shaking his head. ‘You know, Janek, if you sold this place and moved further east, you could probably pocket half a million.’
It was a well-worn argument: Janusz had been lucky enough to buy the apartment for a bargain price from his landlord back in the eighties, and according to Oskar, any sane person would have cashed it in for a fat profit long ago.
‘Put another record on, Oskar. What about the Romanian?’
‘So Marek phoned me this morning and said the guy would like to invite you to a party he’s throwing tonight for his investors.’
‘You played it cool, like I told you?’ asked Janusz.
‘Of course!’ said Oskar with a casual shrug. ‘I said that you didn’t really like parties – unless you counted the gay orgies.’ He punched Janusz’s shoulder. ‘Only kidding! I told him you might be interested.’
‘Where is this party, then?’
‘If I give Marek the thumbs-up, someone will text you the details. So it might help if you worked out how to charge your phone, sisterfucker.’ Oskar threw himself down on the sofa and beamed up at Janusz, transparently pleased with himself. ‘I told you we’d make a good team. When will the
bigos
be ready?’
The unscheduled invite left Janusz with two problems. First, there was his promise to go and look at headstones with Marika. Second, he didn’t have the first idea what a ‘wealthy investor’ might wear to a drinks party.
When he called Marika’s place, it was her sister Basia who picked up the phone.
‘
Czesc
, Basia. Listen, something’s come up which means I won’t be able to go to the masons with Marika this afternoon.’
‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ she said. ‘I know Marika was looking forward to seeing you.’
He felt a bolt of white-hot guilt in his guts.
‘Is she around?’ he asked. ‘Maybe we can rearrange it for tomorrow.’
‘She is sleeping now, I don’t like to wake her,’ said Basia. ‘Shall I give her a message later?’
Janusz hesitated: he didn’t want her to think he was cancelling for no good reason.
‘Yes. Tell her it means the world to me, helping her to choose Jim’s memorial stone …’ his throat closed up and he had to get a grip on himself before continuing. ‘But there’s something I need to do that can’t be put off. It might even help me find Jim’s killers.’
There was a shocked silence at the other end of the line. ‘Really? You have found some evidence?’
‘I really can’t say,’ he said. ‘Just tell her that, will you?’
He heard Basia take a shaky breath. ‘
Tak.
’ It was clear that she, too, was struggling with Jim’s death.
Deciding what he should wear to fit the part he had to play at tonight’s party was easier to fix: he phoned Kasia. She was glad of the chance to make up for standing him up the other night, and made him write down the outfit while he was still on the phone. Black jeans, a black crewneck cashmere sweater she’d bought for his birthday, and a black textured wool jacket she approved of that he’d had for years. After hanging up, he drew a sigh of relief: at least she didn’t say he had to wear a suit.
The drinks party was taking place a stone’s throw from Romescu’s apartment, in another of the Millharbour high-rises. At reception, a beautiful black girl checked his name against the invite list and gave him a security pass that operated a private lift going to the 48th floor. The lift ascended at what he sensed was an incredible speed, although it made only the faintest of hums, stopping when it reached the highest level.
When the lift doors opened, a smartly dressed young guy with an Eastern European accent – who presumably worked for the Romanian – greeted him by name, which for tonight was Lukas Rozak. Janusz was ushered into a swanky bar area, where a crowd of thirty or forty men, mostly middle-aged, chatted in small groups.
Passing one such cluster, he saw at its heart a gorgeous girl wearing a revealing deep-pink evening gown. Her
It was a well-worn argument: Janusz had been lucky enough to buy the apartment for a bargain price from his landlord back in the eighties, and according to Oskar, any sane person would have cashed it in for a fat profit long ago.
‘Put another record on, Oskar. What about the Romanian?’
‘So Marek phoned me this morning and said the guy would like to invite you to a party he’s throwing tonight for his investors.’
‘You played it cool, like I told you?’ asked Janusz.
‘Of course!’ said Oskar with a casual shrug. ‘I said that you didn’t really like parties – unless you counted the gay orgies.’ He punched Janusz’s shoulder. ‘Only kidding! I told him you might be interested.’
‘Where is this party, then?’
‘If I give Marek the thumbs-up, someone will text you the details. So it might help if you worked out how to charge your phone, sisterfucker.’ Oskar threw himself down on the sofa and beamed up at Janusz, transparently pleased with himself. ‘I told you we’d make a good team. When will the
bigos
be ready?’
The unscheduled invite left Janusz with two problems. First, there was his promise to go and look at headstones with Marika. Second, he didn’t have the first idea what a ‘wealthy investor’ might wear to a drinks party.
When he called Marika’s place, it was her sister Basia who picked up the phone.
‘
Czesc
, Basia. Listen, something’s come up which means I won’t be able to go to the masons with Marika this afternoon.’
‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ she said. ‘I know Marika was looking forward to seeing you.’
He felt a bolt of white-hot guilt in his guts.
‘Is she around?’ he asked. ‘Maybe we can rearrange it for tomorrow.’
‘She is sleeping now, I don’t like to wake her,’ said Basia. ‘Shall I give her a message later?’
Janusz hesitated: he didn’t want her to think he was cancelling for no good reason.
‘Yes. Tell her it means the world to me, helping her to choose Jim’s memorial stone …’ his throat closed up and he had to get a grip on himself before continuing. ‘But there’s something I need to do that can’t be put off. It might even help me find Jim’s killers.’
There was a shocked silence at the other end of the line. ‘Really? You have found some evidence?’
‘I really can’t say,’ he said. ‘Just tell her that, will you?’
He heard Basia take a shaky breath. ‘
Tak.
’ It was clear that she, too, was struggling with Jim’s death.
Deciding what he should wear to fit the part he had to play at tonight’s party was easier to fix: he phoned Kasia. She was glad of the chance to make up for standing him up the other night, and made him write down the outfit while he was still on the phone. Black jeans, a black crewneck cashmere sweater she’d bought for his birthday, and a black textured wool jacket she approved of that he’d had for years. After hanging up, he drew a sigh of relief: at least she didn’t say he had to wear a suit.
The drinks party was taking place a stone’s throw from Romescu’s apartment, in another of the Millharbour high-rises. At reception, a beautiful black girl checked his name against the invite list and gave him a security pass that operated a private lift going to the 48th floor. The lift ascended at what he sensed was an incredible speed, although it made only the faintest of hums, stopping when it reached the highest level.
When the lift doors opened, a smartly dressed young guy with an Eastern European accent – who presumably worked for the Romanian – greeted him by name, which for tonight was Lukas Rozak. Janusz was ushered into a swanky bar area, where a crowd of thirty or forty men, mostly middle-aged, chatted in small groups.
Passing one such cluster, he saw at its heart a gorgeous girl wearing a revealing deep-pink evening gown. Her
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