‘She was waiting outside when I got there, but before I kissed her hand, I spoke with her a little bit. I didn’t recognise her, you see, so I wanted to get to know her a little better, put her at ease. I liked the look of her. Her body was nice, make-up, hair. She looked very pretty. But she would not tell me her name. In the end, I called her my angel. Then I found her inside the room. At first she didn’t know what to do or who to speak with, but…’ He licked his lips. ‘But because she had already spoken with me, I guess you could say she felt more comfortable.’
‘You two took a room together?’
Tomek remembered how easy it had been for Rachel to secure a night with Florian.
‘Yes. I… I…’ He began scratching the back of his head, withdrawing more and more into himself. ‘I, you could say, I took her virginity. It was her first time there, and it was her first time with—’
‘We get it,’ Tomek interrupted, raising a hand for the man to stop. ‘What happened after you’d “been” together?’
‘She went one way, I went another.’
Rachel scribbled away intensely, her writing gradually becoming less and less neat and legible as she struggled to catch up.
‘When did you see her next?’ she asked.
‘At the next meeting, a month later.’
Rachel waited until she’d finished writing everything down before continuing. They were on her time now. ‘And you two spent the night together again?’
‘Yes. We spent many nights together. Each time we used protection, of course.’
‘Of course.’
‘But… after what you said last night, I… I want to know if the baby is mine. Is it possible to take a DNA test, to find that out?’
Rachel opened her mouth to speak, but Tomek beat her to it. ‘What’s the point? The baby’s dead. Nothing would be gained from that.’
Florian prodded the side of his head. ‘For my own sanity.’
Tomek told the man that it wouldn’t be possible. ‘It was less than three months old, from what I understand. We may never know the father. I’m sorry.’
The man dropped his head, looking deeply into his lap. They both gave him a moment to compose himself and his thoughts.
‘She was one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen,’ Florian explained, talking to his knees. ‘She was like a portrait from the Renaissance. She was like the Mona Lisa.’
‘Are you an art fan, or just have a casual interest?’
‘I’m an artist.’ At that, Florian lifted his head with a morsel of pride that was lost amongst the grief and despair.
‘What do you paint?’
‘Anything and everything. My surroundings. Landscapes. People.’
‘Did you ever do one of Angelica?’
The man nodded slowly. Then, without saying anything, he reached into his pocket, unlocked his phone and scrolled through his camera roll. A few seconds later, he found the photo he was looking for and slid the phone across the table. Tomek reached for the device and held it between them. On the screen was a close-up of an angel, perched on the edge of a bed, half naked. The woman in the painting was unmistakably Angelica, with the long black hair, the dark eyes, the slim figure, the jawline, cheeks, nose. It was eerily accurate.
‘How did you do that?’ he asked.
‘From memory. After our first night together, I was unable to get her out of my head. I had such a clear picture of her that I needed to get her down on the canvas. It was the only way I could get her off my mind.’
It was clear to see that Florian had been, and was quite possibly still, infatuated with Angelica. Infatuated with her the same way that all the men in her life seemed to be. From Micky Tatton striking up conversation with her on board a European flight, to Shawn Wilkins liking and monitoring every waking (and sleeping) moment of her life, to Sammy Mercer, who still believed there was a scintilla of hope they might get back together again. She was adored, loved, admired, and in some cases lusted after. And in the end, it had led to her death.
‘Did you ever get a chance to show it to her?’ Rachel asked.
Florian shook his head. ‘I tried. I sent it to her mobile number, but I think she must have given me a wrong one, because she never replied. And I couldn’t show her in person because there are no phones allowed, so she never got to see it.’
And now she never would.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Tomek had been staring at the picture on his computer screen for almost half an hour. With each scroll of the mouse and prod of the arrows on the keyboard, he saw something new, a new detail, a new layer of meaning. He had never been massively into art – he thought it was all bollocks and that the artists just painted whatever they wanted to paint, and that there was no hidden meaning behind the artist’s choice to use one particular stroke or colour over another – but there was something about this particular image that had piqued an interest within him, an interest he didn’t know he had. The naked bodies, the enlarged fruit, the curious and unusual animals, the descent into depravity and hell. It fascinated him, and admittedly, despite himself, he was feeling a little inspired. That perhaps he could try something like that, something unique and representative of sin and lust. But then he remembered that he could barely draw a stick man, so an accomplished tapestry of art like The Garden of Earthly Delights was well beyond his capabilities. Still, it was nice to dream to think he had it in him.
As he scrolled across to the right side of the triptych, the dark and demonic depiction of hell, Tomek’s phone began vibrating on the table. The sudden sound and movement made him jump. Fortunately there was no one nearby to see it. He reached for the device and glanced at the caller ID. At once, all the inspiration, wonder and creativity that had been garnered from the painting, leached out of him.
It was Abigail. Possibly calling to ask him about coming round, or to argue with him about the night before. Or possibly, and much less likely, she was calling about work and what information he might have for her. Only one way to find out. Pushing himself away from the table, he bit the bullet, darted into a small office, and answered the call.
‘You all right?’ he asked tentatively.
‘Yeah. You?’
‘Yeah. Not bad.’
‘Good.’
Tomek waited for her to speak. Neither of them wanted to be first. Neither knew what to say. Just as Tomek opened his mouth, Abigail interrupted.
‘Come down,’ she said.
