Their beers arrived, along with Joanna’s cappuccino. Time to put the bridges back together again, Banks thought. He could play good cop when required. ‘I’m sure you all did your best, Toomas,’ he said. ‘But these girls... well, as Inspector Passero says, they’re young and wild and out for a good time. They don’t think about public order and upsetting people. Yes, it’s selfish, but you must have been a young lad once. Surely you sowed a few wild oats?’
Rätsepp gave Banks a knowing man-to-man smile. ‘Certainly I did. But those were very different times. Russian times. You must very careful what you do and who see you. Much more careful. I do understand it is important, your case, but I do not see connection to Mihkel Lepikson and Rachel Hewitt. I do remember the journalist. He write about case back then. But why do you think the murders were connected to this?’
‘It’s just too much of a coincidence,’ said Banks. ‘Quinn befriended Lepikson while he was over here consulting on the case, your case. And both were murdered within about ten miles and ten hours of one another just after they’d been in touch again, just after a telephone conversation in which Bill Quinn told Mihkel that he might have a very big story for him.’
Rätsepp frowned. ‘Big story, you say? What big story?’
‘We don’t know,’ said Banks. ‘I’m just saying it’s too much of a coincidence. We also have forensic evidence to indicate that the same man and car were present at both scenes. Most likely the killer. We don’t know who he is yet, but we’re getting close.’ Banks realised that he was probably telling Rätsepp too much, but he felt that if he didn’t give at least something up, he would get nothing in return. If Rätsepp thought he was getting the best side of the bargain, if he believed that he had succeeded in tricking Banks into giving up too much, it might make his own tongue a bit looser. It was just a matter of exactly what Banks did give away and how valuable it was.
Rätsepp nodded. His chins wobbled. ‘I still do not understand how I can help you. Our case records are in Estonian, of course, but you are most welcome to see them. Everything is in correct order. We can get translator, though it will take long time. We have nothing to hide. But I assure there is nothing about Hr Quinn.’
‘I’m sure you’re right, Toomas. And I don’t want to read your case files. All I really want is a general picture of what happened while he was here. And the girls, of course. I know some of the details of the night in question, the drinking, clubbing, no doubt boys following them around. But where did they go, for example? You say you don’t have a map, but you must have some idea.’
‘This was six years ago,’ said Rätsepp. ‘So many bars, clubs and restaurants open and close since then that it is impossible to say. And the staff are all new. People have moved on. Even at the time it is very difficult to get an idea of their movements. Yes, we do have list of bars and nightclubs I am happy to give you, but we do not know the times and order of visiting. There are many Irish pubs with names like Molly Malone’s and O’Malley’s, for example. And many others in Old Town. Nimeta Baar — that is Pub With No Name now. Club Havana. Venus Club. Stereo Lounge. Club Hollywood. The girls go to many of these.’
‘But not beyond the Old Town?’
‘We do not think so.’
‘Where did they lose Rachel?’ Banks asked.
‘In Irish pub on Vana-Posti, near south edge of Old Town. St Patrick’s. Nobody see Rachel after there.’
‘Except her killer.’
‘Yes,’ said Rätsepp with a sigh. ‘The other girls go to bar on Raekoja Plats, main square, with some German boys they meet at Club Hollywood. They notice Rachel is not with them perhaps twenty minutes, half an hour, after they get there. Then it is too late, of course. They cannot find her. They cannot remember where they were before. It is only later that we can put some pieces together.’
‘And then you went to these places and asked about Rachel?’
‘Of course. But we find out nothing.’
Annie had already told Banks as much, but he wanted to find out if Rätsepp knew any more. ‘Rachel didn’t know where her friends were going, did she? They had no destination in mind, just picked somewhere at random. She could have just wandered around trying to find them for hours in the Old Town, couldn’t she?’
‘It is possible,’ admitted Rätsepp. ‘But I do not think so. Nobody report seeing her, except a waiter in St Patrick’s, who say he think she go wrong way, other way from her friends. But he not so certain. As you see for yourself, it is not a very large area. It is very busy that night. We can find nobody who see her. That is because it is two days later before girls can tell us where they go. Tourists go home. German boys gone. Everybody gone.’ He shook his head in frustration.
‘Did no one report seeing her at all after she left St Patrick’s?’
‘Nobody. And we do not hear about her disappearance until the following morning. It take us two days to get information from her friends about where they go and what they do. They were so drunk they cannot remember. By then everyone who is there on that night is gone. Nobody knows anything. She is gone. Pouff.’
‘And that’s the last of Rachel,’ said Banks. ‘No body. No nothing.’ He felt a wave of sadness ripple through him as he imagined what fear and pain Rachel must have gone through, whatever had happened to her. His daughter Tracy had gone through a terrible ordeal not too long ago, and thoughts about what might have happened to her still gave him nightmares. He could hardly begin to imagine the horrors Rachel’s parents must have visualised over and over in their minds, the loop tapes of porn and snuff films. He took a hefty slug of beer.
He remembered the time he had been lost in a foreign city, and how frightening that had been. He was fourteen years old, on a school exchange with a French family in Lille. They had all gone to see Gone With the Wind in the town centre. Banks thought it was boring enough in English, so it would be even worse in French. He found a horror film showing around the corner, one of the old Dr Mabuse films, and said he would go there and meet them afterwards. Naturally, his film was much shorter than Gone With the Wind. Finding himself with plenty of time to kill, he bought some Gauloises at the nearest tabac and then went and sat in a bar, ordered a beer and waited. When it was time to meet up, he took a wrong turn and couldn’t find the cinema. He wandered and wandered, deeper into the backstreets, rows of brick houses, little corner churches, washing hanging across the street, the locals giving him strange looks. He knew enough French to ask directions but not enough to understand the answers. The feeling of utter helplessness came over him, verging on panic. In the end, Banks had got to a main street he recognised and boarded a tram back to where he was staying. But Rachel... where did she end up?
Rätsepp held his hands open in a gesture of openness. ‘What more can I say?’
‘What do you think happened to Rachel, Toomas?’ asked Joanna, cappuccino in her hand. ‘Just out of interest.’
Banks was glad that Joanna had asked the question, feeling he was pushing a bit too hard himself. It was perfect coming from her. Rätsepp seemed to have forgotten her earlier insensitivity, because he favoured her with a condescending smile and patted her knee. ‘My dear,’ he said, ‘you must know as well as I do that it cannot be good news. The most obvious theory is that someone take her, some stranger or someone the girls had meet earlier in some in nightclub or bar. Perhaps it is someone who has stalked them, or someone she has arranged to meet. We have no evidence of this, of course, and it poses many questions and many problems, but it is the best explanation.’