When I get back to the scooter, I open the seat and go to put the carrier bag inside it. I catch sight of the folded piece of paper as it shifts in the breeze. I swallow, hard. I’m sure that wasn’t there before, but I can’t be certain. I didn’t look in the compartment before I left the bar earlier.
My heart thumping in my chest, I delicately lower my hand towards the paper – as if dipping my hand into a pool of crocodiles to test the temperature of the water – and pull the paper out. Unfolding it, I see the words written on it in black pen:
Who are you buying jewellery for, Daniel?
Just seven words, but seven words that mean so much. They mean someone is here, watching me. There’s now no doubt that the note was written and put here in the past couple of minutes, as even I didn’t know I was going to a jewellery shop until I got here. But it’s impossible – I know for a fact I wasn’t tailed. The only people who knew I was here are Marek and Andrej. They sent me here. And they’re the only people I can think of who might have a reason for terrorising me in this way, even though I have absolutely no idea what that reason might be.
My instincts kick in and in that moment a huge realisation dawns on me. It’s all over. Whatever I do, I can’t run. Whichever way I turn, the killer is there, tormenting me. And the worst part of it all is that he hasn’t killed me, too. In many ways, that would be a relief, an escape. It would never clear my name, though, and that’s something that means a lot to me. I can’t live with injustice, but I can’t resolve this one on my own, either.
Ten minutes later, I park the moped up outside the police station and walk slowly but confidently up to the door.
I’ve planned out the whole conversation in my head on the ride over here. I’ll find an officer who speaks English and tell them everything. I’ll tell them how I need someone to hear my case, that I’ve not committed any crimes (other than potentially getting involved in drug dealing, but I don’t know that for certain, and in any case I can quite legitimately say I was blackmailed). It’s my only option.
I know that I’ll be arrested. I know that I’ll be deported back to England, and I know that when I get there I’m going to be questioned at length about Lisa’s death, but I’ll get a good lawyer. The best. He’ll be able to help me. After all, the truth is that I haven’t done anything. I didn’t kill Lisa and I didn’t kill Jess.
But as I stand with my hand on the front door of the police station, I just can’t shake that immovable feeling that I won’t be able to find the truth this way. The British police are already hell-bent on the idea that I killed Lisa, and I don’t have a thing – nothing – that can prove otherwise. Try as I might, how am I going to convince the people who are already convinced?
No. I need more. Much more. And I’ve only got one tiny glimmer of hope available to me.
60
I know what I need to do, but I also know that I have to complete this delivery first. Whatever happens, I need to either get rid of any incriminating evidence, or I need to ensure that Marek and Andrej don’t have any more reasons to terrorise me – if it is them who are doing it.
I try to keep as calm as I can and make my way over to the drop-off point. I never quite know what I’m going to find until I get there, as I’m only ever given an address – never a name of a shop or any indication as to what the building is. When I get to my drop-off point, it’s in a residential area. Not in quite the same league as the house I visited the other day, but pretty nice all the same. Certainly a nicer house than mine back home. If I’ll ever be able to call it mine again. It’s then that I realise I’ve referred to it as home. Is that just a force of habit, or am I starting to miss England? If I’m honest, I really don’t know. My feelings are somewhat marred and blurred by everything that’s happened recently.
I walk up the driveway of the address I’ve been given and I look for a doorbell. There isn’t one, so I knock instead. A few seconds later, I hear someone approaching the door. When it opens, there’s an elderly gentleman looking back at me, a television blaring out at full volume somewhere inside the house. The man can’t be any younger than ninety, and he smiles genially as he sees me. As if he is expecting me. He doesn’t say anything, and the best I can manage is, ‘Delivery,’ as I hold up the carrier bag, still not having bothered to learn a word of Slovak. The old man beams, takes the bag and pats me on the arm whilst saying something I don’t understand a word of. I smile and wave as I walk back down his driveway and hear the door close behind me.
And that’s when the idea occurs to me. I look back at his house, and then at the ones nearby. I’m looking for security cameras, but I can’t see any. It strikes me as the sort of neighbourhood where crime just doesn’t exist.
I make my way back up his driveway, but I keep to the side of it, walking in between his car and the fence. The car is a Hyundai hatchback – fairly new, by the looks of things, but not new or expensive enough that it’s going to have a tracker installed. When I get to the end of the driveway, I’m level with the house. There’s a gate in the fence that leads to the back garden, but it appears to be locked. In any case, I wouldn’t be able to open the gate far, as the car’s parked right up against it. I climb onto the bonnet of the car, my shoes clunking on the metalwork, then over the fence. There’s a patio the other side, and I drop down fairly noiselessly onto it.
I can still hear the old man’s TV from inside the house, and praise the gods for his dreadful hearing. I make my way round to the back of the house, ducking under each window, until I get to the back door. It’s a wooden door with nine inset glass panes. I peer around and through one of the bottom panes, perched on my hands and knees like a dog. There’s no sign of the old man in the kitchen, so I get up onto my feet and have a proper peer through. Just inside the door is a row of four hooks. On one is what looks like the key to his Hyundai.
I try the door handle. To my amazement and delight, it’s open. I push the door gently, flinching and holding back as it starts to creak. After a few seconds there’s still no sign of life from inside the house, so I push the door open just enough that I can get my arm inside, and I make a grab for the keys.