“Maybe Naomi wasn’t a willing partner, to whoever did this to her,” he says, suddenly, thinking out loud.
“What?” Erik snaps.
Alex reddens, wishes he hadn’t said anything. “I just meant, perhaps … maybe she was attacked, rather than had an affair.”
Erik practically spits at him. “What, attacked twice in the last month? Bit of a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”
It had been a stupid thing to say, Alex acknowledges to himself. He’d only said it because Elian was on his mind.
He is saved from saying anything else thanks to the arrival of one of Erik’s colleagues. They whisper together in Dutch, and Alex strains to listen, realising belatedly that he wouldn’t understand even if he could hear. They break off, Erik looks at Alex and pulls his jacket from the back of his chair and struggles into it.
“They’ve found another body,” he says and marches out of the room.
Alex stands by the door, unsure of Erik’s mood, not knowing if he should follow or if his work here is now done. He looks towards Naomi, watches the steady rise and fall of her chest. He thinks of Elian.
“Hey, policeman,” Erik puts his head around the door and barks at Alex. “Are you coming, then?”
Alex snatches up the files that are still spread out on Naomi’s bed, and with one last glance her way, he hurries after Erik.
Erik is relieved to have an excuse to leave Naomi’s room and bedside, even if it is at the expense of another victim. He couldn’t stay there any longer, looking at her face, angelic in her induced slumber. But she’s hurt, seriously injured, and he can’t cast away the years they’ve spent together. But he can’t stand to look at her either.
There’s a newsstand in the reception and he catches the headline of De Scheveningsche Courant. Scheveningen Street Strangler still slaughtering, it says. Erik flicks a fist out, catching the paper and tumbling it to the floor. It doesn’t matter; every newspaper says something similar and everyone knows that Naomi was the latest victim. But she’s alive, that’s got to count for something and the killer must know this. Normally he would expect the attacks to reduce, for the attacker to lie low for a while. But now he’s struck again and the bodies are really stacking up now.
“Where is it?” he grunts to his sergeant.
“Gevers Deynootweg, apartment 1056,” Sergeant Gant replies as he hurries to keep up with his inspectuer’s long strides.
Erik stops abruptly and the sergeant runs into the back of him. Erik shakes him off angrily and sees Alex jogging down the corridor towards them.
“Apartment 1056, that’s next to the one we smashed in last week, right?”
Gant nods eagerly and Erik looks over his shoulder and speaks in English to Alex.
“It looks like we might be going to see your mysterious Russian, after all.”
Alex feels his mouth go dry at Erik’s words. He’s not sure what has been said to make Erik suspect that they’ll find Lev, and he hopes to God that the body they’re about to view doesn’t turn out to be Elian. He can’t come this far and lose her, not like this. If he’s going to lose her it’s because she decides she doesn’t want him, not because she’s dead. He grabs Erik’s arm.
“What does she look like, this latest victim?”
Erik shrugs his hand off and glares. “I don’t know, we’re not there yet, are we?”
Fuck, fuck, FUCK! Alex pulls at the collar of his shirt, suddenly finding it hard to get breath into his lungs. As they reach Erik’s car Alex realises that he still has the keys in his pocket, and he runs around to the driver’s seat, calling out for Erik to hurry. The sergeant, Gant or Gaunt, is even further behind. Once Erik is in the passenger seat Alex pulls away, unable to wait for any trailing police officers. He looks in the rear view mirror, sees the sergeant standing in the road, one hand up in a questioning motion, the other scratching at his head.
Erik directs Alex down the streets, back past the Carlton Beach, the promenade and beach front passing by in a flash. Alex hits the brakes sharply as he sees the collection of police cars parked haphazardly out the front of an apartment building, lights flashing and officers walking around the perimeter of the building.
Alex dumps the car where it is and is out of the car before Erik has even unbuckled his seatbelt.
Whether it is his purposeful stride or his natural finesse, nobody stops Alex and as he reaches the floor where the police are congregating he spots the open door of the apartment. He touches nothing as he glides through the door and stands inside the lounge area of someone’s home. All he can see is red; a red dress, red lipstick, red nails and deep, dark red blood.
He sags against the doorframe, clutches at it to steady himself. A police officer shoves him roughly, talking at speed in a language that means nothing to Alex, but he gets the drift and pushes himself upright, still staring at the woman who is not Elian. Erik is there next to him, a questioning look on his face. Alex shakes his head, trying not to show his relief; after all, this was still a person, somebody’s daughter, wife or sister. He’s reminded of
