‘I don’t know who’s going to find this,’ I say, ‘but my name is Daniel Cooper. There will be a lot being said about me, and it’s important that the truth is told. Firstly, I did not kill my wife, Lisa Cooper. At the time she died, I was downstairs in the restaurant at the hotel. I wasn’t even aware that my wife was at the hotel. When I came back up to my room, I found her body in my bathtub, but with no signs of forced entry to the room. This was the first time I’d seen my wife since I left our house the week before. When I saw the mobile phone in her hand, I looked at the screen and saw that there was a text message that appeared to come from me. I didn’t send it. I’d never seen that message before, and there was no trace of it on my phone. At that point, I panicked. I freaked out. Finding your wife dead is one thing, but realising someone has tried to frame you for her murder is something completely different. I just wanted to get as far away from the situation as possible.
‘I don’t like confrontation, and I don’t like injustice. But at the same time, I don’t know how to handle either when they’re thrust upon me. There was an incident in my past. The authorities will probably have found it on record by now. I don’t know. I might be digging myself into a bigger hole by telling you about it. When I was young, I was in a children’s home. A boys’ home. It was run by nuns. There was a man who used to come to visit. He put a lot of money into the home, kept it running and all of the nuns thought he was practically a saint. Well, most of them. This man used to have . . . favourites. Out of the boys, I mean. One night, after he’d done it again, I lost my rag. My temper went and I flew into a rage. I battered the bloke black and blue. You’ve got to understand that wasn’t because I’m a violent person. It’s not. I’m not. It’s because I don’t know how to handle things. And that’s why I ran from the hotel when I found my wife’s body and realised I’d been set up. Because I couldn’t handle the injustice.
‘I didn’t run on my own. When I got downstairs, Jessica saw me. She worked at the hotel, on reception. We’d . . .’ I figure I might as well come out with it. It’s not as if Lisa’s ever going to know now. ‘We’d been having a bit of a fling while I was staying at the hotel. I don’t know why, but I agreed to let her come with me. I just wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. She seemed to know what she was doing.
‘We drew cash out of our accounts and headed for Folkestone. We got on the Eurotunnel and went to France. We knew we needed to get as far away as possible, for two reasons. Firstly, to give ourselves some breathing space and time to work out what the hell we were going to do, and secondly to get away from the person who’d killed Lisa and would quite possibly try to kill me – if not make it their life’s mission to make my existence a living hell. Jess knew a place in France. I don’t remember the exact location, but it was a farmhouse near Locquignol. I reckon I could find it again if I was in the area, but right now that’s the best I can do. A friend of her family lived there. A guy called Claude. He gave us cash, as well as a car. We left my car in his barn. The next morning, we drove down to Switzerland and hired a caravan on a campsite. That’s when things started to get worse.
‘I went into town one morning to get some bits, and when I came back Jess was dead. Murdered. I thought we’d managed to outrun the killer, but I knew in that instant that he knew exactly where I was and that he was trying to close in on me. So I ran. Again. I drove to Innsbruck and abandoned Claude’s car in a petrol station. I went on foot to the main station and got on a train to Bratislava, which is where I’ve been ever since.
‘I rented a room above a bar, run by a guy called Marek. His brother, Andrej, somehow managed to collar me into delivering parcels for him. I didn’t know what the parcels were – I still don’t, actually – but by the time I’d done one it was too late to back out. They found out my real identity. I’d told them I was called Bradley. They said if I left they’d turn me in, but if I stayed and worked for them they’d help me. Then I got a note through the door one day addressed to “Daniel” which said . . . Well, it was a threat. Let’s just put it that way. That’s when I knew I couldn’t get away. From whoever is doing this. That’s when I knew that wherever I ran, he’d be there. And that’s why I’m recording this message. So that when I’m found – if I’m found – the truth is on record. My truth. Because only the truth matters. None of what anyone else is saying. I didn’t kill Lisa. I didn’t kill Jess. I’ve never killed anyone. This is the truth.’
My head spins as I click the ‘Stop’ button, and I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
I take the memory card out of the dictaphone and put the device in my pocket. As long as I’ve always got this on me and Marek and Andrej have the other copy, I’m about as safe as I possibly can be. Which isn’t very safe at all. I take the memory card downstairs and put it behind the bar, where Andrej said. Then I put on my jacket and step outside the back door, into the alleyway, and start up the moped. It’s time to regain some trust.
59
I don’t know if it’s just the paranoia kicking in again, but I feel like I’m being followed. There’s nothing tangible, nothing I can put my finger on, but it gives me a deep sense of unease. I don’t take the most direct route to my pick-up point – far from it. I head off in the general direction of where I need to go before veering off into a side road to my right, then turning right at the end again, heading back the way I’ve just come, on a parallel road. I glance in my mirrors every couple of seconds, taking note of the cars behind me, getting to know each of them intimately.
None of them ever turn the same way as I do, but I still can’t shake that feeling of being followed. Knowing that it’s a paranoia coming from within me makes it even worse. I wouldn’t wish this feeling on my worst enemy. After more twisting and turning I decide that I’m never going to feel completely comfortable, so I head for the pick-up point.
When I get there, I find out the shop I need to get to is in a pedestrianised area of the city. I can see it – it’s a jeweller’s – but there’s no way I’ll be able to drive to it, so I park the scooter up round the corner and do the rest of the journey on foot. It’s a pain in the arse, but my main worry is that I’m going to have to walk back through this pedestrianised area with the package under my arm. That doesn’t exactly feel safe to me.
The woman working in the shop seems to know who I am straight away, and she beckons me over to the till. She bends down behind the counter and picks up a carrier bag. I can see inside – it’s a large carriage clock. She smiles at me in that way people do when they’re expecting you to go as quickly as possible.
As I walk back to the scooter, I can’t help but wonder why the hell I’m transporting a carriage clock in a carrier bag. A few thoughts cross my mind – perhaps it’s filled with drugs, maybe it’s packed with explosives. Or maybe it’s just a carriage clock being transported from a jeweller’s shop. That last possibility doesn’t seem so far-fetched – I imagine Marek and Andrej need to ensure some level of secrecy by giving me some perfectly innocent deliveries. From their point of view, it’d be a good test of my loyalties and reduce their risk of me flaking out, especially after the incident with the note.