Blind Fury (13 page)

“Young wife, young family, and as you described her, a slag coming round hitting on you. I bet you didn’t like it, did you, Eric?” Barolli leaned in closer.

“No, I fucking didn’t. I made sure she didn’t come to the house.”

“So she did threaten to tell your wife?”

Eric stood up, towering above Barolli. “Listen, pal, are you looking for a smack in the face? I don’t like what you are insinuating. I’ve been honest with you about Maggie, but if you think I’d be worried about any threat she made to screw up my marriage, then you have got it wrong.”

“But she did threaten? Come on, you must have been really pissed off after what you’d done for her.”

“Please sit down, Eric,” Anna said quietly.

Eric sat down in his chair. There was a long pause, and gradually, he calmed himself down. “As I said, you have got it all wrong, mate. Despite all the shit life had thrown at her, Maggie was one of the nicest women I’ve ever met, and she got upset when I told her not to come to the house. Yeah, okay, she did say something about my wife not really knowing how close we’d been and that I wouldn’t like her spilling the beans about us, but she promised that she wouldn’t come over again. She said we could just meet on the odd times, like in the café I told you about.”

“So this last time you saw her, did you part on amicable terms?”

Anna touched Barolli to warn him to move away from the desk.

Eric nodded.

“Didn’t you feel guilty about walking away from her? You knew she was desperate, had nowhere to live, and was working the service stations.”

“Yeah, I knew, but like I also told you, I had warned her over and again not to take risks and said that if she was in real need, of course I’d be there for her. I just didn’t want her calling me at home or turning up whenever the fancy took her.”

Again there was a lengthy pause, and then Eric addressed Anna. “I used to care about her, and all the bad times she’d been through with my arsehole of a brother, losing her kids, being knocked around, sometimes even hospitalized. Despite all that, I never saw her cry—she was a bloody punching bag, and yet she didn’t cry—but that last time I saw her, I turned round as I walked out of the café and she was crying. So yeah, I felt bad, and you can imagine how I felt when I found out she’d been murdered.”

Anna stood up and thanked him for talking to them. As she made to head out, Eric pushed back his chair.

“Instead of wasting time talking to me, you should be out there trying to find who killed her, because she didn’t deserve that. No way did she deserve that.”

As they reached Anna’s Mini, Barolli received a call from the incident room. Anna sat waiting for him in the car. It had been, as she had anticipated, an unproductive interview, and they had not gained any new information apart from the fact that their victim had made some halfhearted threat—unless she had read Eric incorrectly and the threat was taken seriously by him, enough to make him want to get rid of Margaret permanently.

Barolli got into the car. “A woman called in after seeing the TV requests for info. She reckons the last victim came into her charity shop and bought the jacket shown on the TV. It’s a cancer-research shop over in New Malden. Maybe it won’t be a wasted morning after all.”

Chapter Five

A
nna and Barolli parked up in a side road by the Waitrose car park, then walked along New Malden’s High Street. There were numerous charity shops, and Barolli double-checked that it was a cancer charity, as there was a children-in-need shop and a heart-foundation shop all within a short distance.

“Lot of Chinese live around here,” Barolli said as they passed a Japanese grocery shop. There were several sushi delis, and High Street was busy with the big department store called Tudor Williams. Every store appeared to be having a sale.

The cancer charity shop was well positioned, with a window display of women’s clothes, china, and children’s toys.

“Well, this looks affluent—must be all the Chinese,” Barolli waffled. “Those boots in the window look very small, don’t they?”

Anna didn’t pay him much attention. It was a long way from Hendon and Ronald Kelly’s business. In fact, it was a village atmosphere. She gave Barolli a nudge, as he was still peering into the window display. They entered the shop.

The assistant, Eileen Mayle, an elderly woman wearing a pink twinset with pearls, had eagerly written down all she could remember on a notepad while waiting. She could describe the redheaded victim, but as the police had shown her photograph on the TV program, they couldn’t rely on this too much as a positive sighting. However, she also spoke of the victim as having a strong accent, possibly Polish, and explained that the reason she recalled this customer was because she had tried to buy the jacket, which was priced at six pounds, with a fifty-pound note. The shop assistants always paid close attention to anyone trying to use fifty-pound notes, because they had been caught out a number of times. In the past, customers had bought a couple of small items for a few pounds and then, having taken their change, left the shop. Later, the notes had been found to be forgeries, so the staff now refused to accept them. The girl was even more memorable because she returned a while later with the correct amount of money to buy the coat.

“Did you think it was a fake fifty-pound note?” Anna asked.

“I couldn’t honestly say, and I didn’t have the marker pen to test it, so I couldn’t take it. She took a while to understand, as, like I said, she didn’t speak good English, and the reason I think she might have been Polish is because I had a cleaner from there once and the accents were similar.”

“Was she alone?”

“Yes, she seemed to be, and I’d never seen her before.”

“Thank you very much, Eileen. You have been very helpful. If there is anything else you can remember, please call this number.” Anna passed over her card.

“I’ve been trying to think of her name, because I wrote a note to keep the jacket for her, and in case I wasn’t here, I put it on the bag under the counter. I’ve been racking my brains to remember, because I’d pinned it to the bag, but she took it with her.”

This was almost too good to be true.

“And did you remember it?” Anna asked eagerly.

“Well, not her surname, but her Christian name was Estelle.”

The next port of call was the Polish embassy in Portland Place. Anna and Barolli sat in her Mini as they checked some facts about immigration. Barolli scrolled through the information.

“They’ve got this Works Registration Scheme introduced in 2004 when the new countries joined the European Union. This allows the UK to monitor where citizens, say from Poland, are coming into our labor market. They’ve got to register under this scheme if they want to work for an employer.”

“Well, let’s hope we get some luck with Estelle.”

Armed with the photograph of their victim, Anna asked if the embassy personnel could assist in identifying her. It was a tedious interview, with a number of the staff who at first were certain she had never been to the embassy, and it was not until Anna asked if the bar and kitchen workers could also be questioned that they got a result.

A waitress, whose English was poor, was brought to meet them as they waited in a small lounge. They used a barman to act as interpreter, as the girl became flustered when questioned. She was certain the victim was a girl called Estelle Dubcek who had worked as a relief waitress on two occasions. She did not know where she lived, and said that Estelle had not been at the embassy for several months, but she thought she was working as an au pair somewhere in Knightsbridge.

Returning to the station, Barolli kept on moaning about how people would not come forward. If their victim was Estelle and she had worked in Knightsbridge, why hadn’t the host family made contact after the extensive press coverage? Anna asked Barbara to start checking all the domestic employment agencies in the Knightsbridge area, and at the same time to contact Interpol and Passport Control. By six o’clock they had no further development; it was yet another frustrating day.

Just as Anna was getting ready to leave the station, Barbara received a call from a Mrs. Henderson who lived in Walton Street, close to Harrods. She said she had been contacted by the domestic agency she had used to hire an au pair for her two young children. The girl she had hired from the agency had lasted only a few months before she had to return to Poland for a family bereavement. Knowing she was leaving her boss without help, the au pair had suggested a friend whom she had met at the Polish embassy. The girl was no longer working for Mrs. Henderson and had not been for the past few months, but she had been called Estelle Dubcek.

Anna asked why the agency had made contact if the au pair did not come to her via them.

“Because I complained about the original girl they sent to me, and they would have replaced her, but when I said I had already hired Estelle, they got quite unpleasant.”

Anna arranged to call on Mrs. Henderson that evening. The house was impressive, and Mrs. Henderson, an American, was an elegant and rather brittle woman who explained to Anna that she and her family would be leaving England in two months’ time. The house was only leased, and the bank her husband worked for had recalled him to America.

“My children have already left with their nanny. I used the agency for the au pairs to help her out mostly on the weekend, as that is her time off. But as I mentioned to you, I was not that happy with them, and they cost a fortune.”

Mrs. Henderson gestured for Anna to sit down. It was a well-decorated large room with long bay windows overlooking Walton Street. The sofas and chairs were covered in pale yellow damask and matched the draped curtains. A large ornate fireplace with a fake log fire had a long glass-topped table in front of it, stacked with
Vogue
and
Tatler
magazines.

“Can you tell me what you know about Estelle?”

“Well, not that much, really. She was pleasant enough, but her English was poor, and to be honest, it wasn’t an ideal arrangement. And then when we got the news to pack up, I didn’t bother replacing her.”

Anna showed her the photograph taken of the victim, but only a head shot. Mrs. Henderson recognized her straightaway.

“Yes, that’s Estelle, she had long red hair. Has something happened to her?”

“Yes, she was murdered.”

“Oh dear God, that’s dreadful.”

“So I will need to know all you can tell me about her.”

Mrs. Henderson shook her head. “There’s not a lot I can add to what I have already said.”

“Did she live in?” Anna prompted.

“For the first month she did, but it wasn’t really working out, as she wasn’t used to looking after small children. She couldn’t cook, and she spent most of the time reading. I honestly didn’t see a lot of her; the only reason she was here was because the other girl had to go back to Poland.”

“Where did she go after she moved out?”

“Back to wherever she was living before, I presume. She would come in on a daily basis but stay over on the weekends when I really needed her.”

“Do you have an address?”

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t. I did have a mobile phone number for her.”

“Do you still have it?”

“Yes, it will be in my phone—and I also have a bag belonging to her. When I told her she would no longer be required, she was truculent about it, but I explained why, that we were going back to the States, and she accepted it and left.”

“And this was when, exactly?”

Mrs. Henderson crossed to a desk and opened a drawer, taking out a leather-bound diary. “Three months ago. I paid her for the next month, expecting her to at least stay over the following weekend, but she never returned.”

Anna asked if Mrs. Henderson could show her the bag Estelle had left. It was a cheap black haversack, containing a nightdress and underwear, a pair of socks, and three English-language books. There was also a lined notebook with jottings and spellings, obviously used by Estelle to learn written English. They also could see that the spelling of her name was Dubcek. There was nothing else—no phone numbers or addresses. Anna thanked Mrs. Henderson and left, taking the haversack with her.

She would have liked to go straight home, as by now it was after seven, but she persuaded herself to return to the station to share what she had just learned.

At eight o’clock, Anna was still at her desk working on her report. Making sure she had done everything by the book, she passed the haversack to the property lockup. Mrs. Henderson had also given her the contact number and address in Poland for the previous au pair, whose name was Katia Rieika. With luck, they could track her down to ask for more details about Estelle. But first Anna rang Estelle’s mobile phone number. To her surprise, it was answered straightaway.

The voice had a heavy accent and it took a moment for Anna to ask who she was speaking to.

“Katia. Who is this, please?”

Anna explained slowly that she was trying to trace Estelle and believed that this was her mobile phone number.

“No, this number is mine. Estelle not here.”

It took considerable time to explain that it was very important for Anna to meet with Katia, as there was some concern about Estelle.

“She not here, she go away.”

Eventually, Katia agreed to meet. Anna would have preferred to see her the following morning, but Katia said she worked in a breakfast café and had to be at work early. So Anna asked if she could come and talk to her now.

Anna had to drive to Earl’s Court, and it was almost nine by the time she parked outside the address off Earl’s Court Road. The house had been divided into numerous studio flats. Rows of bells and scribbled notes were taped to the door to indicate the various occupants. Katia Rieika lived on the second floor, and as soon as Anna rang number twenty, the heavy door buzzed open.

A girl was leaning over the banisters as Anna looked up the wide, old-fashioned staircase. The hall was dusty, and a large table bore mail stacked in rows for the tenants. Mounds of flyers were heaped beneath it, along with old free newspapers and circulars.

Katia turned out to be a very attractive dark-haired girl dressed in a black woolen skirt and sweater. She ushered Anna into the studio room, which was spacious, containing two beds, a large wardrobe, and a small kitchen alcove. It was untidy, with clothes strewn around, and on a table were dirty mugs and food cartons.

Katia was impatient and had her mobile phone out, ready to show Anna.

“Did Estelle use your phone?”

“Yes. Only when she needed it, but it is my phone, I pay for it. I can prove it. I got the last bill two days ago. You want it?”

Anna said that she would like to see it. She then sat on an old floral-covered easy chair and opened her briefcase to show Katia the photograph of Estelle. The other girl recognized her and was distressed when told she had been murdered.

“I need to know everything you can tell me about her,” Anna said.

Katia picked up a box of tissues and wiped her eyes, then sat by the table, getting over the shock. Estelle had been living with her for a while but couldn’t find work until Katia told her about Mrs. Henderson.

“I tell Mrs. Henderson that I go back to Poland, but I just didn’t want to work for her anymore. Pay was not good, and I did not like her, and she made me do cleaning and ironing as well as looking after the children. So I suggested Estelle work for her, as she needed money. She owed me rent and kept on borrowing from me. I work two jobs now, one in the café, and then I work nights in a club. I earn three times the money.”

Bit by bit, Anna learned that Estelle had not registered to work in the UK and had come to England via France eighteen months ago. She had met Katia at the Polish embassy, and they became friends. At first she had slept on Katia’s floor, as there was another girl sharing the studio, but when she left, Estelle moved in. She had then taken over Katia’s job with Mrs. Henderson.

“When she didn’t come back here, didn’t you feel concerned?”

“No, I think she live in with Mrs. Henderson, and my boyfriend was here, so it was okay.”

“But she used your mobile phone?”

“Yes, sometimes, but I ask for it back because I need it.”

“Did Estelle have a boyfriend?”

“No. I don’t think she have one. She was doing house-cleaning for a while, but not much money.”

“Did she have any friends that I could talk to?”

“No. She didn’t know nobody, and I work early in mornings, so I didn’t see much of her, and she lived in at Mrs. Henderson’s.”

“But that was only on weekends.”

“Look, I tell you everything. I got someone else living with me now. I don’t know nothing else about her.”

“What about family?”

Katia shrugged and said that Estelle maybe had someone she knew in Manchester, but who it was, she didn’t know. She got up and opened one of the wardrobes, taking out a large cheap canvas suitcase. “I got this, all her things inside, but she don’t come back for it. I don’t want it, I need the space.”

Anna sighed and tried to think of a way of getting more information out of Katia, but the girl was becoming impatient to leave for work.

“Did you notice anything else missing?” Anna asked.

“No. There was a backpack—is that what you call it? A small thing, and an overnight bag. They not here; she maybe took them with her.”