Gervaise paused. ‘Do we know for certain she’s illegal?’
‘We know nothing except that she’s Polish, and Poland is a member of the EU. I don’t know if she has the right documents or filled in the right forms. She has no identification now, no passport, no money, nothing. God knows where they are. I’m thinking of ordering a raid on Roderick Flinders’ business offices and home. Krystyna identified him from a photograph as someone who came around with offers to lend money, so that clearly links him with Corrigan’s nasty little business. He’d probably be too canny to keep anything incriminating there, but I might just do it anyway, just to put the jitters up the bastard. And for my own pleasure, of course.’
Gervaise finished her pint and glanced at Annie’s glass, still about a quarter full. ‘Another?’
‘No, I shouldn’t. I’d better—’
‘Oh, come on with you. How often do we get a chance to take a break from the station and have a good old natter?’
‘Well, seeing as you put it like that.’ Annie drained her glass and handed it over. ‘I’ll have the same again, please.’
As Annie sat waiting for Gervaise to come back with the drinks, she thought of poor Krystyna shut in the cells. Though an inner voice warned her about getting involved, perhaps, she thought, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to take Krystyna home. Just until the dust settled and she could get her life sorted out. They could communicate through sign language. She could sort out some clothes for her. Nothing would fit her well, of course, as she was so thin, but there were ways of making do, a little nip here and a tuck there. Anything was better than the oversized Elvis suit. Best of all, Krystyna would be in a clean and comfortable house, not a cell. Annie would order a pizza. They would watch television. Krystyna could sleep in the spare room. Annie saw Gervaise talking into her mobile at the bar. When she came back her hands were empty, and her face was serious.
‘I’m afraid that second pint will have to wait,’ she said. ‘I’ve just received notice from West Yorkshire. Warren Corrigan’s been shot.’
Chapter 10
Saturday morning was a little cooler than it had been earlier in the week, with a fresh wind off the Baltic bringing in a few ponderous clouds. Merike was wearing a patterned jumper that reminded Banks of Sarah Lund’s sweater from The Killing.
‘Haapsalu is a spa town, right?’ she was saying, as they drove through the outskirts of Tallinn on a major road, all apartment blocks and shopping centres. ‘Like Harrogate and Bath.’
‘I understand,’ said Banks, sitting next to her in the front of the messy yellow VW Bug. He was keeping an eye on the rear-view mirror. It was perhaps too early tell, but he didn’t think they were being followed.
‘It has an old castle, the Episcopal Castle, some beautiful old wooden houses and a nice waterfront. Peter the Great used to go there. And Tchaikovsky. There’s a bench dedicated to Tchaikovsky.’
‘I’d like to see that,’ Banks said. ‘But this isn’t exactly a day at the seaside.’
‘I know,’ said Merike, casting him a sideways glance. ‘I am hoping we are successful, too.’
The plan, such as it was, was for Merike to first talk to Larisa, try to set her at ease, assure her there would be no comebacks or consequences, and then for Banks to question her, with Merike’s help as a translator, if necessary, about her past. If her husband didn’t know, and if he was there, they would get her away from him for a while. Joanna Passero, who had a special interest in this part of the investigation, would be taking notes and asking questions whenever she felt it necessary. Banks could hardly sideline her on this. They had not telephoned in advance. There were many reasons why Larisa Petrenko might want to forget her past, and they didn’t want to scare her away before they got there.
The suburbs of Tallinn gave way to fields and woods. Here and there, a narrow unpaved lane led between rows of hedges to a distant village. The road they were travelling on wasn’t very busy, though it was obviously a main east — west route, with bus service and all, so they made generally good progress. Merike had the radio tuned quietly to some inoffensive pop programme. In deference to her passengers, she refrained from smoking, though Banks assured her she was welcome to do so in her own car, which was pretty thick with the smell of tobacco anyway. Joanna sat in the back gazing out at the scenery. She didn’t seem ill, the way she had on the way to Garskill Farm, but then the road here was much smoother. Banks was thinking about the phone call he had received from Annie late last night. Warren Corrigan had been shot. She said she would call when she had more news. He wondered whether that triggered bad memories, or whether she could disassociate from what had happened to her.
Soon they were entering a town — Haapsalu itself, Merike announced — with a few modern buildings dotted around grassy areas, all very low-rise, then streets of old wooden houses as they drove slowly down the main street. Merike found a place to park and pulled to a halt. She pointed out of the window to a restaurant. ‘There,’ she said. She glanced at her watch. ‘They should be open for lunch. It is very popular because the restaurant is above Alexander Petrenko’s gallery, where he has some paintings for sale.’
‘It seems a good business idea,’ said Banks. ‘Have a stroll around the gallery, see something you like, head upstairs for a nice meal and a couple of drinks to think it over.’
‘He does very well, I think, but he is so rarely there, of course. His studio is elsewhere in town.’
Banks could sense, if not smell, the fresh sea air when he got out of the car. He took a deep breath to rid himself of the tobacco smell that lingered in the upholstery. The first thing Merike did when she got into the street was light a cigarette. ‘You want me to go in alone first, right?’
‘Yes, please. I don’t think we should all go traipsing in there at once and scare the living daylights out of her,’ Banks said. ‘You go have a word with her, tell her what we have in mind. See if she can get someone to cover for her for a while, and we’ll all go for a walk on the seafront. Sound OK?’
‘OK,’ said Merike, stamping out her cigarette. ‘I feel like a cop.’
Banks smiled. ‘There’s no need to take it that far. Just be yourself.’
‘Who else could I be?’ said Merike, then she checked for traffic and wandered across the street. Banks and Joanna hung back by the VW. There were a few tourists walking about, checking antique and gift shops. ‘It’s famous for shawls, Haapsalu,’ said Joanna. ‘Beautiful shawls of knitted lace.’
‘Maybe later,’ said Banks, thinking something like that might make a nice present for Annie, though on second thoughts, she didn’t seem much like a lace shawl kind of girl. Still, there were plenty of gift shops in the Old Town. Some amber jewellery, perhaps, or ceramics.
Joanna wandered a few yards down the street to look in a shop window while Banks kept his eye on the door of the restaurant. It was about ten minutes before Merike came out. At first Banks thought she was alone, then he saw the woman behind her. Larisa Petrenko. She was a slighter figure than he had imagined — for some reason he had thought her a tall, leggy, exotic beauty. The closer they came, the more he could see that she was definitely a beauty, though in a very natural way. She now she wore her hair tied back in a ponytail. Her jeans were not the kind you had to put on with a shoehorn, but they certainly showed off the curves of her hips, rear end and legs. She had put on some weight since the photograph with Quinn had been taken, but not much. She was still slim and petite, and very young-looking. And she was nervous. Banks gave Merike a quizzical glance.