‘Nothing I tell you!’
I didn’t see Billy going too far down this track, he wasn’t building a second empire that’s for sure. But I knew if he thought of striking out on his own he’d need some kind of legit cover.
‘Motors… Billy liked his motors,’ I said, thinking out loud. ‘Did he have a workshop, garage somewhere?’
‘No. Never. He liked cars to drive, but he was not that kind of a man — you know, macho.’
‘What was he like?’
‘He liked the finer things in life.’
‘So, he liked his luxuries — clothes, scent?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did he ever bring in, say, a batch of designer gear from the Continent? Or anywhere else for that matter.’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘But say he did…’
‘He did not.’
‘Christ! Paintings then, Louis Vuitton handbags, mucky books? Where would he keep them? Where would he store them?’
‘I do not know. I really do not know. I tell you, he never had such business that I knew of.’
I was getting nowhere. I needed to know what Billy had been up to. Now, either Nadja was in the dark too, or she was holding out on me again. I wasn’t about to let her away with that for a second time.
I ran through to the bedroom, picked up the Glock. Stuffed it in my belt.
‘Right, on your feet,’ I said.
‘Why? Where are we going?’
‘Billy’s gaff. If he’s left a hint of what he’s been up to, we’ll find it.’
‘But Benny’s people have already been over it.’
‘I’m not Benny’s people.’
55
Billy kept a yuppie apartment down on the waterfront. I’d read an article by Irvine Welsh where he’d queried what it was with yuppies and water. I’d never found the answer to that myself. The water down here, looking out to a sea black to the horizon, is far from calming. Byron Bay it ain’t.
Whoever came up with the saying ‘worse things happen at sea’ had the Scottish coast in mind at the time. There’s a spot in the north called Cape Wrath. Says it all. A name like that, you don’t need to see the pictures. Safe to say, it hasn’t made any holiday brochures.
Robert Louis Stevenson’s family fortune came from building lighthouses to warn against the harshness of the Scottish coast, he had the right idea nicking off to Samoa. As a teenager on a trip up north, he’d described the coastal town of Wick as ‘one of the meanest of man’s towns, and situated certainly on the baldest of God’s bays’.
As I looked out of Billy’s floor-to-ceiling windows I couldn’t find one word of praise for the view, said, ‘What were you thinking, Billy?’
‘What, what did you say?’
‘Nothing. Just admiring the view.’
Nadja looked at me as though I’d fallen into apoplexy.
‘Are you serious? It is like the end of the world.’
What do you say to that? I said nothing.
‘Can you hurry, please,’ said Nadja. ‘I don’t like it here.’
‘Why? Bad memories?’
‘I’ve never liked it here.’
She stood in the centre of the floor, arms folded. Her eyes darted from me to the door and back again. She looked cold. I expected to see her shiver, but then it dawned on me — it was a deeper cold, a visceral chill. She’d carry this cold with her wherever she went.
Coming back here I’d expected tears from her. At least, some stirring of emotion. Maybe pick up one of the pictures dotted about the place. Pictures of her and Billy in what looked to be happier times. But she seemed unmoved by the return visit. Worse than that, the place unsettled her.
I asked, ‘Why?’
‘Why what?’
‘Why did you never like it here?’
She gave out a loud huff, moved away from me, propped herself on a bar stool.
‘Can you please get what you came for? I want to leave.’
The place had been turned over by Zalinskas’ goons, but I guessed it was a week since anyone had been there. A layer of silver dust covered the dining table and a stack of unopened mail sat on the mat.
‘Cleaning lady on holiday?’ I joked.
Saw a set of drawers turned out onto the floor, packs of cards, TV Times and Sainsbury’s coupons everywhere.
‘Billy clipped coupons?’ I said.
‘Ohh… that man!’
The DVD player lay smashed to bits on the floor. A set of size tens stomping on the casing will do that. A stack of empty shelves, left untouched, confused me. ‘Why are these shelves empty?’
Nadja shrugged her shoulders.
I got behind the DVD player, poked about on the floor, found an empty CD case and another empty CD rack.
‘They’ve taken all the disks.’
‘Yes, so what? Can we go now?’
I tramped through the debris to the kitchen, placed a hand on Nadja’s thigh. ‘You’ll have my full attention soon enough. Why don’t you make yourself a coffee?’
She rose, threw up her hands. ‘I am going to wait outside.’
‘No, I don’t think you are.’ I lowered my eyes and she went back to her seat.
‘Can you hurry — please.’
‘All in good time.’ I handed her the pile of unopened mail. ‘Here, look through that.’
In the bedroom, Billy’s clothes covered the floor. He had some expensive gear, but no taste. Ties that the guy off Channel 4 news wouldn’t give the nod to.
Inside his wardrobe more shelves had been removed, I say removed, torn out more like. But his shoes seemed untouched, lined up on the floor in two neat rows. Had a brainstorm to tip them out. Instantly, glad I did. A key for a mortise lock fell out of a Reebok runner.
I picked up the key. ‘Hello, what’s this?’
It seemed like an old key, rusted over. Certainly not well used. I called out to Nadja, ‘Hey, come in here, would you?’
No answer.
I stood up, went back through to the lounge.
‘Nadja,’ I called out. Then again, louder, ‘Nadja… Nadja.’
The place was empty. She’d run out on me.
56
I looked in the hall and out the window, but saw no sign of Nadja. She’d cut out with the pile of mail.
