"There's nothing to be frightened of. He just wants to ask a few questions, get you to look at some photographs. That's all. And I'll be there. Come on." She took her hand. "Come on, let's get it over and done."
"Wait. Please. A moment." She looked at the mirror resting on an old chest of drawers against the wall. "You can go now. A few minutes, I will come."
"Okay," Lynn said, and smiled.
"She'll be right in," she said, going back into the room.
"Good of her," Daines said.
"She's tired," Lynn explained. "Exhausted, by the look of her."
"She works nights at a big hotel," Bucur said. "In the West End. Near Park Lane. Twelve hours, six nights a week."
"When she comes in," Lynn said, speaking to Daines, "be nice."
With a small rattle of the handle, the bedroom door opened and Andreea stepped into the room. She had brushed her hair as best she could and put makeup on her face, the lipstick too bright, the lines around her downcast eyes too dark.
When she looked up and saw Stuart Daines by the window, she gave a small jump of recognition and, for a moment, her whole body seemed to tense.
"Andreea," Lynn said, moving quickly, "why don't you sit over here, at the table?"
If Daines himself had noticed, he gave no sign. Taking a seat alongside Andreea, he was charm itself. He was sorry she was tired, understood how hard she'd been working; it was good of her to make the time to help. He was interested, he told her, in any men she might have seen with Viktor Zoukas at the sauna in Nottingham and proceeded to show her a series of photographs.
Bucur went into the kitchen to make fresh tea.
At the tenth photograph, Andreea told him to stop.
"This man here," she said.
"You know him?"
"Yes."
In the picture, black-and-white, grainy, he was standing in a club doorway, the light from the neon sign illuminating his face, the scar that ran from close by his left eye down into the dark shadow of his beard. He seemed quite tall, though it was difficult to tell for sure, strong-looking, with a broad, thick neck and large, broad hands. He was dark-haired, wearing a dark suit with a pale shirt and dark tie.
"You saw him with Zoukas?" Daines said.
Andreea shook her head.
"I thought you just said—"
"My house. Where I lived in Nottingham. Before. He came there." She looked at Lynn. "I told you about him."
"The man with the knife."
"Yes. He make me get into his car, drive me somewhere, make me tell him what I have told the police about Nina. And Viktor. He tell me he will kill me if I say anything bad about Viktor. Anything more than I tell police already." She looked towards Lynn again. "Now he will know. He will know—"
"Andreea," Lynn said. "I keep telling you, it's all right. You're safe here."
"This man," Daines said, "did you see him with Viktor Zoukas?"
"No. No, never."
"You're sure?"
"Yes, of course."
"Not at the sauna or anywhere?"
"No."
"And when he threatened you, was he on his own?"
"No. There was someone else. In the car, driving the car."
"Describe him. What did he look like?"
"I didn't see."
"You must have seen something."
"No. He was in the car. Driving the car. It was dark."
"Okay. All right. Let's look at the rest of these."
There was nobody else that Andreea recognised; not definitely. One or two about whom she was uncertain, but so much so as to be of little use. Daines asked her more questions about Zoukas, but there was little she could tell him. Little that she knew.
After just over half an hour, he was through. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you for your cooperation. It's appreciated."
A few minutes more, words of thanks to Alexander Bucur for the tea, a quick exchange of glances between Lynn and Andreea, an assurance from Daines that the man in the photograph wouldn't be troubling her again, and they were back out on the street.
"Worth the time and trouble?" Lynn asked, as they walked towards the High Road.
"Depends. Not as fruitful as I'd have hoped, but interesting nonetheless."
"The man she recognised, what's his name?"
"Ivan Lazic. He's a Serb. He was a member of the Serbian security forces between '96 and '98, when he was captured by the KLA, the Kosovo Liberation Army. Instead of standing him up against a wall and shooting him, they seem to have cut him some kind of deal. He turned up on our radar in '99—Customs
and Excise, that is. Seems to have been in cahoots with the Albanians ever since."
"But now he's back out of the country, like you said?"
Daines gave her a look. "I've no idea. But I didn't want your pal Andreea throwing another tantrum."
Lynn gave it a few seconds. "Andreea," she said, "had you seen her before?"
"No. Never. Why d'you ask?"
She didn't reply.
They both took the Central line as far as Bank and changed; Daines was taking the train from St. Pancras, Lynn catching the other branch of the Northern line as far as Kentish Town. She had a friend, she told him, a Detective Inspector stationed at Holmes Road, and they were going to have lunch before Lynn, herself, took the train back to Nottingham.
"Thanks for all your help," Daines said, as passengers pushed round them on the Bank platform.
"No problem." And Lynn moved off into the crowd.
At Camden Town, she switched platforms and reversed her journey; Tottenham Court Road to Leyton, fewer than ten stops. She'd called her friend, Jackie Ferris, feeling paranoid for doing so, but wanting to cover her tracks, and then Alexander Bucur also, needing to make certain Andreea would still be there.
Bucur was outside when she arrived, one leg cocked over his bicycle. "I have to go. Andreea is upstairs."
A smile and he was away.
Andreea had changed into a different top and reapplied her makeup; anxiously, she looked past Lynn to make sure no-one was following.
"Daines," Lynn said, "the man I was with earlier. You knew him, didn't you? You'd seen him before."
Andreea hesitated. "Yes," she said eventually. "Yes, yes."
"Okay." Lynn took a seat beside her on the settee. "Tell me where."
"Wait, please." Andreea reached for a pack of cigarettes, went across to the window and opened it quite wide. "Alexander, he does not like me to smoke here," she explained, taking a lighter from the pocket of her jeans.
"It was in London," she said, after the first drag. "Two, yes, two years ago."
"But how?"
"When I came to his country first, I was staying with some friends in Wembley. That was when I first met Viktor. One of the girls, she was working at a club that was run by one of Viktor's friends. Lap dancing, you know? She said she would see if she could get me a job there, too. The owner, he told me I had to dance for his friend, Viktor. He said it was my—the word is 'audition'?"
"Yes."
"Afterwards, he laugh in my face and tell me there is no job, but Viktor say if I do not want to stay in London, I can work for him. First I have to show him what I can do. I said I thought I had done this, but he said no, this was something different." Andreea blew smoke in the general direction of the open window. "It was sauna, massage parlour, belong to his brother, Valdemar. I was—I was not shocked, I know these things go on, and I did not want to do this. But Viktor, he tells me if I work for his brother a short time and learn business, he will make me manager of place he has somewhere else; all I have to do look after girls, clients, take money." She shook her head. "This is not what happens."
"And that was when you saw Daines, when you were working for Viktor's brother?"
"At Valdemar's, yes."
"And Daines was there in what connection?"
Andreea looked at her as if she didn't quite understand the question.
"Daines. What was he doing there?"
"Oh, at first I thought, him and Valdemar, it was business between them. But then I think, no, they are friends. They drink together and Valdemar takes him round, shows him girls. There is one, Marta, she is no younger than me, but small, you know? Small features, small bones. She can look like schoolgirl. Your friend—"
"Daines."
"Yes, Daines, he goes with her. More than one time while I am there."
"He comes back?"
"Yes. I think, twice more. I see him twice more. He does not see me; I am nothing to him. Just Marta." She paused, as if uncertain whether to continue. "Once, I think he hurt her. I hear her cry out, scream, and later Valdemar is angry. He and your Daines they shout a lot and I think they will fight, but later I hear them laugh and Valdemar say next time it will cost him more, and they laugh again."
Lynn looked away, towards the window.
Andreea drew hard on her cigarette and held the smoke inside. "I did not see him again until today."
"Never in Nottingham, with Viktor?"
"No. Never. Not till today."
Lynn patted her hand. "Thank you, Andreea. Thank you very much."
"What does it mean? That this has happened?"
"I'm not sure. I expect he was working undercover. You know? Pretending to be someone else. Sometimes it's the only way."
"Then there is nothing wrong?"
"No. No, I don't think so."
Back out on the street, Lynn called Jackie Ferris on her mobile. "Look, Jackie, I'm sorry I had to put you off earlier, but you couldn't manage a quick drink early evening, could you? Say around six. Six-thirty. Something I want to ask. You can? Fantastic. Great! Just tell me where."
It was Resnick who'd known Jackie Ferris first, when she was a young sergeant in the Yard's Arts and Antiques Squad, Resnick on the track of a burglar with a nicely developed taste for the works of the lesser British Impressionists. They had met again in the search for a serial seducer who specialised in picking up lonely women, bedding them, and then stripping them bare of everything they possessed; somehow—and Lynn couldn't remember the exact circumstances—Resnick's arcane and near-encyclopedic knowledge of jazzmen of the forties and fifties had helped find the suspect. Difficult to believe, but true.
Lynn had first met her briefly in the line of duty, and then, after she and Resnick had started living together, Jackie had come up to Nottingham on a couple of occasions and stayed, once for a conference on community policing, and once for a meeting of the Lesbian and Gay Police Association, of which Jackie was a member.
Although she would have been loath to admit it, it had unsettled Lynn when she'd found out Jackie was gay, picturing someone who would be either outlandishly butch or femme the minute she was off duty. Butch, most likely, Lynn thought—she couldn't picture Jackie in pink frocks and lots of girlie makeup.
But when she realised neither to be the case—and found—her other fear—that Jackie was not in the least bit predatory, she'd been able to relax and enjoy her company.
At Jackie's suggestion, they met in the Assembly House, a large old-fashioned boozer in the north end of Kentish Town, which, like so many, but with less-disastrous results, had modishly reinvented itself by virtue of knocking down a few internal walls and sanding the floors, then adding a decent kitchen where the chef laboured in full view of the clientele.
At shortly after six, the place was still uncrowded and they sat at a corner table with their backs to the tall, broad windows and the slow-moving rush-hour traffic.
"Sorry about earlier," Lynn said, as soon as they were settled. "Overtaken by events."
Jackie waved a hand dismissively. "It happens."
"Too often."
"Tell me about it." Jackie took a good pull from her glass. "So," she said. "How's Charlie?"
"Oh, you know ... Charlie's Charlie."
"Looking forward to retirement?"
"He keeps watching those documentaries about elephants, the ones who, when they know their days are numbered, lumber off into the jungle to die."
Jackie laughed. "Get out of it, he'll be fine."
"You think? I'm not so sure. I can't see him taking one of those security jobs, like so many do—but I can't see him being happy just sitting around, either. Mind you, with our staffing levels the way they are, they'll be begging him to stay on."
"No, get out while the going's good. Reinvent yourself. That's what I'm going to do when my turn comes."
"Oh, yes? What as?"
"A trapeze artist. You know, high wire. Get a job with one of those little touring circuses. Hampstead Heath, Clapham Common, that sort of thing."
"You're kidding!"
"No, I'm not. In fact, I've already started taking lessons."
"Come on!"
"Yes, from this Hungarian woman who used be in a circus in Russia. She and her partner, they were the Flying Romanovs. Until he fell and broke his back."
"Terrific."
"She's sixty if she's a day, but still got an amazing body."
"You sure this is about learning the trapeze?"
"Very funny."
"Nothing wrong with the older, more experienced lover."
"You should know."
"Bitch!"
Jackie laughed again. "So," she said, lifting her glass, "what was this business you wanted to see me about?"
Without going into too much detail, Lynn explained as best she could.
"You don't think there's any doubt the girl—Andreea?—could be mistaken?" Jackie asked.
"She seemed pretty certain."
"And the reason you gave her for his being there, the Customs and Excise guy, that he was simply working undercover—you don't think that's right?"
"If the rest of what she says is true, it's difficult to swallow."
"I don't know. If he is undercover and in the place as some kind of customer, he's got to play along. He can hardly—what did they used to say in the papers in the old days?—make his excuses and leave."
"I suppose not. But what Andreea said about the girl—"
"Hurting her?"
"Yes."
Jackie sighed. "Maybe he let himself get carried away—it could happen. Especially if you had leanings that way in the first place. Or maybe she had her own reasons for exaggerating, not telling strictly the truth."