The legal duo from Żelazny & McVay got into the black BMW in silence. On the way to Mokotów, neither of them uttered a word. For a moment Oryński considered making some sort of light, provocative remark, but decided it wasn’t worth the risk.
They drove up to the development where Piotr Langer’s apartment was, and this time they had no problems entering the premises. Chyłka had a remote control for the gate, a magnetic card for the entrance door and keys to the flat. They parked in a space reserved for residents and got out of the X5, still in silence.
They glanced at one another surreptitiously.
‘Zordon,’ Chyłka finally said. ‘We’re making prize idiots of ourselves.’
‘True.’
‘So let’s stop this fooling around and get down to work.’
‘OK,’ he replied. That was a weight off his mind. ‘Who do we attack first? The shopkeeper?’
‘No. The girl you tracked down to the gym. Big tits.’
‘Agnieszka Powirska.’
‘I assume you lost her number when you lost your phone?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Do you remember where she lives?’
‘We never found out.’
‘How come?’
‘We got the phone number from the receptionist at the gym, but there was no mention of her address.’
‘I see,’ she replied under her breath.
They stood by the door of the staircase leading to Langer’s apartment. It would have been easy if they had the names of the residents on the outside, but that didn’t happen on these exclusive developments.
‘This leaves us with the traditional method,’ said Joanna, and phoned Kormak, asking him for Powirska’s number. Soon the pair were on the phone, waiting for the girl to answer.
‘Hello?’ sounded a voice Kordian already knew.
‘Good morning, Ms Powirska. This is Joanna Chyłka of Żelazny & McVay.’
‘And Kordian Oryński. We spoke over the phone some time ago.’
There was a moment of silence.
‘Indeed, I remember. Not a particularly nice name,’ she replied eventually. ‘You were phoning about Peter.’
‘That’s right. We’re downstairs now, in your building, by the staircase.’
‘My staircase?’
The two lawyers exchanged looks.
‘That’s right,’ he replied. ‘We’d like to talk with you, if it’s not a problem.’
‘Now?’
‘Yes, now.’
‘But I’ve got no makeup on.’
Oryński grimaced and scratched his head.
‘It’s an important matter, Ms Powirska,’ added Chyłka. ‘But I promise you it will only take a few minutes.’
‘All right . . . just wait a moment.’
Five minutes later, they were beginning to doubt the girl would open the door at all. Eventually, however, the magnetic lock opened. They entered, and walked up the stairs to Langer’s floor.
Powirska, now powdered and coiffed, opened the door to her apartment. She looked at them and smiled.
‘How is he?’
‘Like a man in prison,’ replied Chyłka.
With a gesture of the hand, Agnieszka invited them in. They hurriedly wiped their feet on the doormat and having caught their breath, crossed the threshold. The situation could have played out in any number of ways, but being cordially invited in was by no means the one they had thought most likely. ‘Do sit down.’ Powirska pointed to the sofa and two armchairs.
‘Would you like something to drink? Tea, coffee, beer?’
‘I’d love—’
‘No, thank you,’ cut in Chyłka.
‘Well, I can see who rules the roost.’
The girl poured herself a Pepsi and sat on the sofa. ‘So what are the conditions like?’ she asked. ‘Because I know prisons are all different. You just have to look at what they’re like in Norway.’
‘Norway would be the least of your worries,’ said Kordian, trying not to look at her two most outstanding attributes. ‘The inmates at Leoben enjoy the highest standards of incarceration. The Justice Centre has been compared to a five-star hotel with a glazed façade, spacious, modern interiors, comfortable couches and a park instead of an exercise yard.’
‘Really?’ Agnieszka asked unenthusiastically. ‘That’s fascinating.’
‘Well,’ started Joanna.
‘It’s not going too well for Langer,’ Kordian cut in again. ‘So far, it hasn’t been too bad, but each day brings him closer to the line that every prisoner eventually crosses.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean a point, or perhaps rather a barrier in the mind, beyond which you start to lose all feelings. In order to survive in prison, you need to behave like a sociopath, and scientists believe that twenty-one days is enough for any recurring behaviour to become a lifetime habit. So you see . . .’
‘Oh . . .’
‘There’s going to be another trial soon,’ said Chyłka, taking over the conversation. ‘And we would like you to give evidence, as a witness. Would you be prepared to do that?’
The question was unnecessary. If the court summoned her as a witness, she would have to agree or she’d be penalised. But Joanna wanted to prepare her, and that would only be possible if she cooperated willingly.
‘I don’t see why not,’ replied Agnieszka. ‘Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink? Is there anything at all I can tempt you with?’
‘Chyłka and I wouldn’t mind a beer if you’ve got anything good?’
‘Just shandy.’
‘Excellent,’ said Joanna, eagerly nodding her head. But when Agnieszka went to the kitchen, she turned to Oryński and made a vomiting gesture.
Agnieszka brought out two frost-covered bottles. Kordian took a swig and instantly wanted to spit it out, but kept a poker face. He noticed Chyłka had a similar expression.
‘I love shandy,’ said Joanna after a while.
‘Me too,’ added Kordian.
Powirska gave a radiant smile.
‘What will I have to say in court?’ she asked.
Chyłka turned the bottle in her hand, wondering why the girl was unexpectedly so willing to stand in the witness box. There could be a number of reasons: romance, attention-seeking, goodwill or too much free time.
‘We’ll ask you a few questions, then the prosecutor will probably want to know a few bits and pieces from you,’ explained Chyłka. ‘Nothing that would intrude into your private life, but questions like at what times of day you saw the accused, how he behaved in your presence, and how he behaved among other people.’
‘Only that kind of stuff?’ said the girl.
‘You didn’t witness the actual crime, so the questions will only be about background facts. General matters.’
‘But it can still be a bit unpleasant,’ added Oryński.
‘Oh, yes,’ confirmed Chyłka, nodding her head energetically. ‘Kordian told me you believe Piotr is innocent.’
‘I simply feel that Peter would not be capable of doing it, and . . .’
‘That’s why the prosecutor will target you,’ interrupted Joanna. ‘It might turn out that he’ll want to be a bit more aggressive. Would you be ready for something like that?’
‘I’ll crush him like a steamroller.’
Chyłka couldn’t help but smile. If Karol Rejchert had heard, he’d probably have burst out laughing.
At the thought of the prosecutor, she took a deeper swig of shandy. She really, really wanted to take him down. After their humiliation at the district and appeal courts, Rejchert deserved an ass-kicking, and that was Chyłka’s intention. She doubted that the girl would get out of the confrontation unscathed, but no one expected miracles from her – she only had to survive the prosecution’s onslaught for long enough.
‘Excellent,’ Joanna said. ‘We won’t leave you without support. We’d like to have a practice run though, if that’s OK. Of course, we’re not telling you how to testify, we just want you to be prepared mentally, so that none of the questions surprise you.’
‘No problem.’
‘Kordian?’ Chyłka looked at her trainee expectantly.
Oryński cleared his throat and adjusted his jacket. He was annoyed they hadn’t discussed how to conduct this witness prep; now he had to improvise. He knew a thing or two about the techniques – he’d participated once or twice in moot courts during his studies, but he was hardly well versed in the subject.
But he put on a brave face.
‘If you’ve nothing against it, shall we try it right now?’ he suggested.
‘Why not?’
‘Informally, without microphones and cameras,’ he added, noting that her eyes gleamed at the words. Obviously hungry for fame.
‘OK, let’s do it,’ suggest Powirska as eagerly as if the trial was to start tomorrow.
Kordian recited the formula about speaking the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth more or less correctly, and then started pacing around the living room. He felt that Chyłka was amused by all of this, so he tried not to look at her.
‘How long have you known the accused?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know . . . a few years. Maybe three?’
We’ve got our work cut out here, thought Oryński.
‘You must be careful,’ said Chyłka from the sofa. ‘If you hesitate like that, the prosecutor will rip you to shreds in front of the cameras.’
‘OK, I get it.’
‘You have to be concise, never say more than is needed to answer the question, and always look at the judge, because they are the ones most interested in your answer,’ added Chyłka. ‘If you don’t know something, simply say you don’t know. Never try to answer a question if you’re not certain you can. Avoid vague formulations such as “maybe”, “a few years”, etc.’
‘If you can’t answer at once, ask for a moment to consider,’ said Oryński, feeling rather pleased with himself. He had to admit he felt exceptionally good in his role as a barrister, someone au fait with the subject. A fully-fledged lawyer.
‘How long have you known the accused?’ he asked once again, putting his hands behind his back and pacing around the room.
‘For four years.’
‘Who moved in first?’
‘We both moved in at more or less the same time.’
Kordian stopped, raised his chin slightly, and looked at the witness meaningfully.
‘Do you live alone?’
Agnieszka nodded.
‘And you lived alone from the start?’
‘Yes.’
‘As did the accused, so could we assume you were both looking for company?’
Kordian felt he had overdone it a little with the refined tone.
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
‘Did you meet, and talk about the neighbourhood? Perhaps take the dogs for a walk, or go jogging together?’
‘I don’t have a dog.’
Oryński looked at her.
‘Sometimes we had dinner together.’
That would be enough for the prosecutor to conclude that the witness and the defendant were close. This didn’t totally rule her out as a witness for the defence, but given that she didn’t hear or see anything and was only supposed to sow a seed of doubt, her testimony might be of little use.
‘How often did you have sex?’ asked Kordian, now taking his hands from behind his back, folding his arms on his chest and tilting his head to one side.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘At what intervals did you engage in sexual intercourse? I mean both in the . . .’
‘This is getting a bit personal,’ said Powirska with a smile, but shaking her head.
‘As someone close to the accused, you have a right to refuse to testify,’ said Chyłka, deliberately making things slightly more tense.
And she had hardly finished, when Kordian continued, ‘I have asked the witness a simple question which has not been overruled, and therefore I request an answer.’
‘I . . . will I really have to answer questions like that?’
‘Yes,’ said Oryński. ‘And the way you answered leads me to assume you regularly slept together.’
‘But that’s not true,’ said Agnieszka and looked somewhere out into the distance. ‘Won’t you raise objections, or something?’
Chyłka didn’t answer directly. ‘It’s important in the context,’ was all she said.
‘So what should I tell them?’
‘The truth,’ advised Kordian. ‘You face a severe penalty for giving false evidence, so I’d suggest you don’t take any unnecessary risks.’
‘But I . . . I’ve got a boyfriend.’
Chyłka was not surprised. She really was quite lovely to look at. Easy pickings for all sorts of oafs and thugs, she thought.
‘Then we won’t invite your boyfriend to the trial,’ said Oryński and smiled as sympathetically as he could. Agnieszka seemed to be wondering if she should withdraw her offer to testify.
Joanna decided it was time to tell Powirska what was what. When they made it clear to her that when she was called, she’d have to appear before the court and testify whether she wanted to or not, their work became appreciably easier. Now the poor girl treated the two of them as her best friends, not realising it was their doing that she would be called at all.
They were on their third shandy, and Oryński was ready to puke, but at least they’d got the formalities out of the way. Now it was time to get to the nub of the matter.
‘Did you see him during the time the bodies were in his apartment?’ asked Joanna.
‘No, not once. I hadn’t seen him for about a week beforehand, but we weren’t meeting up so often by then.’
‘That doesn’t matter,’ said Chyłka. ‘You were still living virtually opposite each other.’
‘And you didn’t hear anything suspicious?’ added Kordian.
Agnieszka resolutely shook her head.
‘Nothing that could indicate that Langer was in his apartment?’
‘No.’
‘And would you normally hear anything?’
‘Often,’ she replied. Joanna’s eyes flashed. ‘When he watched television or played music, or sometimes at night, when he brought girls home. One of them squealed like a piglet. She would often be there on Fridays, or rather Friday nights and Saturday mornings. I reckon she was a prostitute, because no one yells like that naturally. She must have trained for it.’
‘OK,’ said Chyłka, getting up off the sofa. ‘That’s probably everything. If you remember something more . . . anything unusual, please contact me.’ She handed Powirska her business card, then, raising the bottle to her lips like a bugle, she downed the rest of her shandy in one.
Leaving Agnieszka’s flat, they felt as if they had drunk at most a single beer, not three.
‘You probably shouldn’t drive though,’ Kordian noted once they were out into the street.
It wasn’t the most adept way to start a conversation, but at least he’d said something. Quite unintentionally, the tone was slightly provocative.
‘If you’re scared, you can walk on foot.’
‘You can’t really walk on anything else.’
He paused. Chyłka had stopped in her tracks, as if struck by lightning. But before he could ask her what was wrong, he saw for himself.
The X5’s tyres had been slashed, and something was leaking from under the car. The bodywork was scratched along its entire length, and the wing mirrors were hanging on by a couple of cables.
‘Bastards . . .’ she whispered, looking around.
Then her emotions got the better of her and she found another dozen or so choice words to describe the perpetrators. Oryński didn’t note down every phrase, but he did remember ‘broken pricks’, ‘fucking marrows’, ‘whoring pig snouts’ and ‘gutless dickheads’.
Having verbalised her anger, Chyłka walked up to the BMW with Oryński, and began to conduct an organoleptic evaluation of the damage. They circled the car for a while before eventually moving away from the expanding puddle of petrol and taking out their cigarette packets.
‘It won’t go,’ concluded Kordian.
Chyłka glowered at him, a cigarette between her lips. She took a deep drag and shook her head, smiling.
‘I was expecting a smack in the kisser sooner than see you smile.’
‘It’ll get fixed,’ she replied, pointing with her cigarette to the battered bonnet.
‘I was thinking more about us.’
‘That’ll get fixed too, nerd.’
Instead of answering, Oryński also smiled and looked down. This was perhaps the best possible answer.
‘But they’ve got a bloody cheek,’ said Chyłka. ‘In a gated community, with surveillance cameras and security guards milling around. Can you believe it?’
‘No,’ replied Kordian. He suspected the Collective were capable of many things, but for the Bald Man or some other thug to break into a closely guarded premises just to upset a couple of lawyers?
‘The bunch of shitty . . .’ began Joanna and articulated another stream of invective against those who had taken a swipe at her BMW. When the lawyers had finished their cigarettes, they flicked the butts as far away as possible from the puddle of petrol. Unfortunately, they were spotted by a security guard who happened to be passing nearby.
‘Cigarette butts go in the bin,’ he barked.
Oryński managed to get between Chyłka and the guard.
‘What’s up with you?’ said the guard, taking a step back. She had almost rammed straight into him, and he had nothing to defend himself with. His security guard equipment consisted of nothing more than a uniform and peaked cap.
‘Are you blind, you poor excuse for a janitor?’ snapped Chyłka.
Kordian raised his hands in apology and smiled at the guard in as conciliatory a way as he could. One thing they definitely did not need at that moment was a battle with the security guards. The man could radio for help, and before they knew it, they could be dealing with ten more of them, all feeling none too convivial.
‘Someone has demolished our car,’ said Oryński quietly.
The security guard looked at him with disbelief.
‘Over there, idiot,’ said Joanna, pointing to the wrecked car.
The man looked in the direction she was gesturing and froze. Not only was he completely lost for words, it had dawned on him that the damage could only have happened on his watch.
‘How . . . when . . . but you . . . ?’
‘We were gone for one and a half hours at most,’ said Chyłka.
She watched the security guard’s reactions. He must have been worried that all the blame would land at his feet. He’d be reprimanded, his pay might be cut, and he would be moved to the outskirts of town.
Chyłka frowned. All at once it occurred to her that the Collective must have people inside the community. Someone must have let the perpetrator in, then turned a blind eye as they demolished the car.
A security guard? One of the cleaning crew? One person was enough to open the gate, and perhaps facilitate the transferral of two human corpses.
Suddenly Chyłka was ready to believe what Langer had said. Perhaps he was telling the truth when he insisted on his own innocence.