'Gathering evidence is the job of the police.' He took a notebook and pen out of his pocket. 'What did you say the missing woman’s name was?'
'Gloria Noon.'
Blunt wrote the name down and replaced the notebook. 'And the name of the inquisitive officer in the Met?'
'Montgomery, James Montgomery.'
I waited for him to jot it down and when he didn’t asked, 'Aren’t you going to put his name in your book?'
'I’m sure I can remember it.' Blunt shook his head wearily. 'This used to be a nice quiet pub.' He took out his wallet and rifled through it until he found a card. He checked to see there was nothing written on its back then passed it to me. 'Call if you have anything useful, don’t bother otherwise. I’m not a sociable drinker, remember that in future.'
Berlin
IT WAS TWO o’clock in the morning. Dix had looked at his watch so often in the rental car during our journey that I’d grown nervous about his driving. Now he glanced at it again while he fiddled with the heavy padlock to the door of the warehouse.
I could smell the odour of damp earth brought forth by the night. Close your eyes and you could be miles from the city in a freshly planted country garden, a new tilled field, or a cemetery ready for custom.
I asked, 'Who are these people?'
Sylvie pulled her long coat closer and stamped her red shoes against the ground, shivering. Dix threw her an impatient look, then turned the key and prised back the hasp.
'Would it make any difference if you knew?'
'Maybe.'
'It’s too late for questions, William, just do as we discussed and it’ll be payday.'
Sylvie wasn’t the only one who was dressed up. Dix had revealed an unexpected showmanship, finding an outfit for me that would add a macabre touch to the proceedings.
A black costume decorated front and back with a white glow-in-the-dark skeleton. There was a mask to go with it too, a grinning skull. The mask did a good job of hiding my bruises, but I’d been worried that my gut distorted the bones. Sylvie had reassured me.
'You look yummy, William. Death come to carry off my fresh young flesh.'
I’d pulled the skull over my face and stalked her round the lounge, arms outstretched till Sylvie had let me scoop her, giggling and wriggling, onto the couch. I’d affected an aristocratic accent, Christopher Lee as Count Dracula.
'Your funeral bower, my dear.'
She’d mocked a faint and Dix had watched us with the indulgent smile of a miser reckoning money due.
The joke didn’t seem so good now and the Halloween costume had lost its carnival air.
Sylvie was as white as my fake bones. I put an arm around her but she pulled away impatiently.
'Let’s just get this over with.'
'You don’t have to go through with it if you don’t want to.'
Her laugh was harsh against the night.
Dix said, 'It’ll be over soon. Less than an hour and we’ll all walk away safely with cash in our pockets.'
Glasgow
BLUNT NEEDED MORE evidence before he could act and I had an idea of how I might get it. Like all the best tricks, it relied on a good grasp of psychology and a lot of finesse, but with the right assistance it could be simple.
I went back to the Internet cafe and checked up on flights from London. Then it was time to step into character and make a phone call. After that there was nothing much to do except hope and wait. I went back to my bedsit, poured myself a drink, lay down on the bed and started working through the moves over and over again, until the homeward screech of buses drifted into the diesel growl of taxis and shouts of late-night drinkers. Eventually even they died away and I was left in silence, looking at the splash of light thrown by the streetlamp outside my window, wondering if Blunt would buy my scheme and if he did, whether it had any real chance of success.
Berlin
SYLVIE WAS SOMEWHERE on the other edge of darkness. Dix and I stood side by side waiting for the signal. I sensed a movement and floodlights clicked on, searing white in the centre of the empty warehouse. A voice came from out of the firmament.
'OK, proceed.'
I’d expected German, but the words were English and the accents that came from the dark had an American twang. I looked at Dix.
'American?'
His voice held a hard edge of contempt.
'They still think Berlin is a place where they can get something they can’t at home.'
I grinned and pulled the skull over my face, the whole thing making more sense now that I realised it was all the whim of a rich Yank with a taste for the exotic.
