Krystyna seemed surprised at the lack of an answer to her question, and the change in direction, but she listened to Stefan’s translation as she sipped her coffee.
‘A man came once who seemed to be in charge,’ Stefan translated. ‘He was dressed better than the driver and his friend, who brought them stale bread and weak coffee in the morning before work. He was wearing a hat and an overcoat with a fur collar. He was English, she thought. Probably half the people there were Polish, and some of them spoke English, so word got around that he wanted them all to know that if they needed money, there was a way. A friend of his would lend them money, and they could pay him back when they got more pay for their jobs, after they had paid off the agency.’
No mention of interest, of course, Annie guessed. She bet the boss man was Roderick Flinders, himself, or one of his men, and that Corrigan was involved somewhere down the line. She excused herself for a moment, reassured Krystyna that she would be back soon and went to her office. She had photographs of both Corrigan and Flinders, which she took back with her and set in front of Krystyna. ‘Do you recognise either of these men?’ she asked.
Krystyna studied the photographs and pointed to Flinders. ‘This one,’ Nowak translated. ‘He was the one who came and told them he could get them money. She hasn’t seen the other man.’
It figured, Annie thought. Corrigan wasn’t likely to venture out into the trenches when he had others to do that for him.
‘Excellent,’ she said. ‘I’m going to see if I can rustle up a sketch artist. We can use Menzies, from the art college, if he’s available. He doesn’t live far away. I’ll send a car. I know it’s upsetting for her, but I don’t want her to leave here until we’ve got sketches we can use. This is the first time we’ve got anywhere close to a description of our man, and I don’t want to lose it. Do you think you can entertain Krystyna for a few minutes while I’m gone? I promise I won’t be long.’
‘Sure,’ said Stefan. ‘We’ll have a laugh a minute.’
Annie gave him a cold look as she stood up. Some people, she thought. Krystyna’s eyes followed her, as if she wanted to go with her, too, but Stefan’s voice was soothing enough when he started to speak Polish, and Annie turned at the door, smiled and gave Krystyna a thumbs up sign.
Erik Aarma said he would be happy to have dinner with Banks and Joanna that evening, and that he would like to bring his wife Helen along. Nobody had any objection to that, so it was arranged for half past seven. In deference to the tourists and the fine weather, Erik said, they would eat in the Old Town, something he rarely did, and a nice treat for Helen, too. She loved pasta, and they didn’t have it very often. They had an apartment in Kristiine and usually ate locally, or at home. Perhaps an evening out would dispel some of the gloom they had been feeling over Mihkel’s death.
It was a Friday night, and getting quite busy, as they took their table at a small Italian restaurant on Raekoja, quite near the main square, and just around the corner from Clazz, shortly after half past seven. The revellers weren’t out in full force yet, but the chain gang was back, and a group of girls dressed as Playboy bunnies tottered by on their high heels, attracting many wolf whistles, searching for a bar in very loud Glasgow accents. Whenever Banks saw groups of girls such as that now, he thought of Rachel. In a way, he felt that since he had been in Tallinn, he had drifted away from his starting point, the murder of Bill Quinn, then the discovery of Mihkel Lepikson’s body at Garskill Farm, and his case had turned into a quest for the truth about what had happened to Rachel. Not that he believed she was still alive, but her body had to be somewhere, even after all this time. Annie was doing the real work, back in Yorkshire, he thought, getting closer to identifying Quinn’s killer with every moment. It would be a great success for her to have on her first case after the injury. A real confidence booster. Banks had not entirely lost sight of Bill Quinn, or of Mihkel Lepikson, but it was Rachel he sought in the winding cobbled alleys and long evening shadows of Tallinn’s Old Town.
Erik seemed pleased with himself, so Banks was hoping for good news. Joanna was chatting happily away with Helen, only pausing to glance at her mobile every now and then. Helen was almost as large as her husband, but minus the facial hair, and quick to laugh. A fresh breeze had picked up during the day, and Erik said it might mark the end of the warm spell. It was still pleasant enough to sit outside, but they definitely needed to wear jackets. Joanna had a wool shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Where did she get these things? Banks wondered. She had the perfect item to wear for all occasions. Every once in a while, Banks caught a whiff of burning tobacco as a smoker passed by.
‘I am not going to beat about the bush, as you say,’ said Erik as they clinked glasses and toasted absent friends. ‘I will not keep you in the suspense. I have found your girl.’
Banks almost dropped his glass. He looked at Joanna, whose eyebrows shot up so far they were almost lost under her blonde fringe. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked.
‘I am sure.’
‘But... how?’
Erik tapped the side of his nose. ‘Ah, but we have our resources. People say sometimes we have more files than the Stasi did.’
‘Seriously?’ said Banks.
‘Do you want to know who she is?’
‘Of course we do.’
‘Her name is Larisa Petrenko.’
‘Like the conductor?’
‘Vasily Petrenko? You know of him? Yes, like that.’
‘She’s Russian, then?’
‘It is a Russian name. But that should not be a surprise to you. Forty per cent of Tallinn is made up of Russian-speaking citizens. Helen is Russian-speaking, but we speak Estonian. The most popular last name in the whole country is Ivanov.’
‘I thought people were changing their names to Estonian to have a better chance of getting on here?’
‘You should not believe all you read in the newspapers, my friend. The next thing you know they will have us dragging Russian-speaking Estonians away at midnight and locking them up in Patarei.’
‘You don’t do that already?’
Erik laughed. ‘Not for some time.’
It was clearly a touchy subject, though, Banks sensed. The whole Russian — Estonian thing was beyond his comprehension, though he knew the basic facts, the history of the relationship. He felt it was something you had to live through, grow up with. ‘You don’t happen to know where she lives, do you, this Larisa Petrenko?’
‘Of course. She lives in Haapsalu. She has a restaurant there with her husband.’
‘I can’t believe this,’ Banks said shaking his head slowly. ‘Where is Haapsalu?’
‘On the west coast. About one and a half hours to drive. We will not be able to join you, I am afraid. Family matters. But Merike is back. I have spoken with her. She will pick you up at your hotel after breakfast tomorrow. Is ten o’clock too early?’
It was all moving so fast. Banks glanced at Joanna, who shook her head. ‘Not at all.’
‘Merike is very sorry she could not join us tonight also,’ said Erik, ‘but there you are. You will see her tomorrow.’
‘I’m still rather taken aback by this,’ Banks said. ‘What you’re telling me is that you found the girl in the photo with Bill Quinn, and she lives an hour and a half away, and runs a cafe with her husband, right?’
Erik beamed. ‘That is correct. You pay attention. A restaurant. Haapsalu is a tourist town. Nice. You will like it.’