Speechless

by Stephen Puleston

  Maria fumbled through a small black bag by her feet and passed over a photograph of a group of smiling faces. It was difficult to make out the age of all the young girls but they were probably fifteen or sixteen, pouting to the camera. They all looked young and healthy.

  ‘These my friends. After one week we travel to Warsaw. It is long journey; many hours in car.’

  ‘How many of you were there?’ I asked.

  Maria scanned the faces of Anna and Dagmara as if the answer was a secret.

  ‘Five. They my friends.’

  ‘Where are they now?’

  Maria shrugged; then a shroud fell over her eyes and she looked at the floor again.

  ‘What happened in Warsaw?’

  ‘We met bad man.’

  ‘What was his name?’

  She shrugged again. Dagmara and Anna had sat quietly, hardly moving, listening to Maria’s description. I looked at Boyd once she’d finished. There had been an anger and a hatred in her description of Lech Balinski.

  ‘Tell John how you came to England,’ Anna said.

  ‘It was many days later. More days in car. More travelling. I was tired. Then I was very sick on ship. Things change in London. After one week man take our mobile phones. He said we have to pay for money given to family. Then we start.’

  A silence hung around the room and for a few moments nobody knew the right words to say. It was Anna who spoke first.

  ‘We’ve got all the history documented, John. All the houses where she was taken and the dates as best she could remember them.’

  ‘We’ll need to get all this down in a statement,’ I said.

  ‘She was fifteen for fuck’s sake, John. A child prostitute here in Cardiff and there are others. The ones with her in the photograph.’

  ‘Tell me about Leon.’

  Maria’s eyes lit up when I mentioned Leon’s name.

  ‘We in love. We go back to Poland and start a farm and grow pigs and make children. Leon was good for me and he look after me.’

  ‘What she means,’ Anna said, ‘is that Leon protected her from some of the worst specimens of mankind who want to rape young girls. He ran a risk protecting her.’

  ‘Is that why he was killed?’ I asked.

  Anna exchanged a glance with Dagmara, as though they had to agree on giving me the next piece of information.

  ‘He was trying to get Frankie Prince to let her go,’ Anna said.

  ‘And how was he hoping to do that?’ I said, scarcely wanting to believe what I thought was coming next.

  Dagmara now: ‘Michal had helped Leon take photographs.’

  My mouth had dried out and I struggled to ask my next question.

  ‘Photographs of what exactly?’

  ‘The men and the girls and the parties.’ Anna again.

  ‘And where are these photographs?’

  ‘Michal kept them on his computer.’ Anna’s voice was almost a whisper.

  ‘And it’s missing, of course,’ I said, realising what everyone was looking for.

  They all nodded.

  * * *

  After the stench of the Polish club the salt in the air was a pleasant change. Once I’d checked the time – no way could I be late collecting Dean – I stood with Boyd and Dagmara by the car.

  ‘So, how well did you know Michal?’ I said.

  ‘Very well. Good friends,’ Dagmara replied.

  ‘Why had you been seeing so much of Michal?’

  Dagmara bowed her head. ‘I… was trying to help.’

  ‘Did he have any idea what he was doing?’

  ‘He was very brave.’

  Boyd wanted to know about the computer. ‘Where was it kept?’

  ‘He didn’t keep it in the bed-sit or in the factory.’

  ‘Did he give it to Leon?’ I said.

  Dagmara shrugged and then hesitated. ‘There was more than just photographs. Michal was computer expert. He learnt about things like that in the army and he could do lots.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He didn’t tell me, but I think it was all about Frankie Prince.’

  ‘All about Frankie?’ I sounded angry. But not as angry as I wanted to sound. ‘He must have been mad. Stark, raving, fucking mad to get involved with someone like Frankie Prince. And where is this computer?’

  ‘He said it was in place where no one would think of looking.’

  ‘Could his boyfriend Kamil know where it might be?’

  ‘Boyfriend?’ She sounded surprised.

  My mobile purred with a text from Jackie, reminding me about Dean, and no sooner had I read it than another appeared on the screen from Trish. My life wasn’t my own.

  Chapter 23

  I hesitated at the door of The Captain Scott; the warmth of the pub and the smell of beer slops and cheap clothes smothered me like an old blanket. It wasn’t full and I walked up to the bar and stared at the optics. I had stood in the same place many times before, mostly waiting for a pint of beer in a straight glass and a whisky. I could remember the anticipation of seeing the drinks on the bar in front of me, of taking that first sip, of feeling the bitter liquid against my tongue and telling myself I’d only have a couple.

  I ordered an orange juice and sat down. A couple of the regulars gave me brief nods of recognition before turning their attention to the Swansea versus Manchester City Premiership game on the television screen hanging on the wall.

  Something had made me decide to call at the pub after taking Dean back to Jackie’s mother’s house. Something had wanted me to realise what I had left behind. Perhaps it was seeing Dean and realising that I didn’t want him to be something I left behind.

  Sometimes I needed to be on my own.

  I put my mobile on the table by the side of the glass and looked at the screen, which reminded me I had two messages. I knew one would be from my mother and the second from Trish. I could have gone straight home. I should have been with Trish, drinking tea and eating toast and telling her about my evening with Dean and then telephoning my mother.

  I thought about Maria sitting in the Polish club that afternoon, her hopes ripped to shreds and her future plans with Leon destroyed. I could see Anna turning the cigarette paper through her fingers with that hard-determined look in her eyes.

  A shout, then a roar of approval, came from the bar and someone shouted at me that Swansea had scored and were in the lead. I was hoping that the reassurance of familiar surroundings and the comfort of strangers would help me think straight. Nothing was making sense. Cornock would want an update soon enough and I had Hobbs lurking in the background, hoping that I’d foul up so that he could take charge. But more than anything I had Dagmara and Anna running around like vigilantes.

  I sipped the orange juice and played with my mobile, thinking that I should check the messages. Two girls came over, sat at the opposite end of the bench and gave me dark stares – the regulars of The Captain Scott could be jealous of their local pub, resentful of strangers they didn’t recognise. But I felt like a local and ignored them.

  Dagmara had touched my sleeve. I remembered that as though she was still sitting next to me. She’d given me a broad, open smile that had creased her cheeks, accentuating her wide cheekbones. I wondered about her life, who she was with, her lovers and family. Thinking about her crowded out the memories of Anna and Maria and I realised I should have been tougher. They couldn’t interfere. It would be dangerous. I had to find out more about Lech so I picked up my mobile and, deliberately avoiding the texts, I tapped out a message to Terry. I finished the last of my orange juice and took the glass to the bar on my way out. Swansea scored a second and the place erupted with shouts of applause as I opened the door onto Bute Street. I stood for a moment and drew out a cigarette from the squashed pack in my jacket. I was pleased with myself for having succeeded in not smoking in front of Dean. I walked back to my car, enjoying the smoke filling my lungs.

  Within ten minutes I was reversing into a parking space before heading t
owards the flat. I could hear the sound of the late-night news programme once I’d opened the door to the apartment. Trish sat on the sofa, sipping a mug of herbal tea; a sweet fragrant smell hung in the air.

  ‘Well, how did it go, John?’

  ‘It was fine, I suppose.’

  ‘How did you get on with Dean?’

  ‘I think he enjoyed it. We went bowling for an hour or so. Then we had McDonald’s.’

  ‘What did you talk about?’

  I suppressed the desire to shrug. ‘Lots of things.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Football. He supports Queens Park Rangers.’

  ‘Maybe you could take him to see Cardiff playing. It will be a really good opportunity for you both to get to know each other.’

  ‘The tickets would be hard to come by.’

  ‘So what else happened? Was he nervous? Did you ask about school?’

  ‘Ah…’

  ‘John, you really are hopeless.’

  ‘It was fine. I enjoyed it. Dean enjoyed it.’

  I got up, walked through to the kitchen and returned with an instant coffee. Trish was sitting square on the sofa, the empty mug standing on the table.

  ‘Is Dean looking forward to the party?’

  ‘Yes, we talked about that too,’ I said. ‘He’s staying with his grandmother for the weekend. First time he’s done that on his own.’

  ‘Your mother’s called. Said you haven’t answered her text message. I think you’d better call her.’

  I found my mobile and called my mother. Trish was looking at me intently.

  ‘Tell me everything,’ my mother said, striking a friendly, threatening tone.

  ‘Fine. Good,’ I began and then I noticed Trish widening her eyes and rolling her hands telling me I had to be more effusive. I got the message and gathered pace, reassuring my mother that Dean had enjoyed his evening, had bowled better than me, had eaten a McDonald’s with a strawberry milkshake and that he was looking forward to the party. Trish gave a satisfied nod as I finished.

  ‘Make sure you remember everybody who’s going to be there. I know you’re hopeless with people’s birthdays and names.’

  I glanced over at Trish. Now it is my turn to roll my hands. Once my mother had finished I slumped back in the sofa, beginning to feel the effects of the long day. Then I clicked through to my messages and read the text from my mother.

  ‘Did you text me earlier?’ I said.

  ‘I reminded you that I’m away tomorrow on that course up north.’

  I’d forgotten, as usual. Since the WPS was created, officers from Southern Division seemed to spend more time than was necessary attending courses in Northern Division HQ or in dismal hotels in the middle of nowhere halfway between.

  Before I could reply the handset lit up, the screen telling me I now had three unread messages. I read the one from Trish and then I scrolled down the screen expecting messages from Boyd or Terry. The first was from Boyd telling me he was making progress with identifying Lech. The second message was from Dagmara – It was so good to see you this afternoon I hope we can fix everything together. Love x

  ‘Who was it?’ Trish said.

  ‘Just work.’

  Chapter 24

  It was late September, not yet autumn but cool enough to remind me that summer was over. The window behind me was firmly closed but I could hear the stifled shouts from the takeaway restaurants on the street below. I sipped from a coffee mug with multi-coloured stripes, trying to decide what needed my attention next. I should have listened to the management gurus, made a to-do list, and structured my morning carefully after checking my emails. Instead I put my feet up on the desk, chewed on a chocolate bar and then finished my coffee.

  It had taken Boyd a couple of days to produce a pile of paperwork two feet thick linking Frankie Prince to the various properties in the Splott area occupied by the Eastern European immigrants. Boyd came to the door and I waved him into my room as I dislodged my shoes from the desk.

  ‘I didn’t think it was possible for one man to own so many properties,’ Boyd said, making himself comfortable in one of the hard-backed chairs. ‘Frankie’s got thirty properties that I’ve been able to find so far. And that’s only with one company. The properties have all been registered in the past three years. And I’m waiting for a search from Companies House that’ll tell me if he’s a director of other companies.’

  ‘So where is all the money coming from?’

  ‘I spoke to Didi Hawes in Economic Crime. She got all jittery when I spoke to her. Told me that I’d have to speak to her boss DCI Banks.’

  The memory of the brief meeting with Banks was still raw in my mind. I had a murderer to catch and they wanted to bang on about a dishonest shopkeeper.

  ‘I don’t want to tread on anybody’s toes, boss.’

  ‘I suppose we had better talk to Banks.’

  ‘I agree.’ Boyd sounded relieved.

  I picked up the telephone and, after a skirmish with Banks’s secretary in which I had to insist that the matter was urgent enough to justify a meeting today, we arranged to see him after lunch. I turned back to Boyd.

  ‘Lech Balinski,’ I said out loud.

  I’d had two conversations with the colonel and each time I knew he wasn’t telling me everything he knew. Maybe it was the language or maybe cooperation for him was a one-way exercise. But something had been niggling me and I couldn’t put my finger on it.

  ‘Have you had anything from the Polish embassy?’ Boyd said.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, not paying Boyd any attention.

  ‘Have you had any response from the colonel about Janek?’

  Then it struck me what was wrong about the colonel and his reaction when I mentioned Janek. I hadn’t told him that Janek lived in Warsaw and yet he was going to talk to the police there. I picked up the telephone and scrambled for the business card.

  After patiently explaining who I was to a voice at the Polish embassy I was put through.

  ‘Inspector Marco. I have news of Pietrek. He was not in Polish forces. He was two years in seminary and then go back to college to learn English and become a plumber.’

  ‘And Janek?’ I asked carefully. ‘Have you made any progress with tracing Janek? Have you spoken to the police in Warsaw?’

  ‘I have nothing to report, yet. The police in Warsaw have been looking for him. But, you know, Warsaw is big city. And the police department need more men.’

  I paused and drew my tongue over my lips.

  ‘I’m sure you get all the right information from your informants. But it didn’t save Gerek, did it?’

  ‘Good man,’ he said.

  ‘Was he in Polish forces as well?’

  ‘Good soldier—’

  ‘Now look, Colonel, I never told you where Janek lived. Either you get me the information I need or I’ll go to my ACC and give her a full report about your cooperation.’

  I could hear him breathing down the telephone.

  ‘And another thing. I want you to tell me everything you know about Lech Balinski. And I mean everything.’

  I was standing up now.

  ‘I call back,’ he said and the line went dead.

  I sat back in my chair, drew my hands around my neck and blew out my cheeks. Chasing shadows was the hardest part of this sort of job. It was much easier when there was a crime scene with lots of forensics all pointing to one perpetrator that we could arrest, interview, and then charge.

  Before I could start to think clearly, the telephone rang. I heard the clear voice of Cornock telling me that he needed to see me.

  * * *

  Cornock stood over his desk fidgeting with a silver ballpoint pen. It looked expensive, and he kept clicking the top. There was plopping sound from the aquarium, sitting down wasn’t an option, so I stood.

  ‘Have you heard of Janet Helm?’ he said.

  ‘She’s an opposition assembly member.’

  ‘Not just any AM. She makes a lot of noise. Gets
a lot of attention.’

  ‘An all-round pain in the backside then,’ I said.

  He gave me an almost sharp look and picked up some papers on his desk.

  ‘She’s been able to blag her way into seeing the Assistant Chief Constable. Ostensibly to raise concerns about the lack of policing and the poor record of the Wales Police Service in dealing with people trafficking. Apparently she’s got somebody from Amnesty with her.’

  ‘Who?’ I said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’ve met Anna from Amnesty as part of the investigation.’

  ‘It could be her. I don’t know. What I do know is that I don’t want this politician making life difficult.’

  ‘She’s just out to get publicity.’

  Another sharp look. ‘I don’t like people interfering, John. This is police work.’

  ‘So when is this meeting?’

  Cornock looked at his watch. ‘She’s arriving in ten minutes. So you’d better bring me up to date.’

  * * *

  Janet Helm wore a long skirt that accentuated the enormous girth of her hips. She was taller than I’d imagined and it was difficult to guess her age but I thought at least fifty-five, definitely under sixty. She strode into the conference room dragging Anna behind her, who gave me a defiant look as both women sat down.

  Cornock stretched out a hand and did the usual pleasantries.

  ‘Let’s get on Superintendent,’ Helm said. ‘I’ve got an important meeting at lunchtime.’

  ‘How can we help, Mrs Helm?’ Cornock intertwined his fingers and laid them carefully in front of him on the table. A young civilian came in with a tray of fancy cups and saucers and a plate of biscuits.

  ‘I understand that you’re in charge of the investigation into the murders of the Polish citizens.’

  ‘Yes, and Detective Inspector John Marco is in charge day-to-day.’

  ‘Yes, I know that,’ Helm said, glancing over at me. ‘I want to know what progress you’re making. The Assistant Chief Constable tells me that you hope forensics will help.