Entanglement. Part 11

"He went."

"Anything else?"

Denial.

"Did you talk about it?"

Denial.

"Do you know the people he went to therapy with?"

Denial.

"Do you recognize anyone in these photos?"

Denial.

Completely pointless, thought Szacki, we'll never get anywhere like this.

"What were you doing on Sat.u.r.day evening?"

"Playing."

"What?"

"Call of Duty."

"One or two?"

"Two."

"Which campaign?"

The boy settled more in the chair.

"For G.o.d's sake."

"Russian, British or American?"

"Russian."

"You didn't get far."

"Right. I can't get past the bit in Stalingrad where you have to fire from the Town Hall window. I'm not able to take them all out, someone always sneaks under and creeps up on me from behind. And when I watch my back, the whole Fascist army comes from the front with their machine guns."

Szacki nodded understandingly. That mission had taken even him a good few hours of effort.

"Unfortunately there's no good way," he said. "The best is to kill off as many as you can first, then watch the rear and use the sniper rifle to pick off just the ones with machine guns. If you hold out for long enough, eventually you get a message about a new task. It's an idiotic mission, its entire difficulty depends on the fact that they've multiplied the usual number of Germans by ten. But on the whole it's OK."

"Well, it must have been like that, don't you think?"

"The war? Yes, surely. You run about blindly with your rifle jamming, it's nothing but chaos with bullets whizzing past and your friends falling all around you. And all you're interested in is getting to the nearest pit, hiding in there, throwing a grenade and rushing onwards. The sound is important."

"I've got 5.1 speakers."

"Congratulations. I've got 2.1s, my flat's too small for 5.1s. But I usually play with headphones anyway because my wife gets mad at me."

"Mum comes in and tells me she doesn't want tanks driving through her home. Interrogations are nothing like this in the movies."

Szacki was surprised by the sudden change of topic, but he replied instantly: "I can't conduct this interview this way. Why don't you answer my questions?"

The boy shrugged.

"I didn't think it would matter."

"You're father's been killed, and I want to know who did it and why. You don't think that matters?"

He shrugged again.

"No, because it won't bring him back to life again. Besides, what's the difference whether I answer in full sentences or just say yes or no? Surely the important thing is to tell the truth."

Szacki put the report aside. He didn't actually think the boy could know anything that would be evidence in the case. He was concerned about something else.

"And do you wish your father would come back to life?" he asked.

He was expecting Telak to shrug, but he sat quite still, not so much as batting an eyelid.

"Yes and no," he replied.

"Was he a bad father?"

"He never hit us and he didn't want us to scrub his back for him, if that's what you mean. He didn't shout much either. He was the average boring Polish father. I didn't hate him or love him. Maybe it's the shock, but I can't actually arouse any emotion in myself following his death. I'm telling you the truth."

Szacki wished his witnesses always gave such frank answers. He gave the boy a respectful nod.

"Did he change after your sister's death?"

"He aged. But before that only my sister could get through to him anyway, so for me it didn't matter."

"Did you blame him for your sister's death?"

He hesitated.

"No more than anyone else around."

Szacki thought about the pills found in Telak's room on azienkowska Street.

"Would you be surprised if he'd committed suicide?"

"No, not particularly. I'm more surprised that someone murdered him. What for?"

Good question. Once again Szacki felt very tired. And how the h.e.l.l was he to know what for? He felt as if it was all falling apart. The theory that someone from the therapy group had killed Telak seemed to him either probable or fantastical by turns. But increasingly the latter. None of the interviews had brought anything new to the case. Obvious answers to obvious questions. Maybe he should give up, commission the police for the entire inquiry and calmly wait for the most probable result - a dismissal, perpetrator unknown.

"I really don't know," he replied sincerely. Well, semi-sincerely. He couldn't have explained it rationally, but he wanted to give the boy the impression that he was stuck on the spot and didn't know what to do next.

"You've got to find the motive, the opportunity and the murder weapon."

"Thanks. I read crime novels too. Do you know of anyone who would gain from your father's death?"

"Not me. I'm sure you know I'm ill and will probably die soon."

Szacki said yes.

"There are three things that can save me: a miracle, the national health service or a transplant at a private hospital abroad. What do you think, which of them is the most likely? Exactly. And what do you think, how much did my chances decrease when I lost my father, the company director? Exactly."

What could he say? Was else could he ask? He thanked the boy and wished him success with Call of Duty. He didn't even give him the transcript to sign - there was absolutely nothing there.

"Will you be at the funeral on Sat.u.r.day?" asked Telak junior on the way out.

"Of course." Szacki scolded himself mentally for not thinking of it earlier. It would probably be the only chance to see Telak's family and the people from the therapy group all in one place.

VI.

Writing out the statement of facts, his hypotheses and the inquiry plan took him less time than he had expected. Less than ninety minutes. Considering he'd spent at least half that time thinking about Monika Grzelka - not a bad result. What should he do now? The last woman he'd seduced was Weronika, and that had happened more than ten years ago. And actually it wasn't so much he that had seduced her, as she him. Memory was limited to a vague "somehow it just happened of its own accord". He liked her, they'd talked a bit, suddenly they'd started kissing - correction: suddenly she'd started kissing him - and a week later they'd ended up in bed. Two weeks later he could no longer imagine life without her.

That's all I have to give in evidence on the case, he thought. Not counting his high school and early student adventures. And two short affairs from early in his marriage that he tried to forget about. And one - unfortunately - non-consummated acquaintance with a lady prosecutor from Piaseczno. Until now he'd always consoled himself that it had worked out for the best, because he did have a wife and child, and he ought to be good, but the truth was different - he was b.l.o.o.d.y sorry. How does that saying go? Better to sin and be sorry than be sorry you didn't sin. Another stupid bit of folk wisdom that only looks good on paper. They'd met on a case involving the murder of a developer. The body was in the City Centre, but the family, friends, company and everything else was in the nearby town of Piaseczno. They had worked together. At length and intensively. They had worked and talked, talked and worked, talked and talked. One night he'd driven her home and kissed her in the car. He'd been amazed a kiss could taste so different. That it could all be so new. That lips could have such a different shape, a tongue such a different texture, breath such a different flavour.

"We can't go on kissing like this for ever," she'd said, and he knew it wasn't a simple statement of fact but a proposition. She'd done everything, she'd merely required confirmation from him. But even so he'd chickened out. He'd trembled with fear.

"We can't take this any further," he'd gasped eventually. She had just smiled, kissed him one more time and got out. She'd waved from the stairwell. Then he'd seen a light shining on the second floor. He'd sat in the car for another hour, battling with himself. Finally he'd driven away. He'd sped down Puawska Street back to Weronika, feeling glad he'd done the right thing. But at the heart of it he knew it wasn't loyalty that had stopped him - however you understood it - or love - however you understood that. He'd been held back by fear. The humiliating memory of his nervous trembling had stayed with him for a long time after he'd lain down beside his wife, feeling relief as he cuddled up to the familiar curves of her body.

That was then. What about now? He was thirty-five, soon to be thirty-six. How much longer did he have to wait to experience what it's like when every square inch of someone's body is a surprise? It's now or never, he thought.

He dialled the number.

"Good day, this is Szacki."

"Oh, hi... I mean, good day, Prosecutor."

He took a deep breath.

"Please call me Teo."

"Monika. Pity you didn't suggest it yesterday - we could have kissed to celebrate."

The familiar trembling was back. He was glad they were talking by phone.

"I hope we'll make up for it," said a strange voice, which to Szacki's mind wasn't his own at all.

"Hmm, that's just what I was thinking," she said. "So when?"

He thought frantically. Christ Almighty, he had to have an excuse, otherwise his intentions would be obvious.

"Maybe Friday?" he suggested. "I'll have that indictment for you." The final remark was so stupid that if embarra.s.sment had a temperature Szacki would have burst into flames. What other good ideas have you got, Teodor? he asked himself. A date at the forensics lab?

"Oh, yes, the indictment." Now he could no longer be in any doubt what she thought of it. "Six p.m. at Szpilka? It's not far from your office." The way she said the word "office" it sounded as if he were a clerk of the lowliest rank at a provincial post office.

"Wonderful idea," he said, thinking at the same time he must call the bank and check his account. Did Weronika read the statements? He couldn't remember.

"Well, goodbye until Friday," she said.

"Bye," he replied, immediately feeling sure that of all the nonsense in this conversation his final "bye" deserved a gold medal.

He put down the receiver and took off his jacket. He was trembling, and sweating like a Swede on holiday in Tunisia. He drank two gla.s.ses of mineral water in two goes and thought thank G.o.d he'd written the sodding inquiry plan earlier, because now without a doubt he wouldn't be able to sit still any longer. He got up, planning to go for a walk to the minimart next to the bookshop on the Avenue for a cola, when the phone rang. He froze at the thought that it might be Monika, and only picked it up on the third ring.

Kuzniecow.

The policeman told him the results of the interviews at Polgrafex, Telak's firm. Or rather the lack of results. A pleasant man - calm, unaggressive, ran the firm pretty well. No one had any complaints, no one said anything bad about him. In fact one of the managers let slip that now they might succeed in pushing the firm onto new tracks, but it was just the usual careerist talk.

"And you should definitely interview his secretary," said Kuzniecow.

"Why? Did they have an affair?" Szacki was sceptical.

"No, but she's really hot stuff, I could interview her any day of the week. Ideally in uniform, in the interview room at Mostowski Palace. You know, the one downstairs..."

"Oleg, for pity's sake, your fantasies make me feel sick. I'm afraid you'll start showing me pictures of Alsatian dogs in handcuffs next."

"What's your problem?" said the policeman, taking offence. "You call her in, take a look, write some c.r.a.p in a report. Fifteen minutes and you're done - it'll take you more time to go and get a p.o.r.n mag from the Empik shop."

"f.u.c.k you. Did she say anything?"

"That Telak never parted with his digital Dictaphone, on which he recorded everything. Business meetings, ideas, notes, conversations, deadlines. Some people simply remember, some write things down, some make notes on their mobile. But he recorded them. I called his wife to confirm the Dictaphone is nowhere in the house."

"In other words something's gone missing," said Szacki.

"Looks like it. Strange, but it's a fact."

"Yes, it rather destroys the convenient theory about the burglar in a panic, doesn't it? Leaves behind a wallet full of credit cards but takes a Dictaphone - pretty odd."

"Do you think we should search all their flats?" asked Kuzniecow.