Peter Robinson - Watching the Dark

‘Yes, but people know things. You, for a start. You know things you can’t print. I’m not after evidence I can use in court, just something that might help me sort this whole mess out and find out what happened to Rachel. I’d also like to know where I can find Joosep Rebane.’

Erik laughed. ‘That is very unlikely to happen,’ he said. ‘Rebane has the money and contacts to disappear, and if he has any sense that is exactly what he will do the way things are now.’

Joanna sighed. ‘The case is over,’ she said again. ‘Or it will be when the Scottish police pick up Robert Tamm and deliver him to Eastvale. My priority, after what you just told me, is to get back home and interview this Gareth Underwood.’

‘Fine, then,’ said Banks. ‘Why don’t you go home? Be my guest. You’d have found out more if you’d stayed there in the first place, wouldn’t you?’

‘Maybe I will go back if you keep playing the tough guy, going off hunting hardened criminals. What is this, a pissing competition?’

‘My job.’

‘Well, don’t expect me to scrape you up off the street.’

‘Please,’ said Erik. ‘You must stop quarrelling. People will think you’re in love. And while you’re here, you should try some real Estonian food. It will help you make peace. There is a very good restaurant on Vana-Posti called Mekk. Have you tried it?’

They both said no.

‘Go there tonight, eat some smoked eel and roast duck and bury the hammer.’

‘It’s hatchet,’ said Joanna. ‘And I don’t like eels.’

‘Whatever. Veal cheeks, then. I will make a reservation for you myself. Seven o’clock.’ He wagged his finger. ‘Do not be late. And be thinking of me having dinner with my mother-in-law.’ He picked up his newspaper, put on his cap and waved goodbye. ‘I will be in touch.’

Joanna gathered her shopping bags, and they followed Erik down the stairs and out of the Viru Keskus. They were just across the road from their hotel, but it was a wide road and the system of traffic lights was a little haphazard.

Banks stole a glance at Joanna as they waited for a light to change, a tram rumbling by. ‘What do you think?’ he asked.

‘You know what I think.’

‘I mean what Erik said. Mekk. Burying the hammer. Seven o’clock.’

‘I suppose I’ve got to eat.’

‘Once more with enthusiasm.’

They arrived at the hotel. Joanna favoured him with a small smile. ‘I’ll meet you in the bar here at half past six,’ she said, and headed for the lift, manoeuvring her packages. Banks made for the bar, but before he got very far the receptionist called his name. ‘Hr Banks?’

‘Yes.’

‘I have message for you.’ She took a small envelope from under the desk and handed it to him.

‘Did you see who delivered it?’ he asked.

‘No. Sorry. I just come on.’

‘It doesn’t matter. Thank you.’ Banks tapped the envelope against his palm thoughtfully as he took a stool at the bar and ordered a beer. Who was it from? Rätsepp? Merike? Ursula Mardna? There was only one way to find out. He was thirsty from the day’s walking and from the sticky, unpleasant taste of cold coffee. When he had taken a few sips of chilled beer, he turned the envelope over in his hand and opened it. There was no signature, just a short message in block capitals. ‘MONDAY 1400 PATAREI. COME ALONE.’

Stefan Nowak lived in one of the new luxury apartments about half a mile outside town, down by the river. The building used to be an old monastery, but it had been gutted and converted into a number of apartments of all shapes and sizes. Stefan’s was one of the smaller units, but he had a balcony and a fine view down to the riverbank and the woods beyond.

His answer to Annie’s message had been brusque and clipped, but he had agreed to see her if she would drop by. This she did after she left the yeast factory. His flat was, as she expected, immaculate and tasteful, with framed prints of art exhibitions and classic movies on the wall, module or Ikea-style furniture, and not a speck of dust to be seen. She had to admit, whatever he had been doing last night and this morning, he didn’t seem at all the worse for wear. Casually dressed in jeans and a black polo neck, he looked every bit as cool and elegant as ever. The room smelled vaguely of cinnamon, and Annie wondered if Stefan had given his date cinnamon buns for breakfast before kicking her out. Did he bake them himself? That would be too good to be true. The smell reminded her that she hadn’t eaten anything since last night. She had been so worried about Krystyna.

Stefan frowned as he read over the notes. ‘I’m afraid the grammar and spelling aren’t very good,’ he said. ‘And her handwriting...’

Annie was sure her mouth flapped open. It felt as if it did. It was hard to get the words out. ‘You bloody complain about the spelling in a language that as far as I can see has nothing but consonants with funny squiggles on them?’

‘It matters,’ Stefan said. ‘And if you understood anything at all about the Polish language, you would know it’s not as simple as that.’ He waved the note. ‘This girl is barely literate.’

‘What do you expect?’ Annie said. ‘She’s from a poor working-class area, and she ran away hoping for a better future here and ended up working in a bloody yeast factory. I’ve been there. Believe me, Stefan, you wouldn’t want to set one Camper-shod foot in the place. Can you just please translate the fucking note.’

Stefan stared at her, perplexed and annoyed, but he started to translate, anyway, stumbling and correcting himself here and there to make his point. ‘This first one’s quite easy,’ he said. ‘It says “I owe you thirty-two pounds sixty. Sorry. I will pay back.” In the other note she says she’s very sorry and she thanks you for all you’ve done for her. Also the clothes and money that she promises to pay back. She stole money from you, Annie?’

‘Borrowed. The poor creature couldn’t even go to the shop and buy a chocolate bar or a packet of fags, for Christ’s sake.’ Krystyna must have seen Annie take some cash from an old cocoa tin in one of the kitchen cupboards to pay for the takeaway, and she had stolen the rest, but she wasn’t going to admit that to Stefan. ‘Carry on.’

‘There’s not much more,’ Stefan went on. ‘She wants to find out what has happened to her friends, to Ewa particularly, and she can’t sleep until she knows they are all right. She was foolish to run away without saying goodbye. She will be in touch with you when she can. There’s a heart and—’

‘Yes, I could read that bit, thank you,’ said Annie, snatching the note back.

Stefan shook his head. ‘Annie, why are you getting so involved? It’s not like you. Do you know what you’re getting yourself into? You’re letting this get to you, you know. It will only end badly.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The girl. She’s a user. Probably a junkie as well as a thief.’

‘She’s no junkie.’

‘But she is a thief, isn’t she? She stole that money from you, didn’t she?’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Her words. The way she says it in the note. I didn’t translate exactly, but she says something about being sorry for money she took .’

‘You bastard!’ Annie felt her face burning. She had no answer for Stefan’s questions. Had no idea why she was going out on a limb for this pathetic young girl, who had lied and stolen and taken advantage of her hospitality, and left without so much as a by your leave. Perhaps it was because she had watched the way she ate the Big Mac and fries in the interview room, and then cleaned up after herself with the serviette. Or the way she had watched the American cop shows intently while eating her takeaway, although she didn’t understand a word. It was true that she was unsophisticated, but that didn’t mean she had no manners or breeding. Or feelings. It was true she was a thief and liar, but those are habits that are easy to come by when you are exploited and have nothing of your own. Did Annie want to change her? Maybe. But all she had really wanted to do was offer the hand of friendship in a world that had so far proved unfriendly.