‘So what happened with Anna?’
I was beginning to believe that Anna was bad news.
‘She was very forceful. She wanted Maria to be helping her. She wanted Maria to go public and appear at a press conference.’
My mouth must have dropped open because Dagmara gave me an odd look and then ran out of steam. All I could think of was the need to get Anna locked up for her own safety and the safety of others.
‘Anna must be mad or stupid or…’
Dagmara nodded. I continued, ‘Does Anna know where Maria might be?’
Dagmara shrugged.
‘She hasn’t answered my calls and I’ve texted her twice. I am worried for Maria. She is not strong person. It was Leon that made her strong. They were so good together. Since Leon died it is like she shrivelled up like a dead flower, not wanting to live.’
‘We will need to find her. Do you know where she lives?’
Dagmara nodded.
‘What telephone numbers have you got for her?’
‘Only her mobile.’
I finished the last of my water and I led Dagmara out of Leftie’s as she made another call to Maria’s number. She gave me a troubled look and then dialled again.
* * *
I braked hard and the car screeched to a halt by a set of traffic lights. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, silently cursing as traffic flowed past me. I was calculating how long it would take us to reach Maria’s address – ten minutes if we were lucky but the evening traffic in Cardiff could be horrendous and the streets were beginning to choke up with taxis and minibuses – all keeping the pubs and nightclubs of the city busy.
Once the lights had changed to green I sped off, accelerating only to find myself caught behind three empty minibuses. I drummed my fingers on the wheel, and nudged the nose of the car out into the oncoming lane, trying to judge whether it was safe to overtake. Eventually I threaded my way through some narrow streets until Dagmara caught sight of a street name she recognised. I drew the car close to the kerb and killed the lights. I powered down my window a couple of inches and felt the cool autumn air chill my skin.
‘It is number five,’ Dagmara said.
I nodded. I looked over at the terraces running down both sides of the street. I caught the smell of chips and vinegar in the air.
‘You try the front door,’ I said. ‘There’s probably a lane at the back. I’ll see what happens from there.’
Dagmara nodded.
I sat for a moment, watching her walking over the street, enjoying the sight of her curves through the tight denims. I found the narrow alley that ran down the back of the properties. Away from the streetlights the passageway was dark and there was a strong smell of urine and vomit.
I stopped at the back gate and took a couple of steps back. No shards of light seeped past the edges of the curtains drawn across the upstairs windows. The place looked deserted. I tried to imagine how many occupants each of the bedrooms might have – two, maybe three. There was a shout from a neighbouring house and a screech from what sounded like a cat, but nothing moved inside the house that I was looking at. I sent Dagmara a text – anything? My mobile lit up quickly enough – nothing, no reply. I turned on my heels, texted Dagmara a message and we met back at the car.
‘I am worried, John.’ Dagmara clasped the fingers of both hands together.
‘Let’s go and find Anna,’ I said.
Through the back streets of Splott I listened to Dagmara’s directions. I slowed the car by the Magic Roundabout, a well-known haunt for girls working the streets, and an area regularly patrolled by the Vice Squad. But I couldn’t see any sign of Maria and I wasn’t going to run the risk of being stopped or having my car number plates reported.
A light shower drenched the windscreen. After a couple of minutes the wipers squeaked so I switched them to an intermittent setting. Dagmara said nothing, and within twenty minutes I had reached Whitchurch and pulled the car to the edge of the pavement.
‘So where does Anna live?’
She gave a shrug and stared out towards the newsagent and betting shop.
‘I’m not sure. It is long time since my visit.’
‘Can you remember the street name?’
Another shrug. ‘There was a park, and maybe a church…’
I wanted to shout. I should have told her that lives were in danger and that she had to think clearly. Instead, I clenched my jaw and pulled the car away slowly from the kerb. We drove through a couple of the main streets of Whitchurch until Dagmara saw one of the old pubs that she recognised and then leant forward in her seat, directing me to a narrow street of semi-detached houses. I slowed, noticing the leaded glass in bow-shaped patterns in the front doors and the occasional neatly kept front garden.
When Dagmara recognised Anna’s house she shouted and I braked. It looked like a typical street for a city suburb. Houses converted into flats, front gardens paved over and I hoped that Anna was home. Once we were out of the car Dagmara jogged over the road and headed down the side of the house. The property was in darkness; even the next-door house seemed empty.
She banged on the door to the rear garden and then fiddled with a latch before it burst open. I followed her seconds later and watched as she pressed her hooded eyes onto the window, peering into the darkness of a downstairs room. Then she rattled the rear door and called out Anna’s name.
I reached over and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Place is empty.’
She turned and I saw the desperation in her eyes. ‘What do we do, John?’
‘You go back to the car. I’ll ask a couple of neighbours.’
Dagmara nodded, but said nothing.
Twenty minutes later I was sitting in the car, having been reminded how anonymous living in the city can be. I’d spoken to three of Anna’s neighbours. One had occasionally said good morning and smiled at her. The other two had no idea who I was talking about and two other households barely understood any English. Dagmara didn’t seem interested; her head sagged and she kept folding the fingers of one hand through the other.
‘Do you know any of her friends?’ I said.
‘No. I don’t…’
‘What about family?’
‘She never said anything.’
I buzzed down my window and lit a cigarette. ‘She must’ve mentioned something, Dagmara. Work colleagues, anybody. Think.’
‘I only met her…’
‘What about Maria? Where could she be?’ It sounded an innocent enough question, but I knew the answer of course. And I wasn’t going to march into the massage parlours of Cardiff demanding to speak to Maria. ‘What about her friends?’
Dagmara said nothing.
‘For Christ’s sake, Dagmara. You must know something.’
‘It is difficult, John. I can’t remember.’ She put her head in her hands. ‘This is awful. I cannot think.’
And neither could I without something to eat and drink, so I retraced our steps to Whitchurch. The pub we’d passed earlier had a curry-and-pint night advertised on a billboard on the pavement. We found a quiet corner and tried to blank out the sound from the bar. Dagmara sipped slowly on a glass of cider, while I tapped out a reply to the text message from Trish that had arrived as I ordered drinks. I kept my message simple – working, in Whitchurch, home late, how’s mid Wales?
I fished around in the bowl until I found four small pieces of chicken floating in the thick red sauce. The rice had been blasted in the microwave at a high heat for too long, making the grains dry and hard. Dagmara prodded the pieces of meat in her curry until she’d moved them around the bowl a dozen times.
‘We’ll try the Polish club,’ I said.
Dagmara looked at me without emotion, before returning to prodding the curry with her fork.
‘Maybe,’ she said.
‘We don’t know that anything has happened to her.’
‘Then why doesn’t she reply to my messages?’
‘Maybe her phone is dead.’ I wa
sn’t even convincing myself.
‘She always replies to my messages.’
‘Let’s go down the docks,’ I said, getting up.
As we left the pub Dagmara typed out another message before giving me a brief smile as she sat in the car. She had a smile that dimpled her cheeks in an old-fashioned way. But she said nothing on the journey down to the docks and when we parked outside the Polish club she touched my hand and I felt the warmth of her fingers and the caress of her skin.
‘Thank you, John.’
I hesitated for a moment, then closed my fingers around hers.
She’d opened the door and left the car before I had a chance of saying anything. Dagmara hurried over the car park towards the Polish club and I followed her as she pushed open the door. Inside the heat and the smell of damp clothes hit me and she pushed her way towards the bar, scanning the customers in the process.
Dagmara had been talking with various people but the blank replies and occasional head shaking made it clear that our visit wasn’t going to help. An hour had passed and I stood on the front steps drawing on a cigarette, hoping the rain would keep away and wondering if Dagmara was making any more progress inside the club. The door opened behind me, a blast of warm air brushed my face, and then Dagmara was standing by my side.
‘Anything?’ I said.
‘Nothing. It is really bad.’
‘Send her another text.’
Dagmara sent a message while I finished the cigarette and flicked the butt-end into the car park. I drew my jacket collar against my neck. Dagmara didn’t seem to mind the cold.
‘I’ll take you home,’ I said.
We drove away from the Polish club as a couple of taxis arrived and I heard muffled shouts as the club emptied. It was a short drive to Howick Street and I parked behind an Opel with Polish plates. There was still a heavy smell of boiled cabbage and vinegar in the house and a radio played in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Dagmara found the light switch that illuminated the dark hallway to her bed-sit.
‘I’m sure everything will be fine,’ I said.
Dagmara slumped onto the bed, and started crying softly. I sat by her side and drew my hand over her shoulder.
‘We’ll find her, I’m sure,’ I said, wanting to sound reassuring.
She moved closer towards me. I could smell the embers of her perfume, see the gloss of her dark hair. Then her mobile beeped somewhere deep in the bag by her feet. She fumbled to pick it up and, opening it, she rummaged, cursing silently, until she found the mobile and read the message.
‘Thank God. It is Maria.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She is busy. She will contact me tomorrow.’
Dagmara turned to look me in the eyes. There was warmth now where there had been fear. She leant over and kissed me. I reached my hand to her cheek, drew her face towards me and I kissed her back, really hard. Then I sensed the warmth of her lips, and touch of her hand on my neck. The bag fell onto the floor as I pushed her onto the bed.
Chapter 28
I kissed Dagmara’s shoulder, lingering to sense the warmth of her body before I slipped out of her bed. She stirred but slept on and I left the bed-sit and drove home. The night sky was clear and yellow sodium lights bathed the empty city streets.
I woke twice in the middle of the night and each time I was thinking of Dagmara. It was six in the morning when I decided that sleep was going to elude me. I thought about Trish and a spasm of guilt lingered in my mind. After a couple of minutes of staring at the ceiling I got up and padded through to the kitchen. I could hear a shower running somewhere in the building. I made coffee and found some cereal whose death-by date had long passed. When I’d finished I stared at my mobile, thinking I should text Dagmara, but it was still early. I thought about the warmth of her body, the intensity of her kisses and the hunger in her passion and I knew it was something I didn’t want to lose.
I sat in the lounge with a second double espresso and flicked through the morning television programmes, my mind turning over the night before. I closed my eyes and Dagmara’s perfume lingered in my memory. I chose a cream shirt, a pair of navy trousers I hadn’t worn for months and my second-best pair of brogues. My mother would approve. I even thought about a tie.
I was standing by the door when my mobile rang.
‘Area Control, sir.’ The voice was calm. ‘We have a report of a body.’
* * *
I crunched the gears and swore when the lights of a pedestrian crossing turned red and a stream of young mothers pushing buggies crossed in front of me. I called Boyd’s number as I raced down past the Millennium Centre towards Penarth Marina, shouting the details. Flashing my lights and sounding the horn helped to thin the traffic as I reached the exit towards Penarth.
Within a few minutes I was down by the entrance to the locks at the end of the barrage. Crime scene investigators were hauling their equipment from the Scientific Support Vehicle. Two uniformed cars blocked the entrance and behind me I saw Boyd leaving an unmarked car.
‘Is there any identification on the body, boss?’
‘Don’t know.’
I knew who the body was going to be. I could probably make the identification. I stuck my hands deep into my pockets and I pulled up my jacket collar against the biting sea breeze.
Alvine Dix took a step away from the dockside when she saw me approaching.
‘Is this your case then, John?’
‘I got the call about half an hour ago.’
‘Young girl. Early twenties I’d say.’
We watched as two police divers bobbed around in the water, securing the body, before they hauled it up onto the concrete staircase and then up to the concourse. I was praying that it wasn’t Maria. Hoping that at least she might be able to go back to her home and buy a farm and raise a family.
Alvine leant down and moved the wet hair off the dead girl’s face. A face I’d seen before and I knew well.
* * *
Sitting in the passenger seat of Boyd’s car, watching him eating a banana from the bag of fruit on his lap, I wondered whether he managed five pieces of fruit and vegetables a day. I’d managed one of my own five-a-day with my espresso that morning and decided that the second was overdue. I buzzed down the window, lit a cigarette and found the smoke comforting.
‘Does that Dagmara girl know?’ Boyd said.
I shook my head. ‘She hadn’t been able to reach Maria for days.’
‘Now we know why.’
There wasn’t much for Alvine Dix and the CSI team to do and as soon as the undertakers had driven away with the body, they packed up and left. Boyd and I were sitting looking over the barrage.
‘Are you going to tell her?’ Boyd said, curling the banana skin into the bag.
I thought of Dagmara. I thought about the roundness of her breasts and her breath on my skin. I thought about anything except telling her.
‘Sure thing. And we need to talk to Anna.’
Boyd gave an apple an inquisitive look. I drew the cigarette right down to the filter, then I threw the butt out of the window.
I dialled Amnesty’s office number but there was an answer machine. Then I tried Anna’s home but the telephone rang out. A voice answered my second attempt at the office number.
‘I’m not expecting Anna in today,’ the voice said, trying to sound helpful.
‘Where can I reach her?’
‘You can leave a message on her mobile.’
‘I’ve done that.’
‘Could you try tomorrow?’
‘Get her to ring me: it’s urgent.’
* * *
En route to Howick Street I left my car by the flat and set off in Boyd’s, the hazard lights flashing, alarm wailing. I scrolled to Dagmara’s number on my mobile but then hesitated. I had to tell her face to face, not on the telephone. Boyd parked outside the house and I jumped out and banged on the door. I waited but nobody came so I dialled Dagmara’s number.
‘I’m outsid
e,’ I said, when she answered.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked as I killed the call.
The seconds that passed before she opened the door felt like minutes. She stood for a moment and must have seen the look in my eyes.
‘I’m sorry. Really sorry,’ I said.
She threw her arms around me and I dragged her body towards me, the memories of the night before flooding back into my mind. I felt her tears against my skin as she sobbed gently.
‘I should have done more to make it safe for her,’ Dagmara said, between gulps for breath.
‘There’s nothing you could have done.’
We stood there for a couple of minutes. Boyd must have been staring at us but I didn’t care what he thought.
‘But last night, she sent text.’
‘Probably someone else was using her mobile.’
She stepped back, a look of revulsion on her face at the thought of a stranger – a killer – using Maria’s mobile.
‘Let’s go to Maria’s place,’ I said.
It took us half an hour to find the house where Maria lived. Boyd tucked the car in behind an old Toyota that had multi-coloured panels, and behind it an old Mazda with Latvian plates had a large crack in its windscreen.
It didn’t look like a brothel, but then I had no idea what one looked like. We ran over to the front door and I pounded it with a fist a couple of times. I sensed movement in the house and very soon the door opened and a face appeared.
The girl had hair tumbling over her face and she squinted at me.
‘Who the fu…’
‘Police.’ I shoved my warrant card towards her. The door opened a little more and I could see the remains of make-up around the edges of her cheeks.
‘What do you want? I’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘Maria lives here.’ I wasn’t looking for confirmation as I stepped forward and the girl retreated.
‘I don’t know where she is. I haven’t—’
‘Maria’s dead,’ Dagmara said, standing by my side now.
The girl put a hand to her mouth. I stepped past her into the house, Boyd following Dagmara, as we went into a small lounge with a television and two sofas. The place was heavy with sweet perfume.
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