They found Clazz, back down in the Old Town, opposite a large restaurant Banks had seen mentioned in his guidebook called Old Hansa, a cream-fronted building with lots of wooden benches on its covered patio, which seemed to contain almost as much shrubbery as it did customers. The waitresses were dressed in medieval-themed costumes, and Banks could imagine evening sing-alongs with everyone waving tankards of foaming ale in the air.
But Clazz was much less ostentatious. A man sitting at one of the outside tables waved them over and introduced himself.
‘How did you know it was us?’ Banks asked, when they had sat down.
‘Two foreigners looking lost? It does not take much detective skill to work that out, Hr Banks.’
‘Please, call me Alan. This is Inspector Joanna Passero.’
Joanna smiled and shook Rätsepp’s hand. ‘Joanna,’ she said.
Banks noticed that he held on to it for a few seconds longer than necessary. Joanna clearly noticed it, too, but she said nothing.
‘And I am Toomas. Do you enjoy our lovely weather?’ Rätsepp went on. ‘We often have good weather at this time of year. You are very lucky you come now.’ His English wasn’t quite as good as Merike’s, but then he wasn’t a translator. It was far better than Banks’s non-existent Estonian.
‘It makes a pleasant change,’ said Banks.
Rätsepp was in his late fifties, overweight, with a head of thinning grey hair, wary, hooded eyes and bushy grey eyebrows, rather like a pair of horns above his eyes. Banks decided he must cultivate them that way deliberately, thinking they were sexy or something, because he couldn’t fail to see them every time he looked in a mirror. He reminded Banks of the actor who had called Michael Caine ‘Eenglish’ with a sneer in his voice in Funeral in Berlin. Oscar Homolka. He was wearing a white shirt, open at the neck, with the sleeves rolled up, showing hairy forearms and throat. A grey sports jacket hung over the back of his chair. There were sweat stains under his arms, and the buttons were tight around his middle.
The waiter wandered over and handed out menus.
‘I would recommend the steak,’ Rätsepp said, ‘but of course, it is entirely up to you. Perhaps you are vegetarian, yes?’
They ordered steak and A. Le Coq beer for Banks and Rätsepp, and a Diet Coke for Joanna. She had told Banks she felt a little the worse for wear this morning, so he guessed she was laying off the wine for a while.
‘I understand you retired recently,’ Banks said as they waited for their drinks. ‘How is that working out?’
‘Excellent, excellent,’ said Rätsepp. ‘It is something I wish I have done many years ago.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
He rubbed the thumb and fingers of one hand together. ‘I must work to earn money.’
Their drinks arrived, and Rätsepp proposed an Estonian toast. ‘Teie terviseks!’
They sipped their drinks and chatted about police work and for a while, then when their lunch arrived, Rätsepp indicated he was ready to talk.
‘It is terrible shame about Hr Quinn,’ he said after his first mouthful of very rare steak. A drop of blood hung at the side of his fleshy mouth like a teardrop. Fortunately, he used his serviette a lot while he ate. ‘He was good man. Very good man. What happen?’
‘That’s what we’re hoping to find out.’ Banks didn’t want to get on to the subject of Quinn’s transgressions so early in the conversation, though he hoped that at some point Rätsepp might be able to help him with the photographs, if he felt he could trust him enough to show him them. If, on the other hand, he got the impression that Rätsepp was in any way involved with what had happened to Quinn or Mihkel Lepikson, he certainly didn’t want to give too much away. But he would reserve judgement for the moment. He was half-surprised, and very pleased, that Joanna didn’t jump in with some comment about Quinn’s murder. She must be learning; she must have listened to him after their set-to the previous evening. ‘I’m afraid we’re all still a bit at sea about it all.’
‘At sea?’
‘Sorry. Confused.’
‘Ah. I do not really see how an old case will help you, or what it has to do with Hr Quinn’s death,’ Rätsepp said. ‘It was long time ago, and Hr Quinn had only minor role.’
‘I understand he was over here for about a week?’
‘That is correct.’
‘How soon after Rachel Hewitt’s disappearance?’
‘Perhaps two days.’
‘That’s very quick, isn’t it?’
‘There is no real measure for such things.’ Rätsepp paused and ate more steak. ‘I think the girl’s parents demand he come,’ he went on. ‘They call local police in England and ask them to do something. I think the parents are, how do you say, very pushy? It is quite understandable, of course. We do our best, but what can I say? This is beautiful nineteen-year-old girl, young woman, and she is missing forty-eight hours. I know it is very confusing and upsetting for her parents, to be so far away, in foreign country. They do not understand our country. They want someone to communicate what is happening before they come here themselves. Difficult time for everyone.’
‘What did DI Quinn actually do in the investigations?’
‘Nothing very much. What can he do? He is not involved here. He is not Estonian. He attends meetings, of course, so he can go back and tell his bosses what we are doing. But that is all.’
‘He didn’t do any searching, any questioning, any investigating?’
‘No. Observing only.’
Banks wasn’t sure he believed Rätsepp, but he moved on, nonetheless. What reason could he have to lie? ‘Were there any leads at all?’
‘Sadly, no. We check the hospitals, airport, railway station, buses, ferries. We check other hotels. We speak with staff at Meriton to ask if she go back there and go out again. We visit many bars and clubs popular with young tourists. Ask everywhere. Nothing. It is like the girl disappear into air.’
‘What about since then? Any nibbles? Any traces?’
‘For two months we investigate. More. Sometimes now we send out her description again. Nothing. I am sure you also get many mistaken sights, which is all that we have had. From St Petersburg to Prague, and in the south, Odessa and Tirana. Her parents encourage many of these mistakes. We have also work with an artist on what Rachel look like now. It is not so very big change in six years, perhaps, but it helps.’
‘What about CCTV?’
‘What is that?’
‘Closed-circuit television. Cameras. In the streets, in bars. We have them all over England.’
‘Ah. Yes. We have here, too. But then not so many, of course. We examine all we can find, but nothing show us where Rachel is gone.’ He paused. ‘As I am sure you know, many camera images are not so good.’
‘True enough,’ said Banks. ‘Most CCTV’s crap, no arguing with that.’ He gazed around at the other diners. Many were obviously tourists, given away by their cameras or bulging dayglo bags. He heard some people speaking German, and some Italian. There were also quite a few of young professionals, and he took most of them for locals, who perhaps worked in the Old Town or had come in from the suburbs to have lunch with friends during the spell of fine weather. ‘This is very good steak,’ he said.
‘I am glad you approve. And the charming lady?’
Joanna, the ‘charming lady’, smiled sweetly at him and said, in her best Morningside accent. ‘Absolutely delicious, Toomas. One of the tastiest I have ever eaten.’
Rätsepp beamed at her. ‘In what capacity exactly are you here?’ he asked, his forehead wrinkling into a slight and, so Banks thought, definitely choreographed frown.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Joanna. ‘I don’t understand the question.’