‘No surprises there, an old tart if ever I saw one—I wonder why she didn’t speak up and claim the baby: she is his only next of kin.’
‘Because she knew she’d be questioned, I guess. She wasn’t involved in Pavel’s people trafficking, but she was still here illegally. If the immigration authorities found out she’d got into the country on false papers, she’d have been deported. She probably will be now, anyway.’
‘If Rodika is Delia’s cousin,’ Stevie said after she’d driven another block, ‘she must know something about the baby’s origins. Surely Delia confided in her? The poor woman had no other friends or family in this country.’
‘I asked Rodika that, but all she said was that as far as she knew he was legally adopted from Thailand.’
‘Are the results back on her prints?’
‘Yes, but they don’t match those found in the baby’s room.’
‘Bugger, but it was worth a try. And Marius,’ she asked. ‘How involved is he?’
‘He knew what they were up to all right, but won’t admit it, probably just turned a blind eye. He’s very keen on the restaurant and club. I get the feeling he’ll be approaching his bank for a loan provided he’s cleared of any involvement with the traffickers. Reckon he’s secretly delighted about all this.’
Stevie tapped her fingers against the steering wheel and thought for a moment. ‘Do they have any idea who else is behind the trafficking operation?’
‘Only that they are very powerful, unscrupulous operators.’
She told Fowler what she had learned from Col Zimmel about The Crow and Mamasan. He listened with interest. ‘So you think Pavel and Hardegan had been doing the dirty on the Mamasan, ripping her off?’
‘At first I thought they’d both been singled out for some kind of retribution. Now I’m wondering if Pavel escaped before they got to him, and left Hardegan to carry the can.’ She continued to dwell on the matter. ‘Did anyone check further into that house fire from last year?’
‘Don’t think so.’
‘Then find out as much as you can, contact the arson squad. It wouldn’t surprise me if the Mamasan was behind that too. If Pavel was as valuable to her as Col thinks he was, she might have thought she could just pull him into line with a warning. There’s a chance she even let him go this time, just killing his wife instead.’
Fowler paused. ‘You always this bossy, Hooper?’
His earlier humility seemed to have disappeared, she noticed. She ignored him, busy concentrating on another thought tugging at her mind, one that hadn’t left since the whole business had started. ‘And the baby—has anyone found out how they managed to acquire him?’
‘Not sure.’
‘Then find that out too.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he saluted—still the same old dickhead.
‘But what about the book-cooking?’ she asked.
‘Marius is feigning ignorance, blaming Pavel.’
‘He’ll probably get away with it too.’ Stevie drew up outside Mrs Hardegan’s. Someone nearby had been burning leaves in their backyard, filling the air with a smoky tang. She found her gaze drawn to the empty shell of the Pavel’s house and thought of The Crow. Her mouth dried. ‘I guess there’s a lot worse people in the world than Dominic Marius,’ she said. (Image 21.1)
Image 21.1
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
To save Mrs Hardegan the effort of walking to open the front door, Stevie and Fowler approached the house through the neat back garden, down a crazy paving pathway bordered with terracotta pots of blooming geraniums.
Mrs Hardegan appeared to be asleep in her chair, but sat bolt upright at the sound of Stevie’s tap upon the glass. Stevie called from the other side of the window and asked if they could come in. The old lady heaved herself up and opened the back door, white hair awry, skin paper-pale.
They apologised for waking her.
‘We weren’t sleeping,’ Mrs Hardegan said, ‘We were writing a letter.’
Stevie’s heart gave a leap. Could she write after all? If she could their problems would be solved. Her hopes were dashed when she glanced toward the table and saw no sign of letter writing paraphernalia. The sewing table had been rearranged since her last visit. A man in a silver frame looked out at her; a handsome man with a smooth young face and prominent cheekbones, dressed in naval uniform—her husband?
‘You remember who we are, Mrs Hardegan?’ Fowler asked as she settled once more into the easy chair by the window.
She glanced up at him, a shadow of contempt falling across her sharp features. Stevie sat down on the footstool and took the soft bony hand in hers. ‘I’m afraid we’ve got some bad news.’
Mrs Hardegan pulled her hand away, leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. ‘The boy, our boy ... he’s dead,’ she said.
Stevie and Fowler exchanged glances. ‘You already knew?’ he asked.
Her eyes flew open. ‘Of course we didn’t know!’
‘We’re sorry for your loss,’ Stevie murmured. ‘I’ve spoken to a social worker. She’ll be in contact with you.’
‘We’ve brought you some flowers.’ Fowler produced the daffodils from behind his back and waited for a thank you that never came. Stevie caught Fowler’s eye. Was he really expecting thanks at a time like this? she wondered.
‘I’ll put them in water,’ he said, hurriedly moving to the kitchenette.
Mrs Hardegan shot Fowler a sceptical look and tossed her head with a humph. ‘Dead flowers.’ Then to Stevie she said, ‘They killed him, didn’t they? Just like they did the other boys.’
‘Yes, we think so.’
‘No surprises there, we saw it coming, we told him. Lie down with dogs and you get carrots.’
‘Can I get you anything ... brandy?’ Fowler asked. He’d put the flowers in water in the sink and was heading toward the liquor cabinet.
‘No, get us this.’ Mrs Hardegan pointed to her sewing basket, which Fowler dutifully lifted from the table.
‘No, not that, stupid boy!’
‘This?’ Stevie said, extracting the tapestry from beneath the basket and handing it over. A mess of tangled wool, it was almost impossible to see which side of the tapestry was which. ‘We know Ralph was involved with Jon Pavel’s activities,’ Stevie went on, ‘and we think we now know what those activities were. They were bringing girls over from Thailand to work against their will as prostitutes.’
‘Snoodle pinkerds — we told you that.’ Mrs Hardegan didn’t look up, carefully pierced the fabric with her needle, her face a lined study of concentration.
Stevie frowned. ‘Snoodle pinkerds? You mean girls—prostitutes?’
The soft expulsion of breath said yes, of course that’s what she meant.
‘Is there anything else we should know about this? Can you tell us anything at all about the people who killed Ralph and Delia?’ Stevie asked.
Mrs Hardegan finished her stitch and looked thoughtfully at the picture on the table. Finally she said, ‘The Japs killed him.’
‘Bloody Japs, bloody Japs!’
The sudden racket made Stevie clap her hand to her chest. She’d forgotten all about that damned bird hanging in its cage in the far corner of the room.