‘So she’s not a hooker in Budapest, or a stripper in Belfast?’
‘Not at all. She is a most respectable young woman, which makes me think she might not enjoy to talk about her past.’
‘We’ll manage it somehow,’ said Banks. ‘I have to know how you found her, Erik. Come on, you can’t just leave us guessing like this.’
Erik tilted his head to one side. ‘I could,’ he said. ‘You only asked me for the information. Not how I found it. Should I give up my trade secrets so easily?’
‘I’m not asking—’
Erik waved his large hairy hand in the air. ‘It is all right, my friend. I am only kidding. Is that what you say? Kidding?’ He winked at Joanna.
‘Damn right, it is,’ said Banks.
A pretty dark-haired waitress appeared to take their orders. She wore a nametag that identified her as ‘Irena’. Nobody had had a chance to study the menu, as they had all been too busy talking, so they took an extra minute to scan the list, then Irena came back and they all ordered pasta and a bottle of Chianti. It was starting to get dark now, the shadows long and deep in the narrow cobbled streets of the Old Town. Someone was singing in the distance. A glass smashed a little closer. Banks fancied he could hear a zither playing somewhere.
‘We have some very good facial-recognition software,’ Erik said. ‘Perhaps you do not know this, but Estonia is very famous in high technology. We invented Skype.’
‘I had heard that,’ said Banks. ‘So that’s how you did it?’
‘Not exactly.’ Erik pointed to his head. ‘I also have a fantastic memory.’
Helen laughed. ‘He does,’ she said. ‘It is true. He has memory like steel hat.’
‘I think that’s “steel trap”, Helen,’ Joanna corrected her.
‘Yes. That is right. Like steel trap.’
‘So how did you do it?’ Banks asked.
Erik paused for dramatic effect, then he said, ‘I’m a newspaper man. It is in my blood. The ink. The hot lead. Which we do not use any more, of course. When I first saw the photograph, I knew the face was familiar, but the context was not. I do not know any escort girls or prostitutes. Only through news stories, and that was not where I had seen her. No, it was something else. Two years ago there was a big celebrity wedding in Haapsalu, which is unusual in itself. This beautiful Russian girl, who had just graduated from university in Tartu, married one of Estonia’s most famous artists, Alexei Petrenko. Very handsome. He had a reputation for being a ladies’ man but he seemed to have settled down at last. We reported on the wedding, with photographs. Not me, of course. And not Mihkel. But a reporter who writes such celebrity stories. But I am editor for many different reporters.’ He tapped the side of his head. ‘And that is how I remember.’
He seemed exhausted by his long speech in English, took a long swig of wine and leaned back in his chair.
‘You are certain?’ Banks asked.
‘Yes. As soon as I stopped thinking she was an escort or a hooker, I started to remember and looked through file photographs.’ He pulled a photo out of his inside pocket and slid it over the table to Banks. ‘This is her, is it not?’
Banks studied the picture. There was just enough light at the table to make it out. The happy couple. It was definitely her, all right. There was no mistaking those cheekbones, those eyes, even though her hair was shorter and styled differently. Banks felt a frisson of excitement. He showed the photo to Joanna then made to pass it back, but Erik waved it away. ‘Keep it,’ he said. ‘I made a copy for you. I don’t need it.’
‘That picture was in the newspaper?’ Banks asked.
‘But of course. All the newspapers. It was big news.’
If anyone had been searching for the woman, Banks thought, the photo would have been a giveaway. But if anyone had been after her, he told himself, she would have known not to invite public scrutiny that way. Which meant that she probably had no idea what she had done, or why. The problem was that things had changed over the last month, since Quinn’s wife’s death, and that might include her situation, too. There was no reason why she should become a liability if she knew nothing — if all she had done was play a seduction game six years ago with a man she didn’t know while someone took photographs — but she could be a loose end, and it seemed as if someone had been tidying up loose ends. Banks felt no reason for undue alarm, but the fact that two people had been killed already, and that he had been followed around Tallinn, made him a little nervous. Ten o’clock the following morning hardly seemed soon enough. Still, if she had survived unharmed up until now, there was no reason to fear that tonight she would meet her doom. Banks quelled his concerns and thanked Erik profusely for the information.
‘My pleasure,’ said Erik. ‘Especially if it helps to catch whoever killed Mihkel.’
‘It could help,’ said Banks. Their food arrived, and there was a short break in conversation while everyone got settled with serviettes, side dishes and knives and forks. Irena smiled at Banks and refilled their wine glasses.
‘I think she fancies you,’ joked Joanna.
‘Get away with you,’ said Banks. ‘My charm only works on the over sixties.’
‘I don’t know. She may have visions of an English husband, an English passport, an English country house.’ She turned to Erik. ‘Irena? Is that a Russian name?’
‘Probably,’ Erik said. ‘Could be Polish, too. Or Slovakian. Many names are common to more than one country.’
‘There you are,’ she said to Banks. ‘An exotic Eastern European bride.’
Banks twirled up a forkful of spaghetti and smiled at her. ‘Rather like an exotic Italian husband.’
Joanna seemed to freeze for a moment, then she blushed. ‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘Not at all like that.’
‘Anything on Toomas Rätsepp and Ursula Mardna?’ Banks asked.
‘The prosecutor’s clean as a whistle. High-flyer. Tipped for even bigger things. The Rachel case set her back a bit, but she’s more than made up for it since then. Feared and respected.’
‘She seems so young.’
‘It is a young woman’s job.’
There were plenty of young women around the CPS offices, too, Banks realised, but he had never really thought about it that way. ‘What about Rätsepp?’
‘Nothing definite. No dirt that sticks, so to speak. There are those who think he mixes too closely with the wrong elements. Not real gangsters and criminals, you understand, but businessmen, rich and powerful people who might need occasional favours, who sometimes move very close to the edge.’
‘“Businessman” is a word that covers a multitude of sins, I’ve always thought,’ said Banks.
‘He has a very nice apartment in Kadriorg, which is most unusual for a retired police officer. It is an expensive area.’
‘Wouldn’t he be more careful if he had something to hide?’
‘Of course. That is why there is no dirt that sticks. He would not dare to be so open, as you say, if he could not explain the money.’
‘How does he explain it?’
‘Inheritance. It is true that his father was quite wealthy. He began with one small shop and ended up running a chain of electronics stores. He died around the time Rätsepp retired. Rätsepp didn’t get everything, of course — he had brothers and sisters — but he ended up with a decent share.’
‘And that explains the flat, the money?’
‘To the satisfaction of most people,’ said Erik. ‘You must draw your own conclusions.’
‘Was Rätsepp involved with anyone who might be responsible for what happened to Rachel Hewitt, for Bill Quinn and Mihkel?’
‘“In the right circumstances don’t you think, everyone is capable of anything.”’