Piotr Langer was brought to the visiting room in chains. He was wearing an orange prison uniform to show he was a so-called ‘N’ category prisoner, and therefore dangerous. He sat down opposite Joanna and eyed her. This time, his stare didn’t bother her.
‘My colleague has been attacked,’ she began. ‘He’s lying unconscious in Bielański Hospital.’
Langer looked at her blankly. The two prison officers cuffed him to the seat, then nodded to the lawyer and left the room.
‘I think his beating had something to do with us defending scum like you,’ she said.
He remained silent.
‘You were much more talkative earlier,’ hissed Joanna. ‘And another thing: I believe it was no accident that your father’s death occurred just as you were being sentenced. What do you think, Langer?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Maybe?’ She got up from her chair, and for a moment it looked as if she was going to attack him. ‘Maybe, I’ll just go to the Prison Governor, whom I happen to know quite well, and say that I’d be most indebted to him if he could put my client in with the lowest of the low, where they’ll be on his case day and night.’
‘Hardly likely.’
She knew he was right. The orange uniform meant he was near the top of the prison hierarchy. Prison convict culture may not have been what it once was, but some things never changed. For murder, you got respect, which you paid back over many long years. For murder in the first degree, with exceptional brutality, you got a lifetime of respect, because prisoners with life sentences had nothing to lose, so they were basically unpredictable. Anyone with common sense gave life prisoners a wide berth; they wouldn’t think twice about stabbing another inmate. What was the worst that could happen to them? They’d be deprived of the right to appeal for parole after twenty-five years. But after so many years, few wanted to leave. The cell was their room, the prison was their home, and the prison yard was the outside world. Prison was where they had work, friends, and more. Beyond the prison wall they had nothing; out there, after twenty-five years, no one even knew them.
Threatening him was pointless.
‘Oryński has found a ruling that will allow us to file a cassation appeal.’
‘I’ve talked to Artur Żelazny,’ said Langer, and took a deep breath. Chyłka waited for him to go on. ‘He says that in my case a cassation appeal isn’t justified, and he wanted me to speak to you about it.’
She hadn’t expected her boss to find time to talk to Piotr, but it looked like he must have wanted to kill two PR problems with one stone.
‘So Old Rusty wanted you to sack us.’
‘More or less,’ admitted Piotr, adjusting himself in his chair and making a metallic clanking sound.
‘And?’
‘I’m not firing lawyers who are at the top of their game.’
Only now did Joanna notice that Langer was calmer than she’d ever seen him. That surprised her, because despite his ‘N’ status, prison life couldn’t possibly be easy. The prison warders were bound to make sure it wasn’t.
‘If you don’t fire us, I’ll fire myself.’
There was silence, occasionally disrupted by muffled cries coming from the cells.
‘You’re trying to force me to cooperate.’
‘I shouldn’t have to force you.’
She sat down and clasped her hands on the table.
‘It’s in your own interest to give us all the information you have, every single detail, so we can prepare properly and use it all to your advantage.’
He didn’t reply.
‘Do you want to spend the rest of your life behind bars? Now that you know what it’s like?’
‘No.’
‘So start talking. Or you can start filling out library book requests for the next few decades. I’ve heard E.L. James is popular.’
Langer sighed.
‘Never mind,’ said Joanna. ‘I didn’t come here for a book club meeting.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ he said. ‘But I don’t understand what you want from me. For obvious reasons, I’m the last person who’d know anything about Kordian’s kidnapping.’
‘I need to know everything, Langer. From beginning to end.’
He moved his chains again.
‘I want to know why two bodies were found in your apartment, who those people were to you, what were you doing there, whether you were sitting there with them for ten fucking days, and why your father is dead. Everything, understand?’
For the first time since she had met Langer, she saw something in his eyes other than the usual, unnatural calm. She saw fear. At least that’s what she thought it was.
‘I’m leaving,’ declared Chyłka, moving towards the door. ‘I’ve fucking had enough of this.’
‘Wait.’
‘Your pathetic scraps of information aren’t going to cut it this time, Langer,’ she said. ‘Tell me everything or rot here for the rest of your life.’
‘Sit down.’
For a few moments they eyed each other. She had no intention of returning to her chair. At least not until he gave her some concrete facts.
‘So?’
The prisoner sighed.
‘Enough,’ she said. ‘I’m leaving.’
‘What about Żelazny?’
‘Do you think he has anything to do with it?’
He shrugged his shoulders.
‘Tell me as much as you can.’
‘Have you got a cigarette?’
That was the first thing she’d heard him say that was halfway human. She doubted smoking was allowed in the visiting room; in detention, yes, but in prison it was hardly an option.
She looked at the camera in the corner of the room. Basically, she was free to do anything she wanted until one of the warders looked at the monitor in his cubicle. So she walked up to Langer, took out a single Marlboro from her packet and placed it between his lips. She lit the cigarette, and Piotr inhaled the smoke as if his life depended on it.
The prisoner nodded his head in gratitude.
He managed to take a few more drags before the inevitable key sounded in the lock and a prison officer entered the room. He referred Joanna to the relevant points in the prison regulations, while she contritely bowed her head, waiting for him to finish, and then promised henceforth to stay obediently seated in her chair.
‘Right. Now talk,’ she said when the prison officer had closed the door behind him.
‘In accordance with paragraph ninety of the Attorneys’ Code of Ethics, you can’t disclose anything I tell you, is that correct?’
He had done his homework, but that was hardly surprising. He had enough time on his hands, and probably read everything he could get hold of.
‘I can’t even send an email with the information if you do not give me your express approval for electronic transmission while being aware of the risk it involves,’ she recited.
‘So this is completely confidential.’
‘Yes, Langer, I will take everything you tell me to the grave,’ she said. ‘If you need to know the basis for client confidentiality, look up Bar Law. Everything you need is in article six. No court can release me from my obligation to secrecy unless the case concerns money laundering or terrorism. That’s it, more or less. There’s also something in the Criminal Procedure Code, but you don’t have to worry about that. Whatever you say, I have to keep to myself.’
‘OK.’
‘Unless you’re a terrorist.’
‘I’m not,’ he replied, and took a deep breath. ‘I didn’t kill those people,’ he said. And for the first time, Joanna didn’t believe him.