Entanglement. Part 4

"Like an ace cop from an American thriller," said Szacki, unable to deny himself a small comment.

"Did we do the wrong thing?"

"You did very well. Really."

The phone rang. He apologized to Jarczyk and picked up the receiver.

"Hi, Teo. I didn't want to come in because you've got a witness, but Pieszczoch got fifteen years."

"Excellent. How was the judgement?"

"Superb. He didn't reproach us for anything, in fact he repeated your wording from the indictment and closing speech to the cameras. You should claim royalties. There might not even be an appeal. Pieszczoch is a really horrid little s.h.i.t, and in his lawyer's place I'd be afraid he'd get a few years more on appeal."

Ewa was right. Pieszczoch had killed his wife with malice aforethought, out of totally unjustified hatred. It was a nasty domestic crime of the kind that not even the gutter press are interested in. A squalid one-room flat, an unemployed couple, tears, screaming and rows, then he'd banged her head against the corner of a cupboard instead of the usual slapping about the chops. For fifteen minutes without stopping. Even the pathologist was shocked. And that, in the opinion of the defence, was supposed to be "a beating with fatal consequences". Good G.o.d, Szacki would rather sweep the streets that hire himself out as a mouthpiece in criminal cases.

"Thanks, Ewa. I owe you coffee."

"Take me to bed?"

He stifled a smile.

"I've got to go. Bye."

Jarczyk's gaze was wandering around the room. There was nothing of interest in there, apart from the view of the grey Ministry of Agriculture building outside. There were some funny children's drawings above Ala's desk, and next to Szacki's there was just a calendar with pictures of the Tatras and Sztaundynger's words in a frame: "Whether the wind blows from far or near, the breath of the Tatras is always here".

"What do you think - which of your group murdered him?" he asked.

The question surprised her.

"I don't know. I have no idea. I just found the body."

"I see. But if you had to single out one person, who would it be? Please trust your instincts. I'm asking off the record - there certainly won't be any consequences. After all, you observed those people for two days almost non-stop."

Barbara Jarczyk adjusted her gla.s.ses. She sat very still, without looking at Szacki, but at some point on the wall behind him. Finally, without turning her head, she said: "At the session Euzebiusz played the role of Henryk's son. And that son, at least in Euzebiusz's rendition, was dreadfully sad, but you could also see how much he'd been wronged by the father. And so I thought perhaps it was him, out of vengeance against his father, you see. That he had no love for him, or in general."

Only now did she look at Szacki, who couldn't understand this at all. An adult man was supposed to have killed another guy because during therapy he had pretended to be his son who wasn't loved enough? What nonsense.

"I see," he said. "Thank you very much."

She read the transcript carefully before signing it. Several times she pulled a face, but didn't say anything. They said goodbye, and Szacki warned her that he would be sure to call her back again, maybe several times. Jarczyk was standing by the door when one more question occurred to him.

"What did you feel when you found him?"

"At first I was horrified, it was a dreadful sight. But once I'd calmed down I felt a sort of relief."

"Relief?"

"Please don't get me wrong. Henryk told us a lot about himself and about his family, and I..." she said, nervously locking her fingers as she searched for the right words, "I've never met anyone so unhappy. And I thought perhaps someone did him a service, because there really can't be any worlds where Henryk could be worse off than here."

WITNESS INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT. Euzebiusz Kaim, born 14th July 1965, resident of Mehoffer Street, Warsaw, has secondary education, employed as a unit manager at HQ Marketing Polska.

In Oleg's opinion, rich, arrogant, and h.e.l.l knows what he was doing in therapy. In Szacki's opinion too. Next to this guy's suit, the prosecutor's smart outfit looked like a rag dug out of an Indian second-hand shop. Szacki could appreciate that, and he felt a stab of envy as Kaim sat down opposite him. He would never be able to afford clothes like that.

Kaim wasn't just superbly dressed. He was also muscular and tanned, as if he'd done nothing for the past three weeks but go running and play tennis on a beach in Crete. Despite his flat stomach and regular sessions at the pool, Szacki felt as pale and flabby as a worm from the nematode family. His ego was bolstered a bit by the thought that he was the representative of authority here, and this pretty boy might turn out to be a murderer.

In a nice, manly voice, matter-of-fact and specific, without going over the top or omitting any details, Kaim made his statement. He remembered the scene with the corpse the same way as Jarczyk, but Szacki was interested in something else.

"What sort of a person do you think Henryk Telak was?" he asked.

"An unhappy one," replied Kaim without a moment's hesitation. "Very unhappy. I realize not everyone's life works out, but he had exceptionally bad luck. I'm sure you know his daughter committed suicide."

Szacki confirmed that he did.

"And do you know his son has a bad heart?"

Szacki said he didn't.

"They found out about it six months after they buried Kasia, their daughter. Dreadful. I get slivers down the spine just thinking about it. I've got a son of a similar age, and it makes me weak at the knees to imagine us going to get the results of routine tests and having the doctor say there's something odd about them and they'll have to be done again. And then... well, you know."

"So what exactly was the psychodrama like, in which you played Mr Telak's son?"

"I wouldn't call it a psychodrama, it's something far deeper, inexplicable. Magic. Cezary is sure to explain the theory to you, I'm not capable of that. It was the first time I'd taken part in a constellation and..." - he searched for the right term - "it's an experience bordering on loss of consciousness. When Mr Telak arranged us all, I immediately felt bad. Very bad. And the longer I stood there, the worse it got and the less I felt like myself. OK, you're already looking at me like I'm round the twist, but I'll finish anyway. I didn't so much pretend to be Bartek as really become him. Please don't ask me how that can be."

Szacki thought that if an expert had to examine them all, the State Treasury would spend a fortune.

"Earlier you were the main subject of the constellation," he said.

"Right, but I didn't take it quite so badly. OK, it was a very tough experience, when I saw why my marriage had fallen apart, but those were my own emotions. Do you see? Even if they were hidden somewhere deep down, even if they were forced out of me, they were mine, my own. But later, with Bartek and Henryk... dreadful, as if I'd had my ident.i.ty bulldozed. I want to forget about it as quickly as possible."

"Is it long since you divorced?"

"No, not long, a year ago. And not so much divorced, as separated. We didn't go to court. But now perhaps we'll manage to botch it all up again."

"Sorry?"

"Sorry what?"

"You said 'botch it all up again'."

"Oh, of course I meant patch it all up. Please ignore my slips of the tongue. I've got a connection missing in my brain, and all my life I've mixed up idioms and compound phrases. No one can explain why."

What a nutter, thought Szacki - he makes a good impression, but he's a nutter.

"Of course, I understand. During the therapy, when you were playing the role of Henryk's son, did you feel hatred towards your - let's call him - father?"

"I'm sorry, but what are you driving at?"

"Please answer the question."

Kaim was silent, turning his mobile phone in his hands. It must have been very expensive - the display screen alone was bigger than Szacki's entire phone.

"Yes, I did feel hatred towards him. In the first instant I wanted to deny it, but that would have been pointless. I'm sure you'll watch the recording, and you'll see that."

Szacki made a note: "therapy - video?"

"What are you going to ask me now? Did I want to kill him? Did I kill him?"

"Did you kill him?"

"No."

"Did you want to?"

"No. Really I didn't."

"So what do you think, who did kill him?"

"How should I know? In the papers they said it was a thief."

"But if it was one of you?" Szacki dug a bit deeper.

"Hanna," replied Kaim without hesitation.

"Why?"

"Simple. She was his daughter who committed suicide at the age of fifteen. I'm dread sure it's because her father abused her as a child. That wasn't obvious at the therapy, but they're always writing about it in the papers. Hanna sensed that, something shifted gear in her head, and she killed him."

Once Kaim had left, Szacki opened the window wide and sat on the sill to smoke his second cigarette. It was coming up to four, and there was already a line of cars on Krucza Street, heading towards the Avenue. Still high in the sky, the sun had finally pushed its way through the clouds and was warming the damp pavements; there was a smell of wet dust in the air. Perfect weather to go for a walk with a girl, thought Szacki. Sit down by the fountain in the Saxon Garden, lay your head on her knees and tell her about the books you read as a child. He couldn't remember the last time he and Weronika had simply gone for a walk like that. He couldn't remember when he'd ever told anyone about the books he read as a child. Worse than that, he couldn't remember when he'd last read anything that wasn't ent.i.tled "Prosecution Reference File". More and more often he felt empty and burned out. Was it just his age?

Perhaps I should call a therapist? he thought, and laughed out loud.

Of course he should. He sat down at his desk and dialled Rudzki's number. For a long time no one answered. He was just about to give up when he heard a click.

"Yes," said a voice that sounded as if it were coming all the way from Kamchatka.

Szacki introduced himself and told Rudzki he must come and see him as soon as possible. After today's interviews it was clear the therapist and his entire bizarre therapy could provide the key to the whole case. Rudzki apologized and said he'd been lying in bed with a high temperature all day. He realized that sounded like an idiotic excuse, but he really couldn't come. However, he'd be glad to see Szacki at his place.

Szacki thought about it. On the one hand, he'd prefer to meet on his own ground, but on the other he was eager to talk to the therapist. So he agreed. He wrote down an address in Ochota and promised to be there in an hour.

He hung up, and cursed. Hadn't he promised Weronika he'd be home at five and would stay in with the little one so she could go to the match? Of course he could try explaining, and she might even understand, but... Well, quite - but. He called Rudzki again and postponed the meeting until next day at nine a.m. The therapist was pleased and said he'd do all he could to be back on his feet and of sound mind by then. Szacki thought it odd that he'd used that expression. After all, flu is not the same as schizophrenia.

V.

Helka was triumphant. She'd beaten her father three times at ludo (once when she finished he still had all his pieces in base). Now it all looked as if she'd win at lotto too. She was two pairs ahead, and there were only ten more cards lying on the floor to be picked up. Five pairs. And it was her move. If she didn't make a mistake, the evening would belong to her. She turned over a card - a pine tree covered in snow. With a confident gesture she turned over the next one - a pine tree covered in snow. She didn't say anything, just glanced at him radiantly. She put the cards on her pile and scrupulously counted the difference.

"I've got three more than you," she declared.

"It's not over yet," remarked Szacki. "Go on."

The little girl quickly turned over a card - a robin. She frowned. She reached for the card lying nearest to her and hesitated. She glanced enquiringly at her father. Szacki knew the robin was there, but he just shrugged his shoulders. He wasn't going to help today. Helka changed her mind and turned over a different card - a badger.

"Oh no!" she groaned.

"Oh yes," replied Szacki, gathering up both robins. Three more pairs to get, and only two behind. He knew what the remaining cards were. He stuck his tongue out at his daughter and turned over the same badger as she had just done.

Helka hid her face in her hands.

"I don't want to look," she announced.

Szacki pretended to be wondering.

"Now, where was that second badger? Did we ever find him?"

Helka nodded, looking at him through her fingers. Szacki suspended a hand over the badger card. His daughter squeezed her eyelids shut. He laughed to himself, reached out and turned over a card with - some raspberries.

"Oh no!" he groaned.

"Oh yes," cried Helka, quickly picking up the remaining three pairs, and threw her arms around his neck.

"So who's the Queen of the Lotto?"

"I'm the King of the Lotto," he cheekily claimed.

"No you're not!"

"Yes I am! Losing today was the exception."

The door banged shut. Weronika was home.

"Mummy, do you know how many times I beat Daddy at ludo?"

"No, I don't."

"Three times. And once at lotto."

"Wonderful, maybe you should play football for Legia Warsaw."

Szacki put the lotto away in its box, got up from the floor and went into the hall. His wife tossed her tricolour scarf on a hook. She was dressed for the match - thin polo neck, anorak, jeans, ankle-high sneakers. Contact lenses instead of gla.s.ses. The stadium on azienkowska Street wasn't a good place to show off your charms.

"Don't say they were beaten."