‘Could you confirm your description? Do you have anything to add?’
‘It was nearly two weeks ago. I’m not sure. What’s he got to do with your investigation?’
‘We got fingerprints off your purse and credit card. They match a set of prints found on furniture in the Pranjićs’ living room. There’s no indication that Monday night’s intruders went in there, but obviously we want to know who he is, what he knows. Especially since there’s another lead – Mr and Mrs Pranjić moved house a few months ago. The woman who lives at their old address tells us a young man, whom she describes as “suspicious-looking”, turned up at the house a week last Sunday looking for them. When she asked him – purely making conversation, she says – he said he lived in Holdwick. Nicola Radcliffe’s description matches yours quite well.’
Marilyn reluctantly repeated the vague recollection she had, answering the detective’s prompting – white, late teens, medium height and build, worn leather jacket, dark hair, an ear stud. Nothing particularly useful. After she’d remembered all she could there was a pause as the detective jotted it all down.
‘Can you remember anything else about him?’
She thought for a moment.
‘He had a foreign accent.’
‘He spoke to you?’ The detective glanced at his colleague. ‘What did he say?’
‘Nothing, really. We got jostled; he apologised. “Excuse me,” I think were the exact words. He had a friendly smile. That struck me because he seemed a bit… serious, edgy somehow, the rest of the time. But of course I could be imagining that. You know, because I got my purse stolen. And now this.’
‘Any idea what kind of foreign accent?’
‘From two words?’ She shook her head. ‘Sorry, no.’
‘Could it have been Eastern European? Balkan?’
‘It could have been anything; sorry.’
He made some more notes, which she found increasingly unnerving.
‘What were you doing when the theft occurred?’
She felt slightly relieved at a question she could answer. ‘Watching a busker. He was telling stories and playing music.’
‘A teenager watching a storyteller? Do you think there was any chance they knew one another? Working together, perhaps?’
‘No, he had nothing to do with it.’
‘You sound certain.’
‘Oh, I…I know Jay. The busker.’ She laughed nervously. ‘Can you believe the same thing crossed my mind and I actually accused him of it? I could tell he didn’t know what I was talking about.’
The detective nodded. ‘Did you see where either of them went afterwards?’
‘The young lad went off into the market as far as I remember. Jay stopped to chat with a nearby stallholder. After that I was too busy fretting about my purse to notice, I’m afraid.’
‘You say you know the busker – Jay, did you say? How well?’
‘We’ve become friends.’
‘How long have you known him?’
This new line of questioning got her back up. ‘A few weeks. Is this relevant? Is he involved with the case?’
As she spoke, she remembered what Matt had said about seeing Jay with someone last Saturday. She pushed the thought back down.
‘Everything’s relevant at this stage. But for now…’ The detective smiled and seemed to back off a little. ‘Can I just ask if he’s ever mentioned anything else about the incident?’
‘Not really, no. When I got the purse back he was pleased for me. That’s all.’
‘Has he ever mentioned anyone called Vinko? Have you heard the name, from him or anyone else?’
She shook her head, wondering what the friend’s son was called. But she could honestly say she’d never heard the name.
The detective seemed satisfied for the time being. He asked Jay’s full name and contact details, with a raised eyebrow she thought was quite unnecessary when she said she didn’t know his address or phone number. She agreed to ask him to talk to them, next time she saw him.
‘I don’t think that lad’s got anything to do with any murder,’ she said as they were leaving. ‘He didn’t seem the type.’
‘I’ve seen a fair few criminals with friendly smiles,’ the policeman answered with a wry grin.
Marilyn felt lightheaded with relief as she watched the car bump down the lane. Her feelings veered wildly. One minute she wondered if she’d said too much, and the next she wondered why she’d been so evasive. Common sense told her if Jay had nothing to hide it didn’t matter what the police knew, but her instincts had told her to be cautious. She knew so little, and the last thing she wanted to do was inadvertently cause trouble by saying the wrong thing. She’d gone far enough and she hadn’t lied. Let him do the rest. She hadn’t done anything wrong. As she waited for his call and the relief that would come from seeing him again, she told herself that once he’d had the chance to explain, everything would be all right and she’d wonder what on earth she’d been worrying about.
Chapter 21
It was dark by the time the bus pulled up and Marilyn felt a moment of doubt, remembering the previous Saturday when she’d waited and he wasn’t there. But the sight of a familiar figure stepping down from the bus lifted her spirits. Jay looked round hesitantly and broke into a broad smile as he saw her and hurried over. Any intentions she’d been nurturing of keeping a sensible distance vanished as he hugged her. Even the faint dusty smell of his jacket was familiar and comforting. The warmth of his embrace and kiss suggested he felt the same way.
‘I’m so glad to see you, Polly,’ he said quietly as he stood back. ‘I kept having daft moments of worrying you wouldn’t be here.’
She laughed, trying not to smile inanely.
‘Come on, let’s get home. I’m parked over there.’ She glanced round. ‘You’re on your own?’
‘Of course.’
‘That friend of yours?’
‘I’d like you to meet before long, sure I would, but he could only manage a few days off work.’
She thought that sounded promising. It was going to be all right.
‘In any case, I wouldn’t just turn up on your doorstep with a stranger – I’d have asked you before bringing him.’ He laughed. ‘I’m learning, see?’
As they drove home, and she gave him an account of what she’d been doing, she sensed they were both holding any serious conversation back until later. She managed to keep her reproach about the lack of building progress lighthearted, but he was full of apology and regret all the same.
‘I’ll explain,’ he said, echoing the previous day’s phone call. ‘It’s a bit complicated, you know?’
‘Sure. Let’s eat first, then you can tell me all about… What did you say he was called?’
‘Sorry, thought you knew. Vinko. He’s Croatian.’
Alarm bells rang and Marilyn fell silent, concentrating on the road ahead. She’d spent the afternoon trawling the local news sites online for anything she could find. The murdered couple were described as ‘from former Yugoslavia’. Other than that, there was little more than she already knew. In a clip, Nicola Radcliffe appeared to be enjoying her fifteen minutes of fame, and her exaggerated performance together with a glimpse of her uncouth husband had been almost enough in itself to convince Marilyn of the young foreigner Vinko’s lily-white innocence. She reminded herself again that none of it meant he necessarily had anything to do with any crime. And of course it could be a common name where Jay’s friend came from. For all she knew, even in Holdwick there might be one or two other Vinkos going about perfectly ordinary lives.
Back at the house, Jay walked in as if he’d never been away, hung his coat and hat on the row of pegs by the door and paused to savour the homely smell that filled the kitchen.
‘I made us a winter stew. Even managed to salvage one or two bits from the veggie garden.’
‘Well done.’ He grinned and busied himself setting the table, then went through to the living room to light the fire. She f
ollowed him a few moments later and saw him kneeling in front of the hearth, looking up at the photos as he waited for the flames to catch.
‘You framed them.’
He smiled as he looked round at her, but she paused before returning the favour.
‘There were one or two moments when I nearly unframed them again. Especially before you rang, when I hadn’t a clue where the hell you’d got to. Whether you were coming back.’
Her voice had more of an edge than she’d intended. He stood, frowning, the early flames of the fire ticking behind him as it caught.
‘You didn’t really think I’d just upped and disappeared, did you?’
‘I didn’t know what to think.’
He glanced towards the stairs, his expression brightening. ‘You had my bag as hostage.’
‘How did I know you’d consider the ransom worth paying?’
‘Surely you know me better than to believe I’d—’
‘Jay, there are times I feel like I don’t know you at all.’
She looked at him, studying the familiar lines round his eyes, the dark, hint-of-silver curls framing a face that held the same mix as ever of mischief and past cares. She tried to see if the cares were showing through more than the last time she’d seen him, but in truth he didn’t seem any different.
‘I admit you don’t know everything about me—’
‘I hardly know anything!’
‘But you know who I am.’ He tapped his breast, suddenly serious. ‘In here. Whatever I tell you, please try and think of the me you allowed into your life the last couple of weeks.’
His hands were on her shoulders and there was a plea in his eyes that suggested any hopes of trivial explanations and everything being all right were futile.
‘That’s who I want to believe in,’ she said.
‘But you don’t.’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘Polly, what’s changed?’
‘Oh, come on, Jay. Let’s start with you disappearing without warning. With a mysterious “friend’s son” I’ve been hearing things about.’
‘What things? What do you mean?’
‘“I’ll explain,” to quote a man I know. Come on, let’s eat.’
They went through to the kitchen and busied themselves serving the dinner, even chinking wine glasses before they ate. She felt as if they were both trying to preserve a fragile sense of normality, this scene of sharing a meal together, as they had when things had been new, slightly strange, but straightforward. As always between them, the silence seemed companionable. She made herself break it.
‘I think we’ve both got some explaining to do.’
He nodded. ‘What is it you’ve heard? About Vinko?’
‘I had a visit from the police this morning.’
‘The police?’
She took a deep breath. ‘Jay, have you heard of a couple called Boris and Anja, um, Pranitch, I think it was?’
‘Pranjić?’ He stopped, his fork halfway to his mouth. ‘Yes. Yes, I know them. You remember I told you once about my old friend Ivan? That’s his mum and dad. Vinko, who I’ve been with these last few days – that’s his son. Their grandson.’
She stared at the candle flame as if trying to draw strength from it. ‘How well did you know them?’
‘Not very. I hadn’t seen them for over twenty years till last year. Hang on, what do you mean, “did”?’
‘I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you, Jay. They…they’re dead. There was a break-in. Murdered…bodged burglary, probably. The police aren’t sure yet. I’m sorry.’
She wished she’d found a better way of saying it. Obviously moved, he swore quietly, stared at the table in front of him, then ate a forkful of stew as if he needed something to do. After a long, heavy pause he looked across at her. ‘Sorry. It’s just so difficult to believe. What else did they say? What brought them to you?’
She told him about the visit. After a brief, incredulous laugh when she mentioned Vinko saying he lived in Holdwick, his expression got gradually colder and harder. As she came to an end, he turned on her.
‘You ratted on him? For nicking a few pence? You didn’t even know it was him! What did you go accusing him to the police for?’
She returned his angry stare.
‘I wasn’t accusing,’ she said, indignant. ‘I reported the theft; that’s natural isn’t it? I… I didn’t think it would come to anything.’
‘Didn’t think! You even accused me, didn’t you?’
‘Calm down. No, of course I didn’t. The opposite. I told them—’
‘I mean when we first met.’
‘I didn’t know you then.’
‘You said earlier you don’t know me now!’
‘I’m sorry.’
His head was down and he was eating as if it were the last meal he was ever going to get. His behaviour hurt her and she could only hope it was fuelled by shock at the news.
‘But,’ she continued, ‘but you’re implying that it was him. And you know him. So I wasn’t far wrong, was I?’ He looked up at her, his face unreadable. ‘He stole from me, Jay. What was I supposed to do? Find him, take him aside and listen to his bloody life story?’
He almost smiled, then sighed, relaxing slightly.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘If I’d known, I—’
‘No, I’m the one should apologise.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I’m sorry I took it out on you, Pol. Forgive me. It’s a lot to take in. Anja. Boris. Dead. But I’m an idiot – I’ve been dying to see you. Whatever’s happened – particularly given what’s happened – the last thing I want is to argue.’ She nodded, fighting back sudden tears. ‘Listen, I only met him last Saturday. We’ve never “worked” together. I wouldn’t do anything like that; you must know—’
‘You seem to think I know a lot,’ she said, and their eyes met, discharging the tension.
‘So… I guess it’s about time I told you who he is and where he fits into my life.’ She nodded again.
‘It’s a long story.’ He put his knife and fork down neatly on his empty plate and reached over to clear hers away.
‘Leave the plates. No procrastinating.’
She gestured through to the living room. As they rose from the table he hugged her; she sensed a strange mix of reassurance and fear. He went to sit in his fireside chair and started to fill his pipe.
‘I’m worried about him,’ he announced. ‘Even more so now.’
‘Stop rambling. Tell me straight. So he’s your mate Ivan’s son. Why can’t he be doing all this worrying?’
‘Ivan? He died, must be eighteen years ago. Before Vinko was even born. That’s just it, see. He’s on his own, Vinko. Completely on his own given what I’ve just heard. Except— Sorry, right…’ He looked at her apologetically. ‘This is difficult.’
‘Go on.’
Jay nodded and cleared his throat as if about to make a speech. She wondered if she should offer to get them a drink.
‘Vinko came up and introduced himself to me last Saturday,’ he said, delaying the decision for her. ‘Said he’d seen me busking and recognised me from a photo his mother had. I believe him. I think. He needs my help to get back some money he’s owed. And I’ve got to help him – for one thing because it’s my fault he’s owed it. Don’t get me wrong, that’s not why he came to me. I don’t think he even knew till I told him.’
He glanced across as if checking she was still with him.
‘He… I just felt for him. I want to make things right. You’d understand if you met him. He’s got his problems but I’m sure he’s a good lad deep down. I went off with him and then…then I missed the last bus home. I hoped you’d understand that I couldn’t phone you, although I… Listen, the reason we went off goes a lot further back. It’s hard to know where to begin…’
He studied the worn fabric of his trousers, put his filled pipe down and placed the leather tobacco pouch on the arm of the chair, resting his hand on it and fi
ddling with the fastener. ‘So. Begin at the beginning.’
Much of what he told her, about his friend’s Yugoslav family and the two of them going to Croatia, she’d heard in fragments of stories before. This time the fragments came together. And this time, she realised she was actually starting to believe him.
‘Listen, you remember the wealthy heiress I mentioned?’ Marilyn nodded, though she certainly hadn’t believed that one. ‘There was a bit of poetic licence and exaggeration, but that was Ivan’s aunt Zora.’
Jay paused and Marilyn studied him in the soft firelight.
‘Really. The house in the country – that was hers. Dalmatia. It had been her family home. Her parents were killed in the second world war by the Ustaše – the fascists. You ever heard of Jasenovac?’ Marilyn shook her head. ‘It was a concentration camp. Political prisoners like Zora and Anja’s parents were supposed to fare better than the Serbs, Gypsies and Jews who were sent there to be killed but…they died anyway. Zora was a baby and Anja only a small child, and they’d been sent away to live with relatives for safety; they only learned what really happened as they grew up. Anja reacted like most people would, by staying out of trouble and eventually moving abroad, but Zora…it fired her up. Shortly before we went, she reclaimed her family’s house and land, which had been confiscated but because of where it was had stood deserted for years. She had money, too. She kept it abroad, and added to it over the years. For when she needed it. When she could do something useful with it. Remember? Do you believe me now?’
He flashed her a smile, then looked away.
‘The other part was true, too. About her nasty-piece-of-work lover. Well, it wasn’t as black-and-white as that, of course. Not at first. He was a big noise in the local territorial defence force; he’d got to a position of authority quite young and she respected him for that. Fair enough. But as the situation got worse it went to his head, like power does. His activities got increasingly irregular. But at first… There’s no doubt he was charismatic and Zora was persuasive about being ready to defend her country’s independence. All the more so after the Serbs declared their autonomous region and the violence started. And the refugees started coming, Croats from the Serb-held areas. She eventually had her house full of refugees from up country.
Someone Else's Conflict Page 18
