‘Let’s go and visit Frankie,’ I said.
The gates were open and the lights on the drive were blazing. There was a BMW I recognised parked alongside Lucy Prince’s Range Rover – LP 5: hard to miss. I didn’t recognise the other two cars and I hoped that Frankie had arrived home.
I pressed the doorbell; a light under the CCTV camera lens flashed into life, and then I heard Lucy Prince’s voice.
‘What do you want?’
‘I need to speak to you,’ I said, as though calling in the middle of the night was routine.
The hallway was the size of a double garage and expensive paintings hung from the walls. Music drifted in from somewhere and then I noticed the small speakers positioned in the walls. The staircase behind Lucy Prince had intricate finials and balustrades that would not have been out of place on a haunted house film-set. But I could tell Lucy wasn’t comfortable. She was wearing a tracksuit and a T-shirt that she must have kept from her time as a physiotherapist for a rugby club. She drew her hand casually through her hair.
‘So, what do you want?’
‘Is Frankie around?’ I said, looking over her shoulder.
‘No. And I don’t know where he is.’
‘Are you always up so late?’
‘Do you always work this late?’
I decided that conversation with Lucy Prince wasn’t going to be productive, so I marched towards a set of double doors.
‘You can’t do that. You have to have a warrant, or something,’ she protested.
I pushed them open. Behind the doors were suitcases arranged in neat order and standing behind them, dead still, was Jim White.
‘Jim,’ I said, as though he were a long lost friend. ‘I thought I saw your car. So when is Frankie going to join us?’
‘We don’t know—’ White began.
‘It’s none of your business where Frankie might be,’ Lucy said, standing in the doorway behind me.
‘It is my business when he’s a suspect in a murder case.’
‘You can’t prove anything,’ she said, hands on hips.
I sat down on one of the two long sofas, each the colour of vanilla ice cream. They smelt clean and the glass on the coffee table in front of me sparkled.
I decided to consider the options. It was late. I was knackered and I wanted to sleep, in a bed. I had to find Dagmara and keep her safe. And Lucy and Jim White were being awkward. Lech was on his way to Cardiff, maybe even here already and I wanted to arrest Frankie so badly it hurt.
‘You’re both under arrest for obstruction,’ I said.
Chapter 38
‘Piss off, Marco.’
Working in the custody suite of a police station has a numbing effect on most police officers and the duty custody sergeant made no attempt at respecting my rank.
I was so tired I could barely speak.
‘Help me out here, Boyd,’ I said.
The custody sergeant stared blankly, first at Boyd and then at me.
‘Inspector Marco and I have arrested Lucy Prince and Jim White for obstruction. We need to get them locked up for the night so we can formally interview them in the morning.’
When the sergeant realised we were serious he started the process. Did they want anyone notified they were there? Did they want a solicitor notified – I heard the name Glanville Tront mentioned. Did they want anything to drink or eat?
My mind was blank when I left the custody suite and I drove home, thankful that the roads were deserted. When I pushed open the door of the flat I smelt Trish’s perfume. Then I heard her call out, demanding to know who was there.
‘It’s only me,’ I said lamely.
There was a sound of hasty movement from the bedroom and she appeared in the sitting room, threw her arms around me, and then kissed me on the lips.
‘John, I’ve been so worried. Why didn’t you text me or call? I had no idea where you were. Boyd didn’t tell me anything and Cornock refused to speak to me. I was so worried I tried calling the support team and one of the secretaries I know. What’s happened? When did you get back? And your mother has called me every hour today.’
‘I haven’t slept for the last two days and I’ve just arrested Lucy Prince so I need to sleep.’
I sat on the edge of the bed and felt my body relaxing. I almost fell asleep where I was sitting. When I woke, Trish was prodding me and telling me to wake up and take an urgent call. I was dreaming of sleeping with Dagmara and having her body next to mine under the duvet in the cold flat in Warsaw.
‘DI Marco.’
I recognised the custody sergeant’s voice from earlier. ‘Jason Brown wants to talk to you.’
‘Who?’ My mind was trying to focus.
‘The Scotsman banged up for the Cyncoed burglaries.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Early,’ he said. ‘I’m going off shift in a couple of hours. Your two other guests have been well behaved, but I’ve had their brief on the telephone. Glanville Tront, no less.’
I glanced over at the clock, scarcely believing that I’d been sleeping for three hours. It felt like ten minutes.
* * *
Jason Brown smiled at me as I walked into the cell. He hadn’t shaved since I’d seen him last and he kept swinging his right leg that was crossed over the other knee.
I’d rushed an instant coffee before leaving the flat, but I still wanted a double espresso and my patience with Jason Brown wasn’t going to last very long.
‘Inspector Hobbs is dealing with your case now,’ I said.
‘He’s a fucking knob-head.’ A Glaswegian accent made the insult sound worse. I was tempted to agree.
‘Get to the point Jason. Why do you want to see me?’
‘I see really bad things.’
‘You’ve said that before.’
‘I mean really bad things. I was down by the river a wee while ago. I’ve got a favourite bench there. There’s an old lady that brings me some tea in the morning.’
‘All right. Get on with it.’
‘If I give you any information, then will it help me? I want to know that I’ll get a reduced sentence. I’ve got some really fucking useful info.’
They all say that. I didn’t have time to go through the paperwork for a deal with Jason Brown; if he wanted to cough, he’d have to take a chance.
‘I can’t sanction anything. All I can tell you is that if you have any information that might be of assistance with an ongoing inquiry, I’d make sure you were given the recognition you deserve.’
He gave me sullen stare for a moment and then hesitated before resuming.
‘It was before them Polish people started to get killed. And have their fucking tongues cut out. That was fucking grim I’ll tell you and I’ve seen some bad bastards in my time. I was banged up in Long Lartin with them terrorists and they scared the fucking shite out of me.’
I doubted that the prison authorities would ever have classed Jason Brown a high-security-risk prisoner.
‘It was one of them clear fucking nights and I was down the Taff but I couldn’t sleep. It must have been in the middle of the fucking night.’
Jason had my attention and I waited for him to finish.
‘I saw a big fucker and Frankie. You know, you nicked his fucking wife last night – there was shouting about her around the cells last night. Anyway, they were there by the Taff and I saw them push the body into the water.’
Suddenly I didn’t feel tired.
‘Describe the big fucker.’
Jason waved his arms and hands as he talked.
‘He had fucking big, fuck off legs and he must have been seven foot tall. He had fucking shoulders as big as…. I don’t know what.’
‘How can you describe him so well?’
‘The lights from the streets. I could see them. I was under the bench. I was so frightened I could have shat myself and then they passed me. Just walked away as if nothing was wrong. Laughing and fucking joking. Them Russians need to be locked up. Hav
e you got a ciggy?’
I threw him my half-empty packet of cigarettes. I’d get some more later. It was going to be a long day, and five would be ten, probably, by the time I reached my bed.
‘And you’re prepared to make a statement about what you saw?’
Jason Brown nodded energetically. I wondered if he would be quite as enthusiastic if he knew about Lech Balinski.
Jason enjoyed the attention of being a witness and having a statement recorded; he even enjoyed the rancid-looking coffee the young uniform brought into the interview room in a plastic cup. Cornock had said evidence: not circumstantial, but direct, and now I had enough to charge Frankie and Lech. The prospect of making the arrest and charging both men contributed to the sense of elation in my mind.
* * *
I’d cleared my desk and I had the plastic pockets with the keys laid out neatly alongside Michal’s belongings and the remains of Leon’s life. A yawn gripped my jaw and I shuddered violently as I failed to stop it. Boyd sat staring at me, as though I were a specimen in a scientific experiment.
‘You look a bit rough, boss.’
I nodded.
‘Any luck in finding Dagmara or Anna?’ I said.
‘Joe and Phil were out last night and couldn’t find either of them. They tried most of the factories where the Poles work and the Polish shops in town and the pubs where they drink. Nothing.’
‘I just don’t believe they can disappear like this. Somebody will know where they are and let’s hope it’s not Frankie Prince.’
‘And Glanville Tront has been after you this morning. He wanted to know when you’re going to interview Lucy Prince and Jim White.’
‘When I’m good and ready.’
‘He mentioned talking to Cornock. Thought it was an abuse of your powers of arrest.’
I laughed out loud and then it occurred to me to pick up the telephone and explain to Glanville Tront what exactly Lech Balinski and Frankie Prince did for a living.
Now I had an eyewitness to Michal’s murder, but I doubted that the CPS would ever agree for him to be used as a witness. I could hear a defence barrister tearing him to shreds as a drunk and a fantasist. But challenging the evidence of Aaron French wouldn’t be so easy.
I was reassuring myself that I really did have enough to charge Lech and Frankie when a uniform officer appeared in the door of my room.
‘DI Marco?’
‘Yes.’
‘This message came in last night,’ he said, handing me a piece of paper.
I read it quickly and the adrenaline pumped through my body.
‘And why the fucking hell wasn’t this emailed to me or a text sent to me – or someone call me last night?’
The constable blushed and stammered that he’d just been asked to deliver it.
I shouted at Woods and Lawson as I marched into the Incident Room.
‘Lech Balinski arrived in Bristol last night,’ I said.
There was a brief silence.
‘What next, sir?’ Lawson said.
‘We find him. And Frankie Prince.’
* * *
The telephone rang twice and I wondered where my mother could be. Eventually she answered, relieved to hear my voice. I’d said very little before she interrupted.
‘You sound tired, John.’ It’s funny how parents know about their children from the slightest inflection – or lack of – in their voice.
‘I haven’t slept much in the last couple of days.’
‘But you must rest. Trish told me about the case you’re on.’
I thought about telling her what I was doing, when Dave Hobbs knocked on the door of my office, and I rang off, but not before my mother got me to promise to call her back.
‘What were you doing with my case?’ Hobbs said, narrowing his eyes. ‘You know the protocol. You should have spoken to me before talking to Jason Brown.’
He was right of course, but I wasn’t going to admit that to his face.
‘Jason asked to see me. Said he had important information about the murders.’
‘The protocols are there for a reason.’
The grip I had on my temper loosened.
‘I’ve got four murders and you’re preaching to me about protocols.’
‘If we don’t follow the right procedures then policing will go down the drain. We’ll be getting a bad reputation and cases will be lost.’
I wanted to tell him to go back to North Wales and the mountains and leave us city folk in peace. I wanted to tell him to go and fuck himself, but it was against protocol. I wanted to solve the murders and bang up Lech, but he was getting in my way.
‘I’ve just spent the last few hours being almost killed in Poland; then I spent sixteen hours travelling in a car over Europe and you’re telling me I can’t take a witness statement that might help. Fuck off, Hobbs.’
His eyes narrowed again and he picked up one of the plastic pockets.
‘Are these the exhibits?’
I nodded.
‘Looks like a key my father had for his yacht.’
Chapter 39
I switched on all the warning lights and kept one hand pressed on the horn as I darted the Mondeo between cars stuck in traffic.
Boyd was on his way and I’d spoken to Cornock as I left the car park.
Where no one would think of looking.
It made sense, hiding something in the gallery and then in the yacht. Nobody would think of looking there.
It should have taken me fifteen minutes to reach the marina, but I hadn’t counted on the roadworks. When I slowed to a crawl I shouted, cursed and then I looked for Lech, and Frankie in the cars caught in the jam and, wondering whether they’d already left the marina, in the cars passing me in the opposite direction.
I was praying that Dagmara and Anna were somewhere safe.
The traffic hold-ups cleared and I found my way to the marina and pulled up alongside a gleaming Range Rover. I was out of the car in a second and looked around for Boyd, just as he pulled into the car park.
‘What happened?’ he said.
‘Dave Hobbs saw the keys. Said they looked like something his father had on his yacht.’
I ran over to the office building, Boyd following me.
The marina manager was the sort of idiot they put in charge of looking at CCTV images all day, issuing tickets for marina berthing fees and having a mind that worked on simple straight lines.
‘I can’t give you access to the CCTV images.’
I flashed my warrant card.
‘It’s Freedom of Information and all that confidentiality business,’ he said, crossing his arms, staring me out.
‘A girl was taken on a yacht from here and drowned in the sea by a Polish guy with hands that would crack your spine in two. He’s probably just been here and I need to know when and with who.’
He just carried on staring.
‘Who’s your supervisor?’ I said.
He gave me the number and I made the call. I was calm and reasonable, which was a trial as the idiot was still sitting with a defiant look on his face. Then I handed the telephone to the idiot and I watched him nod. Eventually, he sat back.
‘More than my job was worth you know,’ he said, by way of explanation. ‘How far back do you want to go?’
We sat and watched the screen, hoping that we didn’t have to go back too far. We didn’t have to wait long. My heart beat faster when I saw Dagmara entering the security code into the key pad by the gate. Then I noticed Anna standing by her side. It was early that morning; the shadows were long and workmen passed them taking kit down to the yachts.
I made a note of the time and then I got the idiot to advance the coverage and within half an hour I saw the familiar figure of Lech Balinski lumbering towards the gate. Frankie appeared and they punched in the right code and the gate slowly swung open.
‘Fuck,’ Boyd said quietly. ‘They beat us to it.’
The time on the screen told me that another half an hou
r had elapsed before the image of Lech and Frankie appeared again. This time they were pushing Anna, then dragging her and she seemed to be protesting, waving her hands in the air.
Fear gripped my chest.
No sign of Dagmara. I glanced at my watch. It had been a couple of hours.
* * *
We sprinted over the pontoons and my lungs were tearing at my chest when we finally reached Frankie’s yacht.
A wheel-cover with the name Esmeralda lay piled in a corner. I knelt down and peered into the yacht, but it looked empty. I swung a leg over the rail and lifted myself over onto the deck. The doors of cupboards hung open, their contents strewn all over the cabin. There was a smell of bleach in the air.
I took out the keys from my jacket and sat down by the round, polished table, wondering how people could enjoy sailing when things were so cramped. Boyd was tidying the piles of sails and life jackets and high-visibility vests and odd pieces of rope into a corner when I saw the cover of a small bench, lying at a crooked angle. I leant over and beneath it was a compartment with a fancy lock.
I fingered the keys and gently tried pushing the first and then the second into the lock, without success. I sat at the table, my mind trying to focus. I must have missed something. I thought about the marina manager and the CCTV tape and how helpless I felt watching Dagmara and Anna walking down onto the pontoon. Then the image of Anna came to mind being pushed and dragged by Lech and I knew then what was missing.
‘There must be another boat,’ I said, reaching for my mobile as I scrambled out of the yacht onto the deck. I dialled the marina office number.
‘Does Frankie Prince have another boat?’ I said.
The marina manager hesitated.
‘Don’t you even fucking think of not cooperating.’
‘Ah… yes. He’s got one of those Sunseekers.’
‘Where is it?’
I was beginning to clamber off the yacht, waving at Boyd to follow me. I ran as fast as I could until I saw Esmeralda 2 gleaming in the autumn sunshine. I was praying, hoping that Dagmara had been able to escape.
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