Leo walked to the window and looked out at the three identical buildings around the small plaza. A few bedraggled plants struggled out of large pots, and two large bins overflowed. In one corner, three small children bounced and caught a ball. Leo guessed they were from somewhere in the Middle East. A woman in a blue hijab appeared at the door of one of the ground floor apartments and waved her flour-covered forearms at the children. Perhaps dinner was ready. The largest child caught the ball, and they ran together, skirting a pile of broken glass and skipping over a rusted bike with one wheel.
Leo smiled. He didn’t know the family, but they seemed happy and safe. Leo had read multiple stories of people from warring Middle Eastern countries settling all over Europe and wondered if that was their story. It was interesting how people came to Berlin for all sorts of reasons; some for the fashion, some for the clubs and bars, others for something more fundamental — like safety.
Leo’s lips pursed in thought. Minty had enjoyed the clubs of Berlin. Charles had been over a few times and they’d been clubbing together. He’d said it was like nowhere else he’d ever been.
Minty was killed at 4 am.
Leo rubbed his chin in thought, then his expression dissolved completely.
Why had he not thought of this before?
How had he not made this connection?
There was no reason for a fashion designer to be up at 4 am unless he was on his way back from a club.
With both Minty’s shop and the flat within ten minutes’ walk of the station, Leo assumed he’d gone straight to the station from either one of those. But the fact Minty may have been going home changed things. Something could have happened at the club, or he could have met someone there.
Leo opened a map of Berlin on his phone. With a few taps, he populated it with the city’s nightclubs. There must have been over fifty scattered across central Berlin. That was far too many to be working with.
Why would a city need so many nightclubs anyway? Weren’t they all pretty much the same?
Zooming in, Leo looked at those near the U-Bahn station. That didn’t mean anything, though — two lines connected at Kottbusser Tor station. Minty could have arrived on a train from almost anywhere in the city.
Leo looked at Minty’s phone and was struck by a thought. With someone’s phone, you could see where they’d been. Smartphones recorded their location, which was why people with dishonest intentions often used low tech “burner” phones.
Plugging Minty’s phone into his laptop, Leo entered the passcode again and launched the ‘Find your Phone’ app. A map of Berlin filled the screen. If Minty had been using the phone for long, the map would be scrawled with his routes and destinations. The phone had only recorded two.
At first, the two recorded locations showed up as coordinates. Then, as the hotel’s creaky Wi-Fi caught up, they changed to place names and addresses.
The first one was the U-Bahn station, and the second, as Leo had expected, was a nightclub.
36
Borya thumbed the entry bell then stood back from the door. As his breath rattled in his chest, he resisted the urge to double over. The walk from his apartment in Kreuzberg to Prenzlauer Berg had taken an hour. He would normally take the car, but he couldn’t risk anyone seeing that. As for a taxi or public transport — that was out of the question too. Olezka knew people everywhere — that was the problem. A walk through the backstreets was always going to be safer. At least that way he could watch closely for anyone following him.
Anafisa’s Maserati Laventi rested at the kerb, which meant she was definitely at home. Borya had known Anafisa since she’d moved to Berlin about two years ago. She too was Russian but had moved to the city looking for a fresh start after the death of her husband. Borya didn’t think she’d seemed very upset about becoming widowed unless spending his money was part of the grieving process.
“Come on,” he muttered, knitting his fingers together.
He was just about to press the button again when Anafisa’s sultry voice oozed from the speaker.
“Hallo.”
Borya knew he didn’t have many options. Almost everyone he knew was loyal to Olezka, so would now be looking for him. Anafisa was the only person, as far as he knew, who wasn’t.
“Anafisa, let me in,” Borya hissed breathlessly. “Something’s happened. I need to come in.”
The speaker clunked and Borya heard a faint voice.
“Sure sure,” Anafisa said. “I’ll let you up.”
The door buzzed and Borya headed inside. Anafisa’s penthouse was in one of Berlin’s most expensive neighbourhoods. Her apartment occupied the whole top floor and the roof terrace, complete with hot tub, had views of the city skyline.
Borya took the marble stairs two at a time. On the third floor, he passed a young man coming down. He had the look of someone who had just been woken up. His hair was spiked at the back and he was still pulling on a jumper.
Anafisa was in the kitchen rinsing a pair of wine glasses as Borya walked in. As ever, she looked glamorous.
“Anafisa, I need your help,” Borya said.
“What is it?” she replied, looking up.
Although Anafisa must have been well into her forties, she looked about thirty. Her porcelain skin was supple, and her sensuous lips were coloured a deep red. As Borya crossed the kitchen, she smiled, revealing a triangle of glimmering white teeth.
Anafisa was, Borya had thought many times, a beautiful woman.
“Sit down.” Anafisa directed Borya to the sofa in the corner. “I’ll bring us some drinks.”
“I need to get out of Berlin, now,” Borya said.
Anafisa walked towards him with two glasses of wine.
Borya slurped greedily from the wine and
