Free Murder on Page One by Ian Simpson Page B

in debt to a gangmaster. He found a poorly-paid job in a warehouse for a short time, but she was so desperate … Well, you can guess. She worked in a high class brothel, but hated it. Pavel’s a good-looking boy and could have done the same, but preferred to work for the gangmaster as a heavy. He felt he could watch out for his sister that way. A couple of months ago, he got arrested for an armed robbery. He’s been in jail ever since. Patrycja couldn’t take prostitution any longer and one night she ran away. Candy found her under a bridge and brought her here. We arranged accommodation for her. But she was in pieces over Pavel. So, on Friday, Candy wanted to support her.’
    Baggo asked, ‘Where can we find Patrycja?’
    Maggie scribbled down an address off Tottenham Court Road. ‘That’s it. Her surname’s Kowalski. But I doubt if she’ll cooperate with the police after what happened to her brother. She’s very damaged.’
    ‘Can you help us regarding Mrs Dalton’s movements during the early evening of Monday seventh December last?’ Flick asked.
    After consulting the same frayed jotter, Maggie shook her head. When asked about eighteenth January, she looked at several pages, tut-tutting and shaking her head. ‘Our records aren’t always as good as they should be,’ she said.
    Thanking her, the officers left.
    ‘I bet she could have told us more than she did,’ Flick commented as she drove back to the police office. ‘Let’s just hope that Patrycja is more helpful. We should try to see her tomorrow. Sorry we’re so late, by the way.’
    * * *
    As Baggo left work, putting his head down against a gusty wind that felt as if it came from Siberia, he did not relish a solitary night in his tiny flat. The tube was busy with late workers whose body language shouted ‘do not approach’. A few read, but most looked blank and miserable.
    ‘At least spring is in the air,’ Baggo said to the casually-dressed young man next to him.
    The man ignored him.
    ‘At least you can wrap up against the cold, unlike the heat of the summer.’
    The man flinched and moved along the compartment. For the next ten minutes till he got off he pretended to ignore Baggo, while watching him out of the corner of his eye.
    Baggo realised his non-friend thought he was on the pull, and decided not to follow him out at Leicester Square. The train went on to Tottenham Court Road. On a whim, he hopped out there. As he battled his way through the bustling, cheerless horde of individuals, along windy tunnels where the only smiles were on advertisements, and up to the cold pavement, he thought of Mumbai, so much warmer in every way, and a sense of longing hit him like a bolt of lightning. Eyes watering, he put his hands in the leather gloves his mother had given him and walked. He soon found he was a few hundred yards from where Patrycja lived. Sheltering in a doorway and puffing one of the small number of cigarettes he allowed himself, he gave himself a pep talk and decided he would do something positive. Thinking hard, he walked slowly but purposefully towards Patrycja’s building. On the street outside the block of flats, he told himself he was making a mistake; that the investigation should be done correctly; that he might get into trouble in a number of ways. But by now, his feet had a mind of their own. They carried him to the communal stairs and up to the first floor. Baggo walked along the row of doors, checking names, then tried the second floor. He rang the bell of the only flat without a name.
    ‘Who is there?’ The female voice was heavily accented.
    ‘Is that Patrycja? It’s Joe, from the hostel. Candy sent me.’
    The door opened a fraction and an anxious face peered out. ‘I don’t know you.’
    ‘Ring Maggie. She will tell you about me.’
    Baggo decided to run away if she did phone, but the ruse worked and the chain was released. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside. Patrycja closed the door quickly and they eyed