Peter Robinson: Watching the Dark

‘I know,’ said Banks. ‘Ursula Mardna told me.’

‘Ursula Mardna was good Prosecutor. Toomas Rätsepp was lead investigator. Boss. I was junior. But I work with Bill, all night we are asking questions, walking streets, just two, three days after girl disappear, as soon as we have some information where they had been drinking.’

‘What really happened?’

‘I have never told anyone.’

‘Why not?’

‘Fear. First for my job, then for my life. But now it is too late.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean I no longer have anything to fear. Nothing anybody does can stop truth coming out now. Too many people know things. Too many people are asking questions. Murder was a desperate move.’

‘We think Bill Quinn was killed because his wife died, and he got in touch with Mihkel about what really happened over here. There were photographs,’ Banks said. ‘A girl. Bill. Here in Tallinn. He was blackmailed. With his wife dead, they didn’t matter.’

Aivar gazed out over the water, a sad, wistful look in his eyes. ‘So that is what it was,’ he said. ‘I wonder how they get to him. They cannot use the same threats they use with me.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Let’s walk again.’

They left the cell. Banks just caught from the corner of his eye the figure of a blonde woman disappearing into a cell several yards away. Joanna Passero. Aivar clearly saw her, too. ‘Your colleague?’ he said, smiling.

‘Inspector Passero.’

‘A good idea. I approve. I do the same in your position. Perhaps she need to learn how to keep better hidden, but let her follow. Very beautiful woman, is she not?’

‘What happened?’

Banks saw a small room off to the side that looked as if its walls had been splashed with blood from a bucket. Someone had drawn red hearts and written LOVE in big dripping red letters. In the old library, there were still books on the wooden shelves, piled haphazardly, all in Russian, or so it appeared from their covers. On one window ledge stood a big old reel-to-reel tape recorder, its innards partially exposed. And everywhere the damp and the smell.

Aivar leaned against a rickety wooden desk. ‘We walk around Old Town, Bill and me, asking questions. Tuesday night. We know they are in St Patrick’s bar because girls have remembered some things. That is last bar they are all together. Australian boy, bartender, he tell us he see Rachel leave after her friends and turn in the wrong direction. I think he likes her, so he quickly runs after her to warn her, and he sees her turn corner into side street. Not far along is nightclub with no name, where I see you.’

‘What happened?’

‘Outside is a car, very expensive car. Mercedes. Fill whole street.’

‘What colour?’

‘Silver grey. Barman, his name is Steve, he sees Rachel go in club. He thinks to go after her, then he thinks perhaps she meet someone, she is not so lost after all.’

‘He was sure it was Rachel?’

‘She wears short yellow dress. Blonde hair. He can see.’

‘Jesus,’ said Banks, glancing towards the window. ‘I knew there was something about that place.’

‘You have hunch, yes?’

‘Something like that. So what happened?’

They left the library and walked back down the arched brick corridor. There was no sign of Joanna, but Banks knew she was not far away. Not that it mattered now; he didn’t feel he was in any immediate danger.

‘Nothing,’ said Aivar. ‘It was late. We go in club, but nobody knows anything. No silver Mercedes. Nothing. Do not like cops. We report to Investigator Rätsepp in his office, and he says to leave it with him. Next day. Next day. Nothing happen. We hear no more. When I ask, he tell me it was not a good lead, that barman was mistaken. We look for Steve again, even though Rätsepp says not to, but we cannot find him. His friend in St Patrick’s tell us he return to Australia.’

‘So let me get this clear,’ said Banks. ‘You get a lead to where Rachel went after St Patrick’s, probably the last place she was seen alive. You take it to your boss. He tells you to leave it with him. It evaporates.’

‘I am sorry?’

‘It disappears. Nothing more is done. No follow up.’

‘It disappears. Yes. Goes nowhere. No further action. Hr Rätsepp insist.’

‘Did you talk to Bill about it?’

‘Next day, I try. He is very quiet. Says Rätsepp must be right and barman must be mistaken, and it is not worth following. I do not understand. We are both excited when we talk to Steve. Then Rätsepp call me in his office and tell me I must never question his orders or judgements if I care about my career. I do care then, but not later. I leave after a year. Second day I am at home, two men come and, how do you say... they beat me up.’

‘How bad?’

‘Not so badly I need hospital, but they know how to hurt. Then they tell me if they ever find out I mention Rachel case or club again, they will kill me. I believe them.’

‘So you told no one until now?’

‘No. I get job in tourist business. Learn better English. Mind my own business. Keep my head down. But I never forget.’

‘Did Ursula Mardna know?’

‘No. I do not believe Rätsepp tell her.’

Banks felt some relief that his suspicions about Ursula were probably wrong and not everyone on the case was bent or intimidated. But she hadn’t known about the lead. Rätsepp hadn’t passed it on to her. It stopped with him, and he was Rebane’s man.

They passed the execution room with the hole in the floor, where the Russians used to hang people before the Second World War, before the Nazis took over for a few years. Banks had had enough of Patarei by now and suggested they get out of the place. Aivar said they must leave separately, as they came.

‘There is just one thing,’ Banks said as they shook hands.

‘Yes?’

‘The silver Mercedes. I don’t suppose the barman got the number?’

‘Only part.’

‘Did you ever find out who owned it?’

Aivar shuffled his feet in the grit. ‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘That was another reason to do as Rätsepp told me.’

‘Why is that?’

‘I cannot help be curious, so I check. Not so many silver Mercedes. A name comes up.’

‘Let me guess,’ said Banks. ‘Joosep Rebane.’

‘No. It was Viktor Rebane. His father,’ he said, then he turned and walked off towards the exit.

Krystyna looked a little nervous, as well she might, thought Annie, as she sat in front of the large screen television and watched the VIPER display. With any luck, she was about to identify Robert Tamm as the man who came by Garskill Farm on Wednesday morning over a week ago, the morning that Mihkel Lepikson was murdered. She had already identified Roderick Flinders as the man who had abducted her, tied her up, gagged her and locked her in the basement of his house. Flinders was in custody, and a whole range of charges were being prepared against him. The CPS was having a field day. Annie and Winsome thought they would let him sweat for a while longer before talking to him. All the better to let him contemplate his options, which were getting more limited by the hour.

Of course, Krystyna’s identification wouldn’t prove that Tamm murdered Mihkel Lepikson, only that he was at Garskill Farm on the morning in question, but taken in concert with the rest of the forensic evidence, including fabrics and the DNA tying him to woods where Bill Quinn was murdered, and the tyre tracks and fingerprints in the glove compartment of the rented Ford Focus tying him to both crime scenes, it would go a long way towards helping convict him. The Glasgow police had found a crossbow in Tamm’s cellar, too. So Krystyna was about to bear witness against a hardened hit man.