Chapter 25
The sun shone on the drying tarmac of the car park, wisps of steam rising into the air. It’d only been a light shower, one of those where you look up and can’t find the cloud it’s coming from. The promise of a lovely day hung in the air.
“Why is it never sunny on your day off?”
“Murphy’s law, Boss,” Degsy replied as he sat down.
“Don’t bring me into it,” Spud muttered as she checked the papers on her knee.
Thurstan slumped back in his seat. “Ok, what have we got this morning?”
Degsy cleared his throat. “Darius McAvoy.”
The DCI raised an eyebrow. “To discuss or interview? Interview I hope.”
“Correct, Boss. Matrix Disruption locked him up first thing this morning. Sammy and the Strolling Bone are down at SAS and should be doing the business shortly. The only issue at present is a well-meaning custody officer let him have his free phone call.”
Thurstan twiddled with his pen. “And who did he phone?”
“Pay as you go mobile but it was obviously his girl. Looks like he’ll have set himself up with an alibi already.”
The DCI grimaced then said, “Searches?”
Degsy looked at Spud. She reshuffled her papers. “We’ve done his Mum’s. The night crew we had in the surveillance van; Chewy and Trigger, popped over and did it. Mum was ok, Trigger knows her from years ago apparently. Nothing of interest. No clothes or shoes there and she hasn’t seen him for quite a while. Meanwhile, we’ve had the stuff he was locked up in bagged and he’s in a paper suit now so, shortly, we should know who he phoned.”
“When she brings him his new gear.’ Thurstan smiled and nodded appreciatively. “Good! What about our fast track on the forensics from the post-mortem, Derek?”
“We should get a reply this afternoon, Boss, but I’ll chase them up.”
“Anything from our enquiries about the youths on the tow path, Alison?”
“Yes, Boss. Area were quite helpful here and the stop search records corroborate. We’ve now got statements from two of them which describe seeing the barge and a male who could be Darius McAvoy waiting under the bridge. They also mention a dark blue van with two other males on board that pulled up on the bridge. The descriptions don’t ring any bells at present and the lads can’t tell us more because they were told in no uncertain terms what would happen if they didn’t do one.”
The DCI clicked his pen thoughtfully then stood up. “Right, keep me posted. I’ve got an appointment to keep. I’ll be on my mobile and should be back in about two hours, hopefully.”
In Arundel Avenue, the vehicle’s lights flashed as he walked away and strode up the pathway of the large semi-detached house. He pressed F3 on the intercom.
“Who is it?”
“DCI Baddeley, Mister Kamiński. We spoke earlier.”
“Ah, yes. Please come up. I’ll wait for you on the landing.”
The door buzzed. He entered into a large Edwardian hallway, black and white tiled floor and a carpeted stairway that dog-legged out of sight. On the first floor landing, an elderly man was waiting, light check short sleeve shirt, grey slacks and a walking stick. He reminded him of someone but the name escaped him.
“Come on in, Detective Chief Inspector.” He waved him through then shuffled into the flat and closed the door. “Now, I hope you don’t mind but I bought some cakes. Nothing too much but they really are quite delicious. Tea or coffee? I have to say they are much better with a nice cup of tea, I think.”
“Tea it is then.” Thurstan smiled.
Hirek disappeared into the little kitchen. “You can put your own sugar in, Detective Chief Inspector, and please take a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”
“I will, and please call me Thurstan,” he called back.
“Thurstan? Unusual. And where is that from, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“It’s old Norse. I’m told it means Thor’s stone. Been in the family off and on for years. I think we used to be Vikings or something.”
He could hear the kettle boiling and the sounds of a tray being prepared. He wandered around the room. It was dated but clean, no photos and the usual junk stuffed under the coffee table.
Hirek re-entered slowly pushing a little trolley that bore a cake selection in open plastic packaging, two mugs, a brown tea pot, teaspoon, small milk jug and a handful of sugar sachets.
After pouring the tea, he returned to the kitchen and brought back two saucers. “For the cakes.” He smiled and sat down. “Help yourself. These are my favourites.” He offered them to Thurstan. They sat in silence for a few moments whilst they sipped their tea and munched away.
“So, you’ve come to talk to me about Shmuel?”
Thurstan looked back at him blankly.
“Shmuel,” Hirek smiled. “Ah! You don’t know. I think, Thurstan, you know him as Jack.”
Light flooded back into the DCI’s eyes: “Yes, you’re right. I didn’t know his real name. Even his adoptive family don’t know it.”
“Well, now you know.” A forced laugh. “Although, even I never knew his real last name. What do you want me to tell you? I did tell the young officer when she spoke to me and she said she would come back and get it all in writing but she never did.” He selected another cake. “Please, take another. They’ll only go to waste.”
He did, then asked: “How did you both first meet?”
A serious look came to Hirek’s face. “I’ve done a good job of forgetting that part of my life.” He put his slice of cake back on his saucer which he carefully placed next to himself on the two-seater couch. “I saw you glancing at my arm before. The scar? Yes, it’s where my number used to be. Lots of people like to wear that number with pride. The pride of survival. I did also until recently. It was just there and I didn’t think I ever thought about it but I don’t know what happened. I just woke up one morning and realised it was the last reminder so I decided ‘not anymore’. It had become a prison, so I had it removed. I escaped. I achieved what I failed to do all those years ago so please don’t ask me to remember too deeply.”
He leaned forward and patted Thurstan’s arm, leaving it there for several seconds before he sat back and visibly relaxed. “But this I will do. This I will do, for you.” A smile. “Where did we meet? We met at the Bóbr River, not far from Janowice Wielkie. It was a hot sunny day and I was drinking from the river, it is not very big there. He strolled up and started drinking, he had a canteen he filled up. He gave me some cheese and I gave him a cigarette. We smoked whilst we soaked our feet. After that, we decided it would be safer to travel together. We had to cross the mountains; it was late summer, the last chance. We did it, with some help and then we met the British. The Jewish Brigade. They offered us new identities.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Ah, it was normal for them. Shmuel accepted, I did not. I had nothing to hide whereas Shmuel was a … well, he just thought he had been through enough.”
Thurstan nodded understandingly and sipped his tea. “When did you last see him, before he died?”
Hirek took a bite of cake then, as he chewed, placed the remaining slice back on the plate next to him. He looked thoughtful. “Let me see, I think they said it was the Thursday night, maybe very early Friday morning that he died, so it would have been Thursday, during the day. We met in the park. As you know, he only lived around the corner. I can tell you he wasn’t his usual self. I thought he was quite depressed. I assumed it was a health matter. Do you want my honest opinion, Detective Chief Inspector? I think he meant to take his own life. There, I have said it. I make no judgements. I hope you won’t either.”
“When did you find out about his death?”
“Ah, that would be on the Sunday. We would make arrangements to meet somewhere but, unusually, this time we had not. So, I went around to cheer him up and when I could not get an answer I knocked on the woman downstairs’ door and it was she who told me. A very sad day. A very sad day, indeed.” He took his hanky out, wiped his eyes then blew his nose.
It was an interesting couple of hours. He had to admit he liked Hirek Kamiński and he enjoyed the cakes, though he wished he hadn’t.
The conversation had filled in a few gaps. Hirek said he and Jack had stayed with a unit of the Jewish Brigade until the summer of 1946 when it was disbanded. The unit was called the TTG although he couldn’t remember what that stood for. He recalled they did a lot of work with Jewish refugees. After that, he and Jack had parted ways.
Jack, with his new anglicised name, went to England with some British friends he’d made and Hirek stayed, working with an ambulance unit where he met his British wife and later moved to Slough.
Liverpool? How did he find himself in Liverpool? Hirek had smiled. “Good intentions,” he’d said. Following the death of his wife, he’d become more involved with the Polish community in Slough and through them, he’d learnt of a distant cousin who lived in Liverpool. He’d made contact, they’d met and actually liked each other so he would visit; his cousin not being so mobile and lacking the finances. As he’d said, “I had been carefully planning for the future of two but now there was only one, me, so why not.” His cousin became ill, he’d moved up to look after her but within weeks she’d died. He’d needed a new start he said.
The lights changed to green and a horn sounded behind him. He slipped it into first gear and raised his hand to acknowledge the prompt. Two sets of lights further on, he turned into HQ. There were no spaces up top so he parked underground.
He signed back in, hung his jacket in his office and headed for the brew station. He’d just placed his mug down and begun sorting through the paperwork on his desk when Degsy tapped on the door. “Forensics have been back to me. They’ve DNA’d the nail sample.” He sat down. “It’s Mickey Fenton!”
Thurstan grinned. “Well, it’ll be interesting to hear Mickey trying to get out of this one.” He sipped his coffee, deep in thought. “Ok, speak to the surveillance unit and see what they can tell us about his habits from the last time they had him plotted off. I want to know the best times to find him at home. If we have to, we’ll ask them if they can do static obs on his place for a couple of days to pick up his current patterns. I’m looking at having him in asap so I need to make a few calls and get a warrant; he never argues with a warrant.”
There was a knock on the door. Gandalph stood in the doorway, a sheet of paper in his hand. “Sorry to bother you, Boss, but I thought you’d want to know. I did a bit of digging after McAvoy’s bird gave him an alibi for the night of the murder. I discovered she’d been locked up in Chester for shoplifting that day.”
Thurstan interrupted. “Interesting, Stephen, but she’d have been bailed, surely. Even Cheshire can’t refuse bail because they’ve caught a scouser in town.”
Gandalph chuckled. “Not unless they had a no-bail warrant out for them, Boss. She appeared in custody, Chester Mags the next morning. They let her out but it fucks up his alibi. I’ve told the Bone and he’s speaking to DS Nolan now so they’ll have him back into interview shortly when his brief turns up.”
The DCI smiled. “Professor Plum in the library. All we need now is the candlestick.”
They looked at him vacantly.
“Never mind, it would take too long to explain. Good work, Stephen. Now, all we need is the right info from the surveillance and we could have Mickey Fenton in tonight.”