The Exiled (23 page)

AT TEN O’CLOCK ANNA
heard a boat approaching. It was pitch dark. Anna was crouching in the thicket along the riverbank, some distance from the spot the GPS had shown her, trying not to swipe away the colony of mosquitoes that was swarming around her, hungry for her blood. The sound of the motor stopped, and Anna heard the boat glide along the river right in front of her. Someone switched on a torch. In its beam of light Anna saw a rope flying across the water and landing only a few metres from her feet. Someone got out of the boat with a groan. The man coughed, cleared his throat, spat in the mud. Anna recognised those sounds. Without a thought for the consequences she stood up and walked out of the bushes.

‘Good evening. What a surprise to see you here,’ she said.

Nagy Béla was so startled that he dropped the torch. It rolled along the sloping riverbank and plopped into the water. Darkness surrounded them.

‘Christ alive, I could have had a heart attack,’ the fisherman snapped. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

‘I was going to ask you the same thing,’ Anna replied.

‘I don’t need to explain my business to you.’

‘Really? Not even if I suspect your business might have something to do with the death of Lakatos Sándor?’

‘So that’s the name of your handbag thief?’

‘Don’t play innocent with me. I know Lakatos was involved in smuggling refugees along the river and so are you, as is our dear friend Molnár László.’

‘He been talking, has he? So the Good Samaritan couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut after all.’

‘I heard him talking to a group of young men who I imagine will be arriving here shortly. And Béla, I am armed, so there’s no point trying anything funny. Did you kill Lakatos Sándor?’

‘Of course I didn’t. I was at home that whole night. Ask my wife,
she’ll tell you. Believe me, she’d be only too pleased to see the back of me, so she has no reason to lie about it.’

‘It’s still a flimsy alibi. Besides, you did go to the wine fair.’

‘I was only there for a few minutes. That’s not a crime, is it? And would I have taken you to the place they found the body if I’d killed the guy myself? Of course I wouldn’t.’

Anna mulled this over. It would certainly have been strange for the murderer to take her to the scene of the crime. But this case was already strange. It felt as though everything was just a bluff, a smokescreen, a parallel reality coming into focus behind the real world. As Judit had said, there is so much out there that we cannot see.

‘Why do I think you know more about this than you’re telling me?’ asked Anna.

Béla coughed and spat. For a moment he reminded her of her partner, Esko Niemi.

‘All right, Anna,’ the fisherman said, seemingly resigned. ‘I’ll tell you everything I know.’ He lit a cigarette, the flame illuminating his face for a few seconds, making him look almost monstrous. ‘I knew who Lakatos Sándor was, but I’ve never actually had any dealings with him. I was shocked to find him lying there dead.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me his name straight away?’

Béla sighed. ‘Because I’m basically a coward. I was afraid people would find out about what László and I have been up to, if they realised I knew something about the boy. László and I are working together, it’s just the two of us. We don’t have a boss; we don’t work for any organisation.’

‘You mean the mafia?’

‘Whoever. The Lakatos boy was involved in illegal people smuggling, but we have absolutely nothing to do with organised crime.’

‘Is there a “legal” form of people smuggling? I had no idea.’

‘We don’t take money for what we do. All we want to do is help people. László has seen so many people at that camp, so many poor wretches who have been abused, robbed and downright exploited,
that he decided to do something about it. He came to me and we began planning how we could get people to the border by boat. Remember, I know this river better than I know my wife’s body.’

‘You were mentioned in the news a while ago. People drowned. And the case had something to do with what you call illegal people smuggling.’

‘I had nothing to do with that. The charges were dropped because there was no evidence.’

‘I believe the death of the handbag thief had something to do with my father’s murder.’

By now her eyes were accustomed to the darkness, so Anna could just make out a look of shock on the fisherman’s wrinkled face.

‘Damn it,’ he said and spat again.

‘Béla, tell me everything you know. I must find out the truth before I leave.’

‘I don’t know the details, but I heard Lakatos was planning to blackmail someone. At first I thought it was just hearsay – you know how it is, these kinds of stories take on a life of their own – but now that you mention it…’

‘Where did you hear this?’

‘Let’s say that, though László and I are operating on a purely humanitarian basis, we still need to know what other people in this business are up to. We don’t want to step on anyone’s toes, if you know what I mean. We don’t want to put our own lives at risk; our charity only goes so far. But the boy had a big mouth. The night before his death he’d had too much to drink and was in the bars in Szabadka, bragging about what he was planning to do.’

‘Who did he want to blackmail?’

‘I’ve no idea. I swear.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me all this to start with?’

The fisherman drew his hand through the air in a swooping curve so that small sparks flew from his cigarette.

‘What am I doing right now? Besides, I only heard about it yesterday.’

‘Some people believe the man who killed my father is still walking free.’

‘Well, as I said, when people start gossiping, things tend to get blown out of all proportion. But now I’m going to have to ask you to leave. The people I’m supposed to be transporting will be here soon.’

‘How do I know you’re not lying to me? Perhaps it was you who killed my father and Lakatos.’

‘In that case I’d probably have killed you too,’ said Béla and took a step closer to Anna. ‘Now, all I ask is that you keep my little evening activities to yourself. Sure enough, you’ll find the truth if you keep digging – you found your way out here, after all. Christ, you really are your father’s daughter.’ There was a distinct note of admiration in his voice.

‘I don’t believe you would do anything this risky without some form of recompense,’ said Anna, dismissing his flattery.

‘Let’s say I take a small cut to cover my expenses – my time and the petrol. But László takes nothing; now there’s a real saint if ever there was one. You’re not going to go to the police, are you?’

‘Would it make any difference if I did?’ she asked.

Nagy Béla gave a phlegmy chuckle. ‘I doubt it. They’ve got their fingers in this pie too, you mark my word. If nothing else, they overlook it and pretend they don’t know what’s going on. They look after their own. I don’t mean just other officers, but the whole community.’

Anna thought of the chief of police. Did he have his finger in the pie or was he too just turning a blind eye to it?

VAJDASÁG
. Heady sunlight shining from a hazy-blue, cloudless sky; sleepy villages one after the other; and fields, an endless expanse of fields. Corn, wheat and sunflowers as far as the eye could see. Péter beside her. Anna felt overwhelmed by the enormity of the landscape; she could feel herself almost bursting from the exhilaration, her spirit opening up, then both spreading across the open landscape and merging into Péter’s presence beside her. His hand was resting on Anna’s thigh and Anna could feel its warmth so viscerally that her other senses were heightened to their absolute peak. Any effort she made to think about what she’d found out in the course of the last few days, was lost as her thoughts disappeared into the panoramas flashing past, and melted into the warmth radiating from Péter’s hand. The murder of the handbag thief was somewhere in the background, and it had something to do with her father’s death, but at that moment it all felt as distant and unreal as a dream that you can no longer remember in the morning.

It was a two-hundred-kilometre journey to Belgrade, and it didn’t take long before the landscape began to change. The open fields grew smaller, forests appeared on the horizon and began to grow larger the closer they came to their destination. They crossed the large bridge across the Danube, and the houses gradually appeared more frequently on either side of the motorway. Larger villages, suburbs, apartment blocks, Belgrade.

The city was lively – rundown but beautiful. They easily found their hotel in the Skadarlija district – a pedestrianised area full of cobbled roadways and attractive old houses and restaurants with terraces that spread out into the streets. They took their couple of
bags to the hotel, decided to have lunch somewhere nearby then go straight to the embassy.

‘Have you even heard anyone talking about my father at the police station?’ Anna asked as they ordered a dish of
csevap
and salad.

‘Of course I heard he was shot, but that’s it. People don’t talk about it anymore. When did it happen?’

‘1988. I was five years old.’

‘I’m sorry. It can’t be easy to lose your father that young. Or when you’re older, for that matter. Fathers are important,’ said Péter and gently touched Anna’s hand.

Anna didn’t say anything. It was all she could do to hold back the tears, weeping that had been so long dormant, but was now awake and trying to force its way out of her body. She was used to the fact that she no longer had a father; she had hardened the sorrow and the bitterness into lumps she carried around within her. But it was more difficult to deal with sympathy, with understanding words, with the fact that someone wanted to comfort her because they knew exactly what she was feeling. It was unbearable and wonderful at the same time.

‘Tell me more about what you’ve been up to these last few days. What have you found out?’ asked Péter.

Anna told him about the names she’d received from Judit, her visit to the refugee camp and what she’d learned about her father’s case from Béla and Gábor. She described the farmstead where her father had been shot, told Péter about what the neighbouring farmer had seen on that dreadful night decades ago. After considering the matter for a moment, she decided not to mention Béla and László’s smuggling activities; she simply explained that they had vaguely known Lakatos Sándor.

Péter ate his meal of breaded catfish and fries, and seemed reflective as he listened to Anna’s account.

‘If I were you I wouldn’t necessarily believe all the rumours about your father,’ he said. ‘People will always say the police have got the wrong man, whatever the crime is.’

‘Maybe, but it’s my father we’re talking about. I want to know the truth.’

‘Sometimes the truth does us no good at all.’

‘I completely disagree.’

‘Okay. But the truth is often relative. What might have been true for the poor guy that was executed might not be true for the judge, the witnesses, you or your father.’

‘Don’t split hairs,’ Anna snapped. ‘There is only one truth about what happened, and I intend to find out what it is.’

‘In that case you’re in for a busy end to your holiday. If you can call this a holiday any longer.’

‘I am convinced the two deaths are related.’

‘But why?’

‘Both involve a man called Lakatos: the man convicted of my father’s murder and the man who stole my handbag. They were related to each other.’

‘The name could still be pure coincidence.’

‘Could it really be coincidence that the separate deaths of two men named Lakatos were directly linked to my family?’

‘You’re right, it does seem strange.’

‘What’s more, Béla said he’d heard rumours that Sándor was planning to blackmail someone.’

‘That’s just a fisherman’s gossip. You’re a police officer; surely you know idle chit-chat should be left well alone.’

‘On the contrary. As a police officer I know you should verify any piece of information, no matter how trivial. One of them might be a crucial lead. And you know it too, so don’t bother pretending otherwise.’

And at that moment Anna felt she was closing in on the breakthrough. She didn’t know where the feeling came from, but it was so powerful that it made her shiver.

‘I want to talk to the surviving witness,’ she said.

‘The guy serving the life sentence?’

‘Yes.’

‘They won’t let you visit him.’

‘Maybe not, but I’m going to try my damndest to make them.’

‘How exactly?’

‘After going to the embassy, I’ll pay Interpol a visit and get myself clearance.’

‘I’m beginning to think you’re a bit crazy,’ said Péter with a smile.

‘Why else would I be here with you?’

‘Do you think we’ve got time to pop back to the hotel before the embassy and Interpol?’

‘The hotel’s just over there. We’ve got plenty of time,’ said Anna and gently stroked Péter’s cheek.

‘I like you, Anna.’

I like you too, she thought, but couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud.

‘IT WASN’T EASY
getting my hands on these, I can tell you,’ said Péter.

It was early evening; the noise of the capital outside the hotel window. Cars, horns, ambulance sirens. Anna and Péter sat in the hotel room, smoking and drinking a few bottles of beer. Anna had received her new passport, finally, and visited Interpol to acquire a certificate that would help her secure an audience with a judge in Szabadka.

On the coffee table Péter placed an old cardboard folder containing yellowed sheets of paper – typewritten documents.

‘I did a little digging of my own while you were at the embassy,’ he said. ‘I guessed the mafia investigation your father was working on was big enough that there would be a case report in the police archives here in Belgrade. ‘And there it is.’

‘This is incredible,’ said Anna. ‘How did you manage to get these papers out of the archive?’

‘Well … a little money.’

‘Péter! How much do I owe you?’

‘Not very much. Anyway, wasn’t that your original intention? To get to know me and try to milk me for information?’

‘Péter, I don’t … I don’t know what to say. Maybe I thought something like that at first but…’

‘Would you have asked me to join you on this trip if you’d thought I couldn’t help with your investigation?’

‘Of course I would. It’s not like that.’

‘Why did you ask me then?’

Anna wanted to explain to Péter that over time she’d become very fond of him; that her feelings had taken her entirely by surprise, so different were they from anything she’d experienced before; that she wanted to get to know him better, spend more time with him. She wanted to tell him that he’d awoken something within her that it
was hard to put into words. But she said nothing – she couldn’t find the right words.

‘Tell me. Why?’

‘Well, I like spending time with you,’ she managed to splutter out and realised quite how lame it sounded. She raised her hand and tried to stroke Péter’s cheek, but he turned away.

‘I like spending time with you too,’ he said after a moment. ‘Actually, I’ve had a really amazing time with you. I can’t remember the last time I’ve laughed this much.’

‘That’s what I think too.’

‘Why don’t you say so then? I want to know what you’re thinking and feeling.’

‘I just told you!’ Anna snapped. ‘I just said so. But I’m going back to Finland really soon. The next time I’ll be here will be Christmas at the earliest. It’s hard to let go in a situation like this. Do you understand? You notice you’re holding back though you want something different altogether.’

Péter was silent for a moment and said he understood. He took a document from the folder and started reading it. Anna did the same. They immersed themselves in the old case file, and, though they didn’t return to the previous conversation, it continued to hang between them like a heavy, dusty curtain.

‘Here’s something,’ said Péter, handing Anna a sheet of paper. ‘Your father was looking into a mafia case back in 1988.’

Anna took the photocopy and read it through, though she couldn’t understand all of it. She asked Péter to translate it into Hungarian.

‘Somebody in the municipal council was making sure jobs and building contracts were given to certain contractors, and that didn’t please some people.’

‘Gábor told me about that. And he also said my father had become secretive about details of the investigation.’

‘There are dozens of pages here of interview transcripts with the managers of one of those building companies. Gábor and your father
must have kept them. But the charges must have been dropped. I can’t find any other documents relating to the issue.’

Péter flicked through the thick bunch of papers for a long time. Eventually he gave up.

‘I can’t find the court transcript. Either the case was dropped or the papers are somewhere else. Could this have something to do with your father’s death? What if he’d worked out who was pulling strings for the contractors?’

‘It’s possible,’ said Anna pensively.

‘But what about the handbag thief?’

‘The killer must have been at the wine fair. He saw the theft take place.’

‘But why would Lakatos want to take your bag rather than anyone else’s? In order to reopen the investigation into your father’s murder? It doesn’t make sense.’

‘He didn’t know who I was. It was pure chance that he chose me. But the fact that he died after stealing my bag might not be chance. If my father’s killer knew that the thief was a relative of the man who had been wrongly convicted, he might have been a bit startled. Maybe Sándor was planning on blackmailing my father’s killer. The killer, meanwhile, was worried that I might catch up with Sándor or that, in rifling through my handbag, Sándor would find out who I am and contact me himself. That sounds a bit more plausible.’

‘Maybe,’ said Péter and took Anna in his arms. ‘It sounds far-fetched, but it’s possible.’

‘I’ve got something too,’ said Anna, wriggled free of Péter’s embrace and handed him an autopsy report.

The document gave detailed information on Fekete István’s post mortem – the time of death and a short analysis of the bullet that penetrated his chest, killing him immediately.

‘Anna, I’m so sorry you have to go through all this,’ said Péter.

‘Look who signed the autopsy report.’

‘Milan Pešić.’

‘The same pathologist who performed the autopsy on Lakatos
Sándor in Újvidék, though all the while the body was in the morgue in Kanizsa.’

‘He must be quite old by now,’ said Péter, confused.

‘As old as Father Christmas.’

‘What?’

‘There is no pathologist by that name.’

‘Wow. On the other hand, it doesn’t surprise me.’

‘Why is that?’

‘Oh, Anna, if only you knew the kind of things you can buy round here if you have enough money.’

‘Old case files and autopsy reports, apparently. This just confirms my suspicions that the same person or persons are behind both murders. Someone who knew, all those years ago, who to ask for a forged autopsy report.’

‘Using the same name is quite risky. Someone else might begin to suspect that Father Christmas doesn’t really exist,’ said Péter and tapped his forefinger against the signature.

‘Either your chief of police is embroiled in what’s going on here or he’s a complete idiot. It was him that gave me Sándor’s autopsy report.’

Péter lit a cigarette and thought about this in silence. The smoke filling the room began to make Anna feel queasy so she opened the window. The air felt warm, like a soft pillow pressing against her face. Smothering her.

‘I’m not going to start looking into his conduct, you can be sure of that,’ Péter said eventually.

‘I thought as much. I totally understand. I’m not going to touch it either.’

‘Good! Finally, a sensible decision! You’ll never find out anything about him. If he’s involved in this, he’ll have so much protection around him that you won’t be able to get through it by yourself.’

Anna fetched her handbag, pulled out a card printed on light-yellow paper and showed it to Péter.

‘But this guy might,’ said Anna with a smirk.

‘What’s this?’

‘A visit to a prison in Szabadka isn’t the only thing I talked to Interpol about.’