At last it became clear to Banks. He hadn’t seen the Rachel Hewitt files yet, only got the bare bones from Annie’s research, and he hadn’t known who Mihkel Lepikson was, or what he did for a living, until just now, so no one had made the connection. Now it made sense. ‘Was it just the Rachel Hewitt disappearance, or did they have other things in common?’ Banks asked.
‘Mihkel was mad about fishing,’ Merike said, smiling at the memory. ‘I used to tease him about it. That he’d rather be sitting by a river with a hook in the water than be in bed with me. I think they went fishing together once or twice, him and Bill. In Scotland. And there was Rachel Hewitt, of course. Bill kept Mihkel abreast of all the developments over here. The Rachel Foundation. What her friends and her family were doing.’
That made sense. A hobby in common. And Rachel Hewitt. But what did it all mean? For one thing, it meant that the Rachel Hewitt case was coming up with such alarming regularity that it was now number one priority. But they still had to find a link to Corrigan, Flinders and the migrant labour racket. There were too many pieces missing.
Banks reached for the envelope in his briefcase and tipped out the photographs of Quinn with the girl. ‘Could these be the photos Mihkel was referring to? Bill Quinn had them in his possession. Do you recognise the girl?’ he asked.
Merike studied the photos. ‘I don’t know if these are what he meant,’ she said, ‘but I don’t know her.’
‘They would probably have been taken about six years ago,’ Banks added.
‘No. I would remember her.’
He pushed the blow-up of the beer mat towards her. ‘I assume that’s familiar to you?’
‘Yes. Though I prefer Saku, myself. Can I see that one again?’ She pointed at the photograph of Quinn and the girl having a drink in the bar. After studying it for a moment, she said, ‘I think that’s the bar in the Hotel Metropol.’
‘You know it?’
‘Yes. I’ve been there many times for my work, and with Mihkel and Erik.’
‘Pardon my being a little indelicate here,’ Banks said, ‘but is it the kind of hotel where... certain women might be found?’
Her eyes widened. ‘You think I would go to a hotel like that.’
‘No, of course not,’ Banks blustered on. He could tell that Annie and Joanna were enjoying his discomfort tremendously, and he was desperately thinking of a way to get out of this without putting his foot any further down his throat. ‘No. I mean, we think, you know, that...’
‘This girl?’ said Merike. ‘The one in the photograph?’
‘Well, yes. Possibly.’ He hadn’t shown her the bedroom shot, so she wasn’t to know the context of the business.
‘But she does not look like that sort of girl. Is that how you say it? That sort of girl?’
‘I suppose so. Yes. You don’t think so?’
Merike examined the photo more closely. ‘No. Just because she is young and beautiful?’
‘And with a much older man.’
‘Many women prefer older men. I’m not saying it isn’t possible. Perhaps you know something I don’t. But the Metropol is definitely not that kind of hotel. It doesn’t mean you can’t have a drink with an attractive woman there, though.’
‘Thank you, Merike,’ Banks said. ‘That’s a great help.’
The question was: where next? There was one thing Banks was certain of, and that was that if he wanted answers, before very long he would have to pay a visit to Tallinn himself, whether Madame Gervaise liked the idea or not.
It was after seven o’clock when Banks walked through his front door that evening. He picked up the post, gave it a casual glance and tossed it on the computer desk behind the door, along with his briefcase. It had been his habit lately on arriving home from work to put on some music, make a cup of tea, and relax in the conservatory with a book before microwaving the remains of yesterday’s takeaway, or throwing together a sandwich from whatever he happened to have in his fridge. Today was no exception. He put the kettle on, dug out his old CD of Arvo Pärt’s Fratres, put it in the CD player and, when the tea was ready, took it and the book he had bought earlier to the conservatory. He wasn’t even hungry. The smoked haddock he had enjoyed at the Blue Lion was enough to last him a while, and if he did get hungry later on, he had some Seriously Strong cheddar in the fridge. He could grill himself a sandwich. If that wasn’t enough, there was always the leftover Indian takeaway from Saturday.
Banks sipped the green tea and let Pärt’s slow repeating piano chords and flurry of strings drift over him; the strings reminded him of Philip Glass. He was due to fly out of Manchester the following morning at 10.25 for Tallinn, changing in Helsinki. Area Commander Gervaise hadn’t liked the idea of the trip at all, as he had expected, but after complaining for ten minutes about budget cuts and constraints, she saw that it was the only logical next step in the investigation and approved his travel application, with limited expenses.
The only drawback was that Joanna Passero was to accompany him. Gervaise was quite firm on this. Annie Cabbot had been livid. Having been cooped up in hospital or in St Peter’s for so long, she complained, a nice trip abroad would have done her the world of good. Gervaise argued that someone had to handle the investigation back in Yorkshire, and the budget wouldn’t run to three detectives going abroad. Besides, hadn’t she just got back from Cornwall? As it appeared that Tallinn was where Bill Quinn had committed his unforgivable sin of adultery and got his photo taken in the act, then Inspector Passero had to be there.
Despite the company, Banks felt excited about the journey. Estonia was a country he had never visited before, and he loved new places, especially cities he could explore on foot. He had picked up the Eyewitness Top 10 Tallinn guide from Waterstones before coming home, and he glanced through it as he listened to the music. ‘Fratres’ gave way to the solemn, tolling bell and eerie strings of ‘Cantus In Memoriam Benjamin Britten’, slowly building in volume.
The visit would be mostly taken up with work, Banks knew, talking to the police who had investigated the Rachel Hewitt case, and to Erik Aarma, Mihkel Lepikson’s friend and editor, but there would always be a free hour or two now and then to take a walk. They had booked in at the Metropol, and he soon discovered from his guidebook that the Meriton, where Rachel Hewitt and the hen party had stayed, wasn’t very far away.
Banks had the names of the Investigator and the Prosecutor on the case. The Investigator had now retired, but he had said that he was sorry to hear about Bill Quinn’s death, and he would be happy to talk to Banks at a place to be agreed upon later. Someone would contact him at the hotel.
Merike Noormets had also told Banks that she was returning to Tallinn the following day and would be happy to help out as a translator, or to drive them around if they needed her. She said most Estonians spoke English, but difficulties may occur with some words or concepts. Banks had her telephone number in his mobile, and he thought he would get in touch. She would be grieving over Mihkel for some time, and perhaps something interesting to do would help take her mind off her loss.
After his talk with Merike, Banks had gone back to his office and looked over the Rachel Hewitt files. As Annie had already told him, there wasn’t much in them because it had been essentially an Estonian case, starting as a local investigation by the Tallinn Central Prefecture, then quickly becoming a case for the National Criminal Police Department when the seriousness of the matter, and the involvement of a foreign national, became apparent.