Boyd answered after two rings.
‘What’s the latest?’ I said.
‘One of the uniforms has been talking to the staff from the agency where Dagmara works and they said she was very nervous the last couple of days.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Just telling you what I was told.’
‘Do they know where she might be?’
‘Nothing yet.’
‘For fuck’s sake. Somebody must know where she is.’
I wanted to smoke but I’d left the cigarettes in my jacket.
‘I’m going back to the factory and then down to Howick Street again,’ Boyd said.
‘Good. You’ve probably missed something.’
A woman in high heels tottered out through the front door and fumbled in her bag before lighting up and drawing deeply on the nicotine. I finished the call and went back inside. Waiters scurried back and forth with plates of chicken and bowls of vegetables.
‘Where have you been?’ Trish hissed as I sat down.
‘Call I had to make.’
Trish looked over at Uncle Gino’s table. ‘Who is that with Gino?’
I glanced over. ‘That’s his son, Jeremy.’
‘Looks very smart.’
‘Looks can be deceiving.’
The parmesan had congealed on top of the minestrone and everyone around the table had finished their starters and were now glancing over in my direction. It was only then that I noticed the dark stare my father was giving me. I pushed the bowl to one side.
A waiter stretched over my shoulder and placed a plate with a large piece of chicken laid out in segments. He removed the soup bowl and another waiter left a dish of vegetables. I prodded the chicken. It felt rubbery and looked as though it had been sitting in a warming oven for hours. The first piece stuck to the top of my mouth and the vegetables were overcooked and tasteless.
I smiled at Dean and realised that I’d not spoken much to him. I couldn’t think of anything to say to him and I remembered my father’s comment earlier. I was relieved when the plates were cleared and the disc jockey mumbled into his microphone, telling us that the party would get started in fifteen minutes.
After a mouthful of the tiramisu I decided that a cigarette was the better alternative. The girl with high heels was back outside and she gave me a brief you-again nod before continuing the conversation on her mobile.
It was my fifth today, maybe even the sixth or seventh, I’d got to the stage that counting was pointless. I wasn’t going to give up. I thought about Boyd and whether he’d made any progress. I heard my mobile ring and saw the Superintendent’s number on the screen.
‘DI Marco,’ I said, straightening my posture.
The girl by the door turned sharply towards me, drew her hair across her face, and went inside.
‘John. DC Pierce tells me you’re at a family party.’
‘Yes, sir.’
I didn’t know what to expect.
‘What’s the strategy?’
Catch the bad guys.
‘We need to find Dagmara and Anna,’ I added and, as an afterthought, ‘And Kamil Holter. He was Michal’s boyfriend. Dagmara knows more about what’s happened, but she’s frightened.’
‘It feels like things are out of control. The Incident Room is like a mad house, so first thing in the morning I want to review.’
I lit a second cigarette but my hand trembled with tension. Not what he seems.
And then it struck me. The one thing I hadn’t checked. I frantically fumbled again for my mobile and then scrolled down the numbers, praying that Paddy was at home and sober. The number rang and rang until I heard his voice.
‘What do you want?’ Paddy said.
‘Michal Dąbek’s post mortem.’
‘What about it?’
‘Do you remember that case a couple of years ago of the man who’d been raped violently?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was Michal gay?’
‘There was no sign of any rectal trauma, John, if that’s what you mean. Although you know that’s not conclusive…’
I killed the call even as I heard Paddy’s voice starting a detailed explanation. I called Boyd.
‘Arrest the fucking bastard as soon as you can.’
‘Who?’
‘Kamil. Just find him.’
Trish was standing by my side now and pulled my arm.
‘John. You need to come inside. Now.’
The room was full of noise and my mother was standing over a nearby table. Trish dragged me over to her side. Mam smiled briefly and turned to the woman sitting at the table.
‘John. This is Aunt Lucia from Lucca. We stayed with her when you were young.’
I smiled briefly, but all I could remember of Lucca was cycling around the ancient walls and how hot it was. Lucia’s English was poor and my Italian was worse and the music so loud that it made conversation impossible. My mother dragged me around other relatives and friends who had made the special effort to attend the party.
Eventually, I reached the table where Uncle Gino was sitting with his family. He had hairs growing profusely from his ears and wispy white hairs on his thick-set neck. His collar was open wide, his tie loosened.
‘John, good to see you. I want to talk,’ he said above the noise.
As if on cue the disc jockey played a slower song.
‘I’ve been talking to your father about the building in Pontypridd.’
‘He’s mentioned it briefly.’
‘We really have to sell the property, you know, John. But your father won’t hear of it.’
‘Look, this is something you need to discuss with my father.’
‘But are you happy to sell the property?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘The trust. Your grandfather made a trust and you have to consent too. Everyone else agrees.’
‘Except my father.’
Uncle Gino narrowed his eyes into two small, dark balls.
Jeremy Marco moved his chair alongside his father and next to me. He had a nose that was too long and a chin so short his face disappeared into his neck. But he had an ugly attitude that small, ugly men seemed to develop. He was wearing an expensive suit with a pale tie on a shirt with fancy button-down collars. He crossed one foot over onto a knee so that I could admire the spotless cream loafers. No socks of course.
‘Jez,’ I said, holding out my hand.
By the way he narrowed his eyes I knew he hated me a little bit more for using the nickname he loathed. What sort of name is Jeremy for an Italian boy anyway?
‘My father’s a reasonable man,’ he said, implying that somebody else wasn’t – my father, I guessed.
Uncle Gino continued. ‘The family want to move on now, John. It’s time that there weren’t any loose ends from the past.’
My father told it quite differently. Gino was up to his neck in bank loans and personal guarantees he’d given for Jeremy’s business and they needed the money from the share of the property. But my father was happy with the income the rent provided and didn’t want to sell the café. It was part sentiment, but I knew that it made good sense.
‘This is family,’ Jez continued. ‘Your father owes us.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Come on. We all know he got a better deal from Nonno Marco than we did. So now it’s our time.’
This was beginning to feel like one more block on the wall of tension building in my stomach and tightening all over my chest.
‘My father’s worked fucking hard on his business.’
‘We know that,’ Gino said, trying to mollify the situation.
‘If you’re using Nonno Marco’s will as moral blackmail to help you out of the shit, then you can fuck right off.’
I felt the mobile beep in my pocket and saw the text from Boyd – Call me. I stood up.
‘You can’t leave now,’ Jez said, his eyes narrowing.
‘Some of us work for a livin
g.’
I went through to the foyer, but Jez had followed me. I pressed the speed-dial button for Boyd.
Jez was standing beside me, legs astride, hands on hips.
‘I told you we weren’t finished.’
‘And I told you I was working.’
‘Know your trouble, John? You’re a tall man with a small dick.’
I could hear Boyd’s voice, but it was too late.
I drew my head back slowly and closed my eyes.
Chapter 33
Superintendent Cornock had his arms folded so tightly a sumo wrestler would have struggled to loosen them. He’d drawn his lips into a thin line, his eyes hooded and small.
‘I’ve spoken to Jeremy Marco, John.’
I raised a hand to my nose and brushed a finger over the bruise under my eye where I’d collided with Jez’s cheek as he tried to avoid my head-butt. I was going to find out if it had really been worthwhile. It certainly felt worthwhile when I saw Jez falling to the floor, grabbing his face, blood pouring from his nose.
‘This could be serious,’ Cornock continued.
He unfolded his arms, fiddled with his tie, and pumped the top of a ballpoint pen with his right hand.
‘It was a heated atmosphere, sir.’
Cornock raised his eyebrows and kept them high.
‘I was very stressed.’
Eyebrows still halfway up his forehead.
‘Well. I’d say you’re lucky. Jeremy doesn’t want to press charges. I spoke at length with Mr Gino Marco and they understand how much pressure you’ve been under. So I think we can draw a line under this unpleasantness from last night.’
I let out a long, shallow breath.
‘Having said that, John…’
A bead of sweat dripped down my arm.
‘I think we need to be clear that this is not the sort of behaviour we expect from serving police officers.’
His tone was getting more serious as he continued the reprimand.
‘If the press were to hear about this then it could get very messy. I want you tell me, John, if you’d been drinking.’
I sat up and straightened in the chair. My throat felt dry.
‘Not a drop, sir.’
Cornock nodded.
‘I’m dry, sir. You can depend on that.’
‘I hope so. I’ve gone out of my way to support you. I need you to be responsible. And there are others who won’t be so generous.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘We need results here, John. This case is so high profile with all the press interest you cannot afford to have any problems.’
Cornock leant forward over the desk.
‘We’ve got the Chief Constable and the Assistant Chief Constable, all taking an interest and then Janet Helm lurking in the background ready to take advantage of any opportunity for self-promotion. God help us if she ever gets into power. So, having you head-butt a relative in a hotel is not what we need.’
I nodded in agreement. ‘I need to interview Frankie Prince again.’
Cornock stared at me briefly. ‘For Christ’s sake, John.’
‘We’ve got a photograph,’ I said. ‘We can link him to the death of Maria.’
When we were finished I stood outside the door of his office for a moment, relieved that I was still a police officer. Through the closed door I heard him ask for the Chief Constable.
* * *
Boyd strutted into my office wearing the look of a man satisfied with his sex-life and sat down.
‘I heard about last night,’ he began. He tilted his head to one side and looked at my face. ‘What happened?’
‘Cousin Jez,’ I said slowly, wafting a hand in the air as though the name itself explained everything.
‘What did the Super want?’
‘Words of wisdom and an update.’
‘Is there anything happening about…?’ Now Boyd held his hand up and pointed loosely at my face.
‘No. Families, eh. We stick together in the end.’
Boyd gave me a puzzled look and settled back into the chair.
‘We need to talk to Frankie Prince,’ I said. ‘And Lech.’
Boyd raised his eyebrows when he heard Frankie’s name.
‘Does the Super know?’
‘Sure thing.’
‘We went all over Cardiff looking for Anna and Dagmara and Kamil last night. I even had a couple of the uniform lads scan through the CCTV from Cardiff airport. But nothing yet.’
‘Maybe Kamil left through Bristol airport or Birmingham or any of the other airports that have cheap flights to Warsaw.’
‘I’ve got the tapes from Bristol arriving later. I’ve got a DC on standby to look through them.’
I knew we didn’t have time to look at the CCTV coverage from every airport with flights to Poland. Maybe we should try the police in Poland, I thought or perhaps my friend the colonel. I found his card and called the number in London.
A voice said something in Polish and then I asked for the colonel.
‘And who is calling?’
‘Detective Inspector Marco. The colonel is expecting my call.’
‘One moment, please.’
A couple of seconds passed before I heard the colonel’s voice.
‘Good morning,’ he said without introduction. ‘How are the cases going?’
I got straight to the point. ‘Can you tell me anything more about Lech Balinski?’
The colonel paused.
‘And have you heard of Kamil Holter? You must have done – you seem to know everyone from Warsaw involved in this case.’
‘It bad idea to go after Lech. You speak to Under-Inspector Jorge PuŁawska of the Criminal Police Division in Warsaw.’
I scribbled down the number he read out.
‘Please inform me when investigation is complete.’
‘Colonel, I—’ But the line was dead.
I wondered if Jorge PuŁawska spoke English. I slumped back in the chair, my mind wondering whether I could find Dagmara in time. I looked over at Boyd and, as if he was reading my mind, he told me about her.
‘I called at Howick Street this morning. Dagmara’s bed-sit has been trashed—’
‘But last night?’
‘I know, but since then someone took the place apart.’
My lips were drying; a dark realisation that I might never see her again started to prey on my mind. I thought about her room and the warmth of her skin and her breathing as I slipped out of her bed. Then I heard Boyd’s voice.
‘Then I called at that place where she works, but no luck. She can work from home and goes out to visit clients and stuff like that.’
‘Joe, Phil,’ I shouted and seconds later they both stood at the door. ‘I want you two to find Dagmara and Anna and Kamil. Arrest them and bring them in.’
‘Arrest them for what?’ Lawson said.
I stared at the three of them standing in the doorway. ‘Make it up as you go along,’ I started, struggling for something to say. ‘That Kamil bastard has been lying, so it’s obstruction and Dagmara, well, for her own safety.’
‘Where are you going, boss?’
‘To see a man about a photograph.’
* * *
Jim White beckoned Boyd and me to sit down on one of the settees in the main bar area of the Four Seasons. He was wearing a grey suit with a white shirt and a narrow dark-blue tie full of creases. His shoes had a large plastic buckle over the top and thick soles, the sort old men wear for stability.
‘I’m afraid Mr Prince isn’t available today,’ he said, running a finger around his collar.
‘Where is he?’
He blinked a couple of times, too quickly.
‘Mr Prince is away on business. And cannot be contacted.’
‘Where exactly is he away on business?’ I asked.
‘Away.’ Jim White was getting accustomed to lying.
‘Do you know Lech Balinski?’
White did his best to keep eye contact but he
still had to blink – working for Frankie Prince was making him an expert liar.
‘Mr Prince knows him, of course.’
‘Have you met him?’
‘Once. Maybe a couple of times.’ He turned one hand through the other.
‘Is Lech here in Cardiff?’
White shrugged. ‘Sorry, can’t help.’ It was probably the first truthful answer.
We left the Four Seasons without having been offered a coffee or Danish or anything except the lies from Jim White. By the time we got to the car Boyd was eating an apple he’d found in his jacket pocket.
‘What a toe-rag,’ I said, fumbling for the keys after lighting my third of the day.
‘Useless at lying wasn’t he, boss?’
‘Something’s wrong. Where the hell is Frankie Prince? Everybody has fucking disappeared.’
‘Maybe he’s on his yacht?’ Boyd said casually.
‘Fancy a trip to the marina?’
I tossed the burning remains of the cigarette out of the window and headed down towards the yacht club. It was mid-morning and quiet. In the distance I could see the houses of Penarth peering down over the Bay and grey clouds were turning black at the edges.
It took us a few minutes and some raised voices to get the name and location of Frankie’s yacht from the marina office. We walked over the pontoons, passing a motor boat with an inflatable hanging from the rear, just as my telephone rang.
‘Mam,’ I said, knowing a call from my mother was overdue.
‘Your father’s very upset,’ she said, which meant he was seething. ‘And your Uncle Gino’s been on the telephone. Your father won’t talk to him.’
‘Look. I’m sorry.’
‘And what do you think Dean made of all of this?’
I slowed my pace and let Boyd walk ahead.
‘He needs a better example than this, John. Trish looked after him last night. It was supposed to be your chance to be with him.’
I hadn’t heard my mother like this before so I stopped. Boyd gave me a backward glance and I waved for him to carry on.
‘I’ll get him to stay. Once all this is finished.’
For the first time I heard exasperation in my mother’s voice. ‘We’ll see.’
I noticed the pontoon swaying under my feet, the sound of water lapping underneath. Shrouds clattered against masts and an outboard fired up in the distance.
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