The Exiled (13 page)

IT WAS ALREADY LATE AFTERNOON
when Anna and her mother approached Remete Mihály’s house near the spa and the park. The house was surrounded by a lawn, its grass mown unnaturally short, with flowerbeds providing splashes of colour. It gave the impression that the garden wasn’t a place to spend time but was there simply to provide scenery. The house itself only confirmed this impression. It was so large, it could have accommodated many families. Its brick walls were coated in sherbet-yellow pebbledash, the façade featured a series of grandiose arched windows and a glass door, its metallic frame gleaming in the sunshine. There were many fancy houses in Kanizsa, but this verged on the ridiculous. Why the hell do people feel the need to flaunt their wealth like this? Anna wondered, and thought of Judit’s terraced house, whose tiny one-bedroom apartments might house families of five or six and whose garden featured a shared outdoor toilet and shower facilities. Most grotesque of all, however, was the fact that the living conditions of Kanizsa’s Romanies were luxury compared to those in which the majority of Roma in this country were forced to live. Anna had seen the cluster of ramshackle huts near the city dump in Újvidék, their inhabitants grubbing around in the steaming piles of rubbish, and the little children with tangled hair begging in the centre of Szabadka.

Her mother pressed the buzzer by the gate. At first nothing but crackling could be heard from the speaker, then came a contrived, saccharine greeting in a shrill female voice. The gate buzzed and opened. Anna shuddered. She couldn’t say whether it was to do with all the tasteless self-importance that was on show or because she’d instantly started thinking of those who could barely afford a hot meal.

A path covered in bright-white pebbles led directly to the house, where the mirror-glass door had now opened. A woman stood in the doorway, trussed up in a green trouser suit with a wide smile on her fulsome, Botoxed lips.

‘
Jézusom
,’ Anna whispered. Her mother gave her a rapid, cautionary shush.

‘
Isten hozott!
How nice to see you, Mária. And is this Anna? Goodness me, she’s a grown woman. I remember you as a little girl, a shy little thing,’ the woman cooed, and held out her heavily made-up face for the compulsory kiss on the cheek.

The woman’s cloying perfume tickled Anna’s sinuses as she gave the woman formal kisses on both cheeks. She thought she might sneeze.
Kezét csókolom! Sziasztok! Hogy vagytok? Jól vagyunk. Hogy van az Ákos? De jó végre találkozni Anna,
and so on and so forth. Though Anna was more than familiar with all these greetings and pleasantries – she repeated them many times a day with everybody she met – she would never fully get used to them. The words felt every bit as stilted as this house, its garden and this woman – white noise as superficial as a powdered face. She’d tried to talk to her mother about it, but she had simply scoffed disdainfully. The Finns are just like that, sullen and impolite; and it seems you’ve become just like them, she’d replied.

The woman introduced herself as Anikó and showed them into the living room, her stiletto heels clacking against the stone floor. Anna tried to pull off her trainers in the hallway but Anikó said not to bother. They sat down on bouncy white sofas positioned so that they offered a view through the glass wall and out on to the patio and the swimming pool in the garden.

‘What would you like to drink?’ asked Anikó and looked pointedly at Anna. Anna flinched; she had the distinct impression the woman had been staring at her for some time without her noticing.

‘Beer, wine,
pálinka
?’ Anikó continued.

‘
Pálinka
, please,’ her mother replied. ‘Anna?’

‘Could I have some coffee, if it’s not too much trouble?’

‘Not at all, I’ll go and make some. Mihály will be back shortly. He always drinks coffee when he gets back from work.’

Anikó clip-clopped into the kitchen. Anna heard the sound of the gas stove lighting and the clink of glasses.

‘This is quite a house,’ said Anna.

‘I know. Anikó is a doctor and Mihály is in politics, so they’ve no shortage of money.’

‘Do they have any children?’

‘Two daughters. They both live in Budapest with their families.’

‘Did I know them as a child?’

‘I doubt it. They’re both older than you.’

‘Did Ákos know them? Or … Áron?’

Anna’s mother was silent for a moment, as though, after the very mention of Áron’s name, to speak, to even open her mouth again, required an extra effort. Perhaps it did. Anna realised she had no idea how or if her mother had recovered from the death of her eldest son.

‘Csilla, the Remetes’ eldest daughter, was in the same class as Áron. They were friends,’ her mother said quietly.

Just then there came a loud greeting from the front door, the clack of high heels from the kitchen to the hallway and the mawkish smack of air kisses. The man Anna had met at the wine fair stepped into the living room, his wife just behind him.

‘
Kezét csókolom,
Mária. How nice you could make it. We haven’t seen you properly in ages. And Anna,
kezét csókolom
.’

Remete Mihály theatrically greeted them and literally kissed their hands.

‘What a beautiful daughter you have,’ Mihály addressed Anna’s mother. ‘Why does she visit so rarely?’

‘I work in Finland, and I can’t take holidays whenever I feel like it,’ Anna replied.

‘Is that so? And what do you do?’

‘I’m a police officer. I work in the Violent Crimes Unit.’

‘That’s right. I’d heard something to that effect. Did you want to follow in your father’s footsteps – is that what made you decide to join the police?’

Anikó appeared carrying a tray laden with coffee cups and plates, a bottle of
pálinka
and small shot glasses. In front of Anna and her husband she placed porcelain cups and silver spoons, then poured
some
pálinka
for herself and Anna’s mother, and tripped back to the kitchen to fetch the coffee and a selection of cakes. Anna’s mother gasped over-the-top compliments about how beautiful the china was.

‘I don’t really know why I became a police officer,’ said Anna. ‘I suppose I wanted a job where you have to think and use your body. And every day at work is different.’

‘That’s nice,’ said Mihály, almost to himself.

Anikó brought in the coffee. Her nails were unnaturally long and sharp, and they were decorated with floral patterns.

‘You’ve got lovely curtains, Anikó. Are they new?’ Anna’s mother gushed.

‘Yes. I bought the fabric in Vienna and had them made up here. I think they’re delightful, and they go with the sofa perfectly.’

‘Anna, just look at these beautiful curtains,’ her mother said, and Anna could hear the unmistakeable reproach in her voice telling her that you were supposed to compliment your hosts on their house.

‘Yes, pretty,’ Anna replied, barely able to hide a yawn. Christ, people had some dull conversations.

Enormous pastries oozing white cream had been laid out on a golden platter. Anna wondered whether it would be impolite not to have one. Anikó and her mother began talking about the dearth of good bakeries in town and about which place sold the best
sampite
cakes. Mihály’s telephone rang. He apologised and disappeared into another room to answer it.

Anna sipped her coffee and gazed out at the surface of the swimming pool, sparkling in the sunshine. How nice it would be to go swimming, she thought. It must be nice owning your own pool, you could go swimming every morning in your own garden. She decided to go to the Tisza that evening for a swim.

‘Can you use the pool all through the winter?’ Anna asked, for want of something to ask. She didn’t want to seem so unsociable that her mother would feel the need to chide her later. That had happened plenty of times in the past.

‘We don’t bother heating it during the winter. Nobody really uses
it except the grandchildren when they visit,’ Anikó explained. ‘Our gardener looks after the pool, keeps it clear of leaves and covers it when necessary. You have to chlorinate the water quite regularly. The little ones like it, but they visit so rarely. Their parents are so busy at work. I do wish they’d visit more often.’

What a waste, thought Anna.

The women’s conversation naturally turned to grandchildren, and, at that, Anna knew she would be reprimanded by her mother when they got home. She saw her mother’s awkward expression when Anikó told her about how her daughters’ children went to piano lessons, played tennis and all had excellent grades at school. Would her mother tell Anikó about Ákos’s new girlfriend and her children? Anna doubted it.

‘Anna,’ came Mihály’s voice. He had finished his conversation and was standing in the door to the hallway. ‘Come and see what I’ve got here.’

Anna stood up. Anikó and her mother continued chatting. Anna followed the man into a room decorated in green and set up as an office, with a large desk and two computers. Mihály clicked at one of them and began searching for something.

‘This computer has photographs of your father,’ said Mihály. ‘I thought you might like to see them. Here we are.’ He clicked open one of the folders. ‘A few years ago I had all my old photographs scanned. It’s nicer to look at them on a large screen. Here’s our class photograph from fourth grade. Can you find him…?’

The girls and the smaller boys were sitting in the front row, the taller pupils standing in two rows behind them. Their teacher was standing upright at the left-hand side of the group, wearing a white jacket and a pair of thick-rimmed spectacles. The photograph was surprisingly clear, but Anna couldn’t identify her father.

‘Can’t you see him? Look, here,’ said Mihály and pointed at the upper-left corner.

True enough, it was her father. He was about ten years old, with short, dark hair, a shirt beneath his woollen jumper. He was looking
to one side, away from the camera, and grinning. Someone must have been standing outside the photograph, a pretty little girl in another class, perhaps. The little boy’s eyes were exactly the same as those Anna remembered her father had as an adult: laughing eyes, warm and slightly mischievous. Tenderness and longing made Anna shudder.

‘That’s me next to him. And look at this,’ said Mihály and clicked open another photograph.

In this photograph her father was far more readily recognisable. He must have been about seventeen: his long fringe was dangling across his eyes, smoke rose from a cigarette between his fingers. Mihály, who must have been the same age, was leaning against him drinking a beer.

‘Those were the days,’ Mihály sighed. ‘We were good friends. I think about your father a lot. His death was a terrible loss.’

‘Yes,’ said Anna. She wanted to ask about her father, ask what he had been like as a teenager, whether he’d had girlfriends, what they’d done at the weekends, but the words caught in her throat.

‘I heard your handbag was stolen,’ Mihály said suddenly.

‘Yes. Well, they found the bag, but my passport and credit card had been taken. Do you know anything about it?’

‘Of course not. Have you been in touch with the embassy?’

‘No,’ said Anna. She felt annoyed at herself; she mustn’t forget this any longer. ‘The thief was a young Romani man. He was found dead by the riverbank. Have you heard anything about it?’ she continued.

‘Yes, he drowned apparently. Things like that happen next to a large river. Accidents.’

‘Did you see the moment when it all happened?’

‘No. I was at the other end of the park by that point, but I heard the screams and all the commotion.’

‘The thief might have been working with a little girl in a red skirt. Did you see her?’

Mihály thought about this. ‘There were so many people at the fair. And I was talking to friends all the time – there are so many of
them in town. I don’t think I saw your thief. Or rather, I don’t think anyone you mentioned caught my attention. A girl in a red skirt … Who could that be?’

‘I don’t know, but she might know something about what happened after the theft.’

‘Really? I’ll keep my eyes open. You’ll be the first to know if I think of anything.’

‘Thank you. That would be helpful.’ Anna paused, then decided to take a chance. She lowered her voice. ‘Do you happen to know anything about the neo-Nazis in Kanizsa? The young skinheads?’

Mihály’s mouth seemed to twitch.

‘No,’ he said quickly. All too quickly.

‘Your party is quite right-leaning, though?’

‘You could say that, but we certainly don’t support any extremists.’

‘Have there been any altercations between the refugees and the local population?’

‘No, none whatsoever. It goes without saying we’re not particularly happy about people swarming into our town like this and leaving a mess. People are afraid, but there’s been no violence.’

‘For the time being,’ said Anna.

‘Shall we go back and join the harridans? Can I ask that you don’t mention the refugees in front of them? Anikó can’t bear it; she gets very tetchy about the subject.’

Anna consented, but she was curious to know what this man might have to do with the skinheads and the refugees.

EVENING WAS DRAWING IN
when Anna finally reached the river. First she’d run round the whole town, then through the Haterem parkland and past the garden centre to the
töltés
path. She was wearing her swimming costume beneath her running clothes. She hadn’t brought a towel, but it was only a short journey home and the air was warm.

Anna walked down to the river outside Békavár and took off her running clothes on the jetty in front of the restaurant. Békavár was closed. The shore was deserted. The surface of the water shimmered with hues of black and brown, gleaming like matte silk. The river looked calm, almost sleepy, but Anna knew that the current was powerful.

Without testing the temperature Anna jumped straight in, feet first. The cool, clouded water enveloped her, the cold pushing the air from her lungs and pricking her skin like a thousand small thorns, and the current instantly started pulling her south. She kicked up to the surface and began swimming against the current. She stayed relatively close to the shore, as further out there could be powerful whirlpools, and people had drowned in them. Tired after her long run, she didn’t have the energy to swim very far but soon flipped on to her back and allowed the current to carry her back to the jetty. She pulled her running clothes over her wet body and ran home quickly.

What a great feeling, thought Anna as she lowered herself into a hot bath and texted Réka about what she’d done.
Wow!
Réka replied instantly.
I’m coming to Kanizsa tomorrow. See you in the afternoon.

Anna wondered what to reply. When would she have time to see Réka when she already had far too much to do tomorrow? Réka would be upset if she didn’t spend as much time with her as usual. Anna wouldn’t be happy about it either.

Can you make it the day after? I’ve got so much on tomorrow.

Anna stepped out of the cooling water, dried herself and curled
up in bed; she needed to try to get a few hours’ sleep before her excursion that night. A glorious warmth spread through her tired muscles, and Anna couldn’t bring herself to get out of bed again to answer her beeping telephone. It’s okay, it’ll only be Réka. But when the phone beeped as a second text message arrived, she reluctantly delayed sleep for a while and fetched it. From Réka:
Okay!
From an unknown number:
Kriska Tamás was driving on Friday morning. I don’t have his number, but you can get it from the Subotica-Trans office. Best regards. Nagy Vilmos.

Anna googled the bus company’s contact details and saved the number in her phone. After returning to bed she realised that postponing sleep had made it disappear from her grasp altogether. She went down to the patio for a cigarette and sat listening to the chirping of the crickets until it was time to leave for the cemetery.

Anna drove through Kanizsa in the darkness of the early hours. She parked her car by the empty railway station, stepped out, closed the door as quietly as she could and stood for a moment listening to her surroundings. The night was mild, wind rustled through the leaves of the trees and all around was quiet. Deadly quiet. Anna quickly walked towards the cemetery and the tall wall around it, protecting the peace of those laid to rest. The gate was locked. She began walking round the wall heading east towards the overgrown railway tracks that ran close to one corner of the cemetery. She knew there was a crumbling section of the wall along the eastern side, which she could easily climb over. Her heart was beating and she was sweating beneath her black hoodie, and she was ready to pull out her police badge or run away as quickly as possible as she placed her hands and feet in between the bricks, hauled herself on top of the wall and jumped down to the other side. Pain shot up through the cut on the sole of her foot as she hit the ground with a thud. Remaining crouched down, she scanned the graves. If there was someone waiting for her in the darkness of the cemetery, they would have heard that thud and would know she was coming. The thought terrified her. She stayed squatting on the spot for a few minutes. But there was
nobody in sight and she heard nothing. There was still time to turn back, she thought. But something told her that this nocturnal visit to the cemetery would prove to be a turning point in her investigation, that after this nothing would be the same again. She made her decision, stood up and set off briskly through the cemetery towards the chapel near the gates, the gravel on the path rasping loudly with each step, as if she was shouting out:
Here I come!

The chapel door was unlocked. Anna pressed her ear against it, but all she could hear was her own racing heartbeat. If there was anything alive inside this chapel, it knew how to remain perfectly silent.

Anna opened the door, stepped into the cold room and closed the door behind her. She was afraid to switch on her torch, as though bloodthirsty faces would suddenly appear in its beam of light, but when she did she found the room empty. Only a few chairs, a cross on the wall, another door. This too was unlocked.

Anna pushed the inner door open and waited behind the wall for a moment before aiming her torch into the room and peering inside. She pointed the beam into all the corners and along all the walls. There was nobody in the small room. No one except a body covered with a white sheet lying on a gurney. The man who’d stolen her handbag.

She felt a chill running through the soles of her running shoes, up into her legs and spreading out through her body. She would have to work quickly before fear and the chill made her shiver so much she would be unable to examine anything.

Anna placed the torch between her teeth, and for a moment before pulling back the sheet the thought came to her that it might be the murderer lying there instead of the body. He was about to jump up and attack her, kill her, place her on the gurney, pull the white sheet over her head and leave her there. She would be buried in an unnamed grave instead of the Romani thief, and nobody would ever know where or how she had disappeared.

Anna took a deep breath, carefully drew back the sheet, pulled a pair of latex gloves from her pocket and got to work.

As the broken blood vessels in the eyes had indicated, the man had been strangled to death. Beneath the ears there were contusions caused by fingers clasping round his throat. Large bruises had also appeared on the man’s neck and his Adam’s apple had clearly been crushed. The bruises would have formed only a few days after his death. Someone recently strangled might be mistaken for a drowning victim, particularly if the body was found in or near water. In this case, however, the verdict of death by drowning was completely fabricated. The body hadn’t been opened, and Anna doubted whether it had been properly examined. Anna was certain that, if they did open up the body, his lungs would contain no water from the Tisza, no water of any kind. The strangulation marks were now so obvious that even a novice couldn’t mistake them. Did the chief of police know that the body was here and not at the pathology department in Újvidék? Had he ordered the forged autopsy report? Or was it someone else? Who had the power to do something like that? Surely, even in this country, not everything was possible?

Anna carefully examined the rest of the man’s body and photographed all the marks she found. She paid particular attention to the hands and arms. There were scratches on his fingers and palms, and a number of bruises on his chest. She was convinced they indicated that the man had struggled with the killer before his death, doubtless trying to defend himself. He had been strangled from the front. The bag thief had looked his killer in the eye at the moment he’d died.

On her way back home Anna took a detour down the street where Péter had told her he lived, though she wasn’t sure why. Was she hoping to see the lights on in his kitchen, to see him standing in the window, inviting her in, where he would take her in his arms and let her talk away the fear and horror that gripped her? But, like every building in town at this time of night, Péter’s house was dark.

Once she was home and safely behind the locked bathroom door,
she took off her hoodie and noticed she was still wearing her latex gloves. She pulled them off, wrapped them in a ball of paper and flushed them down the toilet. Then she went outside for a cigarette, set her alarm clock to wake her up in five hours’ time and took one of the sleeping pills she’d bought that day without a prescription.