Polychrome Read Free Page B

took a long
time wiping them on the moist tissue he’d taken from the airplane
before carefully studying the note he was to attach to the flowers.
Flowers, as if a little withered, were painted on the small card. He
didn’t like them much. In the middle were printed the Latin words Expecto Donec Veniat and ‘For Aurelia’ – handwritten.
He considered it strange but didn’t think about it for too
long; Latin wasn’t his strong point, let alone some words of
wisdom. He slipped the note into his wallet, in the compartment
where he kept his money, so as not to forget to attach it to the
flowers as promised.
In the end, he phoned home, even said something pleasant;
after all, he did feel the day was exceptional. He asked what
they were having for supper.
And heard – sorrel soup.
The taxi driver who’d just changed lanes saw his passenger’s
hideous grimace in the mirror. He couldn’t stand it and uttered
furiously: ‘Then find a route yourself. I’ve no idea how to drive
around this city anymore. Everyone knows where there aren’t
any traffic jams! Apart from taxi drivers, of course,’ he added
under his breath.
The passenger didn’t say a word, either then or later. He
didn’t even say goodbye.
mAcIej bArtol , an unfledged police commissioner, thought
someone had saved his life when he heard his work mobile
phone ring. And he was not far from wrong.
For the past fifteen minutes he’d been at his mother’s. He had a
very close relationship with her generally, but not at this moment.
He’d discovered recently that her maiden name, Bogdanowicz,
indicated that she might have descended from the Tatars. Now,
he was almost certain there was some truth in it.
Things had already gone very badly when he’d told her he
was to be a father and not a very happy one at that, but when,
regrettably, he’d added that he wasn’t sure how it had happened,
her large, expressive eyes had begun to narrow into slits like
those of a wild animal and her eyelids trembled. Something
peculiar had happened to her lips, too. The anticipated attack
had followed.
The tirade – along the lines that perhaps she really hadn’t
talked to him enough about matters concerning men and
women when he was an adolescent, that if he wanted to she
could, albeit unwillingly, make up the deficit and explain to
the thirty-five-year-old fully-grown man where babies come
from – was only broken by a silly ringtone. The cabaret tune
didn’t suit the situation, and not for the first time.
He hoped it was something important; an innocent lie
which would enable him to escape was out of the question.
He didn’t know how, but his mother always knew when he was
lying or even when he wasn’t telling the whole truth.
Fortunately, the call was from Piotr Lentz. The two men
worked together but weren’t bound by friendship, so Lentz
wouldn’t be phoning without good reason.
‘Hi, where are you?’
‘Ogrody. What’s happened?’
‘Good, you’re not far. Get yourself over here. The prosecutor
and SOCO are already on their way. No point in talking. You’ll
be surprised. 6 Góralska Street.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Sołacz. Go down Wojska Polskiego Street and you’ll see a
disco on the right. They’re all here.’
He glanced at his mother who was looking at him, listening
and, for a moment, looking almost normal.
‘I’m sorry, I’ve got to go. We’ll talk later.’ He assumed a
serious expression.
‘Fine, and I’ll buy you a couple of textbooks in the meantime.
Primary or secondary school level, what do you think?’
‘Stop, mum. It’s hard for me, too!’ he answered, knowing
full well he shouldn’t have said anything, let alone complained.
Too late.
‘You’re finding it hard!’ He almost jumped away; he couldn’t
remember when she’d last shouted so. ‘How far gone is the
girl?’
‘Two, three months… I think?’
‘No, it’s impossible, I wouldn’t have brought up my real
son like that!