Cold Courage (23 page)

When they arrived, she paid her fare, opened the door to the building with her key, entered the lift and pressed the button for the topmost floor. The lift doors closed, and Lia took a few deep breaths.

Safe.

She closed her eyes. What did it mean that in an emergency like this, she fled to the Studio?

This is my second home now. A strange home that makes me stronger than I am in any other place.

When the doors opened again on the top floor, she realised another fact. She was not afraid. Once the immediate threat had passed, in an odd way she liked the way she felt.

I shouldn’t feel like this. I was in mortal danger. But I feel strong. In fact, I feel pretty damn good.

Lia walked straight into Mari’s office.

She said she knew the Latvian woman’s name. She told her about the bald man who had chased her once again.

She sat down on the sofa. Mari came to sit next to her and listened without uttering a single word. Lia showed her the blurry picture taken with her mobile phone: the bald man, coming for her.

‘It was completely insane. But it worked. It worked,’ Lia said.

She was waiting for Mari’s reproach to come. But, without a word, all Mari did was hug her.

‘Daiga Vītola,’ Lia said.

Mari knew who she meant. She squeezed Lia’s hand. Then she stood up and started her harangue. This was to be their first fight.

‘You selfish idiot,’ Mari said. Lia had almost ended up at the bottom of the Thames in a pair of cement overshoes courtesy of the eastern mafia. And here she was sitting expecting Mari’s praise.

‘That was so fucking dangerous,’ Mari said.

Lia did not say a word.

I solved it. She was Daiga Vītola.

‘You’ve probably cracked the case,’ Mari said. ‘But what if he had caught you? What then?’

‘Then things would have gone badly for me. But they didn’t.’

The Fair Rule press conference where they were going to start releasing their revelations about Arthur Fried was only two days away, Mari continued. What could they do with this Elza and the knowledge of the dead woman’s name now? No one had time to focus on it given everything else they had planned.

‘Someone does. Me,’ Lia said.

They needed Lia for handling Fried, Mari argued. They couldn’t risk endangering the operation’s complete success.

‘Getting Sarah Hawkins’ story on tape depends on you. You have to be there when we make it. She trusts you.’

They had to give the information about Vanags, the bald man, the comb, Elza and Daiga Vītola to the police, Mari said.

‘No,’ Lia objected. ‘Not yet.’

She thought Elza would talk to her but not to the police. If the police didn’t arrest anyone for the murder, what would happen to Elza and the other prostitutes? Lia had to keep her appointment at the Westfield London shopping centre on Monday.

‘When everything is ready, when we know how the whole thing went, I want to be the one to tell Daiga Vītola’s name to that
policeman
, Gerrish.’

As they continued to argue, the volume grew.

‘You asked me to solve the Latvian woman’s case,’ Mari reminded her.

‘Yes, I did. But I didn’t ask you to decide everything for us,
everything
I can and can’t do.’

Can’t you see how hurtful it is that you aren’t excited about what I found? This might be the key to solving a horrible murder, and that’s supposed to be a problem?

Mari looked at Lia for a long time. ‘OK.’

Lia could go and meet up with Elza. But first she would help with Fried.

But Lia was not going to go alone, Mari said firmly.

‘We’ll see who can go with you. Probably Paddy. We’re going to be up against the wall with Fried, but we’ll make do.’

Although it was late, Mari decided to ring Paddy and tell him the situation. Lia guessed he would be angry, but could never have
predicted
the reaction that poured out from the other end.

Mari handed the phone to Lia.

It was her second sermon of the night, but Lia listened without complaint. Paddy and Mari were both right. She couldn’t deny it.

‘This ends now,’ Paddy said.

He would no longer be willing to work with Lia. This startled Lia, and she saw that Mari was worried too.

Lia had not only endangered her own safety, Paddy said. She had endangered everyone at the Studio and the prostitutes on Vassall Road.

‘The same thing happened once with Mari,’ Paddy suddenly said.

A few years before Mari had been accompanying him, learning shadowing technique. They had been following a particular man all day. In the middle of everything, Mari decided to go and talk to the target’s neighbour.

‘I said no, but she went anyway. Mari happened to be right that time. The neighbour told us a critical piece of information about the target, which saved us several days. But Mari could have just as easily been wrong.’

Lia breathed deeply, but did not say what she thought.

Mari knew she was right. She saw it in the neighbour’s face. I don’t know whether I was right. Clearly I have to learn to analyse risks better, but I also need to figure out how to trust my own instincts.

‘No one else has done that,’ Paddy said. ‘Why you and Mari?’

‘Because we’re Finns?’ Lia suggested. Mari grimaced: this was no time for making jokes.

‘You both have a problem accepting other people’s authority,’ Paddy said coolly. ‘In Mari’s case there might be good reason. She seems to have what it takes. She knows how to balance risks. You don’t.’

Lia became aware that her entire future at the Studio was at stake. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

Talking Paddy down took time. He started softening when he heard in her tone that she really did want to try again, with a new attitude.

When Paddy finally believed that Lia was serious, he put the whole argument behind them.

‘I’ll see you on Monday. Let’s talk before we go to the shopping centre, and I’ll decide how we go in.’

It was already past ten o’clock, but neither Lia nor Mari wanted to go home. Mari stayed to work on her own research, and Lia went to see what she could find online in relation to Daiga Vītola’s name.

There were plenty of Daigas and lots of Latvians with Vītola as their last name. But she couldn’t find a single Daiga Vītola.

Going to the kitchen and fetching two glasses and a strong Syrah from the wine cabinet, she returned to Mari’s office. The warmth of the wine coursed right through Lia’s body as she sat on the sofa.

‘My life has changed,’ she said.

Lia was running around talking to Eastern European prostitutes and the battered wife of a redneck politician. Instead of hoping something interesting would happen at work each morning, she looked forward to getting back to the Studio. Having escaped the bald man twice now, she felt stronger than she ever had.

Her experience moving around London had changed as well. She had never felt in control of her environment before. The rivers of people agitated her. Now she felt as if the city was there for her. On the bus or on the Tube she wasn’t just along for the ride – she had a goal, a mission. She knew something that others didn’t, and she had seen more than they had or ever would.

‘I understand why you want to do this now,’ Lia said. ‘It makes you feel powerful.’

Mari nodded.

‘It comes and goes. But usually it’s there.’

Mari filled their glasses and raised a toast. ‘To Daiga Vītola.’

‘To Daiga Vītola.’

Sarah Hawkins was waiting at the door of her terraced house.

When Lia arrived in her taxi, a completely different woman was waiting from the one she had met before. Sarah was dressed in a two-piece suit and high heels. A packed suitcase waited at her side.

She said she had not used the suit or the luggage in years.

‘Haven’t had any money for trips. And I never like staying the night anywhere, not even at my sister’s house, because I can’t sleep in strange places. That started while we were married.’

Sarah had tidied up the front garden and moved the shabby plastic chairs out of sight.

‘I cleaned up a bit. Just in case the press comes,’ she explained.

After locking her front door, she walked with Lia to the cab.

‘Are you ready?’ Lia asked.

‘I am.’

To her sister, Sarah had said that she was going for a two-week retreat organised by a women’s refuge. Her sister had been
overjoyed
to hear that Sarah was finally getting out.

After a ten-minute drive, they switched from the taxi to the Studio’s grey delivery van.

‘We found a place to do the taping that isn’t far from your hotel,’ Lia said.

Driving the van was Rico, whose laid-back conversation helped Sarah relax and feel at ease. They took a circuitous route, and Sarah was seated on the middle bench, where she couldn’t see much.

Only one day remained until Operation Arthur Fried was
scheduled
to start. They had to get Sarah onto tape and then into hiding.

The set for the taping was an industrial hall Berg had rented, and he was waiting in the car park. Lia was amused to find that this was the first time she had ever seen him without his overalls. Although today’s outfit was not all that great a change: baggy khaki trousers and a waistcoat full of tiny pockets. He looked like a jungle explorer.

‘Welcome!’ Berg said while they were still a way off. Lia knew that Berg’s warm manner would do Sarah Hawkins good. Making the video would be emotionally draining.

Berg took Sarah’s suitcase and led the group into the nearly deserted, cavernous hall. In one corner was a small cubicle, some sort of office space with a coffee machine, and at the other end of the hall they had built a set.

Maggie was waiting there, also impressively transformed. In her denim outfit and enormous jewellery, she gave Sarah the impression that she was in the hands of a true professional. When Maggie spoke, Lia knew she was hearing the dozens of make-up artists and hair stylists who had prepped Maggie for the stage over the years.

‘Dearie, now you just trust me. You look fabulous, but I’m still going to wash all that off. Taping under these powerful lights
requires
special materials and secret tricks.’

An hour later, Sarah looked as though she could walk into a
business
meeting or official reception anywhere.

The hairdo suited her, and Maggie had softened the jacket suit with a sheer scarf at the neck. She looked style conscious. The heavy studio make-up was skilfully done, and Sarah could not help but stare at herself in the mirror. She looked younger than before, like a woman her own age.

They ran through how the taping would progress. Lia would ask Sarah the questions she had written up beforehand, which Sarah had received a week earlier. Rico would remove Lia’s voice from the video. They could do as many takes as they needed.

Sarah sat in a chair with a white backdrop behind. Rico and Berg arranged and metered the lights and then checked the sound levels. Rico was in charge of the audio and Berg the video, which was being filmed simultaneously with three cameras.

Sarah sat and waited. Lia let her concentrate. In the end she received the signal from Rico that it was time to start. Lia smiled at Sarah reassuringly.

‘To start off, could you tell me who you are and why you’re making this video?’

‘My name is Sarah Hawkins. I’m Fair Rule party leader Arthur Fried’s first wife. We were married for seven years. For the last four of those years, Arthur Fried abused me. He beat me regularly, systematically and brutally. I want to tell my story publicly because
constant abuse nearly destroyed my life, and I know that many other women live in that same hell. No one needs to put up with it. I’ve never got over what Arthur did to me. Arthur, I’m sure this is going to cause you problems but nothing like the ones that you caused me.’

Lia could scarcely breathe as she watched Sarah talking to the cameras, seeming as though she had been practising for this moment her entire life. And yet none of it sounded memorised.

Sarah was serious, calm and sincere. Only in her eyes could you see the emotion that relating her past suffering evoked.

‘How did the abuse start?’

‘I remember the first time, of course. You never forget things like that. It was a Friday night at home in Shoreditch. He had been drinking and wanted sex. He was groping me and it hurt. Our
relationship
had started out of love, but little by little a more aggressive side had been coming out in Arthur. I didn’t like it. I told him I didn’t want to. And he just knocked me to the ground with his fist, onto our kitchen floor. Then he took his belt and tied one of my arms to the handle of the fridge so I couldn’t get away. Then he started beating me.’

The silence of the industrial hall swallowed individually each of Sarah’s words. Lia, Rico, Berg and Maggie looked on in shock.

Sarah told how Arthur Fried liked to hit her, and showed the places on her body where he aimed his blows. She spoke about the trip to Tuscany and her visits to the women’s refuges. She described how problems and struggles for power at Fair Rule had made Fried vent his frustration on her at home.

The time came for Lia’s final question: ‘Do you have anything you would like to say directly to Arthur Fried?’

‘Arthur, I don’t think you ever regretted for a moment what you did to me. You begged me to forgive you often enough. You tried to smooth things over with flowers and buying me things, but you just kept hitting me. I don’t know what you’re like now, since we haven’t seen each other in years. I don’t want to see you. I’ve never been able to get over what you did to me. I’m still afraid of a lot of things, like loud noises and people arguing. You beat that fear into me. When I see you on the telly, to me it looks like you haven’t changed. During our marriage you enjoyed hitting me. But you’re never going to do
that to anyone again. Arthur, our marriage stole my life from me. Now I’m going to go looking for a new life to live. This video is my first step.’

They recorded Sarah’s story in one take. Only the last part, where she recited lines she had written up beforehand, did they have to film twice. She repeated the expert estimates Maggie had gathered about how much violence occurred against women in Britain, and gave the contact information for two long-established support centres. Finally she encouraged everyone suffering from domestic violence to ask for help.

Berg switched off the camera and the bright tungsten lights.

Remaining seated, Sarah asked with some relief, ‘How did it look?’

‘Good. Really good. We’ll show you the finished video in a couple of days,’ Lia said.

Maggie walked over to Sarah and wrapped her in her arms. The hug lasted a long time, and neither of them spoke.

Once everything was done, Berg drove Sarah directly to her hotel, where she would stay for the next several weeks. Lia, Rico and Maggie stayed behind to watch the recorded interview.

‘This is going to go viral instantly,’ Rico said. ‘Sarah’s face says so much. I have a hard time imagining anyone voting for Arthur Fried after this.’

Lia watched as Rico and Maggie deftly edited the video. Maggie was the more skilful of the two at seeing where they should cut Sarah’s answers and which camera angles they should choose.

‘Instinct, dear, instinct,’ Maggie said to Lia in her make-up artist voice.

Instinct coming from the years Maggie had spent making adverts and more artistic cinematic fare.

When Berg came back, he brought Mari along as well. The video made a profound impression on her, gluing her to her chair even in its incomplete state.

The video was done by that night. They were exhausted but
satisfied
with the end result. It was four minutes, six seconds long in all, and even after viewing it so many times, the effect was hypnotic.

People can tell when someone is telling the truth straight from the heart.

Berg drove them to the Studio. The others scattered towards their homes, but Lia and Mari stayed and sat together.

‘Tomorrow it starts,’ Mari said.

This would be the first time Lia had been on board during the execution phase of a long-term operation. She should enjoy it.

‘I’m sure I will,’ Lia replied.

Lia went to fetch drinks and snacks from the kitchen. When she returned, she found Mari standing in front of the sofa, her face drained of blood. On the television was a news report.

Together they watched the live broadcast from Ludgate Hill in the City of London. On the screen was a blue car parked on the
pavement
. Around the car, police officers busied themselves cordoning off the area.

Mutilated body found in car boot in central London,
said the news ticker at the bottom of the screen.
Similarities with victim found in the spring. Crime scenes in close proximity.

For a while they sat watching as the news report repeated the few available details.

‘That’s quite close to here,’ Mari said. ‘Do you want to go and have a look?’

‘No. Or, yes. I don’t know.’ Lia thought for a moment. ‘Let’s go.’

Mari shook her head.

‘Not me. I’m pretty sure the police take pictures of crowds
gathering
around crime scenes. And besides, the Arthur Fried
countdown
starts tomorrow.’

The street corner on Ludgate Hill looked like the set of a disaster film. Bustling, uniformed officials, large vehicles, floodlights.

Traffic had been rerouted. The police had sealed off the area with tape, behind which even at this late hour gawked a hundred-strong crowd of onlookers and several TV crews.

Inside the barrier, officers were searching the vehicle and nearby ground. Three enormous lights on telescoping stands had been
positioned
around the car. The strobes of the crime scene investigation team’s cameras flashed. Only a few detectives and other police
personnel were within the roped-off area, but more were in two large vehicles that looked like crosses between a camper van and an ambulance.

The area was filled with noise: hooting car horns, traffic police whistles, commands from the detectives, TV broadcast
commentaries
and the hum of the gathered crowd.

The strangest thing was the fear hovering over it all focused on the blue car, with its boot gaping open menacingly. Everyone stared at the car, even though no one could see in from so far away.

An unexpected evil had appeared before their eyes. Proof that anyone’s life could be taken at any time.

Lia watched the incident unfold on this cheerless corner –
Pageant-master
Court. And a pageant it was indeed. Fear really had made the slumbering street a stage, she thought. Everyone there knew they were watching something they would never be able to forget.

One police officer after another shook his head after looking in the car’s boot. The faces of the investigators were set, gravely
determined
to work with speed and accuracy.

Lia recognised one of them. Detective Chief Inspector Peter Gerrish wore a translucent white protective suit and sterile gloves like all the rest. Gerrish was too far away for Lia to speak to him.

But after a few moments, Gerrish approached the police officers waiting behind the tape. As he scanned the crowd, he noticed her and for a moment pulled up. Then he walked over. The rest of the crowd stared at the detective and his examination gloves. They bore smears of red.

Ducking under the tape, Gerrish motioned for Lia to follow him. He found them a quieter place behind the throng.

‘Why am I not surprised to see you here?’ Gerrish asked.

Lia did not know how to answer, so she told him the simple truth.

‘I saw the news and came to see if there was anything here connected to the Latvian woman’s death.’

Gerrish nodded.

‘I may have some information that will help you soon,’ Lia said.

‘Playing amateur detective, are we?’ Gerrish asked.

That familiar crooked smile flashed across his lips but quickly disappeared.

‘When you visited the police station, you lied to me. You denied being a reporter. But you work for
Level
.’

Lia was taken aback.

‘That’s true. But I didn’t come to talk to you as a representative of the press, and I haven’t written a single line about what we talked about. I’m not even a reporter. I’m a graphic designer.’

Gerrish’s gaze was penetrating.

‘I’m a bit busy now. What information do you have that could help us?’

Lia weighed what she could reveal.

‘I can’t say yet,’ she said. ‘All I have so far are guesses that still need looking into.’

‘You do that then,’ Gerrish said and turned to leave.

‘Is this case the same?’ Lia asked quickly.

Gerrish snorted.

‘The next press release will be out soon. And I’m sure
Level
will get it too. But yes, it’s very similar. The remains of an adult female in the boot of a car. This body is more intact though. She was shot, but more brutally than I’ve ever seen.’

Gerrish walked briskly back to the investigation area. Lia stayed to watch for a few more minutes. The police detectives’ overalls shone in the glare of the lights.

Something horrible had happened, and now they had begun to pick up the pieces, laboriously, one by one.

The blue car was a Hyundai, and so the media called it the Hyundai Murder.