‘So why has he agreed to see us?’ Banks asked Erik.
‘He is an old man. Sick with cancer. He is tired, and he wants to make amends before he dies. I think he has much on his conscience. He also has assurances from the very top that nothing will come back on him.’
‘Even murder?’
‘We will see,’ said Erik. ‘As a journalist, I would give a lot to be at your meeting, but he specified only you and Joanna. We will wait in the car in the parking lot. Perhaps you can help me with a story later, let me interview you? An undisclosed police source?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Banks. ‘If there is a story.’
Merike pulled into a car park off the road, by the shore. ‘It’s up there.’ She pointed ahead to a path by the beach. ‘It’s called Paat. That means boat. It looks like an upturned boat. Good luck.’
Banks and Joanna walked towards the path. It was another fine day, blue sky striped with milky white cloud, and the sea lapping at the breakwaters. The beach was mostly pebble, with a few sods of grass here and there. Over the other side, to the left, they could see the Tallinn shoreline, and straight ahead was a large island.
The path led them into the restaurant’s outside area, where a few sheltered picnic-style benches were set out against the low sea wall. The restaurant itself was nearby, and it did resemble an upturned boat. Banks, however, found his eyes more drawn to the outside area, where an old man in a windcheater sat alone at one of the picnic tables, a mug of tea or coffee steaming in front of him, while two neckless bruisers stood, hands clasped in front of their privates, scanning the grounds. Probably ex-KGB agents, Banks guessed.
When Banks and Joanna approached the table, the bruisers stepped forward and patted them down. They were gentle and discreet enough with Joanna, Banks noticed, but she clearly didn’t like it, and he didn’t blame her. They were a little rougher with him, but not enough to hurt. When they were satisfied neither had a weapon or a wire, they stood aside, and Banks and Joanna sat opposite Viktor Rebane.
He was a hunched figure, and his chin was tucked into his throat in such a way that he looked permanently on the verge of a particularly noxious burp. His bald head was liver-spotted, as were his lizard-like hands. Frown lines had eaten deep into his brow. He must have been about the same age as Rätsepp, Banks guessed, if they grew up together, but he seemed a good ten years older. The ravages of cancer, no doubt. Or its treatment.
‘First, let me not forget my hospitality,’ Viktor Rebane said. ‘May I offer you both a drink?’
‘Why not?’ said Banks. ‘I’ll have beer, please. A. Le Coq if they have it.’
‘Excellent choice. And the lady?’
‘Just a cappuccino, please,’ said Joanna, clearly still smarting from her patting down.
Rebane snapped his fingers and the closest no-neck went off to the bar. As if sensing Joanna’s mood, Rebane said, his yellowish eyes twinkling, ‘I do apologise about the body search, my dear, but man in my position cannot be too careful. Beautiful woman is often most dangerous weapon.’
‘Is that an old Estonian proverb?’ said Joanna.
Rebane smiled. ‘No. Is old Viktor Rebane proverb. The reason I agree to see you now, so soon,’ Rebane continued, ‘is I have appointment at hospital this afternoon. I am very tired and sick after chemotherapy, for many days. I am sure you understand.’
‘Of course,’ said Banks. ‘And we’re very grateful you took the trouble to talk to us. Perhaps you can help us answer a number of questions?’
‘Perhaps. First thing I tell you is I do not know where my son is, so please do not ask. Joosep and I have not spoken for many years now. He is always difficult child. Wild, unpredictable. Especially after his mother die. He is only ten at the time. He keep very bad company. Perhaps I spoil him. It is fashionable to blame parents, is it not? Do you have a son, Hr Banks?’
‘I do,’ said Banks. ‘He’s a musician.’
‘Is good. In Estonia we love music. My son is drug-dealer, people-trafficker and gangster. But he is still my son. Do you understand that?’
‘I think so,’ said Banks.
‘How far you go to protect your son?’
Banks thought for a moment. ‘Probably a long way,’ he answered. ‘But I might draw the line if he raped and killed women.’
An expression of pain passed across Rebane’s face, and immediately Banks felt guilty for being so brutally cruel; it had been unnecessary. No-neck came back with the drinks.
‘Joosep tell me the girl die of a drug overdose,’ Rebane whispered.
‘What girl?’
‘The one you are interested in. I am a father. I have daughter, too, with my third wife. She is twenty-one. I am proud of her, and I love her. That is perhaps the real reason I am talking to you. I feel something for the parents of this girl.’
‘It’s taken you a bloody long time.’
Rebane gave an impatient shake of his head. ‘It is easier to forget when nothing reminds you. There are always many other things to think about. I regret most of all the things I did not do, not the things I did. But now...’ He shook his head slowly. ‘Too much has happened. Old wounds have reopened. I am a businessman, Hr Banks. I am not interested in your moral judgements. I have perhaps done many wrong things for my business interests. I have made many enemies. Do you understand?’
‘I think so.’
‘Six years ago Joosep is my beloved son. Now, he is a stranger to me.’
‘Will you tell me what happened six years ago?’
Viktor remained silent for a few moments. Seagulls squealed over a shoal of fish close to shore. ‘Joosep come to see me. He is very upset. Most agitated. When I ask him what is wrong, he tell me a girl die of a drug overdose at his party. An English girl. He tell me he is sitting in nightclub. You know which club?’
‘I know.’
‘He is sitting in nightclub with friends. My nightclub. They are ready to leave, and this beautiful girl comes in. A vision. She has lost her friends. Joosep, he tells me he ask her if she want to go to party, and after he will drive her to her hotel. She says yes, and they go in his car. But at party, girl drinks more and takes drugs, and in morning they find her dead. She has... how do you say...’ He pointed to his throat, what little there was of it to see, ‘Choke.’
‘Asphyxiated,’ said Banks. ‘Choked will do. Choked on her own vomit?’
‘Yes.’
‘So what happened?’
‘He is in trouble, and he wants me to help him. Then, on Wednesday morning, Toomas, my old friend, telephones to tell me that Joosep’s name, my name, and the nightclub also, have come up in the investigation, and I ask my friend Toomas to stop it, if he can, to make sure it goes no further. It is not too late. Toomas will do that for me. He will help Joosep. And for money, of course. He know I will be very grateful.’
‘Of course,’ said Banks. ‘It’s comforting to know that corruption’s no different here than anywhere else.’
‘Perhaps. I am not so certain. Or you are being ironic, yes? You English.’
‘Maybe just a little bit. So Toomas Rätsepp shut down the investigation?’
‘He close off that direction. Yes. Is easy because not many people know. Barman from St Patrick pub, of course. But he is easy. Threat of beating and ticket back to Australia. And junior investigator who report his findings to Toomas. Also easy if he want to stay in job, have promotion. Beating, too. English policeman is problem.’
‘Bill Quinn,’ said Banks.
‘Yes. We cannot warn him to stop or threaten him. Is madness to assassinate foreign cop on Estonian soil. We need different solution.’