I noticed that Helm had surprisingly small, narrow fingers as she lifted a cup to her lips and slurped on the tea.
‘Well, it’s difficult to be specific—’
‘Don’t try and throw sand in my eyes, Superintendent.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of—’
‘Oh, come now. We both know that investigating this sort of incident isn’t exactly top priority.’
Cornock unthreaded his fingers and fisted one hand, drumming the fingers of the other on the table.
‘Mrs Helm, I want you to understand that murder always has top priority.’
For a moment it stopped Helm in her tracks. She blinked and fiddled with her teacup.
‘I understand there is a link to organised people trafficking.’
Cornock squinted at her, but said nothing.
‘Everybody has human rights, Superintendent. And these girls have a right to be protected. As a society we must take steps to ensure that anybody involved in this heinous crime is brought to book. I know that my colleagues in the European Parliament are equally concerned about human trafficking. We’ve got an appalling record in Wales for dealing with these criminals. We haven’t got the support network in place; we haven’t got enough facilities.’
‘We’re doing everything we can to find those responsible.’ Cornock ran out of platitudes and I could see the irritation building in Helm.
‘I have been working closely with the Polish community,’ I said. ‘And also with Anna, so that I can try and get a better picture of what is happening.’
Anna moved uncomfortably and avoided eye contact. If she had got Helm involved then things might be getting out of control. Anna was playing a dangerous game and now an ambitious politician had hijacked her.
‘Anna has been very helpful in assisting me with the enquiries.’ I tried flattery.
Anna unwound the scarf draped around her neck and then cleared her throat. Her voice was quieter than before.
‘There are so many of them involved. So many girls. So many families—’
Helm butted in. ‘And that of course is exactly why the Wales Police Service must do more. Not only to find the murderers. But also to find the awful people who are trafficking in human beings. This really is white slavery. It’s modern-day torture and we can’t allow it to continue.’
‘Mrs Helm, I can assure you that we will do everything to make progress with the investigation,’ Cornock added.
‘I’m going to be raising this at the highest levels. It’s the sort of thing that the assembly committee should be discussing. Now that we have policing devolved from Westminster I want to be able to see that policing priorities are in the right place.’
Helm sounded like a party political broadcast. I could see her on the television smiling to the camera, making acerbic comments about the failure of the Wales Police Service. This was a win-win situation for her. It was publicity all the way, attention from the press and no downside. People trafficking wasn’t going to go away. We might lock up the occasional trafficker and send some of the unfortunate girls home, but from past experience they were usually back on the street within a few days. Helm knew that it wasn’t really our problem, given that the likes of Lech Balinski could prey on impoverished families.
‘Do you have any suspects?’ Helm continued.
‘You must know that I can’t discuss the operational side of the investigation,’ Cornock said.
Helm gave him an exasperated look.
‘Is it too much to ask for a little cooperation? I’m here as a representative of the people. I was elected to do a job of work. These people are my constituents; they expect me to ask awkward questions.’
‘And it’s our job, Mrs Helm, to investigate crime.’
It was difficult resisting the temptation to ask her if she knew Frankie Prince. Did she know the sort of person that she was associated with? Did she think about the massage parlours and the two-to-a-room bed-sits in Splott when she shook Frankie’s hand and drank his cocktails at fancy receptions attended by dignitaries?
‘Are there any specific things you would like us to address? Perhaps areas of new evidence that you think we should be investigating. Things that would be constructive for the development of our investigation.’
Now it was my turn to feel surprised. I turned to look at Cornock. He was beginning to sound like a politician, turning out one cliché after another. Helm stared at him briefly.
‘I expect the attitude of the Wales Police Service to change. I’d like to be kept fully informed.’
‘Of course, we’d be delighted to arrange another meeting once we’ve made further progress,’ Cornock said, getting up.
Helm left in a cloud of tacky perfume that matched her Crimplene clothes. Anna gave me a furtive glance as she followed Helm out of the door. I turned to Cornock who was picking up his papers.
‘Be careful, John. That fucking bitch is dangerous.’
Chapter 25
‘How did it go, boss?’
The sound of the radio was playing in the background and the café was filling with lunchtime customers.
‘Helm is like any other politician. She wants to get as much publicity as possible. Useless bloody waste of time.’
‘What did the Super think?’
‘He told us to be careful. So now we have to be careful of the politicians, as well as Lech Balinski and Frankie Prince.’
‘Was that Anna woman with her?’
I nodded as I ate a chunk of my tuna baguette. After swallowing a mouthful I looked at Boyd.
‘She’s pulling our chain. She’s playing a really dangerous game. Once she’s got the politicians involved, the likes of Helm will piss all over her. Trample her underfoot to get the publicity they want.’
‘She must know that,’ Boyd said, sipping his Diet Coke.
I wanted to think that Anna had the best motives but she was mixing with some dangerous people. And I was getting more and more annoyed, knowing that she was trying to manipulate the investigation.
Finishing my lunch I threw the napkin on the table.
‘Maybe DCI Banks and DI Jacks will be easier to deal with.’
* * *
Boyd drove out to headquarters in one of the pool cars from Queen Street while I tapped out a message to Dagmara on my mobile. I avoided saying anything about the meeting with Anna and Janet Helm. If Dagmara was talking to Anna it was a racing certainty she knew about the meeting, and if Maria was talking to Dagmara and Anna then I was the only person who didn’t know what was happening. I felt like a piece on a chessboard being moved by different players. It was about time that I moved the pieces around the board. My second text was a reminder to Terry.
Boyd slowed the car as we rattled over speed bumps on entering the car park. The massive electronic aerials and dishes screwed to the roof were the only way of telling that the building wasn’t the headquarters of an insurance company. There was an enormous new sign advising every visitor, bilingually of course, that they had to report at reception. Boyd was the first to sign in, and as he finished my mobile beeped. I read the brief text from Terry – rugby game tonight Arms Park, don’t miss it. I smiled to myself; at least he was keeping in touch.
We passed the smart leather sofas lining the walls at reception, the smell of freshly cut flowers lingered in the air. We threaded our way down to the Economic Crime Department and eventually pushed open the doors into a bright air-conditioned suite of offices. The computers hummed quietly in the background and I stopped momentarily, just to admire the clean carpet tiles. Maybe I should apply for a transfer, I thought to myself.
A young woman detective constable with high heels and a smart red jacket pointed us towards Banks’s office. I knocked and then walked straight in.
Banks pointed to the chairs and we sat down, squinting against the sunlight pouring through the Venetian blinds covering the large window behind. He reached over to close the slats.
‘So what’s the big panic about, Marco?’
‘Your man Stan and the money laundering. I need to know what’s going on, sir.’
‘Why?’
‘Michael Dąbek had £40,000 in his bank account that his family knows nothing about. We fish another Pole, without a tongue, from the docks and a third is bent in half in his flat. And the obvious connection is Frankie Prince, who incidentally owns the house where two of them lived. Then I keep hearing about Lech Balinski, whose favourite Transylvanian sport is amputating tongues. So if there is anything I need to know that would help the murder investigation I want to be told.’
Banks hesitated for a moment and gave me an intense stare, ‘Our man Stan, as you call him, is a small player. He just moves the money around. The Polish community trust him to repatriate funds for them to Poland. He offers the Polish community a better interest rate than the major banks and he makes a margin. The result is that everyone is happy. Apart from us, of course.’
‘Sounds simple enough.’
‘We had a tip-off once the amounts involved began to increase. Problem we’ve got is that hundreds of people visit Stanislaw every week. Some of them take him a hundred quid. Some will take him five hundred. Some will take him a thousand. Some are legit. Some, well, most, are not.’
‘Do you think this money is proceeds of crime?’
‘What do you think, Inspector? With the average Pole working for minimum wage, it stretches the imagination to think that they can save the sort of money that we’re seeing going through Stanislaw’s account. Our investigation is taking hundreds of man hours. We’ve only just begun to cooperate with the police in Poland. And we got the Serious Organised Crime Agency looking over our shoulders just waiting for the opportunity to take the case.’
Banks propped his chin on steepled arms and gave me another cold, hard look.
‘I don’t want you interfering. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You fuck up my inquiry and you’ll be issuing speeding tickets on the M4.’
* * *
I spent the rest of the afternoon reviewing the forensic reports from Alvine Dix and nursing my hurt pride. They had all the usual references to their standard procedures, but the result was the same for all the reports. Nothing of substance. After I’d read that the tongues at the factory all belonged to dogs I’d delegated Woods and Lawson to call, until eventually they complained that the receptionist at the factory thought they were pranksters.
There was still no message from Dagmara and I picked up my mobile a couple of times during the afternoon, thinking about composing a text before replacing it on a pile of papers.
Tonight, I would definitely send her another text. Tomorrow, I’d would go and see her.
Boyd picked up his jacket as I left for the day.
‘You all right, boss?’
Boyd hadn’t said anything on the journey back from headquarters. And he hadn’t complained when I had two of my five-a-day in the car. Banks had succeeded in stretching my daily limit of cigarettes and limiting Boyd’s conversation.
‘Fancy coming to the Blues game tonight?’ I surprised myself with the invitation.
Boyd gave me a pained look. ‘Sorry boss. Mother-in-law is coming to tea.’ He let out a deep sigh.
‘How are things?’
‘If Mandy gets pregnant her mother will have to help.’
‘So, keeping in with mother-in-law. How’s Mandy?’
‘She felt sick one morning last week and got really excited. She was convincing herself she was pregnant. She wants to have a child so badly you wouldn’t believe it.’
‘How will you manage after Mandy gives up work?’
He cast his face into a weary gaze over my shoulder.
‘Mandy will have to get back to work. Otherwise we could only manage to pay the mortgage for maybe a year. But you know how it is.’
I wasn’t sure I did. My income paid the mortgage on the flat where I lived. It’d always been in my name and when I was living with Jackie we hadn’t planned on Dean; he just sort of happened. I was fumbling for the right thing to say, various different alternatives swimming around in my mind.
‘I’m sure things will work out,’ I said, immediately knowing I wasn’t sounding convincing.
* * *
The late afternoon traffic meant I was late getting to the Arms Park stadium. I paid for a ticket and a programme and made my way up towards the stand. It had been several years since I’d been to a rugby game and I climbed the concrete steps and found my way through the thin crowd towards the middle of a row of seats.
The Blues’s fly-half kicked the ball hard and it landed at the bottom of the stand and the players ran to gather for a lineout. Cameramen with mobile units strapped on their shoulders ran down the touchline and shouts of encouragement reverberated from the crowd below me.
‘Don’t turn around.’
The voice behind me was harsh, but I knew it was Terry. I twitched my head.
‘Don’t.’
‘This is a bit Jason Bourne isn’t it?’
‘You have no fucking idea.’
‘So tell me.’
‘Lech Balinski. That’s his name.’
‘I know his name, Terry. You will need to do better than that.’
‘Fuck off, Marco.’
‘So what else?’
‘Anybody who gets in his way has a habit of winding up dead. All the money is coming from the Mafia in Russia. And Lech Balinski is your man. He scared the shit out of so many people nobody is talking.’
‘Is that all?’
There was a pause and then Terry whispered an address.
‘You going to the bar afterwards?’ Terry said.
‘Are you going to buy me a drink?’
‘No, but Lech Balinski might.’
I heard a noise behind me as the plastic seat closed and when I turned my head I saw Terry walking away, the collar of his jacket tucked against his face.
* * *
The game had too much kicking, too little inspiration and the crowd booed. One of the forwards threw a fist when he thought the linesman wouldn’t notice, then his opposite number retaliated and the game descended into pushing and shoving as an edgy crowd taunted the players until the referee’s whistle finally cooled tempers.
The Blues didn’t deserve to win but it was points on the board and they were second from the top of the league table. I streamed out of the stadium and walked around to the bar area, uncertain what exactly I was doing. I kept thinking about Michal and Leon and how their young lives had been ended, and if Lech was responsible I wanted him locked up. The smooth, reasonable tones of Cornock’s voice as he spoke to Helm that morning came to mind and I wondered what he might say. But what harm could it do? Frankie Prince knew I was in charge of the investigation.
Two bouncers in dark suits, white shirts and black ties were standing by the doors to the bar with the curled wires from their earpieces straddling their collars. I stopped and adjusted my tie. I brushed away a faint dusting of dust and dirt from my trousers and checked my brogues. They were my second-best pair and I made a mental note that I needed to clean them properly.
I walked slowly through the cavernous bar, mingling through the rugby fans who had gathered for a drink after the game. Girls tottered on high heels with fancy make-up and hair extensions. I tried to look above the crowd. Maybe Terry was wrong. It was hot and sticky and I was thirsty, but I wasn’t going to carry a glass of water around. I wasn’t looking where I was going and I banged into a man who spilled the top of his beer on his shoes and cursed me. I gave him a dull look and shrugged an apology. I spent ten minutes circling the room, looking for Frankie Prince and anybody who might match the description of Lech.
I stood by a group of men with beer bellies hanging comfortably over their waistbands. I listened to the Scottish accents from the supporters travelling with the Glasgow team and then I stood on tiptoe trying to spot Frankie Prince. I heard a voice behind me calling my name.
; I saw Paddy MacVeigh walking over to me. His drink was almost finished and by the colour of his cheeks I guessed he had stopped counting.
‘John, let me buy you a drink,’ he slurred.
I hesitated. It’d been a long day and I didn’t want to prop up the bar with a drunken pathologist.
‘You’re on the wagon aren’t you?’ he said.
I looked around, bobbing my head up and down, and then at Paddy.
‘What?’
‘What are you going to have to drink? Orange juice?’ he said, finishing his beer and turning to the bar.
‘Yes. Thanks,’ I said.
Paddy pushed his way through the crowd towards the bar and I stood on tiptoe again. Away in the distance at the other end of the bar I caught a glimpse of Frankie talking, gesticulating with his hands. Then I noticed the broad shoulders of a man who must have been six-four with a square head and no neck.
I had to see Lech, look him in the eyes.
I left Paddy and pushed my way through the crowd. I crashed into shoulders and bumped shins, ignoring the complaints but this time I didn’t shrug or offer an apology. I just carried on. When I got close I could see the smart white shirt and expensive suit and then I recognised the familiar face of a television personality standing by Frankie’s side.
There was no going back now. If there was flak I would deal with it. If Cornock complained, it was simply a matter of priorities.
I thrust my way towards Frankie. He was still sipping from a champagne glass when I barged into his shoulder.
‘What the fuck are you…’ he said, as he spilled the champagne on his trousers.
‘I didn’t know you were rugby fan, Mr Prince?’ I said feigning surprise.
I looked up at Lech. The hair was cut short, the suit a deep-brown colour with lapels from a Philip Marlowe movie. His hand, holding a champagne glass, was twice the size of mine. His eyes were as black as finely polished anthracite. There was no flicker of emotion; he just stood there and looked me. I turned to Frankie.
‘Aren’t you going to introduce me?’
Chapter 26
‘You did what?’
Speechless Page 17
