Remain Silent. Susie Steiner
‘English or Lithuanian?’
‘Both. We don’t know if they went in or not, or if the migrants came out. The noise just receded eventually.’
‘What could you hear being shouted in English?’
‘Well, one of the marchers said, “Wanna ask you something!” and then “Oi! Oi!”’
‘What time was this?’
Mrs Tucker turns her mouth down. ‘Ten, ten thirty? The news was on, not that we could hear it.’
‘You didn’t think of calling the police?’
Manon eyes up the tea tray to see if any biscuits are on offer. She is crestfallen to see an empty, crumbed saucer. Davy has snaffled the custard creams, damn him.
‘There wasn’t anything to call the police about. Just people gathering, a bit of shouting. We didn’t know about Lukas, of course.’
Manon glances at Davy, but he’s way ahead of her, writing it all down. He stops, mid-scrawl, and says, ‘So it’s Jim Tucker? That’s your full name?’
‘Actually, it’s Jerome Wilberforce Tucker.’
‘Wow,’ says Manon. ‘Shall we just call you Wilberforce – keep it nice and informal?’
‘You can call me Jim. I know it’s a ridiculous name. My mother had … pretensions.’
‘Ambitions,’ interjects Mrs Tucker.
‘Look, I’m called Manon, so I’m in no position to judge.’
‘Not that that’s ever stopped you,’ mutters Davy. ‘And your name?’ he asks Mrs Tucker.
The best names, Manon is thinking, have rhythm. Maxim de Winter. Engelbert Humperdinck. Dante de Blasio. Fly is currently mooning over a girl at school called Temperance. ‘I already love her,’ Manon told him, ‘for her name.’ Perhaps she should change hers to Manon de Bradshaw.
‘Elspeth. Elspeth Tucker.’
Outside, in the car, Davy is overcome.
‘It’s shit for him,’ he says. ‘What’s he s’posed to do? He’s paid for that house, blood sweat and tears, and now it’s worth nothing because of them. I don’t blame him, coming over all UKIP. I’d want shot of them, too.’
‘Yes, but did he do anything, that’s the question? Or her? There’s no rope lying around.’
‘And he’s got an alibi. Both have.’
‘Yeah, but their alibi is each other. So we have to view that with some scepticism. Lukas got around, didn’t he? We need to chat to the residents next door.’
‘Trouble is, they clam up if Edikas is about. Aren’t you going to ask Mrs Tucker about humping our victim?’
‘I will, but not yet. There’s nothing that puts her in Hinchingbrooke on the night Lukas died, even if she had the strength to get him into a tree, which I doubt. We need to go back into the migrant house now that we have powers to search and seize – question everyone in isolation. It’s part of the crime scene. Doesn’t matter what Edikas wants, or his dog. Can you call in an interpreter? Also, we need to chat to these One Wisbech marchers. And we need to catch up with Demented Dimitri. Also, Davy?’ She wonders if that’s a tiny eye roll she sees, as he pulls away from the kerb. ‘Have we tried to match the handwriting on the note? Might be something in the house that matches it. So that should be a priority in the search – anything with handwriting on it.’
His path to the bedroom has been blocked by Edikas.
‘The police want to talk to you,’ Edikas says. ‘I am not going to take heat from police for you.’
‘I can’t—’ Matis says.
‘You can. You can talk to them without telling them anything. This is easy. You forgot this, you don’t know that.’
Dimitri, who is increasingly man-marking Matis like a concerned nursery maid, has joined them, towering over squat, fat Edikas.
‘Hey, he doesn’t want to,’ says Dimitri.
Edikas says, ‘What’s it got to do with you?’
‘He’s my friend.’
‘Urgh, I’ve had enough of all this friendship bullshit. This was the problem with Lukas. Useless! You’re here to work.’
‘Leave him alone,’ says Dimitri, almost shouting.
‘It’s all right,’ soothes Matis. He notices Edikas fiddling in his pocket, and before he can react, Edikas’s fist comes up and out, a heavy metal fitting over his knuckles as he punches Dimitri in the face.
‘You come with me,’ Edikas says, pushing a stunned Dimitri towards the bedroom. He orders the men who are lying about on mattresses to leave. Just before closing the door, Edikas puts his head out and whistles, and the dog comes bounding up the stairs and slinks into the bedroom.
Matis hears Dimitri shout ‘Please! No!’
Hears growling, snarling, a cry of pain, then Edikas whistles and says, Enough, calling the dog off.
The door opens. Edikas walks down the stairs, the dog trotting alongside him.
Matis enters the room to find Dimitri on the floor, clutching his leg. The trousers are torn and there is a gash on his calf, bleeding profusely.
Armed with a warrant to search the migrant house, his officers can control what goes on in there and have removed Edikas from the scene. Consequently, the conversations with migrants take a more relaxed turn. Up to a point.
There was an argument, one of the residents tells Davy and Manon, between Mr Tucker and Lukas, on the afternoon before he died. Mr Tucker came looking for him.
‘This argument, was it in English or Lithuanian?’ asks Davy.
‘Both. Mr Tucker shouting in English, Lukas shouting in Lithuanian.’
‘What was Lukas saying?’
‘“It’s not my fault. This is your business, not my business.”’
Davy is momentarily confused and wonders if the migrant is actually saying this to him, but his interpreter confirms these are Lukas’s quotes.
‘Any idea what Mr Tucker was saying?’ asks Manon.
‘Ne.’
‘Was it about Mrs Tucker do you think?’ Davy asks, aware that he’s going beyond facts and into conjecture.
The man nods.
‘What sort of a person was Lukas Balsys?’ Davy asks.
‘Depressive. Very. Always looked sad. A little bit on the outside, you know? Pessimistic.’
Davy nods, feeling affinity with the dead man. What a waste of a good depressive. ‘You think he killed himself?’ Davy asks.
‘Oh no. This was his nature. Nothing to kill himself over. I mean, he was quite cheerful about being sad. Matis said so.’
‘Where is Matis?’
Shrugs. Every time he asks about Lukas’s friend Matis, he gets