Speechless

by Stephen Puleston

  Boyd sounded more surprised than I’d expected. He leant against the door into my office and let out gasp of air, as he thought of something else to say.

  ‘Does the Super know?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Are you going to tell him?’

  ‘Of course.’

  He gave me a suspicious glance, but before he could challenge me Lawson and Woods came into the Incident Room and I tuned into their conversations about the latest transfer rumours at Cardiff City, who needed to add a striker if we were going to stay in the Premiership. After Swansea’s success in the previous season all the talk in Cardiff was about how much the club would have to spend to get the right players.

  ‘You going to the Liberty next weekend?’ Lawson said, referring to the home ground of Swansea City.

  ‘We’ll see how things go,’ I said, mindful of the money I’d already wasted on the home game against Chelsea.

  ‘I remember when we could get in for nothing,’ Lawson said, leaning back in his chair, arms folded behind his head. ‘When both teams were in the Championship. That was…’

  ‘Hate to break up the reminiscing,’ I said. ‘We’ve got work to do.’

  I stood before the board in the Incident Room and looked over the notes and photographs pinned in place, hoping that we could find the evidence we needed. The best images we had of Michal and Leon were pictures from the mortuary, eyes closed and pallid skin with a deathly pallor. We’d been luckier with Gerek, as the Human Resources Department at the factory where he’d worked dug out a small passport-style photograph that we’d stuck below the face of Leon. All in a row down one side of the board and I wondered whether there’d be more to add to the list.

  Lawson cracked open a bottle of cola that fizzed some of its contents over his papers.

  ‘Joe, I need you to cross-reference all the factory workers who are common to the lists from the hotels.’

  He mopped the papers with a handkerchief while glancing up at me. ‘Yes, boss.’

  ‘Three of those names are dead so we need to trace the others.’

  ‘Of course. Yes.’

  ‘And I want it done quickly. Today, Joe. Now.’

  He stopped mopping and nodded.

  Woods looked more focused when I turned to him. ‘Phil, I need to know about Leon and Gerek’s bank accounts back in Poland.’

  His mouth opened slightly, a troubled look crossed his face.

  ‘Get that translator…’

  ‘Veronika,’ Boyd added.

  ‘Yes. She’ll help,’ I said.

  ‘Boyd. Let’s go and talk to our Hungarian receptionist friend.’

  * * *

  As we pulled out of Queen Street it occurred to me that we should take a detour.

  ‘Go down Grangetown first.’

  ‘But I thought…’

  ‘We need to see the priest again.’

  This time Father Podolak wasn’t expecting us and the surprise on his face as he opened the door to us lasted long enough to justify the visit. He sat behind a desk in the study, a Bible and some textbooks in a pile to one side. An old telephone was perched on the opposite corner.

  ‘You’ve heard about Gerek,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Did you know him?’

  ‘No. I mean I knew about him through others.’

  ‘Who exactly?’

  ‘Others in the Polish community.’

  ‘It is important that if you know anything or anyone with information then they should come forward.’

  ‘Of course.’

  I could sense the puzzled look on Boyd’s face.

  ‘Do you know Pietrek Nowak?’

  ‘Who?’

  Evasion, always a bad sign.

  ‘He was a good friend of Gerek.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘And he spent two years in a seminary.’

  Father Podolak didn’t say anything.

  ‘And if he knows something about the killings he should come forward before there are more deaths.’

  The priest nodded his head.

  ‘After all, the Christian faith is about the sanctity of life and the forgiveness of sins. What greater sin is there than to take a man’s life? Or indeed fail to prevent another.’

  Father Podolak composed himself and adjusted his dark jacket. ‘Pietrek Nowak, you say?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll be sure to remember the name.’

  Boyd hadn’t said a word until we were in the car park outside the church. He bleeped the car and we got in.

  ‘What was that all about?’

  ‘The good Father Podolak knows Pietrek. Written all over his face. I wonder where Pietrek might be?’ I pitched my head and looked through the windscreen at the presbytery.

  Boyd drove and I hummed another Elvis song on the journey that should have taken us twenty minutes, but the morning traffic choking the streets of Cardiff meant we took over half an hour.

  ‘How did you know she’s Hungarian?’ Boyd asked, as he yanked up the handbrake once we’d parked outside the factory.

  ‘She doesn’t sound Polish.’

  I pushed open the door to reception and found her sitting by the desk, her legs encased in skin-tight jeans. There was only the vaguest hint of recognition when she looked at Boyd and me.

  ‘I need to ask you some questions. What’s your name?’

  ‘Adelina. It very busy now.’

  ‘It can’t wait.’

  ‘I no leave.’

  I smiled. ‘I’m sure you can find someone to cover for you. It won’t take long.’ I always said that but I never meant it.

  She spoke into the telephone, more guttural tones and within a couple of minutes a girl walked into reception and they exchanged a few words. I thought I heard the name Gerek.

  ‘There is coffee place,’ she said, nodding towards the car park.

  Within five minutes we were sitting by a table waiting for three coffees. Adelina folded her left leg over her right knee, a languid look on her face despite the glances at her watch.

  ‘Where are you from?’

  ‘My father is from Estonia and my mother is Russian. It is legal for me to be here.’

  So not Hungarian after all.

  ‘How well did you know Michal Dąbek?’

  ‘He work in same place and I know him, yes.’

  ‘And you shared a flat with Gerek. Did he know Michal?’

  She looked away and swapped her legs around.

  ‘I was friends with Gerek. He and Michal, they were together the night Michal killed.’

  ‘What were they doing?’

  She shrugged. ‘They were shouting in the bedroom.’

  ‘Did you hear what they were talking about?’

  ‘No,’ she said, as though the answer was obvious. ‘My Polish no good.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘Gerek say later that they go to Four Seasons. He say something about a new person Michal no like. He big man.’ She spread her arms wide and opened her eyes. ‘Gerek was frightened for sure. And then he call Frankie Prince on mobile.’

  I could sense Boyd tensing up by my side.

  ‘How do you know it was Frankie Prince?’ he said.

  ‘Gerek say his name.’

  Another part of the jigsaw: my pulse was telling me this was going to help.

  * * *

  The autumn sunshine was waning and by the time we were back in the station the radiator was hot and my office was too warm. I started to feel that we’d reached the stage where we needed another discussion with Frankie Prince. But it was the sort of conversation that would need some careful attention so I arranged a meeting with Cornock, put the telephone down and my mobile beeped.

  ‘John, it is me.’ Dagmara spoke slowly and then hesitated. ‘I am worried about Maria. I cannot get hold of her. It is not like her.’

  ‘You’ve tried her mobile?’

  ‘No reply and I have texted her.’

  �
��She’s probably out of signal or her battery’s died.’ As soon as I’d said this I knew it sounded lame.

  ‘I call you later.’

  I stared at the screen for a few seconds, making sense of my emotions and wondering if the worry turning in my mind might change to real fear.

  * * *

  I spent longer than I’d planned reviewing the paperwork and deciding how exactly I could persuade Cornock that I needed to interview Frankie Prince and Lech Balinski. I built another mind map, and I stared at the interconnecting lines. The Home Office murder manual spewed out a dozen reports that I should have read carefully, reviewed and ticked off in a box to confirm that I’d read them and that action would be undertaken on each and the follow-through monitored. I walked around my office and then through the Incident Room, passing quizzical gazes and odd stares, clutching the mind map and rehearsing the arguments.

  I found myself hesitating outside Cornock’s door. Boyd gave me an uncertain look before I raised my hand.

  ‘Strength in numbers, John?’ Cornock said as we sat down.

  ‘Something like that,’ I said, clearing my throat. ‘I want to question Frankie Prince about these murders.’

  Cornock sat back. He threw his biro onto the desk and squinted at me. ‘This had better be good.’

  ‘Everything points to Frankie Prince and Lech Balinski.’

  ‘But you haven’t got the evidence.’

  ‘We can put Gerek and Michal together in Frankie’s club on the night Michal was killed and we know that Gerek’s time of death fits in with him being killed at about the same time.’

  ‘So they go and see Frankie – they work for him.’

  ‘They’re bouncers in a club. Hardly someone he’s going to call or go down the pub with for a quick drink. And we’ve got Leon’s mobile with a dozen-plus calls to Frankie’s mobile.’

  Cornock rolled his eyes, unconvinced.

  ‘That’s so circumstantial it’s not circumstantial.’

  Boyd let out a faint laugh and an appreciative smile brushed Cornock’s lips.

  ‘And we’ve got Michal’s boyfriend telling us that Michal worked with the escorts in Frankie’s flesh trade. And we know from the Amnesty report you gave me that trafficking is a major problem.’

  Cornock stood up, walked over to the aquarium and dropped small piles of food onto the water.

  ‘And we have a positive link to the house, sir. Frankie Prince owns the 14 Howick Street house through a company and a car owned by one of his companies was seen outside the house the night of Leon’s death. But more importantly Lech Balinski was seen outside the house too.’

  When Cornock stood up he’d managed to knot his brow so heavily that darks shadows fell over the ridges. He raised a hand.

  ‘Do you know how well connected Frankie Prince is?’ He stopped and stared at Boyd and me. We just sat there, saying nothing. ‘He’d get the best lawyers that money can buy and once they’d be finished all you’d want to do would be watch daytime television for the rest of your life.’

  And all I wanted to do was make sure that Frankie Prince had no choice but to watch daytime television from the comfort of a prison cell.

  ‘We’ll need direct evidence John. And after your stunt in the Arms Park he’ll complain about police harassment.’

  A silence fell on the room as we exchanged stares.

  ‘I’m waiting to hear from the colonel about Janek’s whereabouts,’ I said. ‘We could always apply for an extradition for the criminal damage to the lockers in Central Station.’

  Cornock raised his eyebrows. ‘I’ll talk to the CPS.’

  ‘And I’m seeing the Maria girl again tonight. She may have more information that we need.’

  ‘Be careful. Don’t tread on the toes of the Vice Squad. You’re in trouble with the Economic Crime Department as it is.’

  He leant over the desk and looked directly at Boyd and me.

  ‘We need irrefutable, cast iron, bomb-proof evidence for a case against Frankie Prince. Let’s hope this Maria girl and Janek will give you what you want.’

  * * *

  During my last conversation with the colonel I had been uncharacteristically diplomatic: a trait that I had to convince myself was worth maintaining. I doubted that in the absence of useful information being forthcoming I would be able to maintain my even temper. The door from my office to the Incident Room had been firmly shut, I had to think clearly but I failed, allowing my mind to develop jumbled thoughts. I was pleased when Boyd interrupted the little constructive work I had been able to do after lunchtime by placing on my desk a coffee mug with Keep Calm I’m a Cardiff Fan printed on the outside.

  ‘Heard from the colonel yet, sir?’

  I had the mug at my lips as Boyd spoke, so I shook my head briefly before slurping on the coffee.

  ‘It’s time I did some liaising,’ I said, fumbling for the colonel’s business card from the bottom of my desk drawer. It took me a few minutes to persuade the receptionists at the Polish embassy that I really had to speak to Colonel Laskus and after several loud clicks I heard his familiar voice.

  ‘What you want?’

  ‘Good afternoon Colonel,’ I said, gathering my thoughts. ‘Have you been able to trace Janek? We need to know because we are looking at the possibility of extradition proceedings against him. It’s quite a complicated process. The lawyers for the Crown Prosecution Service have told us that court proceedings will be necessary, and that the magistrate will have to consider all the evidence. There might be publicity of course, but we’d try and minimise that if we possibly could. You know, have the case heard in the afternoon. Hope the press wouldn’t be interested.’

  I looked over at Boyd and I could see that he was impressed. In fact I was quite impressed myself.

  I could hear the colonel breathing heavily on the other end of the telephone. I imagined him sitting by a large desk in a room with a high ceiling and walls covered with photographs and paintings of Polish officers and politicians.

  ‘It is difficult.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The situation.’

  My confidence in my initial bravado started to ebb. I listened to another long sigh then what sounded like tapping on a keyboard and the clicking of a mouse.

  ‘We have surveillance.’

  I hesitated, uncertain what exactly the colonel meant. He continued. ‘Janek is in home. In Warsaw.’

  ‘You mean you have him under surveillance? You know where he is?’

  There was another silence, this time with papers rustling.

  ‘Have the police spoken to him yet?’ I said, trying to curb my rising anger.

  ‘Situation is very complicated, Inspector Marco.’

  ‘Murder cases usually are,’ I said, getting to my feet. ‘How long have you known where Janek was?’

  ‘It is difficult. You must understand that much going on—’

  ‘My Assistant Chief Constable is not going to be pleased when I tell her that the liaison has been meaningless.’ I was getting more and more annoyed.

  ‘You must understand—’

  ‘No. You understand, Colonel. I’m investigating the death of three of your countrymen here in Cardiff. You’re supposed to be cooperating, but you’re not helping my inquiry at all.’

  ‘We will do more.’

  ‘I should hope so. Just tell me if Janek moves.’

  I put the phone down hard; there was a crack, sounding like plastic splitting from the force at which I replaced the handset. Perhaps I should be travelling to London to confront the colonel, and demanding to be told what he knew. Or maybe I should be booking a flight to Warsaw. Before I could think of how to discuss either of these options with Cornock my mobile rang.

  ‘John, it is me.’ Dagmara’s voice sounded warm and friendly after the colonel’s harsh tones. ‘I still cannot find Maria.’

  Now the pleasure of talking to Dagmara changed to a worry.

  ‘I’m sure she’s all right.’

&nbs
p; ‘I’m worried. Really worried.’

  I could hear her voice breaking, the hint of a sob.

  ‘I’ll meet you at Leftie’s after work.’

  She coughed briefly as though she was concealing her emotion.

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ I added.

  For the rest of the afternoon I tried to concentrate on the paperwork in hand, in between directing Boyd and listening to Woods and Lawson struggling to make progress. And all the time a dark cloud of worry was spreading through my mind.

  Chapter 27

  I sat in Leftie’s, reading the Western Mail. After the sports pages I turned to the news section, and the smiling face of Janet Helm stared out at me. It’s funny how people look different in newspaper photographs. She looked younger, leaner and I tried to imagine her in her twenties, like Dagmara, full of excitement and expectation. Then I read that she was presenting a cheque on behalf of some charity and all I could think of was Frankie Prince holding his champagne glass in the bar at the Arms Park stadium.

  I saw the relief in Dagmara’s eyes when she saw me, as she pushed her way through the crowd of early evening drinkers. She threw her arms over me and I felt her breasts pressing against my shirt and the warmth of her arms around my neck. She kissed me briefly on the cheek before sitting down.

  ‘Thank you for coming, John.’ She gave me a brief smile.

  ‘So when did you last speak to Maria?’

  ‘I’m so worried.’

  ‘Do you have her mobile number?’

  Dagmara nodded.

  ‘Have you tried texting her?’

  ‘Nothing. She always replies quickly.’

  ‘Do you know where she lives?’

  ‘I…’

  ‘Dagmara. You need to tell me what’s been going on.’

  ‘We were only doing our best.’ She gave me a desperate look. ‘We thought it was the right thing to do.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Maria and Leon wanted to do the right thing. They wanted the trafficking to stop. They had the photographs.’

  ‘Have you seen any of them?’

  ‘It was going to be so simple.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘Somehow, Maria met Anna.’

  I drank from my water, the lemon slice caught on my lips and I thought about the first time I’d met Anna with her scarf draped around her neck.