He gave a crisp nod of dismissal. Her legs felt weak when she got out into the corridor, as if she had been running uphill.
She found Marta in the yard, having a cigarette, waiting to be transported to the removal centre. It was cold out there; the grey sky promised rain; Janine thought she felt a spot of drizzle in the air. The miserable light signalled the end of the afternoon. Janine shivered and buttoned her coat.
‘What was going on with Rosa?’ Janine asked her.
Marta took a breath, began to speak, then tried again as her words caught and emotion flushed through her face. ‘She wanted to go home. She was having a baby, she wanted to keep the baby. I told her; don’t be stupid, they’ll stop you. It’s dangerous,’ she spoke animatedly. ‘Sometime she tells me maybe she can turn herself in to the police. Crazy. What about us, then where would we all be?’ She shook her head. ‘But Rosa was going home. Once she makes up her mind.’ She blew air out of her lips, ‘pouf.’ A gesture of exasperation.
‘Who killed her?’ Janine asked quietly.
Marta looked away, smoked her cigarette. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Who do you think killed her?’ Janine continued to watch her, forcing her to make eye contact. When Marta finally spoke Janine had to strain to hear.
‘I’m very afraid to tell you this.’ She rubbed at her upper arms, turned her head from side to side as though checking for eavesdroppers. ‘Very afraid.’
‘Please, Marta.’
She shuddered. ‘Sulikov, I think – his bully boys. Now no one else will think of trying to get away.’
Janine felt her pulse kick and quicken. Suspects, and a motive. Now they’d found the brothel, now they’d found Marta, things were opening up. Some cases were like this; you’d batter away for days, weeks even, and then the first crack would appear. It was always a liberating moment no matter how grim the circumstances.
‘What’s he like, Sulikov?’
‘I never met him.’
‘But you knew of him in Poland?’
‘Yes. He was the man, the boss. A very bad man.’
‘What about Harper?’ It would be useful to know what Marta thought about him before she and Richard interviewed him.
‘He let her dance at the club and Rosa thought he was a prince,’ she said bitterly. ‘He would never go against his boss. He’s not a brave man. He was using her. She loved him, he screwed her. Just like they all do,’ Marta paused. ‘She was thinking of names,’ she said, ‘of little clothes…’ Her eyes watered, she wiped at a tear smudging her make up. Her nose reddened. A tug of wind wrapped her blonde hair about her face.
