Dead End (27 page)

‘It’s the police. Sorry, Lev old mate, it can’t be helped.’ He turned to Slider, completing the introduction in a parody of formality which he was obviously enjoying. ‘Gentlemen, may I introduce Lev Polowski, who shot my grandfather?’

Transparent, unsullied tears slipped over Lev’s lower eyelashes. ‘I didn’t mean to. Honest I didn’t mean to,’ he said in a husky voice.

Marcus grinned the wider, and slipped an arm round his shoulders. ‘It’s all right, don’t worry, they don’t hang you any more,’ he said, and Lev broke into shuddering sobs.

Slider stepped in. He caught Atherton’s eye and jerked his head towards the kitchen. ‘Mr Coleraine, I wonder if you’d be so kind as to make some tea?’

He made a moue. ‘Oh God, do I have to? I’m not a skivvy, you know.’

‘And while you’re in the kitchen, I’d like you to tell Sergeant Atherton your side of the story. Meanwhile, Mr Polowski, we’ll go in here where it’s quiet and you can tell me all about it.’

Lev Polowski sat on the sofa, his hands between his knees, his bony shoulders hunched up around his ears. He looked so fragile and innocent it was hard to think of him as a grown man.

‘Stefan did everything for me. I owe him everything,’ he said. He had a slight, attractive accent, but his English was excellent. ‘I was a student at the Academy in Warsaw. I had a scholarship, which paid my fees, but things were very hard at home with me not earning and my brothers and sisters growing up. My father
died, you see, when I was twelve, and Mamma found it harder and harder to make ends meet, and it was getting to look as though I must give up music and try to get a job. My father was a musician, and Mamma wanted me to be one too, but there are so few openings for a trumpet player, so little solo work, and a hundred good players after every orchestral place. And then – Stefan came.’

A rapt look crossed his face, and his hands clasped each other harder. They were large and strong compared with the rest of him, capable-looking, a man’s hands grafted on to a boy’s narrow wrists.

‘You met him in Warsaw?’ Slider asked.

He nodded. ‘He came to conduct a public concert with the Philharmonic, and the next day to give a master class at the Academy. Everyone was so excited, for he is a great national hero to us – the poor Polish boy who fled into exile and became the greatest musician of our age. And also, we all knew he sponsored talented young musicians. Everyone hoped he had come to talent-spot, but how to catch his eye? He was going to walk about, look into classes, and so, and so; but also we were to give a concert for him in the lunch hour, we the senior orchestra. Everyone was practising as though their lives depended on it, and I—’ He shrugged. ‘I went over and over my part to make it perfect for him, but I had nothing to hope for. I was not a violinist, not even an oboist or clarinettist to attract his notice, to be taken up and polished as a soloist. We all thought that if it would be anyone, it would be Marta he noticed, our star pianist, who was going to play the Sans-Saens concerto for him, and we were glad, because Marta was so very, very good, and a lovely person too, worthy of being given her chance. No-one would have begrudged the luck to Marta.’

He lifted his head and his eyes were wide and distant. ‘I did not dream – no-one dreamed – that he would notice me. It is a nice trumpet part in the Sans-Saens, very prominent, and pretty, echoing the piano and completing the tune. And I was good that day, I knew I was good, and I was glad to have made something fine for the great man. But afterwards, when we were walking from the platform, our Director of Music came to me and said, “Sir Stefan would like to speak to you.”’ He was reliving now what Slider could see had been the best moment of his life. His
husky voice caressed the words like a lover. ‘I was taken to the Director’s office, and sent in alone. There was Stefan – so tall, so noble, his white hair, his fierce eyes, like a great eagle – and he was looking at me so piercingly, as if he could see into my soul. “You sent for me, maestro,” I said. And he held out his hand to me, he took my hand in his—’ His hands rehearsed the moment quite unconsciously in front of him. ‘And he said, “You played today like an angel. Great trumpet players are very rare. I wish to help you become a soloist. Will you leave Poland and come with me?”’

He stopped. ‘And you went with him?’ Slider prompted after a while, and Lev sighed and looked at him as though he were waking from a deep sleep.

‘Yes, of course,’ he said with an effort. ‘Since then he has done everything for me. He brought me to England, paid for me to have the best teachers, arranged my solo debut, took me with him on tours to play with him with some of the greatest orchestras in the world. And he gave Mamma money, too. He is a great, great man.’

‘You must have been grateful to him.’

‘Of course. Of course.’

‘You admired him. It would not be too strong a word to say you loved him,’ suggested Slider.

The boy’s gaze grew troubled. ‘Yes,’ he said, his voice barely audible. ‘I loved him.’

‘And he loved you? He wanted you to show your love in a physical way, perhaps?’

Lev nodded, and then his eyes filled with tears again and he dropped his head, hiding them. ‘I was—’ He began and stopped, drew a shuddering breath, began again. ‘I didn’t want Mamma to know. She wouldn’t understand. But I was not ashamed. I was proud to be his lover. Only—’ He stopped again.

‘How long did this go on? When did it begin?’ Slider asked.

‘Two years. It began almost as soon as I came to England. I was happy – I had my music, I had my career, I had Stefan. But then it seemed that I saw less of him. He changed towards me. He was still kind, but distant. He said I could stand on my own feet now, and I could, in a way, but I thought – I was afraid—’

‘That he had someone else?’ Slider suggested.

He nodded again, chewing his lower lip. After a moment he said, ‘I tried to tell myself I could not expect – he was so much greater than me – I was nothing compared to him. I should not judge him. But when I remembered the things he’d said to me about love, I could not bear it. And then Marcus told me – he told me – that Stefan was – that he was having an affair with a woman. I thought he was lying at first, but when I faced Stefan with it, he admitted it. He said –
terrible
things to me.’ He shook his head to shake away the memory.

‘How did you meet Marcus?’ Slider asked.

‘At Stefan’s house, of course. Stefan wanted us to be friends. I was pleased that he did. I thought he wanted it because I was important to him. But I think he hoped Marcus would distract me, keep me from finding out about the others.’ He gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘He never guessed Marcus would be the one to tell me.’

‘How did he come to tell you?’

‘It was on Tuesday – last Tuesday. We’d been out together, Marcus and I, just messing around and he asked me to go with him to visit his mother at her shop. I think he wanted to ask her for some money. I didn’t want to go, because I was shy of her. Stefan had said she mustn’t know about him and me, because she wouldn’t approve, and I was afraid she might guess. But Marcus persuaded me. We went to her shop, and she was very nice, friendly to me, but I felt awkward. She told me about the concert Stefan was giving at the church for the charity she was interested in, and asked me if I would be going to it, and I said maybe. But really it was the first time I’d heard about it, and I wondered why Stefan hadn’t said anything to me. And afterwards, when Marcus and I left, I said to him that I thought I would go along to the final rehearsal, because I hadn’t seen Stefan for such a long time, he’d been so busy, and it would be a chance to catch up with him. Marcus said it would be a bad idea to go, and I asked him why, and that was when – when – he told me that Stefan was having an affair with a woman, his agent, and that she’d be there.’

‘Kate Apwey,’ said Slider.

‘Yes, that’s her.’ He lifted his flamey eyes to Slider’s face. ‘I hate her name! I hate her! She could be with him all the time, any time! But how could he do it?’

‘So what did you do when Marcus told you? You said you went to confront him with it?’

‘Not straight away. I was too upset. I told Marcus I wanted to be on my own for a bit, and I left him and went for a walk.’

‘Where?’

‘On Hampstead Heath. That’s where we were. His mother’s shop is in Hampstead, you see. I walked about, thinking and thinking, and then in the end I decided I had to go and face Stefan, and ask him if it was true. I thought Marcus might be mistaken. Or that he might – be making mischief.’ He bit his lip. ‘Marcus likes to tease, you see. He likes making trouble. He doesn’t mean any harm, really, it’s just – it amuses him.’

Slider nodded. He remembered Marcus’s glee when he called Lev out from the bedroom. ‘What happened next?’

‘I took the tube and went to Stefan’s house. When I got there I saw Marcus coming out. I almost turned away, but he saw me and called to me. I went up to him, and he said, “Grandpa’s at home. You’d better go in and have it out, hadn’t you?” And he laughed. It made me angry. So I went in.’

‘Wait a minute, you said this was Tuesday afternoon?’

‘Yes.’

‘Sir Stefan was alone?’

‘Yes. Except for Buster, of course.’

‘Did Buster see you?’

Lev looked puzzled. ‘He let me in. Why?’

‘No, nothing, it doesn’t matter. Go on please.’

He resumed slowly. ‘Buster showed me to Stefan’s study, and in a minute Stefan came down. He was in a bad temper, I could see straight away. He said he was just going out to rehearsal, that he was in a hurry, and asked me what I wanted. I said that I would come with him, that I would like to watch the rehearsal, and we could talk afterwards, but he said he would be busy and that it wasn’t convenient. He was so cold, I couldn’t bear it. I said he was always too busy to see me these days, and so it began. We quarrelled. I accused him. He admitted it, and said it was none of my business, that I should be grateful to have been noticed by him. I asked how he could bear to touch a woman in that way, and we – he—’

‘Yes, I understand. Things grew heated. You both said things you didn’t mean.’

Lev shook his head. ‘He meant them. That was the worst thing. He meant them. And then he told me to leave, and said he never wanted to see me again. I said he’d be sorry, and I ran out. I was crying, but I was angry too. I wanted to kill him, Just then, I wanted him dead.’

Slider nodded. ‘You knew about the revolver?’

‘I knew about it, but I didn’t think of it then. He’d showed it to me once. He was very proud of it, and he liked to get it out and touch it. He made me hold it once and it – it – excited him.’ The transparent cheeks showed a rush of blood. ‘But I didn’t think of it then. It was afterwards, when I went out into the street, Marcus was waiting for me. He asked how I got on. I told him everything. I was so hurt and angry, you see, and I said to Marcus I wanted to kill Stefan, forgetting it was his grandfather. But Marcus didn’t care about that. When I said I wanted to kill him, Marcus took the gun out of his pocket and said, “You’ll need this, then.”’

‘He had Sir Stefan’s revolver in his pocket?’

Nod. ‘I asked him where he’d got it, and he said he’d taken it just now in case I needed it. I didn’t want to touch it, but he shoved it into my pocket, and when I tried to stop him he said to be careful, it might go off, and when I tried to take it out again he said not to be a fool because someone might see it. And then he patted me on the shoulder and said good luck and left me.’

‘And what did you do?’

‘I went home. I got the bus and went home, with the gun in my coat pocket, feeling huge and hot and as if it was burning a hole. I thought everyone looking at me must know. When I got home I took it out and put it on the table and I thought I could never touch it again. But when I remembered what Stefan had said and how he had treated me, I was so angry and miserable I wanted to die. I picked it up again, thinking I might shoot myself. Oh, I don’t know what I was thinking! And then I remembered the time Stefan had first shown it to me, and then I really wanted to kill him. I decided I would go to the rehearsal the next day, and I would shoot him in front of everyone, shoot him down in public, and then shoot myself afterwards.’ He nodded, his eyes dreamy again. ‘It seemed so good, and I was quite calm then. We would be together for ever, and no-one else would be able to have him. I sat up all night, and I smoked – Marcus had given me a bit, along with the gun – and I thought about it, and in the
morning it still seemed very good to me. So I had a shower and dressed myself and put the gun in my coat pocket and got the bus back to Shepherd’s Bush. It was the forty-nine, the same bus I always took when I went to see him at his home, and that seemed right, too, like a pattern.’

Yes, Slider thought, that was the missing element. The theatricality of the act – shooting Radek down in front of witnesses – had always seemed ludicrous: it did not fit quite comfortably with the notion of Alec Coleraine killing for financial gain. But as the final, suicidal act of a jealous lover, particularly of one so young, ardent, idealistic, and half out of his peanut with illegal substances, it made perfect sense. Like a pattern.

‘And so you went to St Augustine’s church, and you shot him,’ Slider said.

Polowski’s eyes widened. ‘No! I didn’t! At least, I suppose I must have, but I didn’t mean to. I swear I didn’t mean to kill him.’

‘All right, son,’ Slider said. ‘Just tell me about it.’