I didn’t say stop. My fault.
Nobody would have believed me. My fault.
Alice turned and ran along Torvegade to the Metro station. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she barged past the elderly man. She didn’t stop or mumble an apology, she kept running. At the stairs down to the Metro, she paused and looked over her shoulder. Ved Volden was out of sight. As she stared, people with blank faces avoided eye contact while they hurried past. She rubbed her wrist and felt the faint contours of the scars. Then she descended into the chrome underground and hid herself within the milling crowd.
42
The first time Cole woke on Wednesday, he assessed his hangover as serious, and he went back to sleep. The second time he blinked awake, he downgraded the hangover to average, and he got out of bed. After food and a shower, he took out the beer mat from the night before and called the estate agents.
Over an hour later, Cole checked his reflection in the window of a pharmacy on Notting Hill Gate. He adjusted the pork pie hat and straightened his tie. Earlier, he’d bought a pair of tight-fitting gloves and clear glass spectacles, and now, he took them from the shopping bag, popped the glasses on, and slipped his hands into the gloves. He stuffed the empty bag into a bin outside the pharmacy. His shoes shone with polish and he had pressed his only suit that morning. He rehearsed his lines as he entered Beauchamps Estates where he introduced himself as Brian Hailsham and asked for Mark Flanagan in the most refined accent he could without sounding fake.
A young, well dressed guy beamed at him and offered his hand. “Nice to meet you Brian. I’m Mark Flanagan.” He stared at Cole’s gloved hands.
Cole noticed and said, “Skin problem. Same with the head. Need to keep the sun off it.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Flanagan looked sheepish despite an obvious attempt to hide it.
Cole shrugged. “No worries. I’m used to it. Gloves and hat in Summer, eh?”
“Well, it’s a nice hat.” Flanagan looked askew at him. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
Cole shook his head. “Don't think so. Unless you were at Oxford?”
Flanagan laughed. “Out of my league, that. Anyhow, where’s your mum?”
“She couldn't make it. She asked me to go alone. I know what she's looking for and if I like this, she’ll listen.”
“Is she all right?”
“Yes. Yes. She’s great. She’s considering another property. But I don't like it. So, if this one looks good, well, there’s a good chance we’ll make an offer.”
“Excellent. There’s a lot of interest in this area. We’re even open on Sundays for the next few weekends.”
“Overtime, eh?”
“I wish. Other perks though.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
“Mum’s the word there.” Flanagan winked. “C’mon. Let’s go. We can walk, it’s not far.”
Cole engaged in small talk along the way. There was no problem wheedling information from Flanagan as he could talk for England. Cole soon learned that the boyfriend was away at a conference, and the girl had gone home to Copenhagen for a week, which confirmed what he’d seen on Twitter. Alice had fled from London.
When they turned off Portobello Road onto the Close, Cole asked, “Doesn’t it say on the leaflet the house is on Portobello Road?”
Flanagan shrugged. “Well, it’s right beside it. The address is Portobello Close, Portobello Road. Same thing.”
Cole disagreed, but decided not to press the point. As they approached the house, Cole took out his phone. “Excuse me,” he said. “The office.”
“Go right ahead.”
Flanagan pushed open the gate and walked ahead. Cole ensured the phone was on silent and set the phone’s camera to record video. Manipulating the phone with gloves was awkward, but depending on how future events unfolded, Cole figured it would be best not to leave fingerprints all over the house. Flanagan opened the door and Cole followed with the phone to his ear. A low beeping of an alarm system sounded. Cole spoke into the phone. “Aha… Yes…” Flanagan pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and punched at four numbers on the control panel with his forefinger. Cole angled the phone at the panel while Flanagan disarmed it. The beeping stopped.
“Yeah sure. Later,” Cole said. He kept the phone recording and held it at his side. “Sorry about that, Mark.”
“No problem. Now, let me show you around.” Flanagan set the keys down on the hall table but stuffed the paper with the alarm numbers into his pocket. Cole glanced at the keys and tried to figure out ways to get his hands on them. There were several keys on the bunch, and he knew the front door key was one of two possibilities. He scowled as he realised he’d need impressions of both to be sure he had the correct key. That would take more time.
“Let’s start in the lounge.” Flanagan said. Cole threw another look at the keys and clicked his tongue. Then he followed Flanagan into the lounge. He filmed everything as he pretended to listen to the estate agent talk up the good features.
The large photograph over the mantelpiece fascinated Cole, and he made sure he caught it on video. Alice must like her kinky shit to put up a bondage photo in her lounge. He’d keep that in mind. Then he pulled back the curtains and smiled at the fresh paint covering the putty for the replacement pane.
In the kitchen, Cole opened several cupboards. “Damp. Mum’s paranoid about damp.”
“I think you’ll find the place is tip top. Even here, in the utility room.”
“What about the garden?”
Flanagan went to open the back door. “The keys.”
“I’ll get them,” Cole said. “Hall table, right?” Before Flanagan could protest, Cole hurried out. He took out a tin full of plasticine and
