Free Long Way Home by Eva Dolan Page A

Tombak?’
    ‘I do not wish him to be arrested.’ He threw a handful of pork into the pan. It sizzled as it hit the hot oil. ‘I tell other police this.’
    ‘He attacked you,’ Zigic said. ‘Broke your arm. Didn’t you want him to be punished for that?’
    ‘It was fair fight. He won.’ More meat went into the pan. ‘Is an English problem you have, say I lose fight this man must be punished. No. If I win is fair, if he wins is also fair. I make no complaint to this.’ He turned away from the stove. ‘Where is your woman?’
    Ferreira was gone.
    Tombak barrelled past, shouting in a language Zigic didn’t understand. He flung open the first door he came to, catching a man standing naked at the foot of his mattress. He scrambled for his trousers but the door was closing already.
    Zigic shouted to Ferreira, got no reply.
    Tombak threw open another door, sleeping men, darkness, a radio playing at a low pitch. He swore in English, slammed the door again and made for the stairs. The whole house shook under the weight of his rage.
    Upstairs a couple of men were queuing for the bathroom, each stripped to the waist and holding washbags. Tombak shouted at them and they averted their eyes, looking at their feet, shuffling where they stood. They were cowed and emaciated, like something from a famine zone.
    A loft ladder blocked the landing and Tombak inched around it to get to the bedrooms. A tanned face with thick glasses and blunt, black hair appeared in the hatch for a split second and disappeared again with a crack of timber.
    ‘You cannot search my house without warrant. I know my rights. I have lawyers,’ Tombak snarled, opening another door. ‘Where is she?’
    Ferreira came out of the bathroom, smiled at Tombak.
    ‘Sorry, sir, women’s troubles.’ She smoothed her hand over her abdomen, made a queasy face.
    ‘How many men are living here?’ Zigic asked.
    ‘Eight.’
    ‘I’ve seen at least a dozen.’
    ‘They want bring friends home after work sometimes. I do not stop them.’ Tombak folded his arms across his chest, nodded to himself. ‘You want a bribe? Yes? To keep the council from visiting me?’
    ‘We want some straight answers from you,’ Zigic said. ‘If we don’t get them this place will be cleared by the end of the week.’
    Tombak leaned against a rickety banister thick with layers of old gloss paint. It complained but held.
    ‘I bribe you or I bribe them. Is all the same. Council man is cheaper than police.’ He threw his hand up. ‘Ask question then.’
    Zigic gestured to the men waiting outside the bathroom.
    ‘You’re not worried about them hearing?’
    ‘They speak no English. Stupid Bulgarians, only good for moving thing from here to there. Look – hey, Pyotr, you want to suck my cock?’
    The man blinked, his eyes roving between the three of them. ‘I speak no English.’
    Tombak laughed. ‘See. Ignorant Bulgarian peasant.’
    ‘Where were you between three and six this morning?’ Ferreira asked.
    ‘I was here. I get up at five, get these animals up and ready for go to work.’ He smiled with half his mouth. ‘I have plenty witness. You see how many men I have. All tell you same thing. I am here. Go nowhere. Do nothing. I am here whole time.’
    ‘Did you know the man who attacked you?’ Zigic asked. ‘Jaan Stepulov – he was an Estonian. Like you.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Was he living here?’
    ‘I say. I do not know him.’
    ‘So you’re saying he never stayed here?’ Ferreira asked.
    Zigic caught something in her tone and realised Tombak had too. What was she really doing in the bathroom? There was water running now and yet nobody had gone in or come out. She’d spoken to someone and covered for them when Tombak came charging after her.
    ‘We know Stepulov was living here,’ she said.
    Tombak straightened. ‘Who tells you this lie?’
    ‘We have a positive identification, Mr Tombak,’ she said. ‘Who gave us it is none of your business. Not until the trial,