and as I passed Dave Hobbs he smirked again. By the time I was walking through the station I had the feeling that Boyd had been right about getting back to the station sooner.
I straightened my collar, regretted not wearing a tie and knocked on Cornock’s door. There was a shout and I pushed it open.
Cornock had a china cup on his desk, full of tea, and a half-eaten biscuit sat on the saucer. Two other faces stared at me. The older man had a shaven head and a shirt one size too small for his ample neck and the other, sitting at the far end of Cornock’s desk, sipped on a mug.
‘John, do you know DCI Banks and DI Jacks from the Economic Crime Department?’
No hands were offered: just nods and blinked eyelids.
‘The Superintendent tells me you’ve got the Polish murders,’ Banks said, slowly putting down his coffee.
I nodded. A small fold of skin above the collar, underneath his earlobe, quivered.
‘We have an interest in Stanislaw Verkanski,’ he added flatly. ‘Why were you there?’
I gave Cornock a quick look. He waited for me to reply.
‘The floater had a receipt in his possessions.’
‘We got the station to contact you. Why didn’t you respond?’
I struggled for an answer.
‘You could have seriously prejudiced our investigation, Inspector,’ the voice slowed. ‘We’ve had Stanislaw under investigation for money laundering for months and we don’t take kindly to you putting your nose into our case. You could have cocked it up big time.’
I was struggling for the right thing to say.
‘I was doing my job, following the evidence.’
‘And your job is to answer urgent requests to respond.’
‘I was in the middle of questioning him.’
‘It was an urgent call.’
‘I’ve got two bodies in the morgue and so far not a lot to go on. I need to go after everything.’
‘Just do it right and don’t tread on our toes.’
‘But—’
‘Did you get anything?’
‘No. I’ll need—’
‘You won’t go anywhere near him without talking to us. Understood?’
I nodded.
‘And I want to be kept in the loop. Anything about Stan, you tell me first.’
‘Anything I need to know?’ I asked, remembering about the management training courses that emphasised inter-departmental cooperation and joined-up thinking.
Jacks had the oddest accent when he spoke: part Swansea, part Valleys. ‘We were tipped off that he might be laundering money. Lots of small cash deposits going through his account that, once you added them all together, made a significant sum.’
‘What happens then?’
Jacks continued. ‘Money gets shifted to Poland and disappears.’
‘Anything else?’ I continued.
Banks looked at his watch and cut across me. ‘No time now. DI Jacks can give you a complete briefing. You and your DS. We’ll fix up a convenient time.’ He was dismissing me and before I had a chance to think about Michal’s bank accounts he was by the door, shaking Cornock’s hand and calling him by his first name.
Once they’d left, Cornock gave me a world-weary look. ‘Sure you can handle this, John?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘I can allocate the burglaries to Dave Hobbs, you know.’
‘No, I can handle them.’
‘John, just be careful and answer your bloody phone when it goes off.’
I slipped out of Queen Street, without going back past Dave Hobbs, and en route to Mario’s I texted Boyd. He arrived just as a girl with long, brown hair down her back brought me a coffee. Boyd gave her his order and sat down.
‘How’d it go, boss?’
‘Economic Crime,’ I said, hoping he could read my mind.
‘What?’
‘They’ve had Stanislaw Verkanski under surveillance for months.’
‘And we fucked up their party.’
‘That’s about it.’
The same girl brought Boyd a coffee and a Chelsea bun covered in icing sugar that could have stopped his heart.
‘I thought you’d stopped…’
‘Starving. Need all the strength I can get.’
‘How’s…?’
‘She’s fine.’
‘Any luck?’
‘Not since the last time you asked.’
He took an enormous bite from the bun and chewed slowly, a contented look falling over his face. I pushed a spoon around my coffee.
Boyd continued. ‘There’s one thing we haven’t followed up,’ he said, licking some sugar from his lips. He pushed over a plastic pocket and I stared at the tickets for the Rumney library and leisure centre. Then I remembered I’d forgotten to call Dagmara again. I picked up the mobile, found her contact details and waited.
Another message. Another worry flashed across my mind. ‘Fancy a trip down Rumney?’
Chapter 21
Through the open window I caught the smell of tarmac and oil through the air as the car crawled through the traffic. At the junction of Southern Way and Newport Road we passed a road repair team and Boyd took the overpass, slowing as the road narrowed.
I felt my mobile vibrating in my pocket before I heard it ring. I fumbled through my jacket, eventually retrieving it with two fingers. I recognised my mother’s number.
‘Mam.’
‘John, how are you?’
I knew there was something on her mind.
‘I just thought I would ring for a chat.’
Definitely something on her mind.
‘Are you busy?’
‘In the car.’ I glanced over at Boyd.
‘I won’t keep you long.’
‘Dad OK?’
‘He’s fine. Hope things go well tonight.’
For a moment my mind didn’t connect. My mother continued. ‘I know Dean is looking forward to seeing you. I’ve spoken to Jackie.’
It was like being a teenager again, my mother organising my life. I’ve spoken to Jackie. What she meant was that she had arranged everything behind my back, sorted everything, spoken to my ex-partner, and arranged the details of the visit for me to see Dean. One part of me wanted to tell her not to interfere: another knew that it would be pointless.
‘Me too,’ I said.
‘Are you still going to the bowling?’
‘And McDonald’s.’
‘You won’t smoke when you’re with him, will you?’
‘Mam.’ I used an exasperated tone.
‘He’s young and he needs a father.’
‘He’s got…’ I struggled with Jackie’s husband’s name.
‘It’s not the same. You’re his father,’ she said with authority.
Boyd parked in a slot outside the library, reserved for Officials.
‘Look, Mam, got to go. I’ll call you later.’
Boyd switched off the engine and gave me a sympathetic look. ‘My mother’s just the same. Always interfering. And Mandy’s mother is much worse. In and out of the house. I keep thinking she’ll catch us at it.’
‘She probably wants grandchildren.’
‘Talks about it all the time.’
I left the car before Boyd could continue. The entrance of the library had a selection of stands with various leaflets for l
ocal activities. In a far corner, behind the counter, a couple of pensioners were reading the newspapers and two men in their twenties with spiky hair ran their fingers over computer keyboards.
A woman behind the counter looked at me through thick glasses.
‘Can I help you?’
I showed her my warrant card and nodded at Boyd. ‘This is Detective Sergeant Pierce and I’m DI Marco. I wonder if you can help us?’ I tried a smile but it had little effect. I gave her the ticket I’d pulled out of Michal’s wallet.
‘Can you tell me anything about it?’
She shrugged. ‘There’s no central record of who takes which book out. I can tell you if a book is late or overdue. Are you looking for any book in particular?’
‘No, sorry. Do you get a lot of Eastern Europeans coming in?’ The men on the computers were raising their voices – it sounded Polish.
‘Quite a few. Internet access is very cheap here. So many of them live in bed-sits and they can’t afford computers.’
‘Do they take out any books then?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Do you know this man?’ I showed her the photograph of Michal and a grainy photograph of Leon.
She squinted at the images and shook her head slowly.
I pulled out a packet of cigarettes as we made for the car. If I were to reach my five-a-day before seeing Dean I’d need to play catch up so I pushed the third of the day between my lips. Boyd pulled the car onto the main road while I opened the window and let the smoke drift out until the cigarette butt clung to my fingers and I threw it into the gutter.
Rumney Leisure Centre was a big concrete box, with doors that needed paint and windows covered in adverts for swimming lessons and keep-fit classes. The woman behind the glass counter was talking to a thin girl in a tracksuit. She must have seen Boyd and me standing by the counter, ties undone, without a sports bag between us.
‘Police,’ I said, running out of patience.
I pushed the photograph of Michal under the glass. ‘Have you seen this man before?’
She gave it a quick glance. ‘Only work part-time. Sorry, love.’
‘Anyone else that might help?’
‘Try the café. They might know him.’ She nodded down a corridor.
We pushed open the door of the café, plastic tables and chairs strewn around the room; a girl with a nose ring and plaited hair leant against the counter at the far end. She straightened and stopped chewing the gum in her mouth when I produced my card. I showed her the photograph of Michal.
‘Do you recognise this man?’
She looked at the face intensely. ‘Sorry.’
Then I tried the image of Leon.
‘Yeh,’ she began. ‘Been here a few times. Nice enough, mind. What’s he done?’
‘He’s dead.’
‘Fuck. That’s bad.’ She drew a hand over her mouth and threw out the gum.
‘Can you tell me anything about him?’
‘Nothing much. Dunno what he did. Swimming I think. How’d he die?’
‘How often did he come in?’
‘Every week. Was it murder? Like CSI?’
‘Was he with anyone?’
‘No, not much. But recently, yeh. Started coming with the same girl. Didn’t seem his girlfriend mind.’
‘Can you describe her?’
‘She had this really black hair. And she was foreign too.’
My concentration sharpened.
‘And last couple of times there was this other girl with them. She always had these long scarves. As though it was cold or something. And she came to the counter once – I could smell her. Really bad it was.’
Before Boyd had finished scribbling the details in his notepad I was reaching for my mobile.
Chapter 22
I strode over the car park, the mobile pressed to my ear, a sense of trepidation dominating my mind. As I reached the car the ringing stopped and I heard a tentative voice.
‘John, I’m sorry.’
‘Dagmara, where are you?’
‘I need to see you.’ There was a worried edge to her voice.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I’ve got Anna and Maria with me.’
My mind accelerated.
‘Where are you?’
‘In the Polish club.’
I reckoned it would take me ten, maybe fifteen, minutes to reach the Polish club, depending on traffic. I glanced at my watch and then at Boyd who was giving me an inquisitive look.
‘Let’s go,’ I said.
‘What’s happening, boss?’
‘We’ve got someone to see in the Polish club.’
I found myself looking forward to seeing Dagmara again. I tried to remember when I’d seen her last and found myself in a fog; the days seemed to merge together. I was pleased that I’d spoken to Dagmara but worried that she sounded troubled. We slowed and then stopped at a set of lights. The pulsing sound of the indicator broke the silence. Boyd cleared his throat.
‘So. What’s this all about?’
‘Dagmara’s in contact with one of the girls who’s been trafficked.’
‘Will she help?’
‘Let’s hope so.’
The traffic light changed and Boyd crunched the gear stick into first and drove down towards the docks. It was another five minutes before we reached the Polish club. Dagmara walked over as we parked.
‘John. Thank you.’ She touched my sleeve. ‘It’s this way.’
We entered the building through a narrow door around the back and immediately a strong smell of stale alcohol fired all sorts of messages into my memory. Mostly the sort I wanted to forget. And none I wanted to relive.
Up a small flight of stairs, we passed a half-opened door leading to a storeroom and another to a stinking toilet. At the top of the stairs, Dagmara pushed open a door.
A window overlooking the rear yard was caked with dirt and grime and daylight filtered through in thin shards. I saw Anna sitting by the table, fiddling with a pack of roll-your-own tobacco. For a woman with large hands she was surprisingly nimble. By her side was a thin girl with a mop of blond hair, but in the half-light I couldn’t tell whether it was natural or from a bottle.
‘This is Maria,’ Anna said.
Maria gave me a thin smile.
‘Daggy say I must talk to you,’ she said, glancing at Dagmara.
‘I’ve told Maria she can trust you,’ Dagmara said.
‘You knew Michal and Leon?’ I began
She looked away. Anna put the limp-looking cigarette to her lips, snapped a lighter in her other hand a couple of times and then drew deeply.
‘Both my friends,’ Maria said.
‘Tell him about Leon,’ Dagmara said.
Maria paused. ‘We in love.’
Boyd, sitting behind me, took out his notebook with a movement that for a moment broke Maria’s concentration. When Dagmara gave him a sharp glare, he raised his eyebrows as if to say that it was normal. Dagmara nodded a reassurance at Maria and then at Anna.
‘They promise me job in London.’
‘They?’ I asked.
She lowered her head and then began her story in a low voice, almost a whisper. Her family ran a farm that had been devastated by a flood one winter and they’d lost everything. A man her father knew from the nearby town came to their village, speaking to all the families affected by the flooding. Maria stopped when she described him – her eyes alight with hatred.
‘My father trust this man. He good before.’
Maria hesitated, looked down at her feet, then shook her head before restarting. From the kitchen she’d heard her father joking and reminiscing with the man about their days as young men when they drank too much and spewed into the gutters. Maria hesitated when she recounted how, after the man had left that first night, her father fetched the vodka bottle and drank in silence as her mother busied herself around the house.
‘That night I hear Mama and Papa’s voices. Talking. Very quiet.’ She turned t
o Dagmara and muttered something in Polish.
‘Whispering,’ Dagmara said.
Maria nodded. ‘Whispering for long time.’
‘When was this?’ I asked.
She shrugged. ‘Three years ago. Maybe.’
‘How old are you Maria?’
‘Eighteen,’ she said flatly. ‘Then he came back.’
There was a dark edge to Maria’s voice when she spoke about the man’s second visit. He brought gifts for Maria’s mother and money that her father had clenched tightly in his hands. Maria could remember the whites of her father’s knuckles and the desperate look on his face. The man took her father into town but he returned alone and drunk. Maria moved to the edge of her seat and tightened her hands into a ball on her knees.
‘It was after one week when the man came back. On that day I come back from working with my sister; she married and had new farm. I came into house and my mother stared at me. She said nothing. I knew something wrong because my father there too. I stood by door and saw the…’
Maria said something in Polish to Dagmara.
‘Suitcase,’ Dagmara said.
‘My father tell me that it is for the best – that I will have better life. That family will be better. That they will have money and that I will have money. I will have nice place to live. I would have nice clothes to wear. That I have new friends. I saw my mother begin to cry. At first just a tear but then much crying – my father not look at me, he always look away. But he had big lump in the throat…’
Maria raised her hand and stroked her neck.
‘… that go up and down. And then he told me that man come that day to take me to England, that he look after me. I get good job in café or hotel. Then my sister arrive and my father tell her what is happening and she cries. Too much crying. Then my mother cries much. I do not remember when the man arrived but it dark and I remember I was hungry. We talked about family and about better life in England. And how I would have more money. When that man came he smiled at me. He had nice clothes and…’
Another couple of words with Dagmara in Polish.
‘A leather jacket.’ Maria repeated Dagmara’s translation. ‘Then we left. My mother give me kiss. My father just stand, his head down. I hug my sister and man pick up my suitcase. He had big car with black windows and seats like his jacket. First we go Bucharest, for one week. Man said we get papers for passport. I met lots of other girls and often in the evening man would come back, very angry and shout and complain about papers.’
Speechless Page 15
