He thought back to the hit itself, to the strange girl in Bostridge’s room, to the troubled flight on which he’d met Aurianne again. And there’d been a picture of his family in Bostridge’s wallet, though JJ couldn’t remember now what they’d looked like, a blank that made it worse.
Because in there among the deeply buried superstition and the desire not to make connections was an impulse just as strong, a ghoulish curiosity to see them, to see what their lives had become because of him. He was just a gun, but beneath the surface the temptation to see what he’d wrought by being that gun was ever present, a temptation that he felt in his bones it was wrong to yield to, wrong for everyone but particularly for them, real people, a woman who’d lost her husband, kids who’d lost their father.
And despite what Tom had said, there was no need for it either, because there were people in London, people who could help him whether they liked it or not, help him in what mattered: getting to Berg. Most of all, there was Esther, the beautiful Esther as Danny liked to call her, the only constant he had left, perhaps the person who could help him most, give him the right pointers.
But if he wanted Esther’s help he knew he’d be better off moving quickly, going there straight away, putting the sleep on hold for just a little while longer. And if it turned out she couldn’t help him after all, then he’d still have that page in his pocket, which was where he wanted to keep it given the choice, folded away, unexploited.
He leaned forward and said, “I’ve changed my mind.” He gave Esther’s address then, the cabbie shrugging in response and cutting south and west on a series of side streets.
6
He got out of the cab at the far end of the street where Esther lived, two identical rows of white Regency houses, Esther’s the second from the far end. He walked casually, taking in the other houses, the cars parked along both sides, checking for any activity.
The only thing standing out was a guy sitting in a car about halfway down, on the opposite side and facing Esther’s house. Short of sitting in a van with tinted windows, he couldn’t have made it more obvious, but JJ paid him no attention. At a guess he was probably one of Tom’s colleagues anyway.
JJ kept it relaxed, smooth, like he was just someone using the street as a shortcut, even giving the appearance of passing Esther’s house, waiting until he was on top of it before making a move. It would have taken the watcher in the car a moment or two to realize JJ had stepped up to the columned portico and rung the bell, and by that time he’d have been out of camera shot.
JJ waited there, listening, wondering how she’d react to someone being at her door. He’d have been cautious at the best of times and he’d already reckoned on the possibility of her not answering at all, but with almost no delay the door was suddenly open and she was standing there, like she’d been expecting flowers or a delivery.
It took a second for her to respond, a second in which they stood facing each other, her face registering his presence. She was still beautiful, her dark hair cut short, the light trace of freckles on her skin, full soft lips, but it had been a few years since he’d seen her and he could see now that perhaps she wouldn’t wear well, that age wouldn’t suit the youthful features.
She looked better when she smiled though, stepping back to let him in. Once he was inside she closed the door and turned to face him. He smiled a little at her expression, keeping eye contact, and then she said quietly, “Thank God,” and put her arms around him, pulling herself against him. It was the first real physical contact he’d had since holding the American kid’s ropy shoulders the previous afternoon, trying to stop him from vomiting. And it felt good, because he was tired and because she was warm and comfortable against him, an easy intimacy reawakened.
It was a reminder too that their brief relationship had never run its course, that practicalities had gotten in the way but that they’d both seen it as unfinished business, something they’d return to once they’d gotten themselves established. Even now, after too long an interval, there was still something unspoken there, a closeness on hold.
When she finally pulled away she looked at him and said as if to explain herself, “I heard you were one of the people in danger.”
“I am,” he said. “Or at least, I think I am. I was hoping you might shed some light on it.”
She smiled and said, “Come on through,” and took him by the arm into the living room.
He could hear water running as they passed the bottom of the stairs, and once they were sitting down he said, “Who else is in the house?”
“Just my boyfriend. Don’t worry, he’s taking a bath, he’ll be forever. Would you like a drink?” She was about to get up again, but he stopped her with a hand gesture, watched her relax back into the sofa.