The Exiled (26 page)

He went to the wine fair like everybody else in town that evening, drank a few glasses of wine and chatted with lots of people, because he was known throughout the town and people expected it of him. Nothing out of the ordinary, just the same old perpetual small talk that for some unfathomable reason seemed to be a requirement for all of humanity – people diligently engaging in it in every corner of the world and at every opportunity, as though talking about real things was something to be avoided at all costs, like a dangerous, contagious disease. Small talk was like a protective shield. It meant there was no need to engage properly, to reveal what you were really thinking, what was really happening. It was theatre, and on some level everyone knew this; and yet at the same time it strengthened the bonds between people, was the foundation of so much social interaction.

He would have continued exchanging this meaningless chit-chat late into the night if the incident hadn’t happened. Fekete Anna’s handbag changed everything. He believed in some form of fate – he always had. And for a brief moment, as the gypsy barged into Anna, grabbed her handbag from the chair and scarpered, he felt that this was meant to be, that it was written in the stars. Lies always strive towards the light; they yearn to be revealed. But the feeling lasted only a second, perhaps two. After that came a sense of panic. If the thief had been any other gypsy in the world, he would have been fine. But it was Lakatos Sándor, Lakatos János’s great-nephew, who claimed to know things about the past, about the one case he thought he’d buried long ago. And now Sándor said he needed money to put his sister through school. He’d tried to dismiss the boy’s claims outright. This gypsy kid couldn’t have any hard evidence; if there had been any he would have been locked up long ago. The boy must
have heard local gossip and decided to try his luck. But the theft changed everything. He had to act fast, without a plan, without making preparations. Anna and Sándor must never be allowed to meet. That was a risk he simply could not take. Ever.

As a commotion ensued at the fair, he slipped away unnoticed, walking briskly through the shadows in the direction the thief had run, chased by Anna and her friends. He carefully crossed the intersection in the black spot that the CCTV cameras missed so that he wouldn’t be seen. He darted down towards the darkened streets of Kőrös, where he saw the bag thief running ahead of him and turning right, either back towards the town or heading down to the Tisza. A cold sweat trickled down his neck. Damn the jumped-up little brat. Nobody was going to threaten him. Nobody was going to tell him what to do. And nobody was going to undermine his upstanding reputation, especially not a tinker, a crook, almost a kid.

He followed Sándor far along the riverbank. At last the thief came to a stop. He quietly said the boy’s name, and when the kid turned he saw the fear and exhaustion on his young face.

‘You?’ the boy said in astonishment. ‘How did you find your way out here? Did you bring the cash?’

He stepped closer to the boy, with a quick swipe of the hand knocked him to the mud, jumped on him and grabbed his throat. The boy fought back; he was young and strong. He felt the boy’s muscular body struggling and writhing beneath him. But he had decades of experience on his side. Calmly he squeezed his fingers tighter and tighter round the boy’s throat, using his weight to press the boy’s body hard against the mud. He felt the boy’s breathing becoming sporadic; he struggled less and less, and eventually stopped moving altogether. To make absolutely sure he continued pressing down on the boy’s throat and counted slowly to a hundred.

Once he was satisfied that the boy was dead, he gripped him by the wrists and hauled the body to the water’s edge. His first thought was to push the little shit into the river, but he realised that the body would be found more quickly in the water than it would on the riverbank. Nobody moved around in these bushes. The river, on the other hand, had a busy
traffic of fishermen and people roaring up and down on water-scooters and sailing boats. With any luck nobody would ever find the body.

Scanning the scrub with his torch, he quickly examined the area to make sure he hadn’t left any trace of himself – a dislodged button or something similar. He wasn’t at all worried. He just had to carefully plan what happened next, that was all. He could no longer afford panicked reactions, he thought, just as he heard a branch snapping nearby and saw something disappear through the bushes.

THE HOUSE LOOKED EVERY BIT
as ridiculous as it had the first time she’d visited. Pompous and tasteless.

Anna rang the bell. The gates opened with a click. Remete Mihály appeared at the front door and shouted something to one side. A haggard old man with a pair of garden shears appeared at the corner of the house. Mihály said something to the man, who placed his shears on the patio and left as Anna and Péter stepped inside.

‘Hello. What brings you here?’ asked Mihály, looking quizzically at Péter, who was in civilian clothes. ‘Aren’t you the new police officer from Újvidék?’

‘Vajda Péter,
jó napot.
I wouldn’t say I’m particularly new. I’ve lived here for years.’

‘Doesn’t time fly? Well, come on inside. Would you like some coffee?
Pálinka
?’

‘No, thank you,’ said Anna, and Péter shook his head.

‘I’ll get straight to the point,’ said Anna taking a bunch papers from her bag.

Mihály looked at them nervously and poured himself a glass of
pálinka
.

‘You are involved with the mafia,’ said Anna, calmly, ‘or at least you were involved with them at the time my father was killed. He was investigating a case in which you were implicated.’

Mihály didn’t respond.

‘When the boy who stole my handbag died on the night of the wine fair, at first it seemed like an accident. However, I’ve discovered that his death wasn’t an accident after all. He was murdered.’

‘Really?’ Mihály gasped.

‘Yes. Strangled. By a man with grey hair.’

Mihály raised a hand and touched his own hair. He looked frightened now.

‘Pretty soon my unofficial investigation brought me back to the case of my father’s death. It turns out that the deaths of the handbag thief and my father are linked to one another. In the local Roma community there are still rumours that an innocent man was convicted of my father’s murder. It’s thought that a Roma man by the name of Lakatos János was framed for the murder. Lakatos was also the name of the handbag thief.’

Anna paused. But Mihály still didn’t speak.

‘You were at the wine fair and you saw who took my bag,’ Anna continued. ‘Bad luck, wasn’t it, that it was Lakatos. I found your name in my father’s personal notes on the original investigation. My father wouldn’t have gone out to that farmhouse alone unless he knew who or what would be waiting for him. He would never have put himself at risk like that. But it seems a man can’t even trust his friends. You … you disgust me.’

Péter touched Anna’s forearm.
Control yourself,
the touch said.

Mihály leafed through the notes with tears in his eyes and poured himself another
pálinka
.

‘I … I knew something was wrong,’ he spluttered.

Then a wave of sobs wrenched his body. He buried his head in his hands and wept like a child.

‘But I didn’t kill your father,’ he said at last. ‘I am – or rather I was once involved with the mafia. But that was a long time ago. I’ve left it all behind. I couldn’t do it any longer. I abused my position in the city council in a few instances – building contracts, that sort of thing, and I was paid very well for it. But, believe me, I was just a tiny cog in the mafia’s enormous machine. Then your father started looking into what was going on, and I realised I was behaving like a despicable crook. I was afraid it would all come out. But I was serious about politics. I still am. I had ideals and values. I didn’t want to tarnish my reputation.’

‘Back then you were a trusted comrade of the Communist Party. Now you operate on the far right. It seems your values change with the wind,’ said Anna, her voice dripping with contempt.

‘That’s another story,’ said Mihály, almost in a whisper. ‘Please let me explain.’

‘Start talking.’

‘When your father died I realised what kind of organisation I’d been working for. Over a period of time I gradually began to distance myself from them. You could say that the war saved me. Amid all the chaos and upheaval I managed to sever my ties with the organisation without any problems. Under normal circumstances I doubt that would have been possible. They keep their own on a short leash, as I’m sure you know.’

Remete paused for a moment, swallowed and took a deep breath before continuing.

‘There was something strange about your father’s death. I’ve heard the rumours too. All these years I’ve been carrying the guilt around inside. What if I hadn’t used my influence to offer those construction contracts? What if I wasn’t such a money-grabbing bastard? Would your father’s investigation have caused the same chain of reactions, led to the same fate? Would he still be alive today?’

Mihály wiped his tears and blew his nose.

‘But I didn’t kill him or the thief,’ he said plainly.

‘Can you prove it?’ said Péter.

‘I wasn’t in Kanizsa when István died. I wasn’t even in Vajdaság.’

Mihály went into his office. Péter moved his hand to his hip, ready to pull out his gun and shoot. A moment later Mihály returned carrying a large newspaper cutting.

‘At the time I was on a three-day trip to Prishtina in Kosovo. It was a party meeting.’

Anna and Péter looked at the image from the
Večernje novosti
newspaper in which a young Remete Mihály stood smiling with a group of men in dark suits. At the top of the page was the date; it matched perfectly: 25th November 1988.

‘Very well. But what about the wine fair? What did you do after that? After my bag was stolen?’ asked Anna.

Mihály looked reluctant to answer and nervously sipped his fruit liquor.

‘You’d be advised to tell us the truth,’ Péter said in a quietly encouraging tone. Anna was surprised that Péter had remained so calm throughout the interview.

‘I had a meeting,’ said Mihály.

‘Where? With whom?’

‘At the party office. I went there as soon as the commotion over the theft had calmed down. I was there for several hours, almost until morning.’

‘Who were you there with? Can anyone verify your account?’

Mihály listed the names of five men. ‘You can ask all of them. I was there with them.’

‘You can be sure we will. What were you doing?’

‘It was a meeting of the party’s youth wing. In other words we were drinking a lot. These are the same boys you’ve already been asking about, Anna. The ones who shave their heads. I’ve always believed politics needs to reach out to the younger generation. They are the future.’

‘And you need voters. So you attract them by plying skinheads with free booze, is that right?’ Anna asked in disgust.

She was disappointed. Mihály was so unpleasant that she’d hoped he was the one behind all of this, that the mist would finally clear. Now everything was as blurred as before.

‘Come on, Anna,’ said Péter. ‘Let’s go.’

A THIRSTY HORNET CIRCLED
above a rapidly evaporating puddle, like a helicopter preparing to land. There had been a heavy thunderstorm the night before, and here and there obstinate puddles glinted in the dips in the asphalt where the sun hadn’t yet succeeded in drying them out. Anna walked home, her thoughts heavy and oppressive. She didn’t answer her mother’s greetings but headed for her room and went straight to bed.

Anna had gone to Péter’s place after the meeting with Remete; they had made love, Péter had massaged Anna’s knotted shoulders, played music quietly and held Anna in his arms so gently that she eventually drifted off to sleep. Never before had Anna been able to relax so completely with someone, felt such a natural connection with another person that she’d taken a nap in his arms. When Anna eventually woke up an hour later, Péter made some coffee and dropped the bombshell right amid the cups and croissants.

His wife and children were moving back home.

Anna hadn’t asked anything more. She just nodded. That’s nice, she said and calmly finished her coffee. Péter handed her a memory stick with material from the CCTV cameras in town – he’d finally been able to get hold of it but had forgotten to mention it when Anna had urgently asked him to come with her to Remete’s place. Anna had thanked him and left without saying goodbye. Péter had tried to stop her. Let’s talk this through, he implored her, saying

Anna was important to him, that he didn’t want to let her leave that way. But Anna shrugged herself free of his arms. She forced herself to walk out of the house as if nothing had happened, though she wanted to bolt out of the door. She wanted to shout and run, to slam the door so hard that the frame came off and splinters flew from the wood. Instead she walked calmly until she couldn’t be seen from any of Péter’s windows or from the yard. Then she broke into a sprint, ran through the town to the banks of the Tisza and walked along the riverbank until she was utterly exhausted.

Now she lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Anxiety gripped her chest, crushing it tightly, but still she lit a cigarette. She smoked two cigarettes back to back. Ash fell on the sheets, leaving black marks. There came a knock at the door and her mother peered inside.

‘Goodness, it’s smoky in here,’ said her mother and sat down at the end of the bed. ‘What’s the matter now?’

‘It’s nothing,’ Anna replied and stubbed her cigarette out in an empty water bottle.

‘I can see something’s up. Tell Mum all about it and it’ll feel better.’

Anna looked into her mother’s troubled, concerned eyes, and she could no longer hold back. The sobbing started as a pathetic whimpering and eventually burst forth in a primal roar.

Anna’s mother stroked her hair for a long time and Anna curled up against her mother’s thighs, making them wet with tears.

‘I could come to Finland for Christmas this year,’ said her mother, once Anna’s sobs had subsided. ‘That would make a change. But only if you don’t mind.’

‘That would be nice. I never want to come here again.’

‘When you were a teenager, I secretly dreamed that I’d be able to experience a moment like this with you again.’

‘A moment with me bawling my eyes out?’

‘I didn’t want to see you suffering, of course – don’t get me wrong. But matters of the heart like this; something that would let me show you that I’m here to support you and protect you. I felt so helpless, so estranged from you all those years, when all I wanted to do was help you find your own path in life.’

‘I knew that without the heartbreak.’

‘Sweet, sweet Anna. We all get through heartbreak. Eventually,’ her mother said, and stroked Anna’s hair again.

Anna closed her eyes. She felt like a little child who needs nothing more than a hug and someone to look after them, and the feeling wasn’t at all unpleasant.