The Collective could not blackmail all the residents, let alone kidnap them. But removing Agnieszka Powirska seemed to be enough. The news spread throughout the gated community and almost instantly there was a general conviction that nothing good could come from being involved in the Langer case.
People are, by nature, reluctant to testify in court; but when they have reason to feel threatened, they suddenly don’t know or remember anything at all. Chyłka was persistent to the end. But even when residents eventually relented and answered her calls, they insisted that they shouldn’t be summoned as witnesses for Langer’s own good, because they knew nothing and would say nothing, or that under cross-examination they might suddenly recall they had in fact seen Piotr during those ten days.
The situation was becoming hopeless, and time was inexorably running out. Before they knew it, a week had passed since their visit to Agnieszka’s apartment. McVay was still in the hotel room, sustaining himself with whisky but complaining that even single malt tasted different in Warsaw. He communicated with his business partner exclusively by phone, to give the impression he was still in Kraków.
The date for the first hearing was set, and the Żelazny & McVay lawyers still had nothing to support Langer’s case.
They had no witnesses. Apart from the residents, there were also security guards, but they too had all but disappeared: a different security firm was now in charge of the gated community, and it turned out that the original guards had been ‘underqualified’ and had therefore been replaced. A removals truck arrived to collect Agnieszka Powirska’s belongings. Data protection regulations prevented the lawyers from acquiring the address to which the belongings were being dispatched.
For two weeks they made no progress at all. It wasn’t even as if they were standing still; they were reversing towards the precipice at breakneck speed.
‘All we can do now is settle out of court,’ Joanna said one day.
‘What?’ snorted Kordian. ‘That’s surrender.’
‘Oh, stop it.’
‘Is it really that bad?’
Just two weeks earlier it had seemed like they had everything under control. Then the enemy counterattacked and everything collapsed like a house of cards.
‘I’m afraid so, Zordon. We’ll have to talk to Rejchert.’
‘And what if he double-crosses us? He’ll make sure the trial goes ahead, and then he’ll present . . .’
‘What are you talking about?’ she asked, frowning. ‘According to paragraph thirty-three of the Code of Ethics, our conversation has to remain confidential.’
‘Well, yes,’ he conceded. ‘But this doesn’t alter the fact that Rejchert won’t be very willing to talk to us. He’s won in two instances, or have you forgotten? What’s our bargaining chip now?’
She responded with silence. There were no bargaining chips, but this was their only option. Joanna arranged a meeting with Karol Rejchert. And unfortunately, if any public prosecutor could be called Chyłka’s most dogged eternal adversary, that person was Rejchert.
They arranged to meet at El Popo Restaurant on Senatorska Street, where you could experience a ‘true Mexican adventure’. Joanna chose it because her stomach was used to spicy food, and she hoped that the prosecutor’s less experienced guts would fail miserably against Mexican levels of spice-driven heat. It would have been fun to test Zordon’s capabilities too, but she decided that this should be a duel, with no third parties.
She settled down on a comfortable cushioned bench, resting her arms on the backrest and ordered a Tequila Rapido as an aperitif. She’d never had one before, but hoped that it would indeed have a rapido effect. The rhythmic music of a mariachi band flowing from the speakers filled her with unexpected happiness, which turned into a feeling of total despair as soon as Rejchert arrived.
‘Interesting place,’ he said, sniffing the spices wafting from the kitchen. ‘I understand you’re paying?’
‘You’re such a gentleman, Rey.’
‘Sod convention,’ he said. ‘I work for the prosecutor’s office, while you lot have a fucking licence to print money.’
‘OK, since you put it so eloquently, I’m paying today. But please don’t select Caxitl Popocatepetl, because that’d break even our budget.’
And that was exactly why he ordered Caxitl Popocatepetl, quite unaware that this peculiar mixture of Mexican delicacies would be like placing a layer of Tabasco sauce sprinkled with ground white pepper on his unseasoned taste buds. The meal would have fed several people and cost almost a hundred zlotys, but it was worth every cent just to see Rejchert’s face. A good investment to know that the prosecutor would be sitting on the throne for most of the rest of the day.
‘Hot as fuck,’ he said, stuffing down nachos. The green sauce looked pretty innocuous, but soon he was frantically washing it down with a whole glass of water – not that it helped.
The guacamole was taking its toll. And Chyłka knew it would only get worse.
‘Mine’s just fine,’ she said, taking another mouthful.
‘Why am I here? Do you want to poison me?’
‘Mexican food is a serious affair; you don’t fool around with it.’
‘Perhaps that’s true. No bacteria will survive this bloody culinary conflagration,’ he replied, shaking his head. ‘So tell me, why are we having this meeting?’
‘Langer.’
‘I know it’s Langer, Chyłka. I’m not fooling myself that you’ve invited me here to reminisce about university days. I just can’t figure out what makes you think you can get anywhere.’
‘We’ve got a new deadline, Rey.’
‘So what? You’ve got no grounds . . .’
‘And our cassation appeal has been accepted,’ added Joanna, not letting the prosecutor get into full swing. It was the only ace up her sleeve. The prosecutor’s office had not yet received the letter confirming the cassation appeal hearing, whereas McVay was informed earlier in the day by an acquaintance. If this ploy didn’t work, nothing would. Simple, but true.
‘I haven’t received anything.’
‘Because you don’t go to the court every day and ask the right questions,’ said Joanna, smiling. ‘I have people to do that sort of thing. They spend their whole day chatting with secretaries, clerks and judges.’
‘You must have a judge,’ concluded the prosecutor, taking a piece of pork. It looked tasty, but he could no longer be absolutely sure. His mouth was still numb after the guacamole.
‘Yes,’ confirmed Chyłka. ‘McVay is a good friend of one of the judges. Of course, if he ends up on the adjudicating panel, we’ll ask for him to be excluded.’
‘He’d have to withdraw anyway. Iudex suspectus.’
‘I know.’
Joanna graced Rejchert with yet another smile.
No judge on that level would be allowed to adjudicate if there was even the slightest hint of potential bias. However, no judge ever went completely off the radar. They still performed their duties, still met other judges, sometimes for a beer, sometimes at a match, sometimes deliberating over some controversial new law. Sometimes their conversations concerned matters closer to home, such as ongoing trials. Therefore, even a judge who was excluded from the panel was bad news for Rejchert. If that judge had good relations with the Supreme Court’s remaining twenty-seven judges, it could be a problem.
‘Is that why they rubber-stamped it?’
‘I don’t know. Ask the Court of Appeal, because they were the ones who accepted the cassation appeal and passed it on.’
‘That’s nonsense . . . everything in the proceedings was watertight. Flawless.’
‘Apparently it wasn’t,’ replied Joanna, shrugging her shoulders.
Karol put aside the cutlery, swallowed the last morsel he had been chewing, and turned to her with a penetrating stare. Chyłka had long ago realised that only prosecutors could stare like that. Maybe there was some special postgraduate college where they were taught to do it.
‘Give it a rest, Rey,’ she said, ordering another Rapido. ‘I have alcoholic fortifications that defend me against your gaze. Besides, it never made much impression on me, even when I was sober.’
In fact, he did make her feel like a criminal. This was the quintessential purpose of the prosecutor’s stare: to make innocent people feel guilty. It was enough to make an eighty-year-old ex-kindergarten teacher feel like a closet paedophile.
‘What do you want?’ asked Rejchert.
‘Confirmation that there was an infringement.’
‘What kind of infringement?’
‘You’ll find out in good time. And I assure you it’s nothing far-fetched. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have a chance to humiliate you in the courtroom.’
‘If I’m not mistaken, I was the one bruising your arses in that courtroom,’ replied the prosecutor, looking disapprovingly at the glass of tequila the waiter had just placed in front of Chyłka. ‘Are you driving?’
‘Mhm,’ she murmured, taking a sip. She felt instantly better. ‘The thing is, Rey, what’s happened so far doesn’t count. Now, only the cassation is important, as you very well know.’
The prosecutor thought for a moment. Three quarters of his meal was still in front of him, and he knew that at best he would only be able to finish the soup. It was terribly spicy, but of the two evils, it was better to eat that and put the rest in a doggy bag to take home. Maybe the wife would be tempted. ‘I didn’t notice any infringements,’ he said after a while. ‘But if I were to confirm that the court had made a mistake, what would I get out of it?’
‘The fact that Langer will stay in prison. The case will return to a lower court, and we’ll do a deal. Twelve years instead of life. That’s the bottom line.’
Rejchert chuckled under his breath, and returned to abusing what food was left on the plates and platters. Chyłka had to wait until he reached the limits of his endurance again.
‘My offer expires the moment you finish the soup,’ she announced. The prosecutor sat for a moment, holding the spoon halfway between the bowl and his mouth. He looked up at Joanna and started eating faster. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, and Chyłka felt hot just looking at him.
‘You wanted to surprise me, and you succeeded,’ started the prosecutor. ‘But it doesn’t change anything. You must have taken me for a complete loser if you thought you could get anything out of it. For my part, everything was lege artis, so you’re the losers.’
He wiped his lips, got up and walked over to the bar. Soon, the staff were packing the unfinished dishes into cartons, while Joanna was quietly thinking up curses. She knew that the chances of making any deal with that dickhead were slim, but her offer to settle for twelve years was her bottom line. They were supposed to meet somewhere midway, reaching an agreement that satisfied both parties. Admittedly, the court could overrule the settlement, but such cases were extremely rare.
‘Thank you for a pleasant afternoon,’ said Rejchert, taking his food. ‘And see you in the courtroom, Joanna, my dear,’ he added as a parting shot.
Chyłka ordered another drink – something different this time. It didn’t take her long to realise that not even Mexican cocktails could cheer her up. She had no idea how to win the case, and she’d never been in this situation before. Sometimes her ideas weren’t all that great, but so far she had always had something.
She sighed, and sent a text to Oryński. Come to El Popo. We’re getting plastered.