communicating, after a fashion. I think your colleague helped to open him up.’
‘Did he tell you anything? Anything we could use?’
She looked momentarily unhappy about Anni’s question, the conflicting interest showing in her eyes. ‘I… it’s too early to say. Nothing yet, I don’t think.’
‘He talked about his mother before.’
‘And now. He’s very concerned that she should be safe.’
‘Did he manage a description, anything like that? Talk about a place where she might be?’
‘The garden, that’s all he said. She’s in the garden.’
Anni nodded. Nothing more than Marina had got out of him. ‘Thank you, Jenny.’
Anni turned away, checked her watch. There should be a uniform coming to relieve her soon for the night shift.
‘Oh, there is one other thing.’
She turned, waited.
‘Wherever this boy has been, wherever he’s been kept, it’s far away from the rest of society. And I don’t need an examination to know he’s been forced to do things against his will.’
‘Such as?’
Jenny sighed. ‘I… wouldn’t like to speculate. But my guess is something horrific. Sustained and repeated, too. And something else.’
‘What?’
‘Wherever he’s been kept, he and his mother, they weren’t the only ones.’
Anni frowned. ‘Oh my God.’
‘Exactly.’
34
Balchunas sat behind his desk. The room, like the reception foyer, was covered with photos of developments. Amongst these were framed certificates, citations and awards. Statuettes sat on a shelf over the filing cabinets, in front of photos of Balchunas shaking hands with politicians and celebrities. He looked the same in every photo – beamingly thrilled to be there; they looked the same in every photo – bemused and startled.
Balchunas fidgeted. He couldn’t get comfortable, shuffling round on the seat, making the leather squeak. He picked things up off the desk, played with them, put them down again. He fiddled with cuffs, the edges of his shirt. In response, Mickey sat as still as possible. Waited.
‘I can’t give you long, I’m afraid, Detective… I’m sorry, what was your name again?’
‘Detective Sergeant Philips. That’s all right, Mr Balchunas, I won’t need long. Just a couple of questions.’
‘Fire away.’ His smile was shaky, his voice resigned.
‘You know about the discovery at the property at the bottom of East Hill? On the land you were going to build a new housing estate on?’
Balchunas sighed, fidgeted some more. ‘Yes, yes, terrible business. Shocking.’ His eyes strayed away from Mickey, on to a photo of Karolis Balchunas shaking hands with Boris Johnson. In the flashlight, only one of them seemed pleased about it.
‘I’d just like to know who owns the property, the land that you’re building on. Is that you?’
‘No, no. Not us. We’re just the contractors. We just build. Sometimes we own the land, but not in this instance.’
‘So who does?’
‘I… don’t know.’
‘You don’t know.’
‘No.’ Shaking his head, building the point emphatically. ‘No. I don’t.’
Mickey frowned. ‘Do you often build properties and not know who owns the land?’
More shuffling, more fidgeting. ‘No… ’
‘Then why in this case?’
‘I… look. Have you tried the Land Registry? They would know.’
‘And you wouldn’t?’
‘I could find out. It would take time… ’
Mickey leaned forward. ‘Mr Balchunas, is there something you’re not telling me? Because if there is, I may see it as obstructing an investigation.’
Anger flared in Balchunas’ face. His cheeks flushed. Fists clenched. ‘Who’s your superior officer, Sergeant?’ His voice suddenly strong, clear.
Mickey didn’t answer straight away. Just nodded to himself. This was following a pattern. Whenever he questioned anyone who had money, who perceived themselves as having status or influence, that line always came up. But only when they were asked something they didn’t want made public knowledge. A fact they were ashamed of.
Or of losing control over.
‘Can I take it you’re not going to answer the question, sir?’
‘Are you going to answer mine? I have friends in the police force, Sergeant. High-ranking ones. Important ones.’ He gestured towards his framed photos. Unfortunately he alighted on Philip Glenister posing as DCI Gene Hunt.
Mickey thought of giving Phil’s name, the person he regarded as the boss, but didn’t think that was senior enough to impress Balchunas. So gave him another.
‘DCI Brian Glass.’
Balchunas sat back, face impassive. ‘I’d like you to leave, Detective Sergeant. I’m a busy man. I have work to do. Especially in light of what’s happened today. I could stand to lose an awful lot of money.’
‘I appreciate that, Mr Balchunas, but-’
‘I am not legally obliged to tell you anything. Any further questions can be put to me through my solicitors.’
‘Who are?’
‘Fenton Associates.’
Fenton Associates. Lynn Windsor’s firm. Based at the Georgian house at the bottom of East Hill.
‘Right, sir.’ Mickey stood up, turned to the door. Turned back. ‘Just one more thing.’
Balchunas waited, seemingly holding his breath.
‘The person in the back of your car.’
Fear flashed across his eyes once more.
‘Person?’
‘Yes. The man in the car with you. You got out, it drove away. With him in it. Who is he?’
Balchunas’ mouth moved but no sound came out.
‘Mr Balchunas?’
‘There… there was no other person. There was just me.’
‘You’re lying to me. Sir. There was a man in the back of that car. And I’d like to know who he is.’
Balchunas stood up. Anger in his eyes. ‘Get out. Now. Or I will have you reported to your superior. I’ll have my solicitor on you for harassing me. Go on. Get out.’
Mickey felt anger of his own rising. Tamped it down. ‘I’m going, Mr Balchunas. But I doubt this is the last you’ll hear from me.’
Mickey left.
Outside, walking down Middleborough, he tried to piece things together. Couldn’t. There was something just out of reach, something he couldn’t quite get.
But he knew that if he could remember who that man in the car was, it would all become a lot clearer.
