46
It was too good a chance to miss. Peter had not been inside Polly’s house since the very beginning of their relationship, and now the door was open and Polly was alone. Peter darted out from the shadows and scuttled across the road and up the path of her house. He hesitated for only a moment before pushing open the door and going in.
Once inside the hallway he paused and breathed deeply, taking a moment to absorb the atmosphere. This was her private place, her home, her “sanctum”, she had called it in court. He was risking a prison sentence just being there, but it was worth it. It was exquisite to be a part of her private world. He almost thought that he could smell Polly.
He began to climb the silent stairway, torn between the need to hurry and the desire to luxuriate fully in the moment. As he ascended he dragged one hand gently along the banister, imagining her hand upon the same polished wood, each morning and night.
In his other hand Peter held the knife.
A few moments later he stepped into the orange semi-darkness of the top landing. Only one door led off it, which Peter knew to be Polly’s. A light shone through the crack beneath it. She was inside, and she was alone. This, then, was it. The supreme moment. Peter did not know what would happen next. He had made no plan. His great opportunity had sprung itself upon him too quickly for that, but there was one thing he did know: if anyone was going to spend the night alone with Polly it was him.
He knocked on the door.
Inside the flat Polly stirred herself. She was grateful that Jack had returned so quickly; she had so hated being left alone. She got up from the bed, buttoned up her nightshirt and went to the door. Contrary to her usual habit she did not glance through the spyhole before beginning to undo the chain.
The phonebox had been empty. Jack had not expected anything else; hunters rarely find their quarry presented to them on a plate. There had been no point in trying to search the street either. There were so many shadowy doorways, basement stairs, gates and walls that it would have taken the rest of the night to investigate them all. Jack had longed for a set of infra-red nightsights, but of course, he reflected, you never have the right tool when you need it. He walked back to the house deep in thought. Turning the corner into Polly’s road, Jack noticed suddenly that the door to her house was wide open. He broke into a breathless sprint.
Polly turned the deadlock, and before reaching for the latch dabbed at her eyes with the hem of her nightshirt. She dreaded to think what sort of state her face must be in. Her eyes stung and she wondered if they were red and puffy, but there was nothing to be done. She opened the door.
Peter had seen Polly’s shadow in the crack of light beneath the door, he had even fancied that he’d heard her breathing as the door chain rattled – but he was too late. He could hear noisy footsteps bounding up the stairs behind him. His enemy had returned. Quickly he stepped back out of the gloomy light and crushed himself into the darkness of the landing, pressing himself hard against the wall.
The door of Polly’s flat opened. The American reached the top of the stairs and rushed in without breaking his stride. He did not see Peter in the darkness and Peter did not leap out to attack him as he had half intended to do. It was all too quick, too confusing. Killing was not an easy business. The door closed.
Peter stood for a moment, dumbfounded, scarcely able to contain his thoughts. She had been there. The door had been open. He had missed his chance to kill the man and possess Polly, have her for his own. On the other hand, he was inside the house. He had penetrated her environment and they did not know it. They thought themselves safe. He must work out his next move. Peter retreated down the stairs and sat down on the threadbare carpet to think.
47
Inside the attic flat Polly kissed Jack, grateful to him for trying to fight the Bug and glad not to be alone. Jack returned her kisses while trying to catch his breath, tasting the salty tears around her lips. She felt so small and helpless. Jack longed to protect her, to possess her. At that moment, he and Peter were experiencing very similar emotions. Jack steeled himself against such thoughts, against Polly’s magic.
“I didn’t get him,” he said. “He’d gone.”
“You’ll never get him,” Polly replied. “He’s invulnerable. I’ve been trying for so long.”
Jack put his lips to Polly’s ear. “Did you ever think about killing him?” he whispered.
What a question. Of course she’d thought about killing him. Victims of stalkers often find themselves thinking about nothing else. Polly had wished that sick bastard dead a thousand times.
“No, I don’t mean wishing him dead, Polly,” Jack said. “I mean actually getting him dead. Killing him. For real.”
“Don’t joke,” Polly replied. “You don’t know what it’s like. If you knew what it was like to be a victim, how awful it is, you wouldn’t joke.”
Gently Jack sat Polly down upon the bed and fetched her drink. “I’m not joking,” he said. “I’ll kill him for you.”
“Oh, Jack, if only.” She was near to tears again.
“Polly.” Jack spoke firmly now. “I’ll kill him for you. I just need to know who he is and where he lives.”
Polly’s head swam. It was such a lovely thought. Such a truly lovely thought. To have the Bug dead. Squashed. Gone for ever. Not warned off, not threatened with arrest, not made to give a solemn undertaking to stay away, but dead. Completely and utterly ceasing to exist. It was a beautiful dream. But that was what it was, a dream. You couldn’t just kill people.
Jack knew what she was thinking. “I’m a soldier,” he said. “Killing people is what I do. It’s not such a big deal.”
“When soldiers kill people it’s legal?”
“Since when did you ever care about the law? Certainly not when I knew you. There is a higher law, that’s what you used to say. Or maybe you think it’s OK that I kill strangers whose only crime is that they come from a different country. Persecuting the weak and intimidating women is fine as long as it’s legal.”
“I’m not talking about justice,” Polly said. “I’m talking about the law, that’s all. You’d get caught.”
Jack smiled that charming, confident smile. “Hey, I’m out of here tomorrow. I’m gone. I’m on an army transport to Brussels and then home to the States. You think if I bump off some sad lowlife, nolife nut in Stoke Newington, somebody’s going to say, ‘Hey, I bet a general in the United States army did this.’ Never in a trillion years.”
“Stop talking like that.”
“I was in Special Forces, Polly. Believe me, I know how to hit a guy discreetly. I can do it on my way to the airfield and still get breakfast.”
Polly was silent now. She wanted to tell him to stop again but the words would not come.
“I mean, the guy’s connected to you,” Jack continued, “but he’s not connected to me, right? Of course you’re connected to me, Polly, but only you and I know that, don’t we? That’s true, isn’t it, Polly?”
By a stroke of great good fortune Jack had stumbled upon a way of finding out exactly what he most wanted to know.
“I mean, if I’m going to do this thing I need to be sure that there’s nothing to connect me with you. Is there anything?”
Polly spoke as if in a trance. “I only told the whole story once, to a guy called Ziggy, in a VW camper near Stonehenge, but he was stoned and didn’t hear me.”
