‘I apologise for my bad English. You work for Professional Standards, am I not right?’ he went on. ‘But Inspector Quinn’s murder is matter for Homicide, no?’
‘I can see there are no flies on you, Toomas,’ Joanna said, waving her fork at him and smiling to take the sting out of her tone.
He checked his arms. ‘Flies? I do not understand.’
‘She means you’re very quick to grasp a situation,’ Banks said. ‘It’s just a saying.’
‘Ah, another of your charming English idioms. I see. It is one I do not know. I will remember. She is here to keep an eye on you, Alan, you lucky man? Have you been naughty boy?’
‘It’s nothing like that,’ said Banks. ‘Inspector Passero is training for her transfer to Homicide and Major Crimes. Her boss thought working on this case with me would help.’
‘So you are her teacher?’
‘Something like that.’
‘You must be very good to be trusted with such lovely pupil.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘I hear things about you.’
‘All good, I hope?’ said Banks.
‘But of course.’
Banks wasn’t sure he liked being such common knowledge. First Corrigan, now Rätsepp. True, one of them was a cop, and it would be only natural for him to find out something about a visiting officer from another country. Even so, it was disconcerting, and he felt it put him at a disadvantage. He wondered exactly how much Rätsepp knew about him, and what.
Rätsepp turned back to Joanna again, still smiling. ‘But I am not so certain that you tell me complete truth.’
Joanna smiled at him again. ‘Toomas! Would you doubt a lady’s word?’
‘But of course not.’ Rätsepp took her hand again for a moment. ‘It is merely that I understand there is some... shall we say... confusion over Hr Quinn’s circumstances, some possibility that he was involved in affair of the heart, or perhaps a business transaction of some kind, and you think it happens here.’ He let go of Joanna’s hand and gave it a light pat.
‘Well,’ said Banks, ‘you’ve certainly done your homework, haven’t you, Toomas? But that’s really a non-issue. We’re here because we’ve managed to make a connection between Bill Quinn and an Estonian journalist called Mihkel Lepikson. Have you ever heard of him?’
Rätsepp seemed taken aback at the name, Banks noted, and he got the impression that he was quickly trying to think how to respond. Rätsepp already seemed like a tricky person to pin down, and Banks hadn’t expected smooth and easy sailing. How had he known about Quinn and the girl, for a start? There could be a leak in Yorkshire. Or was Rätsepp in touch with the villains themselves? Was he feigning surprise at the mention of Lepikson? He was hard to read. It was entirely possible that he had something to hide, but even if he didn’t, the habits of a lifetime die hard. Given his age, Rätsepp must have been a cop during the Soviet era. He would be used to keeping his own counsel. Or lying. Policing must have been a whole different business under the Russian rulers, who would no doubt have brought in their own security organisations. Banks had heard and read many things about the Stasi in East Germany, for example, and he wondered if things had been at all similar here. If so, Rätsepp might be a very skilled dissembler, and he would also make it a point to know everything about everyone. He obviously already knew something about the Quinn case, and the girl, but Banks didn’t know exactly how much. Did he know about the photographs, the possible blackmail, the crossbow?
‘Lepikson... Lepikson...’ Rätsepp muttered. ‘The name sounds familiar, you know. A journalist?’
‘The Eesti Telegraaf. He wrote about Rachel at the time she disappeared, then on and off over the years. Mihkel Lepikson was found dead under very mysterious circumstances in North Yorkshire, not far from where Bill Quinn was killed, a few days ago. Your government has been advised, and his parents have been located. I believe they have already left for the UK.’
‘Ah, yes. I can know only what I read in the newspapers, of course,’ said Rätsepp. ‘Now I am retired, just private citizen like everyone else, I am out of the loop, as I believe you British say.’
‘Of course. And I’m sure you can understand that I can’t tell you any more, even as one police officer to another, with this being an ongoing investigation.’
‘Naturally,’ said Rätsepp. He sounded disappointed, and gave Banks the kind of look that seemed to beg for ten minutes alone with him in a soundproof interrogation cell. ‘I understand completely.’
Banks could tell the Estonian was reevaluating him; he could almost hear the cogs turning, new gears engaging. Rätsepp had no doubt expected someone he could get information from easily, but now that was proving not to be the case, he was having to rethink his strategy. Banks tried to work out exactly where the Estonian stood in this whole business, but he had too little to go on. Was Rätsepp involved with Corrigan, with the crossbow killer, with Rachel Hewitt’s disappearance? It was all possible, especially as he seemed to know so much, but there was no evidence to believe so yet. It was more than likely that he had made mistakes in the Rachel Hewitt investigation and was simply covering his arse.
The waiter came around again and asked if they wanted anything else. Banks and Rätsepp both ordered a second A. Le Coq, and Joanna asked for a cappuccino. She pronounced the word deliberately, with what Banks took to be a perfect Italian accent, not the way most Scots or Yorkshire folk would say it.
‘I am sorry,’ said Rätsepp, ‘but there is really nothing more I can tell you about Hr Quinn, or why he was killed.’
‘Can you think of anyone here who might have wanted him dead?’
‘Here? But why?’
‘A connection with the Rachel Hewitt case, perhaps?’
‘What possible evidence is there?’
‘No evidence, Toomas. Just a gut feeling. Don’t you ever have gut feelings?’
‘Of course. But not about this.’
‘Mihkel Lepikson wrote about the case, and Bill Quinn investigated it. That seems like a connection to me. Were there many of you working on it?’
Rätsepp sipped some beer before replying. ‘I have support investigators, as usual. And I report to Prosecutor.’
‘That would be Ursula Mardna?’
‘That is correct. Very senior and very competent Prosecutor, of blameless character.’
‘We’ll be talking to her later,’ Banks said. ‘I understand that DI Quinn mostly coordinated the investigation back in Yorkshire?’
‘Yes. He talk with Rachel’s parents and friends. Make some interviews. Communicate with us relevant information.’
‘Such as?’
‘Times, places, minor details.’
‘Do you have such a thing as a map of the girls’ movements that night?’
‘Impossible. We try to make one, of course, but it is too difficult. Their memories... unreliable. The girls so drunk. The next day also.’ He made a gesture of disgust. ‘These girls. They come here and act so indecent and noisy. They must expect...’
‘What? To be abducted?’
‘No, of course not. That is not what I am saying. But they must learn to be more careful and more respectful.’
‘They were just having a good time, Toomas,’ said Joanna. ‘They weren’t doing any harm.’
‘They ruin the peace of our Old Town.’
‘You should try Nottingham on a Saturday night,’ Joanna said.
Banks glanced at her, impressed. She was baiting Rätsepp, and doing it with great charm.
‘My dear Joanna,’ he said. ‘It is not the same. They are visitors. Guests in our country. They should not behave that way.’
‘Well, it’s a bit late for Rachel Hewitt, isn’t it?’
Rätsepp looked as if he’d been slapped. His face reddened. ‘We do our best. We cannot do more. Now you come here and...’ He waved his hand in the air disgustedly.