Blood on the Tongue (Ben Cooper & Diane Fry) (32 page)

'I was thinking one of them might be your mother. A wartime romance, was it?'

'Oh no, they didn't meet until after the war.'

'I see.'

As far as Cooper could tell, almost the only thing that made Lukasz and Wach look like twins was the uniform. Almost the only thing. But there was also something about the jaunty angle of their caps, the way they held their shoulders, and a certain Slavic set of the eyes. Zygmunt Lukasz was taller and more heavily built and had a greater air of maturity. In the picture, he had one arm round a girl with dark permed hair, and the other across the shoulders of his slighter cousin, Klemens. He looked not so much like a twin, more like an uncle, or at least an older brother.

'According to the inquest report, Klemens Wach died of serious multiple injuries. They weren't specific about what caused them.'

Peter Lukasz shrugged. 'My father has never talked about the details of the crash. It was pretty horrific, by all accounts. Some of the British crew members were actually dismembered, I gather. They were thrown through the framework of the aircraft. Two others burned to death, trapped in the wreckage. McTeague had a lot to answer for. He was lucky they never tracked him down.'

'Do you think McTeague is dead, Mr Lukasz?'

'I don't know. My guess would be that he got back to Canada as soon as he could. McTeague had a wife and a newborn child over there, remember. Apparently, he talked about them all the time, and said he was desperate to get back home and see them. You know, at one time, my father even talked about going to Canada to look for him. But I think, in the end, he preferred to carry the pain and the memories with him intact. His hatred of Danny McTeague has been like a talisman to be cherished. It's kept his memory of Klemens fresh and alive, if that makes sense. If he knew McTeague had died peacefully in his sleep somewhere, it would be like losing that talisman. Then there would be nobody left to hate. And then, worst of all, there would be nothing more that he could do for Klemens. His memories would begin to fade. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?'

'Yes, I think so.'

Lukasz nodded. 'I've thought about it a lot over the years. My father and I are alike, I think. That's the way I would feel, too, in the same circumstances. Hatred and a desire for vengeance are things you can hold on to. They are solid things. They give you a focus.'

'A purpose in life?'

'If you like. But, as I say, it would have undermined all that if my father had ever met McTeague again and discovered he was only another human being. Of course, McTeague was just a man who made a mistake, a man who was afraid and let down his comrades. But it was better for my father to preserve his picture of a monster. It was the only thing that made the death of Klemens more understandable. It was the only way to make sense of something that was ultimately senseless.'

Cooper listened for a moment to the claws of the parrot rattling on the bars of its cage in the corner of the room.

'It's ironic that it should come up now,' said Lukasz. 'It's against the spirit of
oplatek
.'

'Sorry?'

'
Oplatek
is our tradition of forgiveness and reconciliation. It's symbolized by eating the
oplatki
wafers. And this Sunday is the
oplatek
dinner for the Edendale Polish community, down at the ex-servicemen's club, the Dom Kombatanta. It's one of the high points of our calendar. It certainly means a lot to my father.'

Cooper had never heard of such a thing, and he couldn't quite picture how to spell the word that Lukasz was pronouncing. Forgiveness and reconciliation? Well, there was certainly plenty of scope for that.

'Do you know somebody called George Malkin?' asked Cooper.

Lukasz frowned. 'Malkin? Should I? What's the connection? Was he in the RAF?'

'No. He's a local man. He lives near the place where the Lancaster crashed.'

'I'm sorry, it doesn't mean anything.'

Cooper handed the photograph back reluctantly. 'They were all brave men,' he said.

Lukasz laughed. 'That's what everybody says. Everybody who wasn't involved, anyway. But it isn't what my father says. He says that none of them was brave. He says it wasn't about bravery at all. In his view, they did what they could because they were part of a crew, a team, and it was impossible to consider letting your comrades down. They were very close, you know, and the circumstances brought them even closer. It's impossible for us to understand now how close they were.'

'Like a family, in fact. It's always worse when things go wrong within a family. It feels like a betrayal.'

'Yes. But these days, even families aren't as close as that. Ask my son.'

'Your son?'

'Andrew. He lives in London now, but he's been visiting us recently.'

'Is he still here?'

'No. He was only visiting.'

'When did you see him off?'

Lukasz seemed to hesitate about answering. 'He hasn't been here since Sunday,' he said.

'Was he going straight back to London?' said Cooper. 'Was he travelling by train or did he have a car? It might have been difficult in the snow.'

It was Grace Lukasz who answered. She'd approached quietly behind her husband's back to listen to the conversation, as if drawn by the merest mention of her son's name.

'He arrived in a taxi. And we didn't see him off,' she said.

'Oh? Why?'

'I was on duty at the hospital on Sunday night,' said Lukasz. 'As I told you, I work in the A&E department. By the time I arrived home, Andrew was gone.'

'Was there a family row of some kind?' asked Cooper. The Lukaszes both looked embarrassed at the question. 'It happens in every family, I know.'

'Andrew went off without saying goodbye at all,' said Grace Lukasz.

Cooper looked at the heaps of snow piled up outside on Woodland Crescent. The snow was becoming stained with car exhaust fumes and soot from central-heating flues. It didn't say much for the air quality in the Crescent.

'Mrs Lukasz, do you mean that your son just disappeared?'

'Well, in a way.'

'Did he have any luggage with him?'

'Yes, of course.'

'Have you reported him missing?'

'He isn't missing,' said Peter Lukasz. 'He left a little suddenly, that's all. I presume somebody came for him. A taxi, whatever.'

'He promised he would phone me,' said Grace. 'I've called his home in London several times, but there's only an answering machine. He said his wife is away in America, and we don't have his mobile number.'

'He probably has some urgent business to deal with,' said Peter. 'Andrew is regional sales manager for a medical supplies company.'

Cooper began to get exasperated. People could sometimes be so slow to accept that tragedy could intrude directly into their own comfortable lives.

'Could you describe your son, please? How old is he? How tall? Is he dark or fair? What was he wearing?'

'Well, Andrew is dark, like me,' said Peter Lukasz. 'He's thirty-two. I don't know what he was wearing. What's this all about?'

But his wife's face was already growing pale. 'The man found dead on the Snake Pass,' she said. 'But that's the man who called here at the bungalow on Monday, isn't it?'

'
Is it
?' said Cooper.

They both stared at him wordlessly. A faint sheen of sweat glistened on Peter Lukasz's forehead. He seemed to find it too warm in his own bungalow.

'I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to come in and have a look,' said Cooper. 'In case you're able to help us identify him.'

Grace Lukasz shook her head. 'But that wasn't Andrew,' she said. 'Surely that's not what you're saying?' She gave a short laugh. 'I know my own son.'

Peter Lukasz seemed to understand better. 'It's ridiculous,' he said. 'Quite ridiculous. But I'll do it, if it helps to get the idea out of your head.'

'Thank you, sir. However, I think we'll need both of you. Your wife was the only one who saw the man who came to your door.'

Cooper got ready to leave the bungalow. The sky was looking heavy again outside. Peter Lukasz saw him out, but paused on the doorstep in his slippers. Lukasz seemed as though he might have something else he wanted to say, but Cooper didn't know what question he should be asking him.

'How long has your father been working on his story?' said Cooper.

'About a week.'

'Is that all? What made him decide to start it now?'

'Oh, I think that's because he knows he's dying,' said Lukasz. 'He has advanced liver cancer, and all that can be done for him now is to control the pain. We've been told that he'll be dead within a few months.'

*    *    *    *

Cooper stood in the CID room as he stripped off his coat and stared at his shoes, which were turning a strange grey where they had once been black. He flicked though the messages and memos on his desk, allocating them to three piles in order of priority. He'd learned the technique on a time-management course. Important and urgent, important but not urgent, urgent but not important. In this case, only the first would get dealt with. Towards the bottom, he stopped and read a telephone message more carefully. There was no pile this one would fit into. It didn't fit into his duties at all.

He put the message aside carefully on his desk while he dealt with the important and urgent tasks. A CPS lawyer needed a report for an assault case that was due before the magistrates first thing on Monday morning. A family in Edendale whose burglary he was supposed to be investigating had been burgled again and needed calming down. A superintendent had invited him to volunteer for a farm security working group and wanted an answer yesterday.

*    *    *    *

Fry watched Cooper going through the ritual. She wasn't sure why it was that she found him every bit as irritating as Gavin Murfin. Murfin was stupid and lazy, but she could understand that. Ben Cooper was neither of those things.

'Ben, you took a long time at the Snake Inn,' she said.

'Sorry.'

'Do you realize how stretched we are here?'

'Of course,' he said.

'I'm not asking you to cut corners,' she said, 'but I need you to be making the best use of your time. So let me know where you are in future, if you're going to be delayed.'

'Listen, Diane, I've asked Peter and Grace Lukasz to try an identification on the Snowman.'

She stared at him. 'Have you now? Ben, are you working this enquiry on your own?'

'No, but –'

'So how come you talked to the Lukasz family again? Was that on your list of actions?'

'No. I used a bit of initiative.'

'Well, don't.'

'They don't know the whereabouts of their son. They haven't seen him since Sunday.'

Fry stopped and stared at him. 'Have they reported it?'

'No.'

'Description?'

'It's a rough match with the Snowman. Besides, Grace Lukasz is the only one who saw this man who's supposed to have visited Woodland Crescent on Monday.'

'
Supposed
to have?'

'I don't think she's telling the entire truth,' said Cooper. 'Her husband wasn't home, and her father-in-law is in some world of his own. As for the neighbours, it seems the man who called at the Lukasz bungalow didn't visit anybody else in the street. That doesn't sound like any salesman I ever heard of. It will be interesting to see what she makes of the Snowman, anyway.'

'All right,' said Fry. 'But for God's sake let me know what you're doing in future, Ben.'

'There's another thing,' said Cooper.

She sighed. 'Go on.'

'The staff at the Snake Inn remember no four-wheel drives. Is it possible the Snowman's body was left in that lay-by overnight, before the snow started?'

'Not possible. There was snow underneath the body. And take another look at the video of the scene. It's perfectly obvious that the body would have been visible to traffic coming up the hill. Even in the dark, you would see it in your headlights.'

'It wouldn't be the first time people had just driven on by.'

Fry tapped her fingers. 'That would mean we'd have to do roadside checks on motorists. That's more time and more staff.'

'Sorry.'

'I'll let the DI know. Anything else?'

'Not for now.'

'Clear up your messages, then.'

Fry watched him for a few minutes longer as he began to make phone calls. She listened to him placating people who were becoming more and more anxious that nothing had been done on their enquiries. He was good at that – people on the other end of the line started off angry or upset and went away feeling that they had his full attention and sympathy. Fry wondered how she could get Cooper's full attention. Maybe she ought to get angrier herself, or more upset. Nothing else seemed to work.