Oryński looked in the rear-view mirror and saw their passenger pull a camera from the McCarthy rucksack. Kormak winked at him and said, ‘Nikon D800, decent camera. Costs almost ten thousand. I only have it because I need it for my work, and it has the initials of the sponsors: Ż & M.’
‘Did you get everything?’ asked Chyłka.
‘Everything,’ replied Kormak. ‘See this lens? It could capture a single hair in the beard of your Grey Man.’
That same day, the set of pictures was sent to the media, along with an anonymous letter explaining a few relevant facts. When he spoke to the journalists, Kormak said he was forwarding the images without the knowledge of his bosses in the law firm, and demanded that his name should not appear anywhere.
Some took the material willingly, whereas others . . . well, they held back until the first pictures appeared on the news. Then there was no stopping the avalanche. Everyone wanted to add their tuppence worth, TV stations were trying to outdo each other in assigning hidden meanings to the tiniest details, the studios invited experts to analyse the situation from legal and factual points of view. Admittedly, most of the commentary appeared in the early afternoon rather than at prime viewing time, but the case generally received a lot of air time anyway.
The photographs themselves were very eloquent. One showed the Grey-Haired Man helplessly raising his hands in front of a warrant officer as a large group of policemen entered his residence. Another photo depicted a row of police cars seen from the back, and a police officer standing at the gate holding a warrant.
Kormak had done a great job. The media had been handed a villain in a well-cut suit, with a large villa and garden behind him, surrounded by a crowd of police officers. The conclusion was self-evident.
The next day’s headlines gave Chyłka and Oryński a lot of pleasure. Most of the papers covered the event extensively, and one of the biggest advantages was that the police and prosecutor’s office were unable to comment on account of the ongoing proceedings. This gave Kormak carte blanche to start the rumour that police had tracked down a dangerous gangster directing his criminal activities from a villa in Suladówek. And where was Suladówek? Some wilderness in the back of beyond. But the ‘leak’ was grist to the media mill.
The police were not happy about it, but that didn’t bother the two lawyers. After the story was published, the phones began ringing off their hooks. McVay was labelled a disgrace to the legal profession; by taking part in the charade, he had burned all his bridges, both with the prosecution service and the police. But it had been worth it.
From that moment on, the Grey-Haired Man was under close scrutiny. The police had not found anything on his premises, but now the journalists were on the case; they started to exert pressure on the police, and, more importantly, kept their finger continuously on the pulse.
Chyłka had achieved her goal. She had no evidence, but as the Latin legal maxim said, manifestum non eget probatione. What is manifest does not require proof.
She also managed to achieve something that had a direct influence on Langer’s situation.
The judges who were to adjudicate his case were independent and sovereign in their decisions; but they were also people. It would have been difficult for them to ignore the media storm that had broken overnight and whipped up public opinion – all the more so as it was the public they served.
Chyłka was sure that whoever was dealing with Langer’s case would already have made enquiries about the Grey-Haired Man. They would already have come to the conclusion that even if he was not as cruel and scheming a criminal as the media made him out to be, he still had plenty of skeletons in his cupboard. During the trial, Chyłka intended to show exactly what those skeletons were.
Now she was sat at her desk watching Oryński, who was twisting a ballpoint pen between his fingers and staring at the wall, his frown indicating that there was some sort of thought process going on in his brain. Just as he was staring at the wall, so Joanna was staring at him. She only looked away when Kordian shook his head and looked at her. Her own behaviour irritated her, but there wasn’t much she could do about it.
He was a trainee and she was his mentor. They were working together on a case, and to make matters worse, they were very much in the limelight. If the media had the slightest hint that there was a love interest in the relationship, they’d be onto it immediately, and it would be broadcast far and wide.
‘So what now?’ asked Oryński, putting down the pen.
‘We’ll wait a little longer. Anyway, we don’t have much choice.’
‘Do you think it’ll get us anywhere?’
‘Zordon . . .’ she began, shaking her head. ‘When God created the world and decided that criminals should get a chance at a better life, He created the prosecutor. When He changed His mind and decided they should be punished, He created the investigative journalist. In my experience, one investigative journalist is worth fifteen policemen and ten prosecutors.’
‘And I think you have a rather warped view of creation.’
‘At least half of these matters will sort themselves out,’ continued Joanna. ‘Someone will shake the apple tree, and we’ll stand under it and wait for the apples to fall. I think we can allow ourselves to feel just a tiny bit of inner satisfaction. And, for God’s sake, you can stop pretending to be one of the Wise Men.’
‘What?’
‘Your forehead’s as wrinkled as a prune.’
‘I was only wondering how much this will really change Langer’s case.’
Chyłka looked at her watch, as if she suddenly remembered something.
‘We have nothing to prove his innocence,’ he said. ‘But we have grounds for good media coverage . . . Hey, are you listening to me?’
‘I’ve got to go.’
‘What?’
‘I have to go out, Zordon, so get your things and get lost.’
‘Would it hurt you to be a bit nicer?’ he grumbled, pulling himself up from the chair. ‘All of a sudden, you tell me to get lost?’
‘I could say something worse. You know I shoot from the hip, and I’m not scared to offend.’
‘OK, OK,’ he muttered, and opened the door. He looked at her one more time and disappeared into the corridor crowd.
A few short minutes later, Chyłka was behind the wheel of her BMW, leaving the Złote Tarasy car park, tyres screeching. It usually took some effort to get the tyres on an X5 to make that sound, but the surface here made it easy.
Driving to Białołęka, Joanna thought about what she might see when she got to the prison. The Grey-Haired Man had told his thugs on the inside to pay Langer special attention. She was worried that she’d see a picture of misery, a man in despair.
She was on tenterhooks in the visiting room waiting for her client. She had once defended a paedophile; after the first night he still looked normal, but when the news about what he’d done spread, he became unrecognisable. He couldn’t look up, he hobbled when he walked, and sitting down clearly caused him pain.
Now Chyłka was scared she might see the same. Only this time it would be much worse, because this time, Chyłka would know that she and Zordon were responsible.
A few moments later, a prison officer appeared, with Piotr behind him. The first thing she noticed was his calm, confident gait. He didn’t move like someone doing duty as the prison slut.
He greeted Chyłka with a nod and sat down opposite her. Joanna tried to assess his physical state as much as the circumstances would allow. She noted the dark patches under his eyes, and various wounds on his face indicating that he had recently been punched, but generally his condition did not appear too bad.
Langer looked at Chyłka indifferently, and she felt the weight of his gaze. Deep in his eyes, she realised, there lurked fear.
The prison officer left, and Chyłka drew a deep breath.
‘Were you badly beaten?’
‘I’m alive. That’s the most important thing.’
‘Do you know who’s responsible for it?’
‘Of course.’
‘The Grey-Haired Man,’ she added to be certain, looking at him inquisitively.
Langer was silent for a moment.
‘How do you know about him?’ he finally asked.
‘His orangutan followed us until finally he made us an offer we couldn’t refuse. I told him I would only talk to his boss directly.’
Langer smiled. From the dark storm cloud of his face there came not rain, but a beam of sunlight.
Now Joanna could see the Langer the Grey-Haired Man had talked about. His eyes flashed beguilingly, while a dangerous smile played on his lips. It was at once alluring and menacing, a mixture that no doubt worked on the Agnieszka Powirskas of this world.
‘I don’t reckon it was the smartest thing I’ve ever done.’
‘Did he knock you about?’
‘A bit,’ Chyłka admitted reluctantly. Compared with what Piotr must have been through, their encounter with the Grey-Haired Man was a mere slap on the cheek.
‘He likes to present his arguments forcefully.’
She nodded, and swallowed nervously. For some reason, she wanted to leave. Langer was being too friendly, too normal. She found that disturbing.
‘And how about you?’ she asked.
He sighed, turning to face the door, then looking at the camera. His nervous tic returned and his eyelids started twitching. Chyłka noted that his emotions got the better of him when he began thinking about surveillance.
‘It’s not so good,’ he admitted, which, in Joanna’s opinion, was quite candid for him.
‘Did they get to you?’ she asked in spite of herself, aware that if he gave too detailed a response, she might not be able to sleep that night.
‘No,’ he replied.
‘Has anyone here got your back?’
‘I’ve got my own back, with my orange jacket.’
‘I see.’
He settled himself more comfortably in his chair.
‘In the shower it’s OK,’ he added. ‘Because there I know from which side they’ll come from. It’s more complicated during association. And the exercise yard is torment.’
‘So stay in your cell.’
‘If I did that, it would let everyone know I’m scared.’
‘So what? Sod your reputation, at least you’d be safe.’
‘Here, reputation is life.’
Perhaps he’s right, she thought. If a high security prisoner started showing fear, his status would soon be reduced to that of a nonce. Potential rapists would be queuing outside his cell.
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘No,’ answered Piotr. ‘Help from outside isn’t well received.’
‘The only way I can help is from the outside,’ she replied. ‘But perhaps I can get the Grey-Haired Man to call off his thugs?’
‘No. Keep clear of that man.’ For a moment, he paused. ‘Plenty of people have tried to get one over on him, and he even allowed some of them to believe that they had. Don’t annoy him.’
‘It’s a bit late for that now.’
‘Hmm?’
‘We’ve set the newshounds on him, and now he’s the main topic of conversation on TV.’
‘How is that?’
Joanna smiled and briefly summed up what they had done. She had expected Langer to be pleased, but she was wrong. He listened calmly, but indifferently.
‘So what happens next?’ he asked when she had finished.
‘So far he hasn’t been formally charged, but . . .’
‘I meant you,’ said Piotr. ‘The Grey-Haired Man will make sure you regret it.’
She fell silent. Chyłka had no intention of sharing everything with her client. Langer didn’t need to know about her sister and Kormak. The silence must have worried him, because he started blinking again.
‘Will you be OK?’ she asked eventually, straightening up in her chair.
‘When’s the trial?’
His question was quite telling. Along with his nervous tic, it almost gave the impression of pleading.
‘Soon,’ she said. ‘Hold on a just a bit longer, Piotr.’
‘I have been holding on,’ he replied. ‘But you have to understand, any chance you have of defending me is getting increasingly slim.’
‘I do understand. We’re trying to speed everything up, believe me.’
He relaxed a little.
‘What are our chances of winning?’
‘It isn’t hopeless, but we can’t be complacent either,’ she replied. ‘Admittedly, we haven’t got a huge amount of extra evidence, but . . .’
‘You haven’t got any at all,’ interrupted Langer. ‘And as far as I know, you’ve lost several key witnesses.’
‘I have a solid defence,’ said Joanna. ‘And the Grey-Haired Man issue gives me grounds to start sowing seeds of doubt as to your guilt. At the end of the day, we have reasons to be cautiously optimistic.’
She knew that she had gone too far with raising his hopes. She shouldn’t have done it. On the other hand, what could she tell him? That he’d have to go back to his cell and face the constant threat of gang rape? Langer must have noticed her hesitation, because he started blinking again. Then a prison warder appeared and announced that visiting hours were over. Watching Piotr being taken out of the room, Joanna wondered whether there was any real chance of getting him out of prison.