By the time Wojcik finished the interviews, most of his colleagues had already left the station. He assumed Farnicki would have returned from Cracovia and would be waiting in the office. Instead, he found him standing beside the Lada in the car park.
"Farnicki. How was Cracovia?"
"Productive, sir," Ivan replied curtly, handing back the keys.
Wojcik caught the distant, preoccupied look in his sergeant's eyes.
"Did you learn anything?"
"Yes, sir. But I need to speak to you first."
"Fine. Let's go inside."
"No, sir. Privately."
From the beginning Wojcik had sensed Farnicki was concealing something. The young man's guarded introduction the previous day had made that clear — he wasn't the sort to invite anyone into his private world. So, the request for a confidential conversation surprised him and sharpened his curiosity. He nodded towards the car.
"Get in."
As soon as the doors closed, Farnicki spoke.
"Sir, I was there."
"In Cracovia?" Wojcik asked, feigning confusion.
"No, sir. In Agnes' flat. Yesterday lunchtime. Those fingerprints are mine."
"Go on," Wojcik said evenly. He had expected some minor personal confession — something easily managed. What came next was far more inconvenient.
"After your argument with her yesterday, I followed her outside. She was distraught. I offered to look into her case myself. She invited me for lunch; I accepted. But she was alive when I left."
"What time?"
"Just before one — enough to walk back here."
"What did she say?"
"She described how the cats died. All poisoned. But I don't think it was cyanide."
"Why not?"
"Agnes saw one convulse in agony. They all foamed at the mouth. I'm no expert, but those aren't cyanide symptoms."
"What did she do with the bodies?"
"Buried them under the flowerbeds outside."
"Vic will tell us if he finds traces of something else. Anything more?"
"She couldn't afford proper cat food, so she fed them whatever she ate. I think Agnes was the target all along. The cats were incidental."
Wojcik gave a slow nod. "I wondered how you had reached that conclusion so fast. Vic suggested the same thing just before you arrived — said she must have shared her fridge scraps with them."
Farnicki's shoulders lifted in a small, involuntary shrug. "She offered me the leftover rice. I declined." A flicker of realisation crossed his face — he could have eaten it himself. "I think she had lunch right after I left."
He waited. Wojcik stared out of the windscreen, silent, thoughts turning inward.
"Are your prints in the database?" Edmond asked abruptly.
"No, sir."
"Good."
"You're not going to report this?" Farnicki sounded genuinely surprised.
"Are you mad? Think how it looks. Wroclaw sends its star officer to my quiet precinct. Day one, he's the last person to see the victim alive, fingerprints everywhere. Your recklessness drags us both into the mud. Once you're listed as a suspect, you're off the case — and I'm left solving it alone. No, Sergeant. No report."
Farnicki felt a tangle of relief and self-disgust. He was grateful to escape scrutiny, yet he hated bending the rules — even for this. He had never wanted to be the kind of officer who excused himself from the standards he enforced. Still, Wojcik showed no remorse, and arguing the point would change nothing.
"What did you find in Cracovia?" Wojcik asked, signalling the matter closed.
"I spoke to Karl Gott. Thoroughly unpleasant. Greed lit up his face the moment I told him Agnes was dead. His wife blurted out that he was counting on inheriting the flat to sell it — prime location, apparently. He claims he hasn't seen her since childhood and they only rang twice a year, yet he knew the flat's condition and that cats lived there. He's been inside. I've told him to send a full timeline of his movements last month, plus any external CCTV, and to come here for prints."
"Knowing the interior isn't proof. She could have described it over the phone."
"There's more, sir. Karl Gott is a pharmacist. Owns his own pharmacy."
Wojcik's eyebrows lifted. "Now we're getting somewhere."
"Exactly. He bristled the moment I mentioned professionals that have access to cyanide."
"We'll wait for Vic's results. If Karl's prints are in the flat, we can wrap this up."
"Something tells me it won't be that simple, sir. I disliked him on sight, but greed doesn't automatically make a murderer. Men like Karl avoid risk — especially when their comfortable life is on the line."
"How did it go on Liberation Street?" Farnicki asked, suddenly remembering Wojcik's plan to re-interview the neighbours.
"Nothing useful. No one saw or heard anything relevant. I spoke to Helena Grom in flat 53. Quite the character. Someone was spying on her and her boyfriend in the bedroom last night — climbed the oak by the church, threw something at the window. Nearly cracked it. She thinks it's just a local pervert. Probably unrelated."
"I suggest we call it a day," Wojcik said. "Tomorrow's results should clarify things."
"I'll fetch my scooter from Liberation Street first, then collect the cats and take them to Vic. See you tomorrow, sir."
Farnicki opened the door to leave. Wojcik's hand settled lightly on his shoulder.
"Wait. Anything else you need to tell me?"
Edmond studied the younger man, searching the opaque depths of those dark eyes.
"No, sir," Farnicki answered flatly. He stepped out and closed the door.
"Liar," Wojcik whispered as he watched Ivan walk away across the rain-slicked car park.