‘Hmph!’
Arms folded across saggy breasts beneath a black T-shirt. Jeans, too tight, in tan leather boots. She looked anywhere from fifty to a hundred. Framed with long black hair, her face sagged in mounds of white flesh. Boyd physically shook himself. What had he been thinking of letting Kirby bring him here? Not thinking at all, that was what. God damn you, Kirby, he silently swore.
The woman looked him up and down. ‘With the fat man? Yeah?’ A low, gravelly voice. Hundred a day, probably.
‘Yes,’ Boyd replied. ‘Sometime after midnight. I think. My wallet?’
She laughed then, breasts wobbling under the knitted ribs of her T-shirt, cheeks flopping up and down.
‘No wallet. I sorry,’ she said when the guttural chuckles ceased.
‘Can you look again? Please?’
‘Not here.’
Boyd glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching before he grabbed her wrist and pulled her close. ‘I’m with the gardaí and I’m asking you to look for my wallet.’
‘Police? Hah! No frighten me. I show your boss, yes?’ She pointed to the small camera nestled in a cobwebbed nook above the door.
If it even works, Boyd thought, but he released her, shook his head and walked back down the steps. It was useless. Now he’d have to declare his ID card lost and apply for a new one. He only hoped it wouldn’t end up in the wrong hands. That scenario didn’t bear thinking about.
At the bottom step, he turned. ‘I will have to tell my superiors about this.’
The woman paused before beckoning him with a curled finger. The door creaked inwards. He hurried back up.
Inside, she slammed the door behind him. The vivid flowers on the wallpaper shouted out at him. Jesus, he thought, what the hell brought me to this place? The woman sidled past him in the narrow hallway. He flinched from the touch of her skin. She opened a door and ushered him into a small room. Worn couch and a small coffee table scattered with magazines normally stored on the newsagent’s top shelf.
‘Wait.’ She pulled the door closed behind her.
He had no other choice.
‘Bitch, where is his wallet?’
Mimoza shrugged her shoulders and stared at the woman who called herself Anya. Shrinking into the pillow, she scrunched her knees to her chin and wrapped her arms about her legs. She had to act innocent with this woman or she might never get to see her son again. She couldn’t let Anya know she had found the wallet or she might check inside it. Better if she just found it herself.
‘Tall, skinny man. Here last night. Policeman. Lost his wallet. I ask other girls. They not see him. You see him?’
Mimoza shook her head.
Anya grabbed her by the arm. ‘My girls, they see nothing. You. You with big eyes. I know you see something.’
She released Mimoza’s arm, flicked down the sheet and pulled the pillow out from behind her before slapping her across the back of the head. Mimoza squeezed her eyes shut as Anya dragged her by her hair to the floor. The woman flipped the mattress. Finding nothing, she stooped down and peered beneath the bed.
‘Ha!’ she squealed.
Holding her breath, Mimoza watched Anya open the wallet. Silently she prayed that the hidden note would not be discovered. She watched as Anya removed a fifty-euro note and folded it between her breasts. Seemingly satisfied, she closed the wallet and left the room.
Mimoza began to pray. She prayed that the tall, skinny policeman would help her.
‘Today lucky for you.’
The woman waved the black wallet in front of Boyd’s face. For a moment he thought she might snatch it away as he reached for it. But she relinquished her prize easily. He checked to make sure his ID was still in its flap before shoving the wallet into his pocket, vowing never again, no matter how drunk, to venture through the doors of a brothel.
Outside, he chanced a glance up at the windows. The curtains were drawn. It might as well be a deserted building for all the life it exuded. He remembered the wretched young girl with her pleading eyes and a sadness settled into his heart where moments earlier he had felt anger. As he walked in the cool evening breeze towards the footbridge, he wondered what her story was. He knew he had enough to be doing without worrying about her, but he considered it might be wise to contact some of the lads working in the vice squad. Yes, that was what he would do.
At first Lottie couldn’t see Petrovci anywhere.
Fearing she had lost him, she decided to turn left towards the canal and caught sight of his yellow singlet immediately. She broke into a run. By the time she reached the brow of the hill, he was almost at the town’s main bridge, having made his way through the cherry blossoms along the canal pathway. She knew he lived in Hill Point and that seemed to be where he was headed.
Glad of the rising breeze, she hurried on, gaining on the tall foreigner with each step. He never looked behind him, so she was sure he hadn’t noticed her. Waiting for a moment under the old stone bridge to allow him to cross the footbridge up ahead, she was sure he was heading for his flat. She couldn’t remember the exact block or apartment number so she speed-dialled Lynch. Then, with the phone clamped to her ear, she walked on as nonchalantly as she could, keeping Petrovci in sight.
Lynch read out the full address as Lottie walked. When she put the phone away, Petrovci was nowhere in sight. Her breath caught in her throat. Where had he got to?
That was when she saw Boyd.
He was walking around a corner, across a cobbled square, metres away. Without knowing why she was doing it, Lottie ducked behind a set of concrete steps. Boyd was hurrying away from the general area where Andri Petrovci lived.
She should have stepped out and confronted him. Asked what he was doing. Should have just said, ‘Hello, fancy meeting you here.’ But she didn’t. She remained hidden as he passed by with his head bowed, seemingly deep in his own thoughts.
Straightening up, Lottie froze. Was there someone behind her? She felt a whisper of air on her neck. She held her breath, closed her eyes. Shivers engulfed her body and her hands trembled violently. A dribble of perspiration rolled down her nose. She sniffed it away. It felt like minutes but it was only a couple of seconds before she turned. No one.
She looked all around. No one near. No one running away. Her imagination? In those few seconds, all motivation for following Petrovci evaporated.
Coming out from her hiding place, she advanced up the steps to get a better view. She noticed how close Hill Point was to Weir’s car dismantler’s yard. Scanning the height of the stacked junk cars, she thought how it would be an ideal hiding place for a body. Now that the whole area was cordoned off and out of bounds to the public, she decided there would be no harm in getting each and every bit of scrap metal searched again. Thoroughly this time.