Entanglement. Part 3

Teodor Szacki signed his name on the "Prosecution Reference File", made a note that an inquiry was being conducted "in the case of the taking of the life of Henryk Telak in the church building rooms at 14 azienkowska Street, Warsaw, on the night of 4th-5th June 2005, i.e. an offence covered by Article 148, paragraph 1 of the Penal Code", and stopped writing at the box marked "versus". Unfortunately he would have to leave it blank. Experience had taught him that investigations conducted "in the case of" were definitely more than likely to finish many months later with a doc.u.ment being sent to the Regional Prosecutor's office asking them to approve a decision "to dismiss by reason of failure to identify the offender, in accordance with Article 322, paragraph 1 of the Penal Procedure Code". There in the record you entered the words "perpetrator unknown", and took it back to the archive with a bad taste in your mouth. Better to have a suspect from the start, then you didn't have to wander about in the dark.

He carefully read through the material provided by Kuzniecow, but didn't conclude much more from it beyond what the policeman had told him. Nothing had been found during the searches; the only deviation from the norm was an empty bottle of sleeping pills left by Telak in the bathroom. Strange, thought Szacki, someone taking that sort of pills shouldn't really be getting up at night, dressing and leaving. He wrote on a sheet of paper: "medicine - prescription, fingerprints, wife". All they had found in Telak's suitcase were some clothes, toiletries and a book, a crime novel called Headland of Pseuds. Szacki had heard of it - apparently it was largely set in Warsaw. He was ready to bet a hundred hard-earned zlotys that the word "prosecutor" didn't appear in it once, and that meanwhile a brave lone cop did it all by himself, including establis.h.i.+ng the time of death. In Telak's wallet there were some doc.u.ments, a little cash, a video library card, some family photos and some lottery tickets.

He wrote: "wallet - examine".

Nothing to latch on to. Nothing.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in!" said Szacki, looking at his watch in surprise. Kwiatkowska was not supposed to be there for half an hour.

In came a girl he didn't know. She was about twenty-five, neither pretty nor ugly, a brunette with curly hair cut short and rectangular gla.s.ses with opalescent frames. Quite slender; not particularly his type.

"I'm sorry I didn't call in advance, but I was just pa.s.sing and I thought-"

"Yes? What brings you here?" Szacki interrupted her, praying to himself that she wasn't a lunatic coming to complain about electricity being put through her keyhole.

"My name's Monika Grzelka, I'm a journalist-"

"Oh no, Madam," he interrupted her again. "The Prosecution Press Spokesman has his office on Krakowskie Przedmiecie - he's a nice fellow, I'm sure he'll be happy to answer all your questions."

That was all he needed. A young thing, only good-looking enough to work in radio, to whom he'd have to explain the difference between suspect and accused, and even so she'd screw it up in her article. Undaunted by his manner, the girl sat down and smiled radiantly. She had a nice, intelligent, impish smile. Infectious. Szacki clenched his teeth to stop himself from smiling back at her.

She reached into her handbag and gave him a business card. Monika Grzelka, journalist, Rzeczpospolita - one of the serious dailies.

He reached into a drawer, took out the Press Spokesman's card and handed it to her without saying a word. She stopped smiling, and he felt mean.

"I don't think your name is familiar," he said, to erase the bad impression.

She blushed, and he thought he'd done pretty well.

"I used to do local council issues, but from today I'm writing about crime."

"Is that a promotion?"

"Yes, sort of."

"It won't be easy to write a crime column in a boring enough way for it to appear in Rzeczpospolita," he noted.

"I actually came here to make your acquaintance and to ask you for an in-depth interview, but I can see nothing will come of it."

"I'm not a lawyer, I'm a civil servant," he said. "I don't need advertising."

She nodded and glanced around his shabby little room. He was sure she was stifling a nasty comment, such as: "Right, you can tell it's public sector in here", or "And there's no hiding it".

"If you don't wish to talk about general matters, let's talk about one in particular. I'm writing about the murder on azienkowska Street. You can of course tell me a lot of official lies, but then you won't have any influence on what appears in the paper. Or you can tell me the truth, but I doubt you will. Or you can at least tell me the half-truth, then I won't have to print all the rumours from police headquarters."

He cursed mentally. Sometimes he felt as if asking the police for discretion was about as effective as printing out the secrets of an inquiry on posters and sticking them up on advertising pillars.

"Surely you don't expect me to have any truths, half-truths or even quarter-truths about what happened the day after a murder?"

"So what did happen?"

"A man was murdered."

She burst out laughing.

"You're a very rude prosecutor," she said, leaning towards him.

Again, it cost him an effort not to smile, but he managed it.

"Two sentences and I'll be off."

He thought about it - it was a decent offer.

"One: a man, Henryk T., forty-six years old, was murdered on Sat.u.r.day night in the church buildings on azienkowska Street with the use of a sharp instrument."

"What sort of instrument?"

"A very sharp one."

"A skewer?"

"Perhaps."

"And the second sentence?"

"Secondly: the police and the prosecutor are a.s.suming that Henryk T. was the victim of a burglar whom he ran into by accident, but they are not excluding the possibility that it was a premeditated murder. Intensive operations are under way to identify the offender. For the time being no one has been charged."

She finished taking notes.

"A good-looking man, dresses beautifully, has a nice voice and talks like a fax from the neighbourhood policeman."

He allowed himself a faint smile.

"Please don't write more than that about the case. It might cause us harm."

"Now it's please, is it?" She stood up and zipped her handbag shut. She was wearing a cream skirt above the knee and black flat-heeled shoes that showed off her feet. He noticed a red mark on her leg; while they were talking she had kept this leg casually folded on her knee. "And what will I get for that?"

"You might find out a bit more, when others will get nothing but a fax from the city police."

"And might it be possible to invite you for coffee? And will you talk to me in a language generally regarded as Polish?"

"No."

She hung her bag on her shoulder and strode briskly to the door. Before closing it, she looked at him and said: "I don't remember the last time a man treated me as badly as you have, Prosecutor. I'm sorry to have taken up your time."

And she was gone. Szacki was sorry too. Irritated, he got up from his chair to hang up his jacket, and walked into a cloud of perfume left behind by the journalist. Romance by Ralph Lauren - Weronika used to wear it. He loved that fragrance.

WITNESS INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT. Hanna Kwiatkowska, date of birth 22nd July 1970, resident at Okrzeja Street, Warsaw, has higher education, teacher of Polish at high school No. 30 in Warsaw. Relations.h.i.+p to parties: none, no criminal record for bearing false witness.

Cautioned re criminal responsibility under Article 233 of the Penal Code, her statement is as follows: "I met Henryk Telak the previous Sunday at psychotherapist Cezary Rudzki's consulting room, which was where I also met Euzebiusz Kaim and Barbara Jarczyk. The four of us were to spend two days at the retreat on azienkowska Street taking part in group therapy, known as 'Family Constellation Therapy'. I had never met anyone in the group before, I only knew Cezary Rudzki, to whom I had been going for six months for individual therapy, usually once a week.

"We all met on Friday, 3rd June, in the afternoon, ate supper together and went to bed early. There were no therapy sessions. We only had to get a good night's sleep. Next day after breakfast Mr Kaim's therapy session took place. In this constellation I played the role of Mr Kaim's ex-wife, and I found it sad, because I felt unloved. Mr Telak played Mr Kaim's father, and Mrs Jarczyk his mother. In this constellation Mr Telak was pushed aside, just like Mr Kaim's real father within his family. So I had no feeling with regard to him. After the lunch break we had Mr Telak's session. Mrs Jarczyk played his wife, Mr Kaim his son, and I was his daughter, who committed suicide two years ago at the age of fifteen. It was awfully sad and depressing. I felt so bad I wanted to commit suicide myself. During the constellation some very depressing things emerged, but I should stress that I don't know if they were true. They must have been most depressing for Mr Telak, because we were all telling him we didn't love him, and I even said it was because of him that I'd committed suicide. That was dreadful. We had to stop, because Mrs Jarczyk collapsed. That happened at about 8 p.m. At about 8.30 I went to my room, before that I was in the kitchen for a bite to eat and a cup of tea. I went down the corridor with Mr Telak, who had the room next to mine. I saw him go inside, and I didn't go out again after that. No one came into my room. I didn't hear anyone leaving any of the other rooms or moving about in the corridor. I was worn out by the therapy and by about 9.30 I was asleep. In the morning my alarm rang half an hour before breakfast, at 8.30. I remember being sorry there wasn't a shower in my room. At breakfast we didn't talk much. Mr Rudzki told us a fairy tale, and asked us not to discuss what had happened the day before. We were worried that Mr Telak wasn't there. Mr Rudzki went to call him, but came straight back and said Mr Telak had run away, and that this happens. At breakfast I didn't notice anyone behaving oddly or differently from before. At about 9.30 I went to my room to rest. At about 10 o'clock I heard Mrs Jarczyk scream. I ran to the cla.s.sroom and saw Mr Telak's body. I thought I was going to be sick, so I left the room, and didn't go back in there again. Mrs Jarczyk and Mr Kaim were there with the body, and as I left I pa.s.sed Mr Rudzki who was running towards the cla.s.sroom.

"I can confirm that both on Sat.u.r.day evening and during breakfast we talked very little to each other, because that is the recommendation for the therapy. That is why I had no opportunity to get to know Mr Telak socially.

"That is all I have to say on the matter. I hereby confirm that this is an accurate transcript of my statement."

Hanna Kwiatkowska signed each page and handed the transcript to Szacki. Kuzniecow had mentioned that she was quite badly shaken, but apart from that, rather a good-looking girl. It was true. Hanna Kwiatkowska had a pretty, intelligent face and her slightly hooked nose gave her a surly appeal and a certain aristocratic charm. In twenty years she'd look like a pre-war countess. Her smooth, mousy hair came down to her shoulders, and its ends curled outwards. And although no fas.h.i.+on house would have offered her a job advertising underwear on the catwalk, plenty of men would have been happy to take a good look at her well-proportioned, attractive body. It was quite another matter how many of them would be scared off by the restless look in her eyes. Szacki for sure.

"Well, is that all?" she asked. "We talked for such a long time."

"I'm a prosecutor, not a writer," said Szacki. "I can't convey all the nuances of the conversation in the transcript, and besides, it's not necessary. Impressions and nuances only matter to me if they allow me to establish new facts."

"It's a bit like with my pupils at school. It's not the impression they make that counts, but the knowledge they demonstrate."

"Always?"

"I try my best," she replied. She smiled, but she was so tense the smile changed into a scowl.

Szacki looked at her and wondered if she was capable of killing someone. If she was, then maybe she'd do it in exactly that way - grab a skewer, lash out and accidentally hit the spot. Lots of hysteria, lots of panic, lots of pure accident. He could see the woman was trying to keep her chin up, but it felt as if her jittery nerves were making the air in the room quiver.

"You must be having a tough time at school right now," he said as an opener, so he'd be able to watch her a while longer during a neutral conversation.

"Well, yes, you know what it's like, the end of the school year. They all come along, wanting to improve their marks, change a C plus into a B minus, complete an overdue test, and suddenly all their essays turn up. There's really no question of teaching any cla.s.ses. We've got until next Friday to give all the marks, so we've still got two more weeks of this madness."

"I live quite near the school where you work."

"Oh, really? Where's that?"

"On Burdziski Street."

"Oh yes, that's only two blocks away. Do you like it there?"

"Not particularly."

She leaned towards him, as if wanting to betray a shameful secret and said: "Neither do I. And those children, Jesus Christ, sometimes it's like being in a reformatory or a madhouse. My nerves are in tatters. Don't get me wrong, they're good kids, but why do they have to throw bangers in the corridors? I just don't get it. And all those jokes about p.e.n.i.ses - they're over twelve years old! Sometimes I'm so embarra.s.sed. You won't believe me, but I've just had a text message from one of my pupils saying that she's fallen in love with a priest and might do something to herself. I'll show you - maybe it's a matter for the prosecutor?"

She started searching for her phone in her handbag, and Szacki began to regret having set her off on a neutral topic. Was that how a murderess behaved? Wouldn't she be eager to get out of there as soon as possible, rather than showing him text messages? Was it really possible to act quite so well?

She handed him the phone: "IMustTellSomeoneILoveFather MarekICan'tBearToLiveHelp".

"There's no signature," he noted.

Plainly becoming increasingly relaxed, she brushed that aside, saying: "Well, yes, but I found out who it's from - her obliging friends gave her away. But I don't know. So it's not something for the prosecutor then?"

"So what do you think - did one of your group kill Mr Telak?"

She stiffened.

"Of course not. Surely you don't imagine one of us is the murderer?"

"Can you vouch for people you've only just met?"

She folded her arms across her chest. Szacki behaved like a basilisk, never letting his gaze drop from her eyes. She had a tic; her right eyelid kept steadily twitching.

"Well, no, but they're normal people - I heard about their lives. It must have been some cut-throat, some horrible criminal."

Rascal, rogue, thug, thought Szacki spitefully.

"Perhaps. But maybe it was one of you. We have to consider that scenario too. I realize it's hard for you, but please try to remember if anything happened, anything at all, some tiny thing, that made the idea pa.s.s through your head, even if it was a totally unjustified thought, 'maybe it was him' or 'maybe it was her'. Hmm?"

"I find it very awkward to cast aspersions, but, er... at the therapy it emerged that Henryk's wife hates him terribly, and Barbara enacted her anger so vividly, I don't know, it's silly to say it..."

WITNESS INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT. Barbara Jarczyk, born 8th August 1946, resident of Bartniak Street, Grodzisk Mazowiecki, has higher education, employed as chief accountant at the Sosnex Wooden Toy Factory.

She really did look like an accountant, or a retired teacher. Plump, in a suit that must have been bought at a shop for plump ladies. With a plump face and fluffy hair. Wearing gla.s.ses. Szacki had never imagined people of her age went to therapy. He had always thought it was more the thirty- to forty-year-olds, worn out by the rat race, who went in search of a cure for their fears and depression. Though on the other hand, it was better to drain the marsh of your soul late than never. He frowned, unable to shake off his surprise at having come up with this idiotic metaphor.

She spoke in a flat monotone, her voice showing no emotion. Szacki automatically noted down almost word for word the same thing he had heard from Kwiatkowska, wondering if there were any languages in the world that entirely lacked intonation. Mrs Jarczyk could definitely have learned them in a week.

"Just before ten I came out of my room and set off towards the therapy cla.s.sroom. On the way I pa.s.sed Mr Rudzki, who was going in the opposite direction."

Szacki came to.

"Are you trying to say Mr Rudzki saw the corpse before you did?"

"I don't know that. I doubt it. The room where we ate our meals was next to the therapy cla.s.sroom, in another part of the building from our bedrooms. He could have stayed there longer at breakfast, I have no idea. I did give him a look of surprise, because he was going the opposite way, but he said he was just coming, and I felt embarra.s.sed, because then I realized he was simply going to the toilet. I don't think he'd have been quite so calm if he'd found Henryk's body."

He noted this down without pa.s.sing comment. What do these therapists do to people to prevent any of them from coming to the most obvious conclusion: that he was the murderer?

"I went into the cla.s.sroom. I remember that I was feeling very scared, because the therapy was going to be about me this time. I had a glimmer of hope that without Henryk we'd have to postpone it, because there'd be too few people, you see. So I was scared, and in the first instance I didn't notice him, I couldn't stop thinking how I should place Hanna and Euzebiusz in the role of my children."

Mrs Jarczyk fell silent. Szacki did not push her.

"I saw his legs," she said at length. "I went closer and saw the body, and that skewer in his eye, and that was all. And when I realized what I was looking at, I started to tremble."

"Who came running first?"

"Hanna."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I think I am. Then Mr Rudzki, and lastly Euzebiusz."

"Please tell me what happened when you were all standing over the body. Who said what, and how they behaved."

"If I'm being frank, the main thing I remember is that skewer sticking out of his eye. It was horrible. But the others? I don't remember Hanna at all - she may have left the room very quickly. I think Euzebiusz checked Henryk's pulse, and wanted to pull it out of his eye, but the doctor shouted that we mustn't touch anything and that we should call the police, and we had to get out of there as soon as possible, because we'd destroy the evidence."