I memorized the woman’s name, Lydia Molnar, and Googled her. She was a pretty auburn-haired girl with a big smile who’d initially come to Bosnia as part of a hiking group but, according to the most detailed report I read, had decided to stay on for a few days, having fallen in love with the natural beauty of the mountains and forests surrounding Sarajevo. I tried to find out whether Sheridan had been in the country at the time she’d disappeared, but couldn’t see anything online.
But it wouldn’t be a coincidence. These things never are.
I looked at her photo. Another life destroyed by a man who clearly thought he was invincible. But therein lay his Achilles’ heel. If he was indulging in his savagery while in Bosnia then he would have to be doing it away from any police escort.
And that made him vulnerable.
My hotel (and I use the term loosely) didn’t serve breakfast, but even if it had, I’d have declined. Instead, I took a walk in the direction of Notre-Dame, basking in the beautiful morning sunlight. I stopped en route at a pavement café and ate a huge breakfast of omelette, ham, cheese, French toast, and even half a dozen oysters. I followed that with muesli with yoghurt and fresh fruit, and washed it all down with plenty of coffee.
I was free, and it might have been temporary but by God it felt good.
However, there were still things that had to be done, and fast. One: I needed transport. Two: I needed to talk to Archie Barker.
I decided on sorting the transport first. It wasn’t that hard. My French might have been basic but with the help of Google Translate I sat at my table shopping around online until I found a sales advert for a Citroën van for €4,000. The seller was based in the Montrouge district, a couple of miles south of where I was now. I still had close to €9,000 in cash so I could afford to make the purchase and, after a short, slightly awkward conversation (his English was about as good as my French), I agreed to go there at two o’clock that afternoon to take a look at it.
Now it was time to talk to Archie. I was taking a big risk, I knew that, which was why I’d been putting it off, but I wasn’t going to get very far without him. Besides, the official reward on my head was fifty grand, and I didn’t think he’d go to the authorities for that amount. As for the Kalaman money, I was just going to have to take the chance that he either hadn’t heard about it, or if he had, wouldn’t be tempted by that either. He was, after all, forever in my debt.
I called his old mobile phone number as I was walking along the banks of the Seine in the direction of the Eiffel Tower. This was my favourite part of Paris, with magnificent old buildings rising up on both sides, but without the noise and bustle of the thousands of tourists already thronging the streets on the other side of the high walls that lined the river.
The phone rang for a long time and I was thinking of giving up when a voice finally answered, ‘Who’s this?’
It was Archie. I recognized the accent immediately, even though it had lost a little of its cut-glass inflection.
The moment of truth. ‘It’s Ray Mason.’
Archie made a thin whistling sound. ‘Now you are a man I definitely wasn’t expecting to hear from. How did you get this number?’
‘You gave it to me, remember? A long time ago. I memorized it.’
‘I’m impressed. No one memorizes anything any more.’
‘I don’t want to go all Godfather on you, Archie, but you told me once that you were forever in my debt, and now the time’s come to collect. I need your help.’
A pause. ‘How exactly?’
I still had a choice here. I could simply ask Archie to put me in touch with a high-quality forger who could put together the documents I needed to open a bank account, and forget all about Alastair Sheridan. If I did that, I reckoned I had a 60 per cent chance of being able to start a new life somewhere else, maybe even more, because that would give me the access to the one thing all people on the run needed. Money.
It was the sensible choice. The rational one.
But the cowardly one too.
‘I need you to put me in touch with someone who can supply me with a gun,’ I said.
There was a long silence.
‘I’m retired, Ray,’ Archie said eventually. ‘You know that. You encouraged me to make the move, and I’ll always be thankful to you for that.’
‘Just like you’ll always be thankful I saved your life. I know you still know people. Help me.’
He made some noises of exasperation down the other end of the line, the kind a mechanic makes just before he tells you that the repair on your car’s going to be a very big job.
‘None of it will come back to you,’ I told him. ‘It’s just a favour, then we’re quits. Please.’
‘Where are you?’
I thought about telling him I was in Paris but I didn’t want to carry the gun across borders unless it was a last resort. ‘I’m on the move. I’m going to be in Sarajevo in the next couple of days. You know anyone there?’
‘Possibly. I’ll make some phone calls and come back to you.’
‘And if you know any good forgers down there, that would be a big help too.’
‘I’ll call you back. Are you going to be on this number?’
‘Yeah, I will be. But don’t be long.’
‘I’ll do what I can,’ he said, not sounding remotely enthusiastic, and ended the call.
While I waited for him to call back, I meandered northwards, seeing the Eiffel Tower rise up to the left
