Watching the Dark (Inspector Banks Mystery) (50 page)

‘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.

Luckily VIPER, the Video Identification Parade Electronic Recording, had replaced the old line-ups, where a witness walked in front of a row of people of similar description to the suspect and picked out the guilty one. She didn’t have to face that sort of confrontation with Tamm. But she was nervous, nonetheless, especially after her experience with Flinders.

Eventually, it turned out to be a simple matter. He was the fourth individual to be displayed on-screen, and she recognised him immediately. Every little helped. The Glasgow police had located Tamm and picked him up easily enough, and the two officers who delivered him to Eastvale had seemed happy to dump their prisoner and head off for a night on the town on expenses. Annie wished them luck. She knew what a night on the town in Eastvale was like. Glasgow, it wasn’t.

Krystyna had returned with Annie to the Harkside cottage on Sunday night after a mandatory stop at the hospital for a quick examination. She was no worse for wear, but a little tearful and contrite. Annie had pampered her with a long bath, pizza, wine and television. Krystyna had even learned a few more words of English, and, to Annie’s eye at least, she was putting a bit more meat on her bones with every meal. At Annie’s suggestion, Krystyna had actually telephoned her parents in Pyskowice, and there were more tears and talk of reconciliation and going home, or so Annie gathered the from the tone, and from Krystyna’s sign language at the end of the conversation. Krystyna seemed more cheerful after the phone call, at any rate, though Annie had a feeling that she wouldn’t stay very long in a small town in Silesia. But she did hope that perhaps the next time Krystyna left home, she would do it the right way, with a real job in hand. There might even be something in Eastvale to suit her, if she improved her language skills.

Leaving Krystyna with Winsome in the squad room, Annie took Doug Wilson with her – he needed the experience – and they went into interview room three, where Robert Tamm was sitting as still as a meditating monk, and as expressionless as a stone.

Annie spread her files on the table and leaned back, tapping her pen on the metal surface. ‘Well, Robert,’ she started. ‘Quite a pickle you’re in, isn’t it?’

Tamm said nothing. Whether he understood her or not, she couldn’t tell. She thought ‘in a pickle’ might be too obscure an expression for a foreigner. ‘You’re in a lot of trouble,’ she said.

Tamm still said nothing. He hadn’t asked for a lawyer yet, but they could get a duty solicitor for him quickly enough if he did. He had already been cautioned, and he had indicated that he understood, but he still wasn’t saying anything. Clearly he had another plan. Silence. He wasn’t the kind to blurt out a confession.

It had been a long day, Annie felt. She and Winsome had done about as much as they could do. She thought they could probably get a conviction on the murders of Bill Quinn and Mihkel Lepikson, especially with the testimony of Gareth Underwood, aka Curly, Krystyna and Roderick Flinders, but they still had nothing to link Tamm to Joosep Rebane. Doug Wilson seemed bored with the lengthening silence already. So much for learning from experience. For that you needed experience of something other than silence.

As for Rachel Hewitt, Annie knew that was not their case, but she also knew that it had become a personal mission for Banks, and she knew what he was like when he got his teeth into something. She wished she were with him in Tallinn, not in a romantic way, but helping on the case. She had seen the trail of damage that Rachel’s abduction had left behind – Maureen and Luke Hewitt; Pauline Boyars, the bride that never was. She wondered how Banks was getting on with the Professional Standards woman. Were they still speaking? Was she getting under his feet all the time? Could they possibly be sleeping together? The woman might be married, but she was an icy blonde, after all, and Annie never trusted icy blondes. Not even to be icy.

The case was over bar the formalities now. They had Robert Tamm and Roderick Flinders in custody, and the next few days would be a matter of working with the forensics experts and the CPS to build up a solid case. Flinders was a weak link. He had already talked plenty, and he would probably talk a lot more tomorrow if he thought there was a chance of saving his own skin. A night stewing in the cells would do him good. There were still a few migrant workers from Garskill Farm on the loose, but they would find their ways home, or into the hands of the police, wherever they ended up. Krystyna’s friend Ewa had turned up in Liverpool, and Annie had arranged for her to pay a visit to Eastvale sometime over the next few days. Krystyna herself was safe now. Warren Corrigan was dead, and Curly was going straight. He was happy with his deal. He would talk, too, and he knew a lot. Result, then, Annie told herself, as she gestured for Doug Wilson to leave the room with her. Tamm was a dead loss. They’d get no confession from him. She told the officers on duty outside the interview room to take him back to the cells, and she and DC Wilson headed back to the squad room.

Haig and Lombard, the DCs on loan, were long gone, but Winsome and Geraldine Masters were still there, along with Krystyna.

‘Come on,’ said Annie, dropping her file on the desk. ‘It’s celebration time. Let’s all go and get pissed.’ When Krystyna looked puzzled, she said, ‘You, too,’ and mimed drinking. Krystyna nodded and smiled, and they picked up their coats and filed out to the Queen’s Arms.

Chapter 13

‘Viktor Rebane and Toomas Rätsepp grew up together in the fifties in Narva, near the Russian border,’ said Erik on the way out to Viimsi on Tuesday morning. Ursula Mardna had arranged a meeting between Banks, Joanna and Viktor Rebane, from which Viktor would walk away as free as he arrived. Joosep, as expected, had disappeared from the radar. Banks was now certain that Ursula knew nothing of the lead that Bill Quinn and Aivar Kukk had passed on to Toomas Rätsepp six years ago, or she wouldn’t be helping him so much to uncover the truth. She wasn’t in thick with Viktor Rebane; that, as Erik was explaining, was Toomas Rätsepp. Ursula was so angry about what had been done that she swore Rätsepp would go down, despite his friendship with Viktor Rebane, and Banks believed her.

Erik carried on with his potted history. ‘It was a very strange time there. Much bomb damage, many Russian immigrants. They came to Tallinn together with their families as young men, and remained friends. When he was old enough, Viktor worked for state industry, and after independence he bought into utilities. Toomas first joined the militia, then he became policeman. At the time Rachel disappeared, Viktor also had a major interest in the nightclub around the corner from St Patrick’s. It is said that he never went there, himself, that he was not interested in such pursuits, only in the profits. He had many cars, and his son liked to use the silver Mercedes most of all. Viktor spoiled and indulged him then.’