Speechless Read online

  I ate toast and drank a cup of instant coffee, before showering, and then I found some clean clothes. My car still needed cleaning but listening to Elvis singing ‘Johnnie B Goode’ cast the dream into a dark corner. I reached Queen Street in good time and parked alongside Boyd’s newly cleaned Fiesta.

  At the office I sat by my desk, suppressing the desire to yawn violently. A message from the front desk told me that Kamil was back, sitting in reception.

  Boyd looked smart and fresh when he walked into my room unannounced. He had the sleeves of his heavily striped shirt folded high up his arms and he chewed on an apple.

  ‘Sleep well?’ I asked, giving the apple an inquisitive look.

  ‘Slept like a baby, no interruptions.’ He almost sounded relieved. ‘Mandy’s idea,’ he said, holding out the apple in his hand. ‘Have to eat more fibre.’

  ‘Kamil’s back,’ I said.

  ‘He’s turning into a time waster.’

  I nodded. ‘We’ll give him ten minutes max.’

  * * *

  I pushed a plastic mug over the table towards Kamil. It had in it a rancid-looking liquid that passed for coffee. He had a pack of roll-your-own tobacco on the table by the side of a battered Nokia and a set of keys with various fobs, one of which was pink and fluffy. The dark-grey stubble around his face and the heavy bags under his eyes made him look older.

  I sipped some water and Boyd, sitting by my side, was running his tongue around the inside of his cheek, a look of irritation on his face – he wasn’t accustomed, I imagine, to pieces of apple lodging between his teeth.

  ‘I told you yesterday; unless you can help us then you’re wasting our time.’

  He started chewing a nail and glancing up at me. ‘It is no easy.’

  ‘What are you frightened of?’

  ‘I no sleep last night.’

  ‘Did you know Leon?’ I began.

  He fidgeted with the tobacco pouch. I could feel the crumpled remains of the Marlboros in my shirt pocket – I got the feeling it was likely to be the sort of day during which my five-a-day would become ten.

  ‘For sure.’

  ‘What’s the connection to Michal?’

  He averted his eyes. ‘They work together.’

  I tried another tack.

  ‘Stop pissing about. You’re wasting my time. I’ve got a murderer to find and you’re pulling my chain. Either you tell us what you know or you can leave now.’

  He gave me a startled look and played with the lighter on the table. He let out a vague sort of cough and cleared his throat. ‘You know Frankie Prince?’

  I crossed my arms and lowered my head slightly.

  ‘He is big gangster in Cardiff,’ Kamil continued.

  Tell me something I don’t fucking know.

  ‘He runs the Four Seasons,’ I said.

  ‘Michal and Leon worked for him in the club…’

  ‘Doing what?’

  He looked up and gave me a surprised look. ‘Security.’

  ‘Where did they work?’ I thought about the security checks for doormen but, being Polish, they had no record in the UK and that made them ideal candidates.

  ‘In the clubs and all over Cardiff.’

  Kamil averted his eyes – lying again.

  ‘Doing what?’ I raised my voice.

  ‘I tell you. Security.’

  ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling the truth?’

  ‘I tell truth.’

  But he sounded unconvincing. Boyd and I sat and stared at him.

  ‘I think we’re finished,’ I said, pushing my chair backwards.

  He straightened in his chair and put the lighter down by the side of the tobacco pouch. ‘He go work with the whores.’ He spat out the last word.

  It was my turn to straighten my posture and concentrate. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He go work with Frankie Prince and Lech Balinski in Whitchurch and other places.’

  We were making progress. Boyd scribbled notes as Kamil spoke.

  ‘What do you mean, “whores”?’

  ‘The massage parlours and other places.’

  ‘What other places? Kamil, we’re going to be here all day unless you give us the details.’

  After half an hour, maybe a little more, Kamil slumped back in his chair. It was a neat arrangement. Frankie Prince ran massage parlours that doubled as brothels and recently he’d been bringing in girls from Eastern Europe. He operated from houses all over Cardiff and Michal and Leon were the hired help. They had a smattering of Hungarian and Latvian too, so paying for them to keep the girls in check made economic sense.

  ‘They are slaves.’ Kamil sounded angry.

  ‘Is that where Michal was working on the night he was killed?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Do you know the addresses of the houses that Frankie uses?’

  Kamil shook his head.

  ‘So who is Lech Balinski?’ I asked.

  Kamil raised his head and I saw the fear crossing his eyes. ‘He is gangster too. From Łódź. He kill many people for money.’

  ‘He’s an assassin?’

  Kamil knotted his forehead.

  ‘I mean – people pay him to kill other people,’ I said.

  ‘No. He give people money and if they no pay back, then bang. People fucked.’

  ‘And Frankie Prince…?’ I was beginning to get the feeling I knew where he fitted in.

  Kamil shrugged. There was the Aston and the club and the house in the Vale and the health club. And it had all happened in the last two years. Frankie Prince had gone up in the world very quickly.

  * * *

  The bacon sandwich I’d eaten for lunch was giving me heartburn by early afternoon and no amount of moving around or drinking more water was helping. I was expecting Superintendent Cornock to arrive with the two DCs assigned to the case, but I hadn’t expected to see him in full uniform. His jacket looked newly dry-cleaned, the creases of his trousers were crisp, and the cap that he placed carefully on the desk was gleaming.

  ‘Good afternoon, everyone.’

  I recognised the two officers standing by his side.

  I first knew Phil Woods from my time in Pontypridd when he transferred from traffic to CID and was keen to make his mark, but I knew within a week that he’d take a long time to succeed. I nodded at Joe Lawson, trying to conceal my opinion that he should have retired long ago. He was a good two stone overweight, his chin hung over his collar and crimson blotches were developing at the end of his nose.

  ‘This is Phil Woods and Joe Lawson. I’m sure they need no introductions. I can’t stress how important it is to get a result here. The Chief Constable is taking a personal interest in the progress of the case. With the second murder to investigate we mustn’t leave anything to chance. If the Polish community is under threat in any way then we need to find the killer fast.’

  He pulled back his jacket sleeve to look at his watch.

  ‘I’ll leave you in the hands of Detective Inspector Marco. I’ve got a meeting in headquarters with the Chief Constable.’

  Cornock picked up his cap in one hand and brushed an imaginary piece of dust from its peak, before putting it onto his head. He gave me a nod that said get-on-with-it and I nodded back.

  Woods and Lawson relaxed once Cornock had left.

  I moved a couple of paces into the space where Cornock had stood and looked at the team. ‘We’ve got two Poles in the mortuary, one with his tongue amputated, and two human tongues. One of which is from a body we haven’t found – assuming that the person is dead. Then we’ve got a shed-load of animal tongues that we have to assume are a warning to the Polish community not to talk to us. Phil, Joe, both of you need to call on all the Polish shops in Cardiff and dig around. Boyd and I are going to the factory where Leon and Michal worked.’

  * * *

  The receptionist was still struggling with her English, as I tried to get her to understand that I had to see somebody in authority.

  ‘
Manager away,’ she said.

  ‘I know, I saw. Him. The day. He left,’ I said, as though she were deaf.

  ‘What you want?’

  ‘Boss,’ I said.

  She picked up the telephone without breaking eye contact and spoke quickly. Soon enough a thin woman with a large flowing skirt in flat shoes came through a door and introduced herself. I explained that I needed to interview the staff on Leon’s shift

  I could see her thinking. It seemed to be a taxing process, but eventually she led us through into a room in the middle of the building.

  ‘We want to speak to Pietrek Nowak and Gerek Kalka.’

  She gave me a blank, vacant look. ‘They’re not here.’

  I felt a brief stab of worry.

  ‘Are they late? When do you expect them to arrive?’

  ‘I’ll find the shift supervisor.’

  It must have been less than ten minutes, but it felt like longer before she pushed open the door and a chubby-faced man with heavy glasses and a pronounced paunch followed her.

  ‘This is Adam Bachar.’

  ‘How can I help?’ The accent was thick and heavy.

  ‘We wanted to interview Pietrek and Gerek.’

  Bachar hadn’t shaved that morning and he kept rubbing his nose with the back of his hand, sniffing simultaneously.

  ‘Gerek not here. Sick, for many days.’

  I stopped making notes and looked at him, a grain of anxiety gathering in my mind.

  ‘When did you see him last?’

  ‘Few days. He rang, say that sick.’ He opened his mouth wide and pushed his tongue out.

  ‘Did you speak to him?’

  ‘No. Message with girl in office.’

  ‘And Pietrek – he should be working today. Has he made contact?’

  ‘No. Manager very pissed.’

  The answer heightened my unease. ‘Did you know Leon Ostrowski?’

  ‘For sure, he work here.’

  ‘Did you know of anyone who would want to kill Leon?’

  He leant forward. ‘Leon was nice man and good friend.’

  ‘Did he talk to you about everything?’

  ‘What you mean?’

  ‘Did he have any worries? Anything on his mind? Was he frightened of anything?’

  He shrugged slowly. ‘He was quiet last few months. He no go out too often. Usually Saturday night we get drunk, but not so much now. He had girlfriend maybe.’

  ‘Who was she?’ I sounded casual.

  Another shrug and I sensed my irritation rising. ‘Does anyone know her? Does Gerek know who she is?’

  He made a scrawny smile, showing some yellow teeth. ‘Leon, Gerek and Pietrek, good friends. Best mates, you say.’

  * * *

  A new fish swam around in the tank; it was a bright-orange colour with flashes of white and blue on its head, like an American Indian in a cowboy film. A stream of bubbles rose from a pipe connected to a pump and the glass was pristine and polished. Cornock dropped small quantities of food onto the surface of the water. The aquarium had arrived when his daughter first became an addict. It was a coping mechanism, something to distract him. Just as I’d convinced myself I wasn’t a drunk by only drinking one glass from a bottle of wine and re-corking it, only to open another bottle later the same evening. What harm could one glass do?

  Cornock glided a hand over the gel on his hair as he sat down. The paperwork on his desk was still a foot deep and I wondered if this was the fate that awaited me if I ever passed the interviews for promotion.

  ‘So what does Dr Paddy say about the second death?’ he said.

  ‘Single knife wound to the heart.’

  ‘Anything else, John?’

  ‘Looks like there could be a connection to Frankie Prince and his flesh trade. They’re bringing in girls from Eastern Europe. Maybe underage girls and Michal was a minder. He was Polish, spoke their language.’

  Cornock raised an eyebrow and looked over at the aquarium. ‘Be careful of Frankie Prince. He could make trouble.’

  ‘I know, sir. We’ve also got the name of another Pole who’s involved – a Lech Balinski. Could be nothing, but we’ll look into it. Frankie Prince has got ahead very quickly and there’s a suggestion this Pole could be the money.’

  Cornock got up and bent over a pile of papers, sifting through them.

  ‘There’s a report in the middle of all this rubbish.’

  I glanced over at the aquarium. A purple-nosed fish pushed its face from the door of a plastic castle and then rushed around the tank after the orange fish.

  After a couple of minutes Cornock yanked out a glossy bound report and pushed it towards me.

  ‘Better read this.’

  Chapter 12

  The following morning Boyd bowled into my office, holding the remains of a banana.

  ‘I’ve had the result of the DVLA check on the car Dagmara saw,’ he said, waving a printed sheet in his hand.

  ‘And?’

  ‘Car is owned by Ringtone Investments.’

  I waited for all the details. Boyd continued. ‘It’s a company that runs a couple of garages, one in Pontypridd, the other in the Cowbridge. I did a directors search.’

  ‘Get to the point, Boyd.’

  ‘Frankie Prince,’ he said simply. ‘He owns the company.’

  I’d opened the window a couple of inches when I’d arrived that morning, but the room was still muggy and I ran a finger around my collar. I motioned for him to sit down. It was the nearest we’d got to making any progress.

  ‘Good,’ I said, not quite certain if I knew where this piece of information would take us. ‘We’ll need more than circumstantial links to Frankie Prince.’ I reached for the telephone and dialled Alvine’s number.

  ‘Dix,’ Alvine answered, with an undercurrent of menace in her voice.

  ‘Alvine. Anything in Leon’s possessions?’

  ‘John.’ She sounded frustrated. ‘You know it’ll take days to get all the forensics done.’

  ‘Anything at all?’

  ‘Clothes, books and some paperwork and then fingerprints all over the room. It hadn’t been cleaned for weeks, maybe months.’

  Boyd sat listening as he finished the banana, then he tossed the skin into the bin. It landed on the rim, one side of the flesh hanging out.

  ‘Boyd’ll be over for the exhibits later,’ I said, nodding to Boyd.

  ‘I’m leaving early tonight,’ Alvine replied.

  ‘Another date?’

  ‘Fuck off, Marco.’

  I didn’t get time for more pleasantries before the line went dead. Boyd looked over at me. ‘Alvine has a date?’

  I nodded. ‘Mr Incredible.’

  * * *

  ‘What do you reckon?’ Boyd said. ‘Is he in there?’

  I sat next to Boyd in an unmarked car looking up at a block of flats, trying to avoid the inquisitive glances from kids circling on their bikes. The address we had for Gerek Kalka was a flat in Grangetown and we’d parked alongside some bins by a row of garages.

  ‘Let’s find out,’ I said, tugging at the car door.

  Dog shit and empty beer cans littered the stairwell to the first floor landing and a nasty smell hung in the air. I thumped the front door, which badly needed painting, and stood back. I noticed the blinds in the adjacent flat moving slightly.

  I heard a voice, muffled at first, behind the door, calling out to someone. Good chance Gerek was in then. I gave the door another couple of blows with my fist. After a few seconds – it felt longer – there was a scratching sound as a chain was drawn in place.

  ‘Police,’ I said, once the door opened enough for me to see a man’s face on the other side. I pressed my warrant card to the gap to make certain he understood.

  ‘What you want?’

  ‘Can we come in?’

  ‘Tell me why you come.’

  I could see an unshaven face, a mass of greasy hair and a dark T-shirt.

  ‘Is Gerek in?’

  ‘Why…?
’

  ‘Is he in or not?’

  The door closed and the chain fell to one side. The temperature in the flat was tropical and I hesitated in the doorway. I walked around the pile of unwashed clothes that were responsible for the tacky, heavy smell in the tiny hallway.

  We followed the man into the kitchen and he filled a kettle before folding his arms and pulling them towards his chest tightly.

  ‘Does Gerek live here?’

  ‘He is away.’

  The accent was Eastern European and he spoke quickly, telling us his name was Aleksy.

  ‘Has he been ill?’

  He shrugged and looked at the kettle.

  ‘How many people live here?’

  ‘Four.’

  ‘Who else lives here?’

  ‘Nobody.’

  ‘I heard you talking to someone.’

  He gave me a surly look and then shouted something in Polish or Hungarian or Latvian. The girl with the short skirt from the factory reception came out of the bedroom down the corridor and gave me a blank stare. I stared back; so did Boyd: she was only wearing a thin bra and knickers.

  I said to Aleksy, ‘When did you see Gerek last?’

  ‘A week, maybe more. He is away.’

  ‘Where do you work?’

  ‘In abattoir.’

  The smell of dead animals must have stuck to his clothes and then clung to the wallpaper, curtains, carpets and every surface in the flat. The kettle boiled. He opened a cupboard door and reached for a jar of coffee.

  ‘Where is Gerek’s room?’

  ‘It is locked and I no have key,’ he said, without turning his head.

  ‘Which room?’

  He pointed his head towards the hall and the stairs to the first floor. ‘Number 4.’

  At the top of the stairs were two rooms, each with a number screwed to the door, and there was another odd smell coming from the bathroom. I stared at the number four and tried the handle. I rattled it a couple of times.

  ‘We need to see inside,’ I said.

  ‘We haven’t got a warrant,’ Boyd said.

  ‘We’ve got reasonable grounds…’