Ryanair were able to provide his address in Krakow from the booking as well as from his credit card details, and they told O’Connor that the car had been supplied by Hertz at Dublin airport.
Hays told O’Connor to get onto Hertz at the airport and get the details of the car hire arrangements.
“Maureen, you and I are going down to Jury’s Inn to see what we can find out,” Hays said.
“Oh yeah,” O’Connor said with a wide grin.
“Behave John, you pervert,” Hays responded.
The receptionist at Jury’s Inn on Quay Street was a pretty, fair-haired girl dressed in a grey suit and white blouse with a little red bow tie. She too was Polish, and she confirmed that Piotr Palowski had arrived late on Monday night by car, and that he had originally booked in for a week. She also confirmed that he had only stayed two nights and had unexpectedly checked out early on Wednesday.
“What reason did he give for his early departure?” Lyons asked.
“He said something about family issues back in Poland, and said he had to get back urgently. I was on duty, and to be honest, he seemed quite shaken up,” the girl replied.
“I don’t suppose there’s any chance the room hasn’t been made up since?” Lyons enquired.
“I’m sorry. Even at this time of year we are pretty full. We were able to re-let his room the same day,” she said.
“And I don’t suppose there was anything left behind in the room at all?” Lyons added.
“Hold on, I’ll check with housekeeping.”
Piotr Palowski hadn’t left anything behind in his room when he checked out on Wednesday morning. The hotel had charged him an extra night as a cancellation fee, and he hadn’t disputed the charge. He just seemed anxious to be underway.
* * *
Back at the station, John O’Connor had been in touch with Hertz at Dublin Airport. They told him that the car that was hired by Piotr Palowski had been returned early on Wednesday afternoon.
“But there’s more,” he said. “Hertz told me that there was damage to the car when it came back in. The left front wing and headlight were damaged. They have sent it to the repair shop over in Swords.”
“Terrific. They won’t have cleaned it yet. Get back on to them and find out exactly where it is, the registration number, make and colour of the car. Then get onto the Gardaí in Dublin and ask them to go out and secure the vehicle till we can arrange a forensic examination. Maybe there will be some evidence or perhaps even some blood residue on it,” Hays said.
“Maureen, can you get in touch with the police in Krakow? Explain the situation. Get as much information on this guy as they are willing to give you but ask them not to make contact with him yet. We don’t want him doing a runner.”
“I’m going to call the Super and see what he suggests,” Hays said.
* * *
By four o’clock quite a bit of additional information had been collected about Piotr Palowski and his truncated visit to Ireland.
Lyons had spoken at length to an Inspector Kowalski about Piotr. The inspector had looked him up in their police database and had also consulted his colleagues. Piotr Palowski was aged twenty-seven. He was unmarried and lived with his parents in an apartment close to the centre of Krakow. He was one of four grown up children and had two sisters, Lisa and Anna, and a brother Jakub. He had no police record and worked in a local insurance company. He had a driving license and a passport, and up to recently owned a twelve-year-old VW Golf. The family was described as middle class, his father had recently retired from the same insurance company that Piotr now worked for. Piotr’s mother was still working as an administrator in the Civil Service.
“The joys of the old communist system,” Hays said on hearing the fulsome descriptions provided by the police in Krakow.
The car he had hired from Hertz was in a repair shop on the Airside Business Park, just up the road from the Hertz offices in Swords. Gardaí had been dispatched to secure the vehicle and take it in for forensic examination.
Hays had spent quite a while on the phone to the superintendent who was pleased to hear of the new lead, but not a bit pleased to hear of the Polish man’s departure back to his homeland.
“Maureen, get back onto Inspector Kowalski and ask him if he would facilitate two Irish police questioning this Piotr guy in Krakow, with the supervision of the Krakow police of course. If he sounds positive then go home and pack your toothbrush,” Hays said.
Chapter Ten
Sunday, 3:00 p.m.
The Ryanair Boeing 737 touched down at John Paul II International Airport in Krakow with a satisfying thud, followed by screeching from the engines as the pilot used reverse thrust to bring the plane to taxiing speed.
Krakow was already cold, but not as yet in the grip of the full Polish winter. Outside the doors leading from baggage claim to arrivals, a man with a completely shaved head stood with a piece of white cardboard bearing the four letters HAYS written freehand in black marker. He was dressed in some sort of black combat suit, with a short jacket and black pants, although there were no obvious signs that he was carrying any weapons.
He introduced himself and showed the two Irish detectives to a waiting Skoda parked quite illegally on a yellow hatched area directly outside the terminal. It was an unmarked police car, but very obviously so, with its multiple radio aerials and other equipment scattered around the dashboard inside.
Their unnamed escort drove them briskly to the centre of town, pointing out some of the major landmarks of the city on the way.
The two detectives were booked into the Radisson Blu and were surprised at the very modest rate for two rooms in a five-star hotel. It certainly lived well up to its rating, with a very simple but elegant reception area, and an inviting bar.
They were allocated rooms 220 and 221, a pair of rooms opposite each other on the second floor. Hays carried the two small cabin bags that they had brought with them to their rooms.
“Let’s meet in half an hour or so downstairs. We can plan our strategy for tomorrow,” he said.
“Good idea,” Lyons replied, letting herself in.
When Maureen came down about forty minutes later, Hays had ordered her a gin and tonic and was halfway through his first ever Polish beer.
“Thanks, boss,” she said, sitting down opposite Hays, a small piano black table between them.
“Just what the doctor ordered,” she said, holding up her glass, and taking a good swig of the cold liquid.
“So, we have a meeting with Inspector Kowalski at nine-thirty tomorrow. He seems quite amenable to letting us interview Palowski. I’m not sure how it will work though. Do you think he’ll bring him in to the station?” Hays asked.
“I’m not sure how it works out here. It would be good if they got him in. Do you think we need to prepare a list of questions?” she asked.
“No, I don’t think so. We’re pretty good together and I’d prefer just to go with the flow. You OK with that?”
“Yeah, sure. It’s pretty obvious what we need to get from him in any case,” Lyons said.
“A full confession to murdering his sister would be a good start!”
They had another drink, and then went out for a walk around the city. It was cold, but not unbearable, and the city had some very fine buildings and a surprising amount of green open space. They left the hotel and headed east across the squares of Krakow towards the Planty Park. They passed the magnificent façade of the Jagiellonian University, and on to Rynek Glówny, the thirteenth century square right at the heart of the city. There was a mixture of architectures, going from the majestic seventeenth and eighteenth-century buildings, through the bland and faceless communist era blocks right up to the modern glass and grey metal offices that one sees in all modern cities these days. They pressed on to St Mary’s Basilica with its twin towers, and caught the trumpet call at six o’clock, when the Basilica emitted a high pitched clarion sound, as it had done for several centuries. They finished their walk at the
edge of the Westerplatte, and made their way back to the centre, passing the Romanesque Church of St Wojciech with its vast baroque dome that had stood since the eleventh century.
Later, after a good meal and a bottle of German wine, they made their way back to the hotel.
At the bedroom doors Hays said goodnight and then as she opened her door, he added, “Would you like some company tonight?”
Maureen immediately felt the butterflies in her stomach erupt. She said nothing but went into her room holding the door open for him to follow.
* * *
With the morning light, Hays was struggling to see how things between them could be normal and professional again after the night they had spent together. But Maureen seemed to sense his anxiety, and at breakfast she put her hand over his and quietly said, “What happens in Krakow stays in Krakow.”
When Hays and Lyons left the hotel to head to the police station the weather had changed. They were met with a bitterly cold, thin wind that sliced down the narrow street like a blade. Neither of them had thought too much about what clothing they should bring to Poland, so they were ill-equipped for the Polish winter.
Thankfully, the police station was not very far away. It was an old nineteenth century building that stood formidably on a wide busy street.
As soon as they entered the building they were greeted by a strong institutional smell – a mixture of old wood, dust and carbolic soap. The walls were painted in pale green gloss paint, and the floor was a sort of grey mottled terrazzo, worn down at the entrance from countless feet tramping over it. It was also cracked here and there in the hallway.
Inside the door, a long dimly lit corridor stretched away with high oak doors in pairs to the left and right. The doors had small bevelled glass panes down to chest height, so you could see into the room. The first pair of doors on the left had the word “Recepja” painted in white on a blue board stuck to the front, which they took to be the reception area.
This area itself was a big bright room with a carved oak counter to the right-hand side. Two young officers, both female, sat behind the counter in smart blue shirts adorned with various gold coloured badges. The nearest officer, a brunette in her late twenties with her hair held back in a ponytail was called Hanna according to her lapel badge. She was the first to speak, but unfortunately in Polish, which of course neither Hays nor Lyons understood.
“We are here to see Inspector Kowalski,” Hays said, hoping that Hanna spoke English.
“Ah, sorry, of course, you are the Irish Police. I’m sorry,” Hanna said in perfect English with just the slightest hint of an accent.
“He’s expecting you. If you go out to the hall,” she said, gesturing with her hand to the corridor they had come from, “left and up the stairs one flight, his office is the second door on the left.”
Hays knocked on the solid oak door. It was opened by a large man in his fifties with thinning dark hair and a ruddy face. He must have been at least six foot three in height, and while not particularly overweight, he was bulky, with broad shoulders and steely grey eyes. He wore a drab suit that had frankly seen better days, and a dark shirt with a navy-blue tie.
“Welcome,” he boomed, “come in, sit down, you must be frozen. I hope you had a pleasant night at the Radisson Blu. I hear it’s quite good.”
Kowalski ushered the detectives to two well-worn office chairs in front of his desk.
“Coffee?” he asked.
“Yes please,” they replied in unison.
Kowalski sat behind his desk and barked some instructions into the old, pale grey rotary dial telephone, presumably ordering the coffee.
“Well, I believe we have a person of interest here in Krakow for you,” he said, shuffling some papers that appeared, from what Hays could decipher reading upside down, were relevant to Piotr Palowski.
Kowalski went on, “I have done a bit of snooping around on Mr Palowski. There’s not a lot. He comes from a family of four children and their parents here in Krakow. His father is retired – used to be in insurance. Piotr followed his father into the same company. He has two sisters, Lisa and Anna, and a brother Jakub. Both parents are still alive, and Piotr lives with them in an apartment quite close to the centre,” Kowalski said. “What’s your interest in this man?”
Lyons gave an outline of the events concerning the death of Lisa Palowski in the West of Ireland and told Kowalski of Piotr’s premature return to Poland the day after she had been found dead.
“We’d like to interview him, if that’s possible?” Hays said.
“Do you think he killed his sister?” Kowalski asked.
“It’s certainly a possibility. But we are keeping an open mind for now. We don’t even know what they were doing fifty miles – sorry, seventy kilometres – from her flat out in an unpopulated area in dreadful weather,” Hays said.
“Right, well I’ll have him picked up at once, and you can interview him with one of my officers as soon as he gets here,” he said, reaching again for the telephone.
* * *
Hays and Lyons were shown to a small room further down the corridor. It was bright but sparsely furnished with just a desk and two chairs, a phone and some plastic cups and a bottle of spring water. The most important piece of equipment in the room was an old cast iron central heating radiator which was giving off a huge amount of heat, making the room seem almost cosy, despite its barren appearance.
They had brought Kowalski’s file on Piotr that he had given them. Much of it was in Polish, but there was sufficient in English to allow them to go through it.
Piotr was the eldest of the four Palowski children. There was a face picture of him in the file, presumably taken for his passport. He had short, curly fair hair, and an oval face with stark pale blue eyes and a full mouth.
The file had all sorts of details about the man. His school, his work, where he had been on holidays for the last five years, his salary and details of the company he worked for, along with all sorts of reference numbers relating to him. It also had a sheet outlining his medical history, showing that he had broken one of his arms on a skiing holiday a few years ago.
The Irish detectives were amazed at how much information the file contained. It was much more than they were allowed to see on any individual back home.
“Any thoughts?” Hays asked Lyons.
“Not a lot. I’m impressed with all the information they can pull up. And while we’re at it, did you notice how Kowalski knew where we were staying even though we didn’t tell him?” Lyons added.
“The driver from the airport probably told him. But we were also followed when we went walk-about yesterday afternoon. There were two of them, a man and a woman, and they stuck with us all the way round. I’m surprised you didn’t spot them.”
“Shit – I missed that. Some detective I am! But I wasn’t looking for anything. I guess we’re just not used to that level of scrutiny.”
“That’s why there are two of us. And you’re a damn fine detective Maureen, one of the best I’ve worked with.”
“Thanks, but that’s pretty basic.”
“The Poles haven’t lost all their techniques from the Communist era it seems. I wonder what they’ll use to pull in Piotr,” Hays said.
“Probably ask him if he has a license for those eyes,” Lyons said smiling.
“Oh, I see. Fancy him, do you?”
“Let’s see if he’s a murderer first, then I’ll tell you,” she replied.
Kowalski knocked on the door and came into the room.
“We have him downstairs. He wasn’t too happy to be lifted from work. I want to leave him for a few minutes before we talk to him though. Let him contemplate his situation,” Kowalski said. “What did you learn from the file?”
“Not a whole lot, though it’s very thorough. Sergeant Lyons thinks he has nice eyes!” Hays said.
“Hmph,” grunted Kowalski. “I have a few calls to make. Can we meet downstairs in say twenty minutes?” he said. “He’s in room
A4, and the guards will let you through. You can get more coffee at the front desk if you need it.”
It was nearly half past eleven when the three detectives entered room A4 to find Piotr Palowski sitting alone at the small table in the room looking nervous. He was even better looking than his passport photo portrayed, but there was a vacuousness about him that no paper picture could ever convey.
Kowalski introduced the two Irish detectives and signalled to them that they should take over.
“Mr Palowski, as you know by now, your sister Lisa was found dead in the West of Ireland last Tuesday. We are investigating her death, and we have come here to question you as you were in the area at the time,” Hays began.
“I want you to tell us from the beginning, why you travelled to Ireland, and then everything that happened from the time you arrived until you left again on Wednesday.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong. She was my sister, and I loved her,” Palowski blurted out.
“That’s not what we asked you, Mr Palowski. Now you need to answer our questions, or you will be here for a very long time,” Lyons said.
“OK, OK. I came across Lisa’s web page one day at work when I put her name into Google. It was disgusting. How could she do that? We are a good family. My parents think she is in Ireland studying, and there she was, selling her body. I couldn’t believe it at first. It was horrible.”
“So, I decided to go there and confront her, get her to stop. I called her and said I was coming over for a few days holiday, and could we go around and see the place which I heard was very beautiful. I told her I would hire a car,” he said.
“So, you arrived in Dublin on the Monday, and hired a car?” Lyons confirmed.
“Yes and drove to Galway on your fabulous wide road with no traffic,” he smiled.
“When did you meet up with Lisa?” Lyons went on.
“Tuesday. She told me to call her after four in the afternoon. She had things to do until then. I stopped by her apartment and she came out soon after four. She wanted to go for a drive even though it was starting to get very grey and dark. She said that it was always like that in Galway. She had heard that Clifden was nice, and asked if we could go there. We drove out in that direction,” Palowski said.
The Galway Homicides Box Set Page 7
