Polychrome (22 page)

Bartol didn’t know where to start the day. What he’d most
willingly have done was go to see Magda and tell her about
what had happened the previous day, less willingly, he'd have
gone to see prosecutor Pilski about the same thing. Unable to
decide, he chose a third option. He went to headquarters.

Soon it was clear that it was the best solution. True enough,
he didn’t discover what was happening to Polek, who’d taken
a day off, but he did find out that he wouldn’t be talking to
Pilski in the near future. Lentz informed him that Pilski, leaving
all his cases aside, had asked for a month’s leave in order to
take care of his mother – apparently. Nobody had believed
him, either – apparently. Someone had even asked jokingly
what his fiancée would say, to which he’d replied that he’d
look into her grievances at a later date. Lentz summed it up in
one sentence: all sorts of assumptions were being made. Bartol
made his too. Pilski’s version seemed perfectly true to him:
he’d broken up with his fiancée – which Bartol considered
the right move and had decided to take care of his mother
– which was a good excuse. Lentz accepted the explanation
with an indifferent expression, which meant something like
‘you obviously know what you’re talking about’ and without
any questions showed Bartol a letter lying on his desk. It was
from Pilski:

I’m at your disposal at any time. I now have to take care of
my mother. You know the address at which to find me. See
you soon.

A phone call from downstairs threw him a little. Romana
Zalewska was waiting to speak to him. He’d almost forgotten
about her.

Surprise would remain on his face for much longer. The first
thing she announced was: ‘Because the light was on.’
Once they were upstairs, she was the first to speak again: ‘I
didn’t think I’d find myself here again either, and as if for the
same reason.’
‘I’m pleased to see you again, of course, but please repeat
what brought you here.’
‘I know it’s going to sound strange yet again, but the light
was on, in the evening, a couple of days ago.’
It did sound strange. He had in front of his eyes what
seemingly was the same woman: composed, resolute, even
more attractive in spring, but this seemed to verge on obsession.
He didn’t really know what was happening to the house in
Solacz. All he knew was that it was the subject of complicated,
relatively rare legal procedures since no owner had been found.
And that no owner had been found he knew full well, but this
surely didn’t mean that nobody could enter. It could have been
some police experts, for example.
‘You don’t have to look at me so strangely. I haven’t gone mad
,even though the silhouette I saw in the window also seemed
familiar. Over the four days since I first saw the light’ – she
emphasised the last words in such a way that Bartol sat up and
started to listen like he had the last time – ‘I’ve been checking
what’s happening with the house and whether it could have
been strangers. Maybe it was, but not necessarily. There are
so many people interested in the house that even the smallest
pieces of information go through the lawyers opposite, two
design offices and one over-advertised advertising agency.
Even I, when I enquired, started to be treated like an enemy
in a battle for the property. That’s why it’s taken so much time.
Apparently nobody had been there, or at least nobody who
shouldn’t have been. No burglars either, as I checked by egging
on the lawyers. They raised the alarm, needlessly so according
to your men. But I saw a light on in there!’
‘I believe you. Up until now you haven’t been wrong about
matters concerning lights.’
‘Nor am I professionally wrong in these cases. A dispersed
and concealed source of light is almost my sign of identification.’
She relaxed a little.
‘I associate you with light, too.’ They both smiled. ‘I’ll look
into it. You mentioned a silhouette?’
‘Far-reaching assumptions they sometimes say, but mine
go even further, are just about visible. And I’m no longer sure
if it’s not a figment of my imagination, but I think – I repeat – I
think I saw Mr and Mrs Mikulski’s son through the window.
I know he didn’t come forward as a beneficiary and wasn’t at
Mrs Mikulska’s funeral so he’s probably not here. Maybe I saw
a ghost, even though I don’t believe in them. Either way, I had
to come and tell you for my own peace of mind.’
She did, indeed, look relieved. Bartol, on the other hand, was
trying hard, very hard to remain calm. He tried, too, not to show
either surprise or excitement or anything at all. Slowly, everything
started to fall into place. He leaned back in his chair, practically
sat on his fingers to stop them drumming nervously on the table,
stop them rubbing his nose, stop them making any unnecessary,
treacherous moves. The police were supposedly looking for the
son, but he blamed himself for having neglected this trail a little.
Lentz had been right, yet again – the simplest solution.
‘He’s probably not in Poland. He didn’t come forward about
the estate. He’s not obliged, of course, but as you can understand,
it’s quite a profitable duty.’ It seemed to him that she had, in some
way, been waiting for such an answer. ‘But I’ll try to find out who
could have been prowling around the house. I never asked you
before’ – he now angrily crushed his hands harder, controlled
his voice – ‘but, as I gather, you knew him well?’
‘Even if you’d asked at the time I don’t know whether I’d
have told you. It wasn’t a relationship… there’s no relationship
really…’ For the first time he saw her lose her self-control; the
unintended cluster of words, an ordinary slip of the tongue
openly revealed what she hadn’t intended to say but what he’d
intended to ask. ‘No, the two things had simply nothing to do
with each other.’
‘Please don’t get upset, I’m not interested in your personal
life. You came of your own accord because there was something
worrying you and we’re here to resolve your worries. That’s all.’
‘I’m sorry, you’re right. All in all, it’s easier for me to explain
my agitation now. Perhaps what I saw in the window was what
I’d subconsciously wanted to see. Then I blew it all up because
if it had been Janek he, too, could have been in danger.’
‘Please don’t be angry, but I’m obliged to ask: when did you
last see Jan Mikulski?’
‘Four days ago, so I thought. I’ve just told you.’
‘Yes, of course, but you’re not sure. And for sure?’
‘Ten, no, maybe twelve years ago.’ She paused. It seemed
she even blushed, although it was hard for blushes to break
through the layer of powder. ‘I know it might seem strange,
maybe ridiculous, I was much older…’
‘No, it’s not strange and it’s not ridiculous…’ he said almost
to himself, thinking how like Elżbieta Ogrodniczak she was.
Younger but similarly tense, draped, uniformed, upright, even
her hair was tied back in a similar way although with a fringe,
the eyes were also somehow… It was only the two deep furrows
which appeared on her increasingly frowning forehead that
brought him to order.
‘The fact that I’m telling you something doesn’t mean I need
you to comfort or justify me. Two years of effective therapy were
enough for me to be able to justify everything to myself. We
won’t delve into it now. The short-term episode ended equally
as quickly and unexpectedly as it had begun, that’s all.’
He wasn’t good at talking to these women. Again he was
furious with himself. Try as he may, everything pointed to the
fact that he could only interview women of questionable quality.
‘I’m sorry, that wasn’t what I’d wanted to say.’
‘I know what you wanted to say.’ She started to get up.
‘No, you don’t.’ A sharper tone of voice seemed the only
solution. It worked. She looked at him with a hint of interest,
and sat down. ‘You’re an attractive woman and I guess the same
must have applied ten years ago – although I’m not sure it would
have been true twenty years ago, as far as I remember from your
photograph as a student, that’s all.’ She smiled, clearly pleased
with what he’d said. ‘As a pure formality I just want to ask: was
there a specific reason why Jan Mikulski left the country and
can’t or doesn’t want to return?’ he asked as calmly as can be,
as if indifferently, as if he wasn’t greatly interested.
‘I don’t know. Probably for the same reasons as other
young men. Besides, he’d been adopted and didn’t have a very
good relationship with his adoptive father. But he did love his
mother very much. I asked him straight out and he evaded the
question, merely saying that silence is a virtue and he wasn’t
going to say anything because – I remember this – a wise
man will remain silent until the right moment. And one day
he’d explain. Some such nonsense. I had no illusions. He was
young, wanted to leave and left. Mrs Bończak didn’t say anybody
like that had been at his mother’s funeral so he’s probably
not back. You confirm it, so I must have seen somebody else.
Probably someone’s got keys to the house and as, a friendly
gesture or for a couple of złotys, is showing it to interested
parties. Still, I’m glad I came. You’ve reassured me,’ she said
in a relaxed voice.
Bartol’s head, on the other hand, was racing, racing to
his desk, racing to Lentz, racing to Magda. Everything had
become clear. Of course, someone had taken care of the child,
the unwanted child of a sacrilegious union, and that child was
now thanking everyone for it. Only the dull repetition in his
head of the words ‘a wise man will remain silent until the right
moment’ kept him on his chair. He didn’t want to note anything
down; he wanted to wait. He must have had a foolish expression
on his face because now it was she who was looking at him
oddly. He took a deep breath.
‘Yes. It’s good you’ve come. And if, let’s say, the son were to
pay you a visit, please let us know. His statements could prove
very helpful.’ He smiled. He wanted to sound as natural as
possible and ask a few less important questions so she wouldn’t
go away convinced that she’d suggested who the main suspect
could be.
He opened his internal files and printed out Pilski’s
photograph. He wanted to make sure that, under the pretext
of taking a holiday, he wasn’t conducting some sort of private
investigation again.
‘Have you ever seen this man? Has he ever spoken to you?’
‘No. I’ve never seen him.’ She shrugged indifferently.
‘One last question.’ He reached into his file. ‘You know there
were a great many paintings in Mr and Mrs Mikulski’s house but
very few photographs. We found one in his escritoire, cut out of
a newspaper. Perhaps it’s of no significance, but since you’re here
maybe you know who it is.’ He congratulated himself ten-fold
for having taken a company folder from the Elizabeth Garden
Fun Factory warehouse. He’d taken it out of curiosity; only later
did he see, and cut out, a photograph from some anniversary
celebration showing the chairwoman, again in the background,
but clearly suggesting she was the subject in hand: all the rest of
the people were standing either in profile or the back. He passed
it to Romana Zalewska. She gazed at it with a blank expression.
‘I know that for a pretty meagre contact with Mr and Mrs
Mikulskis, I get around quite a bit. I don’t know the woman.
Because that’s who you mean, isn’t it?’ she looked at him
suspiciously.
‘I’ve already told you, we don’t know. Maybe it’s someone
they knew or maybe the photo just happened to be lying
around, but since you’re here I’m asking, that’s all.’
‘A domineering woman, a bit sad, not a bad figure, keeps
herself upright. No, I don’t know her; don’t think I’ve ever
seen her. You could ask Mrs Bończak. She once mentioned
an elegant, quarrelsome ballerina. Whether that concerned
Mikulski’s house or some other, I can’t tell you now.’

‘Yes, she was there, but how do you know this?’
He tried to call Magda not once, not twice, but fourteen times.
She didn’t pick up. He still hadn’t got used to it.

Lentz, as usual, picked up after the first ring and, as usual,
without needless questions resigned himself to setting aside
everything he’d been doing and concentrating solely on Jan
Mikulski, taking it to be a certainty that he was in Poland and
was their chief suspect. Bartol merely added that they were in
for a dreary procedural chase and the most recent photograph
they had was on Facebook from his last class.

Bartol didn’t have time to reach headquarters and see the
school photo before Magda phoned. Nor did he have time to
say anything about her not having picked up the phone. She
got there before him.

‘I couldn’t answer the phone but that doesn’t matter now.
Listen carefully because the phone doesn’t charge itself and is
going to run out of battery. How fast can you get to Gniezno?’

‘I’m in the car, but…’ Furious, he slipped into the lay-by.
He wasn’t prepared for such a conversation and had no time
to say anything.

‘Listen, I think I know who could have done it. In my opinion
it’s Antoniusz Mikulski’s son, the first victim's, but let’s not waste
time on details now, you’ve got to come here anyway. I’ll wait.’

‘In just under an hour,’ dumbstruck, he answered her
earlier question and, without asking anything else, added:
‘Where shall I go?’

‘The cathedral. There’s a large, very historical one, you’ll
find it. If my phone runs out, I’ll be there somewhere, probably
in the old chapter house. There’s a baroque polychrome here…’

‘Where? What?’
‘In the chapter house, surrounded by the virtues – literally.
The chapter house is where the chapter meets, in this case
where the entrance usually is. A polychrome is a multi-coloured
painting, on the ceiling in this case. Understand? Doesn’t matter if
you don’t. Call the woman and ask whether she’s found something
like a platter with the writing
Omnibus omnia
anywhere near her,
or two blades, knives, something like that, with the writing
Alter
alterius
since you think she’s the one concerned. I’m waiting.’
‘Spell it for me.’
Fortunately, she managed not only to sigh with patient
sufferance but to spell the Latin words before the connection
broke off.