The Exiled (18 page)

Anna locked her bedroom door and examined the photographs again, paying particular attention to the marks Linnea had mentioned. She couldn’t see a broken rib in the photos but trusted that Linnea knew what she was doing.

Someone had attacked her handbag thief – by now Anna thought of him as her own thief – he had tried to defend himself and eventually succumbed to the assault. Anna thought back to the evening of the wine fair. Had someone first witnessed the theft, then followed the thief? If that were the case, the killer must have been at the fair too. Was it someone who wanted their share of the contents of Anna’s bag? Once again Anna went through the list of people she’d met that evening, thinking back to all the kisses on the cheeks, and looking through Nóra’s photographs, which she’d uploaded to her tablet. She searched for any observations she’d made around these moments captured in still life. Faces. Clothes. Bodies. Something, anything she could latch on to.

But her memories were nothing but a blur of pixels. She hadn’t paid attention to anything out of the ordinary. Except Remete Mihály, but it was hard to imagine this slimy, self-assured, successful figure of a man wading through the undergrowth by the Tisza in the dark of night, let alone beating anyone to death. Men like that never get their own hands dirty, thought Anna. Men like that get other people to do their bad deeds. The gang of skinheads fitted the bill perfectly. The local far-right extremists would hardly look favourably on a Romani pickpocket from out of town turning up and stealing an innocent woman’s handbag.

I must find those young skinheads, thought Anna. Talk to them face to face. She tried to work out how she could do this, but her
thoughts kept wandering back to her father. Was the old Romani man telling the truth? Anna knew from experience that minorities often pulled out the racism card all too easily. Failure, setbacks and all manner of imagined wrongs were routinely blamed on the prejudice and hegemony of the dominant culture. Any wrongs they committed themselves were turned into a reflection of the wickedness of the ruling classes. Anna had often pondered that the racist and xenophobic attitudes of the dominant culture offered minorities a cruel, twisted sacrament – absolution, a pardon of sorts – that didn’t help anybody but which widened the gap between cultures and whipped up resentment on both sides. She felt a growing desire to find out exactly what happened on the day that had been her father’s last, but at the same time she felt a deep sense of powerlessness: her lack of resources and the time she had left here were barely enough to investigate the bag theft.

Anna gave a start as the phone rang. The Romani man from the shantytown in Szabadka, the one who wouldn’t give his name, was calling to tell her that Dzsenifer had returned home.

THIS TIME THERE WERE NO CHILDREN
or dogs in the yard outside the cluster of shacks. The sun had dried the clay earth amber-brown, leaving it full of cracks. A gust of wind caught a green plastic bag and blew it against the car windscreen. Lakatos Sándor’s scrawny friend was waiting for her at the door. This time he introduced himself. His name was Rambo.

Anna had set off immediately after his call, taking the most direct route to Szabadka, and paying little attention to the speed limits. Though she knew the Serbian police were vigilant and that there were plenty of them, she was determined not to let the girl slip through her fingers again. She must find out what the girl had seen.

She was sitting at a cluttered table eating a sandwich.

‘Hi, my name’s Anna,’ she said, trying to sound as friendly as possible.

‘Hi,’ the girl replied quietly, munching her sandwich and gazing at the crumbs falling on the table.

‘Are you Dzsenifer?’

The girl nodded warily.

‘I’d like to ask you a few things. Is that all right?’

The girl looked up at Rambo – these Roma names are quite something, Anna had thought as she shook his hand out in the yard – and he nodded back at her.

‘How old are you?’

‘Ten.’

‘Were you in Kanizsa last Friday?’ asked Anna.

‘Yes,’ the girl replied and continued gobbling her sandwich.

‘Were you there with Sándor?’

‘Yes,’ she replied and immediately started to cry. Rambo poured water into a stained kettle but didn’t ask whether Anna would like anything to drink.

‘Cut out the bawling and tell her what happened,’ he snapped.

Anna wanted to order him out of the room but decided against it, thinking he was unlikely to listen to her. Dzsenifer lowered her sandwich to the table and wiped away her tears.

‘Sándor was just lying there. I tried to wake him, but he wouldn’t get up. I knew he was dead. I knew that horrible man killed him.’

‘What horrible man?’ asked Anna carefully.

‘I don’t know who he was. I’m scared.’

‘It’s all right, there’s no need to be frightened,’ said Anna. ‘You’re safe now. Why did you go down to the river?’

‘Sándor has a hideout there. He knew the place. He took people there sometimes.’

‘What people?’

‘I don’t really know. But he earned money from it.’

‘Was he taking people there that night?’

‘No. But sometimes he took people to a boat. He said it was a good place because nobody knew the way. We were going to sleep there and leave on the first bus in the morning.’

‘Tell me everything that happened that night, Dzsenifer.’

‘We agreed to meet at the river, and when I got there Sándor was there with that man.’

The girl began to cry again. Anna waited patiently, but Rambo was pacing up and down the room and cursing to himself.

‘Sit down,’ Anna told him.

Rambo pretended not to hear, instead glowering at Anna, his expression furious. Anna could see that his agitation frightened Dzsenifer.

‘Sit down or go outside,’ Anna ordered in her firm police voice. ‘Right now! You’re making Dzsenifer nervous.’

Rambo slumped on to a stool. Anna waited for the charged atmosphere to pass, then turned back to Dzsenifer.

‘Take your time and tell me what you saw at the river.’

‘Start talking, Dzseni!’ Rambo hissed at her.

‘I heard them shouting at each other and I hid behind a bush. Sándor tried to punch the man, but the man hit him back and
Sándor fell down. Then the man jumped on top of him and started squeezing … I was too scared to watch any more. I crawled further away and hid under a thick bush. I was very, very frightened. But the man didn’t see me.’

Thankfully, thought Anna. Did the strangler even know there was a witness to the murder?

‘I was scared when I saw you here last time. I thought someone had come to kill me,’ the girl sobbed.

‘I’m not surprised,’ said Anna and cautiously held out a hand towards the girl. Dzsenifer didn’t pull away but let Anna stroke her head of black, tangled hair. ‘It’s all right. You’re not in any danger. I’m going to find out what happened to your brother. I want to help you.’

‘My brother told me never to trust white people.’

‘You can trust some white people. You can trust me.’

The girl hunched her shoulders, making her appear even smaller in her chair, and leaned her head towards Anna. Anna caught the girl’s smell, a mixture of dirt and children’s sweat, and she was consumed by a desire to take the girl home, put her in the bath, wash her clothes, brush her thick hair until it was smooth.

‘
A fene egye meg
, who the hell killed Sándor? I swear he’ll pay for this,’ Rambo shouted.

‘Stop it,’ said Anna. ‘We don’t want to frighten Dzsenifer any more.’

The water began to boil and Rambo jumped up, fetched a cup and dangled a used teabag in the water. He offered Anna some. She politely declined.

‘The man was quite old,’ said Dzsenifer.

‘How old?’

‘At least thirty or forty. His hair was all grey.’

‘Dzsenifer. I’m just over thirty. Was the man the same age as me?’

The girl looked at Anna with teary eyes and shook her head. ‘You’re much younger.’

‘Would you recognise the man if you saw him again?’ asked Anna.

Dzsenifer began to cry once more. ‘I never want to see him again. He squeezed Sándor’s throat.’

‘What kind of clothes was he wearing? Was he a big man?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Was he bigger than Rambo or smaller?’

The girl glanced over at Rambo. ‘He was fatter. I’m really, really scared.’

‘I’m not surprised. I would have been scared too. You were very brave.’ Anna paused, and stroked the girl’s hair again. ‘Do you know what happened to my passport?’

Dzsenifer looked up, terrified, and quickly shook her head.

‘No, I don’t know. I don’t know anything,’ she spluttered. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s all right, I can get a new one,’ said Anna. She was certain that either the girl or the crafty-looking Rambo had already sold the passport, but she didn’t want to cause Dzsenifer any more distress. She would get a new passport – as long as she remembered to contact the embassy in Belgrade, that was.

‘Could I have saved Sándor?’ Dzsenifer suddenly asked in a fragile, little voice.

‘No, Dzsenifer, you couldn’t. You did the right thing by not getting involved. That man could have done something bad to you too.’

‘Who’s going to look after me now?’

That was a question Anna didn’t know how to answer. She nodded to Rambo to step outside with her, then asked him why the girl wasn’t at school. Rambo stared at his shoes and said Sándor had taken care of Dzsenifer’s schooling and claimed he knew nothing about it. Anna asked about any other relatives and social workers, but he said that Dzsenifer didn’t have any other relatives and the authorities would only take her to an orphanage. We’ll take care of her here, the man assured her and even promised to find out at which school Dzsenifer was enrolled.

Anna looked at the dismal surroundings, the run-down shacks,
the piles of rubbish strewn across the yard, the gaunt, grimy man in front of her. She decided to ask Réka for advice. There must be a child protection agency here too, she surmised. The girl must be taken to safety. Fast.

‘Very well,’ said Anna. ‘But don’t let her roam around by herself. If Sándor’s killer knows there was a witness, Dzsenifer could be in real danger.’

‘Okay.’

‘And tell her to have a wash. Are there facilities round here where you can do the laundry?’

‘Listen, lady, don’t start telling me what to do. We’ll look after Dzseni here.’

‘Okay. Now, tell me everything you know about Sándor’s little business scams.’

‘He was up to all sorts.’

‘Dzsenifer said she saw him taking people down to the river.’

‘All right, I’ll tell you. But only because it might help catch the bastard that did this. Sándor had some business going on with these refugees. He organised transportation for them. That’s why he was in Kanizsa.’

‘People smuggling?’

‘If you like. I mean, he didn’t drive them himself, he was just a go-between. A link between the refugees and the drivers.’

‘Do you know who he visited when he went to Kanizsa?’

‘No. I doubt even he knew their names. Everything was hush-hush. He just looked for the right kind of people at the camp and took them to the drivers. He didn’t talk about it much, and I didn’t ask him. But he bought us food whenever he got paid. He was a good guy. God, I miss him. If I had enough money I’d get the fuck out of here. I’d take Dzsenifer with me and sort us out a decent life in the West, a life with some dignity.’ Rambo’s face contorted with suppressed grief and anger.

Anna told him to call her if he learned anything at all about what Sándor had been up to or if Dzsenifer told him something new.

She got back into her car and drove a little distance back towards the town centre, then stopped by the side of the road and called Réka.

Réka promised to find out which department at the Szabadka social services was responsible for Dzsenifer and would take care of the girl’s welfare.

THE GROUNDS OF THE NAGY-SAGMEISTER
vineyard were not situated in Kanizsa but further away on the slopes of Fruška Gora where people had made wine since time immemorial. The wine itself was bottled in the town. The owners had renovated an old industrial warehouse in the town centre, fitting it with steel vats and oak caskets. The space also housed a tasting hall where long tables had been set with candles. A lively group of people had gathered round the tables, mostly Anna’s old friends from school. The bottles of wine were lined up on a platform built along one of the walls. Anna suspected there would be very little swilling and spitting at this particular wine tasting.

Béci spotted Anna straight away and came to say hello. The gentle hug and kisses on the cheek passed as though there had never been anything between them. I’m getting good at this, thought Anna. Meeting my one-night-stands then brushing them off again – I’m especially good at the brushing off bit. Béci held out a glass of wine. Anna gripped it, turned away before she could register the note of disappointment flash across his face, and quickly emptied the glass. I hope Péter turns up soon, she thought.

‘How are you? Where have you been? We’ve been trying to get hold of you,’ Nóra babbled as she arrived with Tibor, Ernő and Véra in tow.

‘Have you got any new information?’ asked Anna excitedly.

‘About what? Your handbag? No, of course not. We wanted to invite you down to the Tisza. We were all there yesterday.’

‘I was at a gypsy wedding. Judit took me.’

‘Wow. That’s quite an honour. Their weddings are apparently a lot of fun. Look at Béci; he’s staring at you all the time.’

Anna didn’t turn round. Instead she poured herself some more wine. The voices around her seemed to grow louder. Someone had put music on.

‘Have any of you ever heard of a guy called Rambo?’

‘He’s the actor, isn’t he? No, the film,’ said Ernő.

‘Don’t be silly. He’s a Roma man in Szabadka.’

‘How would we know anyone like that?’

‘What about Lakatos Sándor?’

‘Never heard of him.’

‘Since when have you become best buddies with the tinkers?’ said Tibor. ‘Didn’t one of them just take your passport? Are you sure you should be hanging about with them?’

‘I’ll hang around with whoever I want. So far the people I’ve met have been very nice,’ said Anna.

‘Most of them are work-shy scroungers. They’re only interested in hand-outs, then they go to Germany and whereever and beg in the streets. They should get proper jobs.’

‘Perhaps nobody will give them a proper job,’ Anna suggested.

‘They wouldn’t take one if you offered it. They don’t want to work.’ Tibor had raised his voice. ‘And that fortune-teller you’re suddenly best friends with, you know she’s married to a convicted criminal?’ he shouted. Anna could hear the agitation in his voice.

‘You mean Judit?’

‘That’s right.’

‘She told me her husband was working abroad.’

‘Working abroad!’ Tibor laughed. ‘He’s banged up in the Szabadka prison. Though he’s probably been begging in the West with the rest of them. I suppose you could call that work. He can put it on his CV.’

‘It’s harder work that you’ve ever had to do,’ said Anna, feeling herself becoming irritated. ‘Nobody would sit out in the streets all day, in all weathers, to be humiliated by passers-by, unless they really had to.’

‘I can tell you don’t live round here anymore,’ said Tibor. ‘You wouldn’t think that if you did.’

Nóra rolled her eyes and Anna decided not to push the matter. She was upset that Judit had lied to her. And Tibor’s words had hurt her so much, it was all she could do not to show it.

‘Go and talk to poor Béci,’ said Véra.

‘I don’t want to.’

‘Why not?’

‘I’m not in the mood.’

‘Anna, now you’re just being impolite. You can still talk to him, can’t you, even if you’re not interested in jumping into bed with him?’

‘I suppose so,’ Anna admitted and emptied her glass. The alcohol swirled pleasantly in her head and her limbs tingled. She could feel herself relaxing; a few words with Béci might not be all that awkward after all. They might even help her forget about her conversation with Tibor.

Béci broke into a broad smile when he saw Anna coming towards him.

‘Hi, how are you doing?’ asked Anna, raising her glass.

Béci clinked his glass against Anna’s. They each took a sip and looked each other in the eye.

‘I’m fine, thanks,’ Béci said. ‘I decided to come home for the weekend. I hear you’re staying all month.’

‘Is that why you came?’ Anna teased him, emboldened by the wine, and regretted it at once. Do not flirt with him, she commanded herself.

‘There were other reasons too. But yes, that was one of them.’

‘How are your parents?’ The question was a diversion tactic, trying to steer the conversation back to banal pleasantries.

Béci noticed and made his own effort to get back to more personal topics. ‘They’re very well, thanks. Listen, do you want to meet for coffee? Tomorrow, maybe? I’d like to talk things over with you.’

‘What things?’

‘You and me.’

‘There is no “you and me”.’

‘Okay, you know what, fuck you, Anna,’ said Béci. An angry furrow appeared at the corner of his mouth.

‘What?’

‘I said, fuck you. You’re the most selfish woman I’ve ever met. You don’t answer my emails or text messages, even though … even though we had such a good time together.’

Béci was drunker than Anna had thought. Talking to him had been a mistake. Sleeping with him had been an even bigger one. And if there was one thing Anna disliked, it was men that didn’t take a hint when they were being dumped.

‘In that case you should think yourself lucky that nothing ever came of “you and me”. Think how awful it would have been if you’d ended up having to deal with such a selfish woman,’ said Anna and polished off yet another glass of wine.

‘Looks like you’re an old drunk too,’ said Béci, his voice dripping with resentment.

‘That’s right, I’m an AA regular. Fat lot of use it’s done me. Give my best wishes to your mother. And take down those teenage posters in your room. They’re ridiculous.’

Anna spun round, turning her back to him with such force, she staggered. The alcohol had gone straight to her head, and it felt good. Damn good. She texted Péter and asked him not to come inside but to wait for her at the gate. He replied to say he’d just arrived.

‘What’s the matter now?’ asked Péter, at a loss, as Anna stepped through the gate and into the street.

‘Let’s go somewhere else.’

‘But I wanted to taste the famous wine,’ he said, disappointed.

Anna pulled an unopened bottle of Pinot Noir from her bag and handed it to Péter.

‘There. Let’s go. It’s going to start raining soon.’

‘How much does the wine cost at this place? And where are we going?’

‘It didn’t cost anything. Let’s go to yours.’

‘You didn’t pinch it, did you? Anna!’

‘Don’t tell the police.’